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From Off the Road Database
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T
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<p>Our route took us through typical Iowa farming communities, for the most part moderately thickly populated and supplied with the usual farm buildings. Prairie, marsh and woodland were also represented as were various types of soil and vegetation supported by them. All these conditions make for a diversity of animal life, and we found it well represented on the highways.
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O
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<p>Our several tours in California aggregated more than thirty thousand miles and extended from Tia Juana to the Oregon border. The scope of this volume, however, is confined to the southern half of the state and the greater part of it deals with the section popularly known as Southern California—the eight counties lying south of Tehachapi Pass. Of course we traversed some roads several times, but we visited most of the interesting points of the section—with some pretty strenuous trips, as will appear in due course of my narrative. We climbed many mountains, visited the endless beaches, stopped at the famous hotels, and did not miss a single one of the twenty or more old Spanish missions. We saw the orange groves and palms of Riverside and Redlands, the great oaks of Paso Robles, the queer old cypresses of Monterey, the Torrey Pines of LaJolla, the lemon groves of San Diego, the vast wheatfields of the San Joaquin and Salinas Valleys, the cherry orchards of San Mateo, the great vineyards of the Napa and Santa Rosa Valleys, the lonely beauty of Clear Lake Valley, the giant trees of Santa Cruz, the Yosemite Valley, Tahoe, the gem of mountain lakes, the blossoming desert of Imperial, and a thousand other things that make California an enchanted land. And the upshot of it all was that we fell in love with the Golden State—so much in love with it that what I set down may be tinged with prejudice; but what story of California is free from this amiable defect?
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C
<div class="poem">
<p>Our shovel was forgotten and the umbrella was worn out from the wear it received back of our heels. Flowers were in bloom—especially oleanders—and when we came to the grape and wine districts, we stopped at a winery and climbed a long ladder to look into one of the immense vats of claret, which looked like a lake of ink. The owner gave us a sample, running it out of a hose to rinse the glass before filling it, as one would water. It was a common sight to see a wagon and hay rack full of grapes.
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T
<div class="poem">
<p>Our tongues recant like beaten weather vanes.<br />
This answer lives like verdigris, like hair<br />
Beyond extinction, surcease of the bone;<br />
And repetition freezes—“What
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I
<div class="poem">
<p>Outside in the street is the murmur and singing of life in the sun—horses, motors, women trapsing along in flimsy clothes, play of sun-fire in their blood.
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T
<div class="poem">
<p>Outside rumbled the cars between drifts of the gas-lit snow,<br />
And the footsteps fell of the wanderers in the night...<br />
Within, the dark house slept...<br />
But we, in our little cave, stood, and saw in the gleaming dark<br />
Shine of each other’s eyes, and the flutter of wisps of hair,<br />
And our words were breathlessly sweet, and our kisses silent...
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<div class="poem">
<p>Over the downs where feed the scattered sheep,<br />
Across the barren uplands, sere and brown,<br />
Through woodlands where the western shades lie deep,<br />
And so at last we turn again toward town.
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S
<div class="poem">
<p>O’er the ribboned line of the Great Highway,<br />
Where the wildflower carpet's laid,<br />
Where the poppy opens her golden cup<br />
As a symbol of Spring arrayed.
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C
<div class="poem">
<p>PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE. COMPLIMENTS TO PLUCKY MRS. TRINKLE.
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<div class="poem">
<p>PIKE'S PEAK CLIMB POSSIBLE FOR WE ARE AT THE SUMMIT.
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<div class="poem">
<p>PIKES PEAK OR BUST . . . IN A BRUSH
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A
<div class="poem">
<p>Passed the night comfortably, and when the road was taken next morning (May 29) at 6 o'clock, the sun was shining and Mr. Gates predicted no rain for the day.
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X
<div class="poem">
<p>Perfect pater. Marvellous mater. Knock the critic down who dares — <br />
Very well, believe it, copy; till your hair is white as theirs.
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G
<div class="poem">
<p>Perfect pater. Marvellous mater. Knock the critic down who dares — <br />
Very well, believe it, copy; till your hair is white as theirs.
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T
<div class="poem">
<p>Performances, assortments, résumés—<br />
Up Times Square to Columbus Circle lights<br />
Channel the congresses, nightly sessions,<br />
Refractions of the thousand theatres, faces—<br />
Mysterious kitchens.... You shall search them all.<br />
Some day by heart you’ll learn each famous sight<br />
And watch the curtain lift in hell’s despite;<br />
You’ll find the garden in the third act dead,<br />
Finger your knees—and wish yourself in bed<br />
With tabloid crime-sheets perched in easy sight.
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<div class="poem">
<p>Pictures of those long passed away,<br />
Hung on the walls and watched our play,<br />
They shared with us in all our glee,<br />
Where the old homestead used to be.
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P
<div class="poem">
<p>Policeman dat's in his beat,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Policeman widout,</span><br />
Policeman wid him gold teet'<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Shinin' in him mout';</span><br />
Policeman in uniform<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Made of English blue,</span><br />
P'liceman gettin' rather warm,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Sleuth policeman too.</span>
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<div class="poem">
<p>Policeman on plain clo'es pass,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Also dismissed ones;</span><br />
See them standin' in a mass,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Talkin' 'bout them plans:</span><br />
Policeman "struck off de strengt'<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Physical unfit,"</span><br />
Hear them chattin' dere at lengt'<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> 'Bout a diffran' kit.</span>
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X
<div class="poem">
<p>Power-stations locked, deserted, since they drew the boiler fires; <br />
Pylons fallen or subsiding, trailing dead high-tension wires;
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G
<div class="poem">
<p>Power-stations locked, deserted, since they drew the boiler fires; <br />
Pylons fallen or subsiding, trailing dead high-tension wires;
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