Property:Has text
From Off the Road Database
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A
<div class="poem">
<p>When out of the machine and walking around bunches of sage brush care was exercised in keeping out of striking range of these venomous reptiles. Mr. Winton has some tail end rattles as trophies, but I was not so anxious to get close enough to kill the snakes and cut off their tails.
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<div class="poem">
<p>When the New Hampshire Rocks were met, trouble seemed to be ahead. I asked Mr. Winton if he would put the machine to what appeared to me the supreme and awful test. "Of course I will," was the short and meaning answer, and on went the machine. One big bump and I shot into the air like a rocket. I was not thrown from the machine, however, and thereafter busied myself hanging on with hands and bracing with feet. At every turn and twist in the road, the rocks grew larger, and I wondered if anything mechanical could stand the terrible punishment.
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S
<div class="poem">
<p>When the choir the anthem gave,<br />
Some we heard about it rave,<br />
All that we could understand,<br />
Was holy, holy, holy-land.
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F
<div class="poem">
<p>When the wheels struck the slime, they slid, they wallowed. The car skidded. It was terrifyingly out of control. It began majestically to turn toward the ditch. She fought the steering wheel as though she were shadow-boxing, but the car kept contemptuously staggering till it was sideways, straight across the road. Somehow, it was back again, eating into a rut, going ahead. She didn't know how she had done it, but she had got it back. She longed to take time to retrace her own cleverness in steering. She didn't. She kept going.
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<div class="poem">
<p>When the windshield was closed it became so filmed with rain that Claire fancied she was piloting a drowned car in dim spaces under the sea. When it was open, drops jabbed into her eyes and chilled her cheeks. She was excited and thoroughly miserable. She realized that these Minnesota country roads had no respect for her polite experience on Long Island parkways. She felt like a woman, not like a driver.
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C
<div class="poem">
<p>When they came out of the store and saw our automobile with its signs, they woke up and began asking questions, but we got in the car as they declared that no auto had ever been over the road, and that no auto could get through. We paid no attention to them and drove away as they stared in astonishment. They watched us out of sight, probably expecting us back before evening. We went through sandy valleys and over summits until at dusk we found ourselves climbing between towering bluffs with stars peeping at us through the opening at the top. On the broad summit other roads converged on ours, and soon after we started the descent, we were flagged to a stop by a man with a red lantern. He demanded seventy-five cents toll, which we gladly paid.
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S
<div class="poem">
<p>When they discussed our time parking limit,<br />
All were agreed on keeping within it.<br />
But when they brought up our boulevard stop,<br />
Not one but said it was all tommy-rot.
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C
<div class="poem">
<p>When this route was pointed out to them, they looked up a thousand feet or more to a line on the mountain side which was their road. This seemed to be the crucial part of the climb as it was so steep most cars could not get gasoline to their carburetors and so became stalled. Up to this time no one had heard of vacuum tanks or fuel pumps, and automobiles obtained their gasoline supply by gravity only. This did not bother the Brush Runabout because it was equipped with the only known diaphragm fuel pump which brought the fuel from the tank under the floor boards to a fuel cup on top of the engine. With that arrangement, the motor could be kept running even if the car were standing on end, which accounted for the Brush's ability to get over steep places.
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W
<div class="poem">
<p>When trouble brews twixt man and wife,<br />
As troubles do in married life,<br />
Take our advice and seek a breaker,<br />
The best for you is a Studebaker.<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 20em;"> — The Car with Character.</span>
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T
<div class="poem">
<p>When underneath the hood is sixty horse,<br />
Singing and spinning with the joy of power,<br />
To roll along the smooth and level course,<br />
Is surely to be happy for an hour.
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C
<div class="poem">
<p>When we appeared in the morning, the cook was getting breakfast, and asked Fred to go outside with him and bring in the meat. Fred returned with a grin on his face and a hind-quarter of beef on his shoulder. He carefully laid the meat on a table and the cook cut off immense steaks for our breakfast, which we ate ravenously in preparation for a long day's ride to Tonopah. When he found I had lived in Smoky Valley, Nevada, and visited the A. B. Millett family, who were old friends of his, he changed from a cross cook to a genial host, telling us about the hot springs we would pass on the road that day, showing us the twin springs from which the ranch got its name, and giving us directions so that we had no trouble all day. We brought some of the outside world into his life for a short time, and I don't believe he ever forgot us, besides being paid well for his extra work.
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X
<div class="poem">
<p>When we asked the way to Heaven, these directed us ahead <br />
To the padded room, the clinic and the hangman’s little shed.
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G
<div class="poem">
<p>When we asked the way to Heaven, these directed us ahead <br />
To the padded room, the clinic and the hangman’s little shed.
</p>
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C
<div class="poem">
<p>When we got back to a sheep herder's wagon that we had seen in the foothills earlier in the afternoon, Fred walked through the flock of sheep to the wagon where the herder had just lit a candle. He said we should have stayed in the valley and must go back to Lucin to get on the right road. We were pretty discouraged, and to add to our troubles, the car came to a stop a few miles further on. Upon investigation, we found that a pin was lost out of the propeller shaft and, since we had no other and could not find this one in the dark, we were obliged to camp there for the night, though it was cold and snowing. There was dry wood all around us, so we built a fire for light as well as warmth, pushed the car up into a tall juniper tree after cutting off some branches, spaded up the sand and put some canvas on it for a bed, using the car cushions for pillows, and hung up some more canvas on the side of the car and tree to keep off the wind. We ate a little lunch from our hamper and our chewing gum came into good use, as we had no water except that which we drained from the radiator for fear of freezing. That was not fit to drink, so we carefully conserved it for the next day.
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O
<div class="poem">
<p>When we planned our first tour, at a time when road conditions were vastly different from what they are now, our first move was to seek the assistance of this club, which was readily given as a courtesy to a visiting motorist. The desired information was freely and cheerfully supplied, but I could not help feeling, after experiencing so many benefits from the work of the club, that I was under obligations to become a member. And I am sure that even the transient motorist, though he plans a tour of but a few weeks, will be well repaid—and have a clearer conscience—should his first move be to take membership in this live organization.
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C
<div class="poem">
<p>When we stopped to rest, I lay down on the ground to relax and recover my poise. We did not even stop for lunch, as the skies were dark with clouds and we didn't want to be caught in rain on narrow, slippery roads where we might go over the edge and get hung up in a tree. At last we realized we had been going downgrade all day. About dusk we came into open country and long after dark we reached Kern, a town of oil wells and derricks near Bakersfield, California. Here we found a hotel and a much-sought-after bath after our strenuous riverside ride.
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T
<div class="poem">
<p>When we view the mountains all around,<br />
From their vast stillness not a sound,<br />
They seem just like some silent friend<br />
On whom we safely can depend.
</p>
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F
<div class="poem">
<p>When we went through San José I began to understand over again and in a new way Mark Twain's "Adventures of a Connecticut Yankee." The whole of King Arthur's court on bicycles could not have started the stir we created in that single automobile. We went through the place like the wind, the machine snorting, whistle tooting, while the poor inhabitants huddled into frightened groups out of reach. We were a kind of first thunderstorm to them.
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T
<div class="poem">
<p>When we were there some years ago,<br />
This church each night gave quite a show.<br />
To enter the house we had to strive,<br />
For the building was packed to all revive.
</p>
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P
<div class="poem">
<p>When you want a pleasant drive,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Tek Hope Gardens line;</span><br />
I can tell you, man alive,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> It is jolly fine:</span><br />
Ef you want to feel de fun,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> You mus' only wait</span><br />
Until when you're comin' do'n<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> An' de tram is late.</span>
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