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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/44505-0.txt b/44505-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..992239b --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7904 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44505 *** + +ACROSS AMERICA BY MOTOR-CYCLE + +[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR.] + + + + +ACROSS AMERICA +BY MOTOR-CYCLE + +BY +C. K. SHEPHERD + +ILLUSTRATED + +NEW YORK +LONGMANS, GREEN & CO. +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD & CO. +1922 +_All rights reserved_ + + +_Made in Great Britain +by_ Butler & Tanner, _Frome and London_ + + + + +PREFACE + + +A few months after the Armistice of 1918 was signed, when the talk of +everyone concerned was either WHEN they would be demobilized +or what they would do when they WERE demobilized, two young +men were exchanging views on this same subject in the heavy atmosphere +of a very ordinary hotel somewhere in London. + +One was wondering how near, or how far, were the days when he would see +the old home-folks once again "way back in Dixieland." + +The other was wondering what form of dissipation would be best suited +to remove that haunting feeling of unrest, which as a result of three +or four years of active service was so common amongst the youth of +England at that time. + +"How about getting married?" suggested the one. + +Then followed a long pause, wherein the other was evidently considering +the pros and cons of such a unique proposition. + +"Nothing doing," he replied eventually--"not exciting enough, old +man." Another pause--"And when I come to think, I don't know of any +girl who'd want to marry me even if I wanted to marry her." And as +if to give a final decision to any proposal of _that_ nature, he +added--"Besides, I couldn't afford it!" + +"But I tell you what I will do, Steve," said he, "I'll go back with you +across yon herring-pond and have a trot round America." + +So that was how it happened. + +Two or three months later, when I arrived at New York from Canada, +I purchased a motor-cycle and set out to cross the continent to the +Pacific, and I have it on the best authority that this was the first +time an Englishman had ever accomplished the trip on a motor-cycle. If +it is so, I don't wonder at it! + +The whole trip, which covered just fifty miles short of 5,000, was +undertaken quite alone, and although spread over about three months, +constituted a day or two short of a month's actual riding. For the +benefit of brother motor-cyclists who may be interested in such +details I may add that I dispensed entirely with the use of goggles +from beginning to end, and except at stops in large towns on the way +I wore no hat. I think that when the motor-cyclist gets accustomed to +doing without these encumbrances he will find the joys of motor-cycling +considerably enhanced. + +The total number of replacements to the engine alone comprised the +following: Five new cylinders; three pistons; five gudgeon pins; three +complete sets of bearings; two connecting rods, and eleven sparking +plugs. + +The machine was entirely overhauled on four occasions between the +Atlantic and the Pacific, and on three of these by the recognized +agents of the manufacturers. The engine cut-out switch was the only +part of the machine that did not break, come loose, or go wrong +sooner or later. I was thrown off 142 times, and after that I stopped +counting! Apart from that I had no trouble. + +Contrary to what the reader may think, I paid considerable care to +the machine, particularly in the early stages. For the first three +hundred miles I barely exceeded twenty to twenty-five miles per hour +in order to give the machine a good "running-in" before submitting it +to harder work. At the end of the trip I had spent more in repairs and +replacements than the original cost of the machine, and I sold it at +San Francisco for just over a quarter of the amount I paid for it three +months before. + +And I am still as keen a motor-cyclist as ever! + +The machine was of the four-cylinder, air-cooled type, and I have +nothing but praise for the smooth running that this type affords. I +have ridden scores of machines at one time and another, but never have +I driven any motor-cycle that for luxurious travel could I even compare +with the one mentioned in this narrative. As regards reliability, +however, I must leave the reader to form his own opinion from the +facts, which occurred exactly as I have stated them. Nothing in this +book is set down in malice, and I can only hope that my case was +exceptional so far as the frequent breakdowns were concerned. I must +admit that the conditions were exceptional and that anyone crossing the +United States on a motor-cycle might expect trouble sooner or later. + +The reader may observe that I say little of tyre trouble throughout the +story. That is for two reasons: the first is that there is nothing at +all interesting in the narrative of repairing a puncture, for instance; +the second is that I had very little trouble indeed to complain of. +With the smooth, even torque that is so characteristic of four-cylinder +engines, tyre trouble is easily halved, and practically all that one +has to fear is the terrible condition of most of the roads. I arrived +in San Francisco with the same tyres as I had when I started, and they +were still good for several hundreds of miles more. + +Petrol consumption, too, was excellent. Those who have not known +high-powered, four-cylinder motor-cycles would probably think the +consumption would be about forty miles to the gallon. On the contrary, +I found my machine much more economical than the same-powered V-twin. +As far as I know I averaged about 75 m.p.g. "all on." + +The journey was comparatively uneventful. I never had to shoot anybody +and nobody shot me! In spite of the relative wildness and barrenness +of the West, there were always food and petrol available in plenty. +I spent most nights at the side of the road and experienced neither +rheumatism nor rattlesnakes. + +In the following pages I have endeavoured to portray America and +Americans exactly as I found them and as they appealed to me. If at +times I perchance may give offence to any who are lovers of all and +anything American, I do it without intent. Suffice it to say that +before I went I had the highest opinion of anything that came from that +worthy country, so that it cannot be claimed that I am one of those +"Pro-British-every-time" individuals who delight in criticizing other +countries and other peoples in order to gratify their own sense of +national or other superiority. + +Finally, I will ask the reader to be patient, or at any rate, not +over-critical when he or she may confess to being bored. For the sake +of making this a complete record of my wanderings I have included that +which may lack interest, and as I can lay claim to no graceful diction, +I may, I am sure, rely on the reader's indulgence towards the narrative +of quite an ordinary, unaspiring, British motor-cyclist. + + C. K. S. + +BIRMINGHAM, 1922. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + +PROLOGUE 1 + + + I. TRAFFIC IN NEW YORK + +My Efforts to Become Americanized--Reflections on New +York Traffic--Dissertation on American Roads--Coney +Island--Equipment for the Journey 5 + + + II. NEW YORK TO PHILADELPHIA + +Companions in Distress--"The Playground of the World"--American +Proclivities towards the Superlative--A Lapse into +Philosophy--Introduction to the "Detour"--The Good Samaritan +Rewarded--Philadelphia--Adventures with a Garage Proprietor 12 + + + III. PHILADELPHIA TO WASHINGTON + +Prosperity in New England Villages--Motor-cycling de +Luxe--Peregrinations of a "Tin Lizzie"--Insights into the Inner +Life of an American Highway--Humouring a Negro--Self-conscious +Scruples--Illuminated Signs--Hotel Life in Washington 22 + + + IV. EXCEEDING THE SPEED LIMIT + +Experiences of Brick Roads--Approaching the Alleghanies--The +Lust for Speed--And Its Consequences--Queer Methods of Enforcing +the Law--Stranded 32 + + + V. ACROSS THE ALLEGHANIES + +Soliloquies of the Humble Poor--The Subtleties of Advertisement +Hoardings--Corn in Egypt--The Peregrinations of an English +Sovereign--A Whiff of Good Old London--Appreciation of +Nature in America--Lizzie Reports Sick--Lead, kindly +Light--Auto-suggestion as an Aid to Sleep 42 + + + VI. THE DIXIE HIGHWAY + +I Make the Acquaintance of the Ohio River--Lizzie develops +Acute Indigestion--The Irony of Henry Ford--I administer +First-aid--Hero-worship to a Rag-and-bone Merchant--A New +Use for an Old Tree--The Ubiquitous Columbus--The Friendly +Tram--The Dixie Highway--Eulogy to the City of Dayton--My +Extravagant Taste for Cake--An alfresco Meal--A Final Burst +of Extravagance--Home Once More 51 + + + VII. CINCINNATI AND ONWARDS + +Cincinnati--A Memorable Day--Aspersions on an American +Repair Shop--Chess-board Roads--The Humour of Decorated +Telegraph Poles--Soliloquy on the Pike's Peak Highway--Effects +of State Boundary Lines--Indian Corn--A Luxurious +Bathe--Indianapolis--The 3 A Club--What Constitutes a Good Road 60 + + + VIII. INDIANA AND ILLINOIS + +How Dirt Roads are Cultivated--A Brush with a Road-plough--How +Flivvers "get through"--A Bad Patch and a Good Samaritan--The +Subtleties of General Merchandise--I attract a Crowd in +Springfield--Taken for a Movie Actor--Future Cities of +Illinois--Illinois River--The Mississippi at Last--I sleep on +a Railway Embankment 70 + + + IX. STORMY WEATHER IN MISSOURI + +Hannibal--Infantile Automobilation--Rain in Missouri--I get +Annoyed--Railroads v. Highways--Kansas City 83 + + + X. RESULTS OF A BREAKDOWN + +Kansas City--I visit Lizzie on her Sick-bed--I visit an Editor +in his Lair--Kansas City gets My Story 89 + + + XI. THE SANTA FÉ TRAIL + +Westward Again--The Santa Fé Trail--Mosquito Nets--Into the +Great Prairies--I sleep in a River--Pie--Prairie Towns--In a +Thunderstorm--Colorado Reached--The Map proves not Infallible--A +Detour to the Heart of the Rockies--Rain Again 94 + + + XII. THE ROYAL GORGE OF ARKANSAS + +A Strange Dwelling--I am Taken for an American--Supper in +Style--Sleep in Style--Breakfast and Lunch in Style--The Sun +Once Again--Housebuilding at Speed--An Appreciation--The +Rockies--Pueblo--Pike's Peak--The Royal Gorge--The Lust +for Taking Pictures--Picturesque Names--The Worst Road in +America--A Mud Bath--The End of a Perfect Day 106 + + + XIII. IN SOUTHERN COLORADO + +Strange Mountain Forms--Trinidad--A Flivver to the Rescue--The +Raton Pass--A Wonderful View--At the Feet of the Rockies--A +Phantom Road--Prairie-dogs--Companions--Lizzie sheds a +Sprocket--A Tiring Search--The Biggest Thing in Mud +Lakes--Wagonmound--Argument with a Linemaster 118 + + + XIV. NEW MEXICO + +Adventures with a Railway--Stuck Once Again--Assistance +from California--House-hunting by Caravan--Las Vegas--A +Wonderful Ford--A Mexican Village--Lizzie Clean Again--The +Travelling Tinsmith--Santa Fé at Last 132 + + + XV. SANTA FÉ + +Santa Fé--Adobe Architecture--The Art Museum--Where +Americans Hustle Not--In the Limelight Again 148 + + + XVI. THE RIO GRANDE VALLEY + +Departure from Santa Fé--La Bajada Hill--Albuquerque--The +Rio Grande--Indians--The Morals of Mountains--Socorro--Camping +in the Mountains: A Farmyard Episode 155 + + + XVII. THE PETRIFIED FOREST OF ARIZONA + +Magdalena--A Strange Metamorphosis--I Sport a Camp Fire--A +Strange Sight--The Petrified Forest of Arizona--Holbrook--Lost +in the Arizona Desert--Mosquitoes Again--Winslow--An Ingenious +Anti-speeding Stunt--That Cylinder Again!--A New Use for Old +Sign-posts--Meteor Mountain--The San Francisco +Peaks--Fairy-land--Flagstaff 163 + + + XVIII. THE GRAND CANYON + +The Lowell Observatory--Wonders of Mars Hill--Ptomaine +Poisoning--Flagstaff Dwellings--Towards the Grand Canyon--A +Wonderful Ride--The First Approach of Loneliness--The End of +the World--The Greatest of all Natural Wonders 178 + + + XIX. THE MOHAVE DESERT + +Lizzie Comes to Grief--Etiquette of the Road--The Tragedy +of Peach Springs--Kingman--Desert Vegetation--Yucca--The Art +of Rut-riding--The Tomb of a Town--The Colorado Needles--A +Marvellous View--Oiled Roads--Ludlow 192 + + + XX. I REACH THE PACIFIC COAST + +Comrades in Arms--Lizzie begins to Complain--Death Valley--An +Unfortunate Caravan--The End of the Desert--The Cajon +Pass--Los Angeles is Startled 210 + + + XXI. LOS ANGELES TO SAN FRANCISCO + +Los Angeles--Friendly California--Towards 'Frisco by Night--I +Dream a Dream--The Californian Missions--The Salinas +Valley--The Last Sleep--Lizzie gives it up Again--The Struggle +for 'Frisco--4,950 at last! 224 + + +EPILOGUE 241 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + TO FACE + PAGE + +Portrait of the Author _Frontispiece_ + +A Common Occurrence 26 + +An Awkward Stretch of Road in Indiana 74 + +The Midnight Couch 74 + +The Oldest House in America, at Santa Fé 150 + +The Art Museum at Santa Fé 150 + +Pueblo of Taos 158 + +The Rio Grande, New Mexico 162 + +A Petrified Leviathan 170 + +Lizzie in the Petrified Forest, Arizona 170 + +The Trail to the Grand Canyon 178 + +The Lowell Observatory, Flagstaff 178 + +San Francisco Peaks from Flagstaff 178 + +The Bottom of the Grand Canyon 188 + +Cactus Trees near San Bernardino 206 + +In the Mohave Desert 206 + + + + +PROLOGUE + + +One bright morning in June--to be exact, the thirteenth (the +significance of that number will be apparent later), in the year of Our +Lord 1919 and in the year of American Prohibition 1, a small assembly +of mechanics, passers-by, and urchins witnessed my departure from a +well-known Motor Cycle Agency in New York. + +The machine, a perfectly new and very powerful motor-cycle, was +dazzling in her pristine beauty. No spot or blemish could be seen on +her enamel of khaki hue. No ungainly scratch or speck of rust marred +her virgin form. Her four little cylinders, gaily murmuring as the +engine joyfully sprang into life, seemed to hide a world of romance +as if they were whispering to each other of the days that were to +come, the adventures and experiences they were to encounter, and the +strange lands they were to see. The purr of her exhaust, healthy though +muffled, smooth and even in its rhythm, was music in my ears. A thing +of beauty is a joy for ever, and to those who know the call of the +open road and who love to feel the rush of the wind and the glamour +of speed, such was this machine. Although she was in reality but an +organized combination of various pieces of unfeeling, soulless metal, +without even a name, and known only by a sordid number embossed on a +tinplate provided by the Law, she was soon to develop a character and +personality of her own. She was to play the rôle of sole companion in +the weeks and months to follow. There would be times when I should +curse her profanely and at the same time love her passionately. I +pictured vast prairies and deserts where we should be alone together, +far from the haunts of man or animal or perhaps of any living +thing--times when it would depend upon HER to bear me on to +civilization. So I trust, reader, that you will not think I was waxing +too sentimental on that memorable day in June. + + * * * * * + +The mileage indicator just flicked to 4,422. + +I was hungry, hungry as a dog. I was thirsty too, and tired--oh, so +tired! The skin on my face was tanned dark with the desert sun and bore +the dirt of many days' accumulation. The growth of the previous week +was upon my chin. My hair was bleached and dishevelled, my clothes and +boots laden with the sand and dust of Arizona and California. With a +bandaged, broken finger, and the rest skin-cracked and bloodstained +with the alkali sand, I held the handles with the palms of my hands. +The sole was missing altogether from my right boot, and the left +contained many a piece of stone or gravel from far away. A couple of +empty water-bags flapped up and down on the handlebar, and as the +old bus dragged her weary way on three cylinders through the crowded +streets of Los Angeles her hideous clatter told many a tale of woe. I +decided at that moment that the best thing in all the world was to get +something to eat and drink. + +"What's the day of the month?" I asked, when with a final "clank" of +the engine we drove into the Agency Garage. + +"The seventh." + +"The month?" + +"August." + +"And what's the year?" + +"Nineteen nineteen." + +"The seventh of August nineteen nineteen," I mused, and relapsed into +contemplative silence.... + +Some one spotted the registration plate "N.Y.8844" and "rumbled" that I +had come from New York. + +"When did you start?" they asked in curious tones. The question +pulled me up with a jerk and brought me back to normal existence, so +inadequately measured by time. + +"Oh, seems like ten years ago!" I replied, and relapsed once more into +reverie. + + + + +CHAPTER I + +TRAFFIC IN NEW YORK + + +I spent the better part of two days in the survey of New York City +from all points of view. In the Pullman from Niagara I had decided +that America would probably be just as bad as any European country +for robbing the alien. I would therefore simulate the gentle habits +and customs of these (hitherto) worthy people. Having some slight +knowledge of their language I would endeavour to acquire perfection in +the art of American self-expression. I would cultivate the correct pose +of the hat and wear boots with knobbly toes. Only a little practice +would be required before I should be able to gyrate a cigar at the +accepted velocity from one corner of my mouth to the other. In a little +while, methought, I should feel much more at ease in tight-fitting +clothes with ridiculously small sleeves and three inches of projecting +shirt-cuffs. Maybe I should improve my outlook on the world if I viewed +it through a pair of large, round, ebony-rimmed spectacles. There was +just a possibility that I should some day appreciate the soothing charm +of a much-overworked morsel of chewing-gum. With all these splendid +accomplishments I could no doubt dispense with the less attractive +habits of Modern America. + +Let me say at the outset that I proved a dismal failure. I would sooner +master the Chinese than the American lingo. The infinite variations of +nasal accomplishment outnumber by far the tribal dialects of India +and leave the poor student to wonder and despair. Why! the number of +orthodox ways of translating the plain English word "Yes" is probably +beyond the scope of mathematical deduction! The shades and blends +between "Yep" and "Ye-oh" alone are sufficient to put a spectrograph of +the sun to shame. + +For four months I travelled through the wilds of New York, Ohio, and +Illinois, and even into the civilized states of Colorado, New Mexico, +and Arizona, in a vain search for the man who pronounced "Yes" with a +final "s." In the end I found him, lurking in a little restaurant in +Los Angeles. I gazed in wonderment intense and rapturous when I heard +it. I have his pedigree. He said he came from Boston. Boston, according +to all well-informed Bostonians, represents the acme of perfection in +all things relating to education, etiquette, and propriety. As such it +is unassailable by any other city in America. + +There was a time early on when I thought I was succeeding well. I found +that I did better by dispensing with speech altogether. If I dressed in +a "Palm Beach" suit, walked on people's feet, elbowed my way through +passers-by, and continually repeated to myself "The earth is mine +and all that therein is," there was never any doubt but that I was a +"Native Son." + +It is superfluous for me to say, however, that after many trials and +more rebuffs, I ultimately abandoned the idea of becoming Americanized. +"After all," thought I, "what sane Englishman wants to be an American?" +The project had been but a brain-wave to combat the "H.C. of L." To +the uninitiated, that is the recognized "Hearst" abbreviation for the +"High Cost of Living," a topic which so frequently appears in American +newspapers that editors were forced to face the question of either +referring to it in symbols or of cutting out the "Want-Ads." Finally, +therefore, I consoled myself that it was better for hotel bills, +cinemas, ice-cream sodas, petrol, and other necessities to rise 200 per +cent. on my approach than for me to lose my own soul. Incidentally, +virtue does not always have its own reward. On my return to England I +heard many accusations against me. "What an awful American accent you +have!" was the greeting of many one-time friends. + +... Some have recovered. Others are still in hospital! + + * * * * * + +It took me some time to get accustomed to the traffic of New +York--rather should I say, to its habits and practices. New York itself +consists of a network of streets and avenues ingeniously arranged on +an island which is about five or six times longer than it is broad. +The avenues run the length of the island and the streets run at right +angles across them. In addition, "Broadway" wobbles across from one end +of the island to the other, cutting the avenues at a weird angle of +anything between nothing and twenty degrees. + +At all the important street crossings was stationed a "traffic cop" +whose duty was apparently to hold up at the most inconvenient intervals +all the traffic going one way until all the traffic going the other way +had passed. Then he blew his whistle and Hey, presto! the traffic in +the other street began to move. It was fatal to move before the whistle +was blown. I didn't know that! + +I had been sailing down Sixth Avenue, just trying the machine for the +first time, as a matter of fact. Everything went smoothly. I felt at +peace with all the world. Here was I on my iron steed of ten little +horses, about to begin a long holiday wherein I should forget the +Kaiser and his deeds and the four or more years of my existence that +had gone in helping to bring about his everlasting undoing. But all of +a sudden: + +"Why the jooce don't yer stop, yer Goldarn young son of a gun?" +bellowed an irate "cop" who gesticulated but a few feet from my front +wheel. + +"Well, why the blankety blank SHOULD I blankety well stop, +anyway?" I returned, not to be outdone, as I pulled up in the exact +centre of 34th Street, Sixth Avenue, and Broadway. + +I could see a crowd beginning to collect. I don't like crowds at any +time. I have a keen antipathy for publicity. My friend the "cop" +drew nigh. "See here, young fellar: whar yer from?" he inquired, +evidently anxious to investigate further the mental condition of this +unique defier of the Law.... To cut a long story short, I was finally +constrained by good judgment to avoid further constabulary hostilities +and, in accordance with the somewhat over-ardent desire of the "cop," +retired like a whipped schoolboy to the corner where there was already +a long queue of waiting automobiles and taxis. In a few seconds the +whistle was blown and the procession sailed across 34th Street, headed +by a much-humbled motor-cyclist. + +I should explain at this juncture that a motor-cyclist is an altogether +despised individual in America. Motor-cycles are not popular over +there. With few exceptions they are owned by delivery men, newspaper +boys, "traffic-cops" and sundry other undesirables. Personally I do +not wonder at it. The roads and streets in the cities are bad enough +to ruin the constitution of any but the most confirmed young "blood" +who does not mind risking a few broken bones. I have seen places +in Broadway where the tram-lines wander six or seven inches above +the surface of the road and where the pot-holes would accommodate +comfortably quite a family of dead dogs within their depths. + +So much for the cities. The roads that traverse the country are with +few exceptions nothing better than our fifth-rate country roads on +which no self-respecting Englishman would ride. + +Here and there, in the far East and the far West, are found stretches +of concrete or macadam. Somehow, the Americans think they are great +road-builders. A couple of inches of concrete laid over a garden-path +or a sheep-track, with the cracks filled in with tar, represents the +zenith of road construction in this country of ninety odd million +inhabitants. I should like to see some of those concrete roads when +they have had a few years' solid wear with heavy lorries and occasional +traction engines. + +Ninety-five per cent. or more, however, of America's highways are dirt +roads, or what they are pleased to call "Natural Gravel." In many cases +they comprise merely a much worn trail, and as often as not a pair of +ruts worn in the prairie. Very often, instead of being a single pair +of ruts, there are five or six or perhaps ten, where individual cars +have manifested their own personality. When this multiplicity of ruts +crosses and re-crosses in a desperate attempt to achieve the survival +of the fittest, the resultant effect on the poor motor-cyclist is +somewhat disconcerting. But of this more anon. Suffice it to say that +on the whole journey of 4,500 miles from one coast to the other, I only +saw FOUR other motor-cyclists on the road anywhere. So the +reader will perhaps understand why the poor human who travels in this +fashion is to be pitied, and why his associates in the towns and cities +are despised by the rest of the community. + +When I had acclimatized myself to the traffic of New York and could +worm my way successfully in and out of the "hold-ups" or dart between +trams, taxis, cars, and other impedimenta without danger either to the +community or to myself, I felt that it was time for me to commence my +peregrinations in earnest. + +I decided first, however, to visit Coney Island, which is within easy +reach of New York (it is only a few miles away), and, with a plentiful +supply of trains, trams, and 'buses, is fed with a never-ending stream +of pleasure-seeking humanity. It has one avenue of perhaps a couple +of miles' length running parallel with the beach, and every nook and +corner on both sides accommodates a "fun palace" of some kind. There +are dancing-halls by the dozen; mountain railways, switchbacks, and +roundabouts by the score; soda fountains by the hundred. Fronting +the beach are hotels, boarding-houses, and restaurants of all types +save the best. Coney Island is decidedly not a place for the _élite_. +Hither flock young couples, married or single, representatives of the +American democracy, for a week-end of frivolity. The beach is at all +times sprinkled, as by a human pepper-box, with specimens of the "genus +anthropomorpha" of all sizes, of all ages, of all shapes, and in all +stages of dress and undress. I opined that indeed 'twas no place for +me, and with one push of the starting pedal the motor was a living +thing. "Enough is as good as a feast," and an hour at the Playground +of New York was an hour well spent; but I left it for ever behind me +without the slightest desire or intention of ever returning to its +whirl of plebeian gaiety. + +Arrived once more at New York City, I prepared to make my adieux. I had +two handbags only, one a beautiful new dressing-case, resplendent with +pig-skin writing pads, ebony brushes, and glass bottles, and the other, +a slightly larger one, which accommodated my spare clothing, boots, +etc., and the miscellaneous collection of junk that every globe-trotter +inevitably carries around with him. + +Now I have an inherent contempt for side-cars, although had one been +available at New York when I bought the machine I should have taken +it and carried all my luggage with me. That would have been the acme +of luxury. As it was, however, I contented myself with a good strong +carrier and with many straps; the dressing-case, surrounded by a good +thick blanket, was securely attached to the back of the machine. The +other bag I "shipped" on by train to my predetermined stops across the +country. + +That dressing-case must have weighed fifty or sixty pounds, and with +the blanket around it looked an alarming size when _in situ_. There +was no hope for it. I'm that kind of individual who always likes +plenty of silk shirts and pyjamas and things, so it didn't occasion me +the slightest worry if the people did stare wildly at me as I passed +through their towns and villages. + +And they "sure" did! + + + + +CHAPTER II + +NEW YORK TO PHILADELPHIA + + +"Gotter match?" he inquired as I pulled up near him. + +I had left my palatial sky-scraper hotel only fifteen minutes before. +Soon, I contemplated, my experiences in and around New York would +be past history. Happy and light-hearted, I was humming along that +boulevard with the truly wonderful surface which runs along the edge +of Manhattan Island. It is known as "Riverside Drive," and here dwell +many of America's millionaires. A young fellow and his companion with +a Harley-Davidson and side-car at the side of the road attracted my +attention. Neither of them looked as though he were a resident of that +district. A khaki-coloured shirt, thick corduroy breeches, leggings, +and boots were their only attire. One of them held up his hand when he +saw me. + +"Maybe these fellows know something about the roads," thought I; so I +stopped. + +To stop a motor-cyclist and ask him for a match seemed quite a unique +departure from the well-established English customs with which I was +familiar. Feeling benevolent, I silently proffered a box of "England's +Glory" wax vestas. Without a word he took one, scrutinized it closely +as though it were something wonderful in the art of match-manufacture, +and slowly lit his pipe. A dozen puffs ensued. He broke the silence. + +"Where you from?" + +"When I left it they called it 'England,'" I replied. + +Another dozen puffs. + +"Where you goin'?" + +"I may get to San Francisco some day." + +"You sure got some bit of pavement in front of you. I said it." + +"Well, I guess it's never so bad but what it might be worse," I hinted. + +He spat twice, puffed a few clouds, spat again; took another look at +me, then glanced at my machine. + +"You got SOME bird there," he ventured, and then added, as if +to place the assertion beyond all doubt,-- + +"I said it." + +I agreed that it ought to be able to get along. + +"Yew said it.--See that bird thar?" he asked, pointing to his machine. +"Waal, I guess she can move some too; she done eight thousand miles on +them roads, an' I guess they warn't mos'ly booleyvards neither." + +In the conversation which followed, mainly in reference to many +inquiries on my part as to the various "National Highways" which I +had learnt were occasionally to be found throughout the country, I +gleaned from this worthy native son that it would be better for me to +"go back 'ome and pick strawberries" than to continue farther with +such an obviously insane desire as to cross the American Continent. +I persisted, however, that having come thus far, I would at any rate +continue while sanity remained, although I should certainly bear his +good advice in mind for future reference. + +With a final injunction from him that I should know him when next I saw +him if I were fortunate enough to subsist in the land of the living, we +parted, and after a trip on the Ferry across the Jersey River, I was +soon winding my way out of the drab and dreary suburbs of Newark. + +It would be incorrect to say that the best people do not go to Atlantic +City. Americans, I believe, reckon this well-known seaside resort to be +one of the nine wonders of the world. No free-born American citizen, I +do not doubt, would give the credit of the other eight, whatever they +may be, to any foreign country. On this assumption I felt I should have +no difficulty in identifying the other eight when I had seen more of +"God's Own Country." + +Now Atlantic City is just one hundred per cent. American. It would be +impossible to associate it with any other country but America. To begin +with, it has the inevitable "million-dollar" pier. Let me explain that +nothing in America is worthy of popular patronage unless it costs at +least a million dollars. When I was at Niagara I was told how many +million gallons of water flowed over the falls in a year. No one (on +the American side) seemed to worry very much about the magnificence +of the falls or the grandeur of the river. Such sordid interests do +not appeal to them. But ask someone how many million horse-power will +be developed in a year, and see with what eagerness he relieves you +of your ignorance! The American public WILL have millions in +their calculations and their lust for the superlative MUST be +appeased. + +In Atlantic City there are naturally many objects of interest to the +budding student of modern life like myself, but, on the whole, the +amusements of this nation do not differ considerably from the modest +efforts of our own. There one can see the usual bashful maidens whose +main delight is to recline on the sand or parade the beach in the +latest thing in bathing costumes,--but never under any circumstances to +get them wet. Also we find the usual stores where every conceivable +variety of picture post card or "present from ..." can be bought. + +In two hours I was aweary of Atlantic City. In a very superior frame +of mind I trod on my feelings and the kick-starter of "Khaki Lizz" +(my soubriquet for the machine, which was finished entirely in that +delightfully-reminiscent hue) and turned her nose towards the west. +Philadelphia, I decided, was to be my resting-place that night. + +To be hot on the scent of Philadelphia was one thing; but to get there +was quite another. A glorious three-mile stretch of macadamized road +out of Atlantic City was indeed a tempting bait, and I admit for a +few luscious but brief moments I set at defiance all limits of speed +imposed for the general welfare of the public by worthy law-makers upon +the motoring population of New York State. I have always contended +(privately, not in public!) that laws are only made to be broken. I +might perhaps add that I was destined afterwards to supplement this +somewhat outrageous dictum with a further--"He only is entitled to +break laws who thoroughly knows and understands them!" + +As every wanderer in this vale of tears discovers, all good things +come to an end some time. That three-mile stretch of macadamized +road very soon came to an end. It ended, as far as I remember, in an +abrupt right-angle corner where in an endeavour to get round at about +forty-five miles an hour I nearly met myself coming back, and from that +point the road gradually bore resemblance to an elongated dust-heap. +They call it "natural gravel," which means that in the opinion of the +road engineers of that time the natural surface of the road did not +need any reinforcement in the way of metal. I should imagine that about +99 per cent. of all the roads in America are of this construction, the +remaining 1 per cent. being either covered with a layer of concrete, or +macadam, as in any civilized European country. At times, very few and +far between, this natural gravel forms quite a tolerable surface where +there is not much traffic, but it must be remembered that motor-cars +are used in the States on a far greater scale than is ever dreamt of +in England. I was, in fact, simply amazed at the tremendous number +of cars in the various towns and villages through which I passed. I +have sometimes been in a town, and quite a large one too, where it was +almost impossible to find a place at the side of the pavement where +I could leave my machine. Every available space was taken up with a +car, and in some towns, Salt Lake City for instance, I have seen cars +"parked" along the side of the road two-deep, so that to cross from one +side of the road to the other one has to traverse four separate ranges +of automobiles. In the summer, thousands of cars are travelling all day +long between Atlantic City and the adjacent large cities, so that the +reader can perhaps imagine the state of all the main highways in that +direction. + +I was here introduced to a diversion which at first seemed quite an +interesting one, but which continued familiarity certainly turned to +contempt. I refer to the "detour." The unfortunate motorist is perhaps +ploughing his way steadily along through the gravel, dust, and sand. +He encounters a barrier across the road bearing a notice that repairs +are going on and that he must follow the detour indicated. The road +selected, I believe, is generally the one with the most pot-holes, +ruts, mountains, canyons, etc., in its formation in the surrounding +district. Sometimes in these detours one finds further auxiliary +detours until finally one has to use the utmost intelligence and a +compass in order to get back to the main highway. + +I did not, therefore, arrive in Philadelphia strictly to schedule. +I was many times tempted to take up my abode at a convenient spot +on the side of the road. Several times I dismounted and examined a +promising spot, but always there was some very serious objection. This +objection either took the form of frogs or of mosquitoes or of both. +As we used to read in the days of the War, "the enemy was present in +large numbers." I did not relish either the prospect of being kept +awake indefinitely with the objectionable gurgling of a battalion of +bullfrogs or of being eaten to death in my slumbers by a nation of +bloodthirsty mosquitoes. + +So I spun onwards, ever onwards towards Philadelphia. Meanwhile the +sun was sinking lower and lower in the west. The nearer I got to +Philadelphia the more numerous became the cars on the road. It seemed +as though the whole of Philadelphia frivolled at Atlantic City on +a Sunday afternoon. I was working my way along, dodging tremendous +pot-holes and ruts, imagining myself in an hour or two's time reposing +comfortably between clean white sheets. All of a sudden a most +distressing noise came across my ear. It appeared to be a motor-cycle +in pain. At times there was only one cylinder firing. Sometimes there +were two. At other times there was none at all. I drew in to the side +of the road and waited for the unfortunate author of this disturbance +to arrive. + +He soon emerged from the darkness. He had no lights, and was only too +pleased to stop at the sight of another motor-cyclist. + +"Why, I thought I was the only madman about here," I greeted him, +surprised but gratified to know that there really were other seemingly +sane people who rode motor-cycles in America. + +How delighted he was to meet another Englishman! He had, he explained, +been in America only a year or two, having come from my old home town +of Birmingham during the War. He had got so "fed up" with Americans +that it was a treat to set eyes on anyone from the Old Country. + +He was a youth of eighteen or nineteen years, and after I had fixed him +up with a couple of sparking plugs and attended to a few other urgent +requirements, he asked me abruptly, but quite politely, the inevitable +question, just as I might have expected. "Where you from, an' where you +goin'?" + +I explained that I was making for Philadelphia, where I hoped to find +somewhere to lay my weary head. + +"Well, if you don't want anything very luxurious," said he, "I think I +can fix you up all right, if you don't mind going on ahead to light the +way." + +I gladly assented, and by this means, with my brilliant headlight +illuminating the road, it did not take us long to reach the Delaware +River, on the opposite bank of which stood the fine old city of +Philadelphia. It took a quarter of an hour to cross the river by the +ferry, but once in Philadelphia my friend was happy. "Now you follow +me," he said. + +He had no lights whatever, but his engine was running well, so I agreed +and followed. This was not in itself very easy. I am perfectly certain +that I have never seen ANY motor-cycle ANYWHERE +dash along at such a rate through a city. Although it was dark and I +could not see my speedometer, I am sure that he must have travelled +about forty-five miles per hour through the streets of Philadelphia. +They were certainly good and straight and wide. There was a little +traffic here and there, but this did not seem to worry our friend in +the slightest. Occasionally we saw a "cop" or two standing on a street +corner make a half-hearted attempt to step into the road to hold us up. +Our friend, however, was desperate and would stop for no one. After +about a quarter of an hour's riding, dodging round corners and shooting +past obstructions at a tremendous pace, he pulled up at a small corner +house in a secluded portion of the town and we dismounted. He lived +with his mother, he explained, but she was away in New York. Also he +had lost his latchkey. Also it was really a florist's shop, but he was +sure I wouldn't mind. "There is nothing for it," he said, "but to climb +the fire escape and get in through the front window." + +I shouldered him up to an iron frame projecting from the house. Thence +he clambered on to a rickety fire escape leading up the wall into +blackness, and he was soon lost to sight. A few moments later the front +door opened and we pushed our muddy, dirty machines on to the clean +linoleum of the front room, where they remained overnight surrounded by +pots of roses, carnations, palms, and ferns. This, he explained, was +quite the usual procedure and his mother would not mind a bit! + +It was then about 11.30, and when we had washed some of the dirt from +our faces we sallied forth in quest of a meal. We had no difficulty in +picking up the scent of a flourishing cafeteria. Neither did we have +any difficulty in disposing of disgusting quantities of hot coffee and +"waffles," a commodity peculiar to America, resembling pancakes and +eaten with jugfuls of maple syrup. + +Well after midnight we returned to our domicile, and I laid me down +to sleep the sleep of the righteous. At seven o'clock in the morning +I bade farewell to mine host. Not a cent would he accept in payment +for my night's lodgings. So, with the parting assurance that he would +drop in and see me when he was next in England, we each took our +several roads--he in the direction of a neighbouring works where he was +employed as a mechanic, and I towards Washington, drifting meekly along +the streets at certainly nothing like the speed of the night before. + +The road for some distance was good, the sun came out, and the day +promised to turn out fine and hot. I soon began to feel an inward +content. Everything was going smoothly. I was expecting some money to +be waiting for me at Washington, and then I should have nothing to +worry about for a long time to come. + +As it usually happens when one begins to pat oneself on the back, +I immediately had a puncture. It was of course in the back wheel. +Meanwhile the sun was rising higher and higher, and when, after about +half an hour, I had repaired the wheel, I was feeling very thirsty. +Another five miles further on I had another puncture. This time it +happened to be exactly outside a garage. + +I have known places in England where a certain amount of trade is +always guaranteed by the ingenuity of some of the garage proprietors +who regularly and systematically throw tacks and nails along the road +in their vicinity. It occurred to me that this was a practice not +confined to England, as examination revealed the cause of the puncture +to be a nice long nail driven through from one side of the tube to the +other. Not feeling of a very arduous disposition at the time, I wheeled +it into the garage to be repaired. + +I am afraid I was rather annoyed at the result. In the first place, I +had to supply the mechanic with solution. In the second place, I had +to take off the tyre for him. In the third place, I supplied a patch; +and in the fourth place, I actually had to do the job for him. After +settling his account, I finally explained in language as polite as I +could muster that in my opinion the practice of strewing discarded +nails and other implements on the highway, while not being exactly +meritorious in itself, was just as commendable a method of obtaining a +business connection as many that were frequently resorted to in other +trades or professions of a higher standing. I explained, however, that +after having been so successfully victimized by such an artifice, one +would consider oneself justified in expecting a much higher standard of +workmanship than was apparently forthcoming in his establishment. + +Then we parted, the mechanic expressing the hope that he would never +(crimson) well see me again, and that if I ever did happen to be coming +back that way and got a nail in my (unspeakable) tyre that he would see +me in (Arizona) before he would (smoking) well repair it for me! + + + + +CHAPTER III + +PHILADELPHIA TO WASHINGTON + + +The scenery now began to look charming. Rolling ranges of hills +extending into the distance clustered around as we drew nearer to the +Chesapeake River, which flows into the well-known bay to which it gives +its name. + +"All aboard for Chesapeake Bay." + +... I hummed the air to myself as the road abruptly ended and a +suspension bridge continued the course across the broad, peaceful mouth +of the river. The whole country around seemed to be permeated with a +comfortable, wholesome vigour. Nothing seemed shabby, discontented, or +poverty-stricken. I passed through many small towns and embryo cities. +All were prosperous and all extended a hearty welcome to the traveller +or visitor. Stretched across the road between two poles, just before I +entered one little town, was a huge white banner bearing the words:-- + + "CONWAY CITY WELCOMES YOU. +WE LIKE TRAVELLERS TO VISIT US. +HAVE A GOOD LOOK AT OUR CITY." + +Conway "City" did not prove to be exactly a metropolis. It was probably +nothing more than a well-to-do farm town. But the houses were clean and +neat, indeed some of them were very beautiful, perfectly up-to-date but +never objectionably modern. The roads were a bit bumpy in places but +not at all bad as American roads go. As I passed out of the town I saw +another notice similar to the first:-- + +"THANK YOU FOR COMING. + WE HOPE YOU LIKE US. + COME AGAIN." + +I got so used to being welcomed to every town I came to that I forgot I +was a "stranger" in a "foreign land." There was not a town or village +that did not publish its welcome in some form or other. In the main it +was by advertisements. But if I stopped at a wayside store to quench +my thirst (oh, the sun was hot!) I was met neither with scowls nor +incivility. I am reminded of the old joke of _Punch_ many years ago:-- + +"Oo's that bloke over theer, Bill?" + +"Dunno; stranger, I think." + +"'Eave 'arf a brick at 'im." + +That is typical of what we _English_ think of strangers. The man +of better education or more refinement perhaps expresses himself +differently, but he feels just the same as a rule. + +At this juncture in my reveries the macadam road stopped and gave +way to "natural gravel." That was quite sufficient to postpone any +soliloquies I may have been indulging in until a later date. The +entire sixty seconds in every minute were employed in keeping myself +substantially upright. Small pot-holes gave place to larger ones, +and they in turn to larger still. The loose sand, which was an inch +or two deep at the start, soon assumed more considerable depths. As +the detective books of our youth used to say, "The plot grew thicker +and thicker." I was floundering about from right to left, prodding +energetically on the ground each side with my feet to maintain some +kind of balance. At times the back wheel churned up the sand aimlessly +in an endeavour to get a grip on something solid. Here and there the +sand and gravel were heaped into great ridges as if a mighty plough +had been along that way. Getting through this stuff, thought I, was +no joke. Furthermore, it was warm work; very warm work. Now and then +I would find myself directed absolutely without control from one side +of the road to the other, and only with the greatest strain could +I keep the machine on its wheels. And with all this the "highway" +still maintained its regulation width of 90 feet! The casual observer +from an aeroplane above would in all probability be attracted by its +straightness, its whiteness, and its apparent uniformity. "What a +splendid road!" he would think. + +Not so I. I was on the point of physical exhaustion with the +seemingly-endless paddling and pushing and heaving (and don't forget +the half-hundred-weight bag on my back!) when I was thrown on to a +steeply-cambered part of the road at the side. The back wheel just slid +limply sideways down the slope and left everything reposing peacefully +in the natural gravel of Maryland. + +When I had extricated myself from under the machine, I surveyed the +position with a critical eye. What a road for a civilized country! +These Yanks must be jolly-well mad to tolerate such roads as this! + + * * * * * + +Just then an old Ford came by. It was shorn entirely of mudguards, +running boards, and other impedimenta. As he wallowed past me, swaying +to this side and that, sometimes pointing at right angles to the way +he was going and with his old engine buzzing away in bottom gear and +clouds of steam issuing from his radiator (it had no cap; it must have +blown off!) the driver seemed perfectly at ease. He rolled a cigar +stump from one corner of his mouth to the other and gazed nonchalantly +ahead. I don't think he even noticed me and my recumbent motor-cycle. +I could not repress a grin as his old box of tricks disappeared slowly +up the road, wagging its tail this way and that and narrowly averting a +catastrophe at every few yards. "You ragtime bunch of tin merchants!" +I mused (not so much in reference to the driver as to the nation in +general!) as his diminishing form finally side-slipped into the ditch +at a bend in the road. + +And then a distressing thought struck me: "They'll never believe me +when I get back home and tell them!" So I took my little camera out of +the tool-box on the top tube and snapped the worst bit of road there +and then. A five minutes' struggle followed, in which "Khaki Lizz" was +withdrawn from her ditch. + +By way of nourishment to sustain me in any further fights with the +road, I slowly and meditatively consumed one only orange before +proceeding once more. + +But things did not improve. Here and there, where the ridges of soil +and gravel had not been disturbed, grew tufts of grass and weeds. Huge +ruts, crossing and recrossing in the remaining sand, showed where cars +were wont to pass as fancy dictated, and with only two wheels it was +barely possible to maintain any progress at all. + +"Hang it all! This is TOO much!" I exclaimed, after a few more +precipitate dismounts,--and took another photo and ate another orange. + +A mile or two farther on I came to a weird-looking machine at the +side of the road. It was a sort of combination of steam tractor and +automatic plough, but very much bigger and more complicated. Its main +function was to chop down _en masse_ the sides and banks of the road +and shovel the debris into the middle. Grass, shrubs, bushes, and young +trees alike fell victims to its activities. Now this really was the +limit! Not satisfied with the condition of the road as it was, they +sent forth this "Heath Robinson" mechanism to improve it. I stopped and +left the bike standing in the road where it was--there was no need to +prop it up against anything--and went back to question the driver of +this implement as to its function in life. + +He was not perturbed in the slightest either at my question or at the +heated state of mind and body in which I approached him. Punctuated +by intervals in which he slowly masticated a worn-out chunk of +chewing-gum, he explained that all good motorists liked wide roads; +that the State Council had decided that motorists should have wide +roads; that they had provided machines for widening roads that at +present were not up to standard width; and finally that he was there to +see that this machine did its work properly! + +[Illustration: A COMMON OCCURRENCE. + +_By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler._] + +So I took another photograph, ate another orange, kicked the +self-starter once more, and pushed on again. The road got worse and +worse. Sometimes there were ruts and sometimes there were strips of +unploughed field in the middle of it. But I spent no more films on +it. The people at home, I decided, would have to take my word for +it after all. About ten miles farther on I came to a cross-road. +It was perfectly straight and beautifully paved with concrete and +stretched from one horizon to the other. With what joy I gazed upon its +countenance! There was a wooden shack on one corner, evidently a +saloon. A negro sat on the doorstep, gazing indolently at me. + +"Is this the road to Baltimore?" I inquired, indicating the concrete +highway. + +No reply. But he continued to gaze at me, and spat twice. + +"Must be deaf," thought I. "How's this for Washington?" I shouted. + +Still no reply. + +"Say, brother, which is the road to Baltimore?" I inquired as politely +as convenient. + +The appellation "brother" had its effect. The negro jerked his thumb +over his shoulder, indicating that I was to go straight on (and +incidentally follow that excruciating stretch of natural gravel). + +Fortunately, Baltimore was not many miles away, and when I got there I +breathed many sighs of relief. There were paved roads, good and true; +macadam and concrete for miles and miles, all the way to Washington. +I picked my way by instinct through Baltimore, the capital of the +State of Maryland, not stopping for food or rest. I would reach my +destination before I gave way to such physical necessities. I certainly +had an appetite, but I always feel that more than two meals a day when +on tour are not only unnecessary, but mean a dead loss of time, money, +and distance. + +The reports on the state of the road ahead turned out to be true +in every detail, and throwing to the winds all respect for such +trivialities as speed limits, I made up for at least a good fraction of +the time wasted on the road. + +When, about 5 p.m., I pulled Lizzie on to her stand outside one of +Washington's "cafeterias," I began to feel an incipient timidity. I +doubted whether I should be able to get into any respectable hotel. +I was covered in dust, and dirt. Headgear of any kind I had dispensed +with altogether. My hair was dusty and knotted with the wind. Owing to +the heat, I had also found it advisable to remove my collar and tie, so +that the wind could circulate as much as possible. How could I in such +a condition maintain my self-respect in Washington, the magnificent +capital of the United States? + +Fortunately, it did not take long for me to overcome such scruples. +Another day or two on the road, and I was perfectly at ease during the +intervals in which I had intercourse with civilization. Occasionally I +experienced a difficulty in entering a drug-store for an iced drink, +and sometimes I felt a trifle shy at my bare, sunburnt neck, but no one +seemed to mind. I soon found that in America, and particularly when +travelling in the West, one could wear absolutely anything that one's +fancy might dictate without rousing the slightest disturbance. + +After satisfying my requirements at the "cafeteria," the second item on +my programme was a visit to the Post Office. This revealed the sordid +fact that there was no money awaiting me. It can easily be understood +that such a discovery might have proved most distressing. I had been +advised not to take much with me, but to cable for a draft from home at +intervals. My adviser, as I was afterwards to find out to my cost, had +overlooked the utterly chaotic state of the post-war transatlantic mail +service. + +I still had a little left, however, quite enough to get me comfortably +to Cincinnati, my next financial depot, so why worry? I could always +work for a living, or at any rate, if I did not feel inclined to that, +I might pawn something. + +I found a hotel that, from the outside, just suited my fancy. Plain, +large and unpretentious, it described itself in an illuminated sign as +the "National." I booked a room at three dollars (12_s._ 6_d._) and +sallied forth to see the sights. + +I was impressed with Washington. It is truly a city of beautiful +streets and magnificent buildings. Undoubtedly it is the city _de luxe_ +of America. Being the capital, wealth is lavished upon it. No factories +or barren wastes disfigure its graceful countenance. Every street or +avenue glistens at night with a bewildering multitude of illuminated +signs. This method of advertising is typically American. The first +impression of a stranger visiting a large American city at night is +that he is in a children's luminous palace. There are illuminations +and decorations of every conceivable nature. Sometimes a single sign +advertising perhaps some particular brand of chewing-gum or cigarette +or motor-car has thousands and tens of thousands of lights wonderfully +displayed in different colours and arranged in different series, one +series flashing into view as another disappears, then a few seconds +later giving place to another still more wonderful, and finally there +comes a grand climax in which all the colours and all the series and +all the figures blaze forth in an indescribable orgy of light. + +When I found myself finally back in my hotel I was to be the victim +of still another disillusionment. No country anywhere could rival +America for hotels, I had thought. But I had not then experienced the +"National" at Washington. The room allotted to me was literally an +outrage. It was of the very poorest that one would expect to find in +an East End boarding-house in the Old Kent Road. It had one window, +which faced on to an unimaginably dreary "area." The carpet was +threadbare and colourless. The furniture, consisting of one bed, one +dressing-table, one wardrobe and one chair was obviously suffering from +advanced senile decay. There was a washbasin in one corner that boasted +of two taps and a piece of wood to stop the hole up with. The door +showed signs of having been minus a lock for many a long day. I was too +tired, however, to bother about trivialities of detail, so putting my +revolver under the blanket near me in case of possible eventualities, I +laid me down in peace to sleep. + +Nothing occurred, however, to disturb my peace of mind or body +throughout the night. The following morning found me hot on the warpath +after a bathroom. After sundry peregrinations I unearthed a clue. It +was in the form of a very corpulent negress--evidently a chambermaid. +"Bathroom?" "No, dere am no bathroom h'yar," she informed me. But I +persisted in my inquiries, suspecting her reply to be a mere excuse +for sheer laziness. Finally, as a last resort, I absent-mindedly took +my "life preserver" from my hip pocket and looked at it vacuously. Its +effect was magical. "Yes, saar, yes, saar, come right h'yar!--I find +you bathroom!" + +When I came to square up that morning I paid my respects and three +dollars to the management. + +"See here, Mister Manager," I said in such a tone that everyone +within hearing distance had the benefit of it as well, "I've done a +bit of travelling here and there, but never in ANY city at +ANY time have I struck ANY hotel that for sheer +rottenness compares with THIS one!" + +I have an idea at the back of my mind that that manager-man doesn't +love Englishmen! + +Now that I had seen America's capital, I turned my face to the west, +and began to make rash estimates and frivolous promises to myself +concerning my destination for the day. Could I get to Cincinnati +next day? How long would it take to do the odd 550 miles or so? And +what would be my reception when I got there? I had some friends in +Cincinnati, friends that I had never even seen. What would they think +when they saw THIS specimen roll up to their front door in +Clifton Avenue? Was Lizzie going to stand up to it all right? When +should I get to the coast? What kind of roads should I meet "out West"? +And so I wondered on. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +EXCEEDING THE SPEED LIMIT + + +I did not waste much time on the road. Fortunately there was a good +proportion of concrete road, although the inevitable natural gravel +was not by any means conspicuous by its absence. I also passed many +stretches of brick road. + +This variety is confined in England mainly to city streets, and is +associated nearly always with trams. Not so in America. On the main +roads of the East I have passed many a ten-mile stretch of splendidly +paved highway made solely out of good red brick, and of the correct +size and shape and camber of surface that literally made one's +tyres hum and sing as each brick was momentarily touched in endless +procession. I need hardly say that for every good stretch of brick road +there are UMPTEEN bad ones though, just to add a spice of life +_à la grande route_. Here and there one would encounter by no means +solitary patches where apparently some enterprising farmer had torn up +a few bricks from in front of some one's house to repair his cowshed +or to build a new pigsty, or maybe to help put another storey on his +house. There would seem to the lay mind such as my own to be a most +decided disadvantage in this method of road construction! To put it +mildly, it is disheartening when one is enjoying a fifty-mile-an-hour +sprint on a straight stretch of road visible almost from horizon to +horizon, to be rudely awakened from swift but peaceful contemplation +of the beauties of nature, the loveliness of the atmosphere and the +joys of motoring by being mercilessly thrown on top of the handlebars +with one tremendous thump. At one spot of which I have very vivid +recollections, the road took a short dip down and up again. In the +bottom of the "valley" thus formed was a young but aspiring cañon where +a wayward stream had left its prosaic path to strike out in life on its +own across the road. Its presence was unfortunately undiscernible until +close acquaintanceship was made. + +When I came round I was vaguely conscious of something having happened, +but as the engine was still running and the front wheel was still +fairly circular, I got up and rode on, but not until I had arrived +definitely at the conclusion that had I been doing sixty instead of +forty-five I should have jumped across the bit of road that wasn't +there and been hardly the wiser of it! + +Here it was that I began to scratch crosses on the top tube to keep +count of the number of times I was thrown off on the whole trip. + +When the top tube got too short I put them on the front down tube. + +When that was full I scratched them on the bottom tubes. + +After that I trusted to memory. But that was when I got to the "Far +West." + +I made good time, however, in spite of an occasional set-back, and +looked forward to completing three hundred and fifty miles that day. +With luck I should reach Cincinnati the next, and then, oh for the joys +of a good hot bath, clean clothes, well-cooked food, and last, but not +by any means least, good company. And I wasn't forgetting either that +I had only about twenty-five dollars in my pocket. With no mishaps I +should have enough and to spare for even three or four days' travelling. + +It was not yet midday, and the sun was getting very hot indeed. +Moreover, I was getting hungry. Although I believe the two-meal-a-day +system to be an excellent one, one sure gets a roaring appetite for +breakfast at the end of a hundred-mile ride. So if I had not a moral +excuse for a little real speed work I at least had a physical one. The +road surface now changed from red brick to dazzling white concrete +as in the far distance the Alleghany Mountains, that inexpressibly +beautiful range that stretches parallel with the Atlantic coastline +from Maine to Georgia, loomed gradually higher on the horizon, its +varying tints growing deeper and deeper as mile after mile flew by. + +There was hardly a soul on the road. Occasionally I would pass a +touring car loaded up with human freight and with luggage bags, +bandboxes and portmanteaux piled up and strapped (and sometimes I +think glued!) to every available mudguard, wing or projection that was +large enough to accommodate them and quite a lot that weren't. Then +a hay wagon flew by, and then, after a few miles, a solitary farmer +on horseback--not at all a common sight in this land of Fords and +motor-cars. And after a few more miles a tiny black speck came into +view on the horizon. It took a long time to catch up. When I got closer +I made it out to be a Buick roadster, its two occupants, a young man +and his (apparent) fiancée, evidently enjoying a little spin in the +country. And he wasn't crawling either. A touch of my electric horn +(oh, a beautiful horn it was!) aroused his soul from its soliloquy and +he drew in to the right, waving me on vigorously as he did so. And +as I passed him he seemed to quicken a little. I glanced sideways for +an instant and spotted a gleam in his eye. So I accepted his unspoken +challenge and glanced now and then over my shoulder. He was hanging on +well, his six cylinders to my four. A mile was passed and he was still +just a little way behind. The road was clear and straight, so I opened +out a little more. + +Another glance. He was still there. My speedometer hovered around fifty. + +Not to be outdone I twisted Lizzie's right handlebar grip as far as it +would go, and like a bolt from the blue we darted ahead. Fifty-five, +sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-five. The wind was simply screeching +in my ears. + +Another glance back, our friend was slowly losing distance. A minute or +two more and he was fast dwindling behind. In ten miles he was almost +back on the horizon. + +I had visions of breakfast in "Hagerstown," the next town of importance +not so very far ahead. And so I forgot our friend of the Buick. In ten +minutes' time I came to a village. As usual the good surface of the +highway stopped and the roads through the town turned from the perfect +concrete to an infernal hotch-potch of holes, gullies, ruts and mounds. +Ironical notice boards warned the traveller that he must reduce his +speed to fifteen miles per hour. It was purgatory even to go at four! +To plunge into a seething mass of soil-waves at speed is disconcerting. +It annoys you. But it is a custom that grows on you in Eastern America. +You flounder about from side to side; you take a hop, skip and a +jump here, there and everywhere; your very bones are shaken in their +sockets; your temper approaches a frenzy of despair; and your language! + +Time was when I would blush with shame at the sound of a word that +was bad. Then a war came along and I learnt to experience the +soothing charm of an occasional flow of language. Occasionally I met +a sergeant-major who could swear freely for five minutes without even +repeating himself! + +And then I motor-cycled across the States. And my heart rejoiced within +me that I had received such an excellent education. I found that with +very little provocation or practice I could, had I the desire, have +graduated to a very much higher stage of perfection in the United +States than with the British Army in France. Indeed I will go so far +as to aver that when ultimately I reached San Francisco not only could +I have put to shame the most cultured sergeant-major that ever drilled +recruits on a square, but in his moments of greatest enlightenment his +powers of speech would have appeared as the futile prattle of childhood +compared to what _I_ could have taught him. + +So that is why I slowed down when I got to "Victorville." + +In a few minutes, who should come alongside but our friend with the +Buick racer. He slowed down and put up his hand. "Mind stopping here a +minute?" he asked. + +"Not at all," I replied, thinking he wanted to ask the way or borrow a +sparking plug--or maybe beg a match. + +He got out of his car and came along. + +"Say, d'ye know what speed you were doing way back there?" he asked +casually with a kind of ten-percent.-solution smile. + +"Well, I don't know exactly, but I guess I got YOU beat, +anyway!" I chuckled. + +Whereat he pulled a pocket-book from his coat and opened it. (Going to +give me his card, thought I.) + +"I'll trouble you for your number," quoth he, as he came to a page that +was all nicely printed in columns ready for use. + +From that moment I saw things in a different light. Verily the workings +of the Law would seem to be getting interesting. + +"And your licence, please?" after he had obligingly removed a layer of +dust from my number-plate. + +"What licence?" + +"Your driving licence, of course. What y' think?" + +"See here. Mebbe I do look a bit of a mug, but I do know you don't have +to have a separate licence in New York State, s'long as your machine is +registered. The number-plate is the same thing as a licence." + +"Oh, is it? I didn't know that." (Pause) "Well, do you mind following +me a short way down the road--next block but one. It isn't far." + +Whereat he got in his car again and moved slowly forward, while his +lady friend protruded her arm from one side as if to stop me if I was +inclined to dash past. + +I did think of it in fact, because I knew I could give him a run for +his money, but America, I recollected, was noted for its telephone +service and I couldn't quite fancy having to resort to a hiding-place +near the banks of the Ohio or perchance a field of corn somewhere in +Indiana. + +So I followed them down to the corner. + +We stopped at a small wooden shanty on the door of which was a board +bearing the sign "DANIEL S. TOMKIN, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW." My +friend the "speed cop" pushed open the door and ushered me into a +passage. On the right was another marked "JUSTICE TOMKIN." +"Come in: come in," shouted a shrill seedy voice as the "cop" knocked +at the door. + +"I've got a case for you, Judge," said he, when we got inside. + +"Oh yes, oh yes!"--and then to me--"Take a seat, sir, please, and +er--make yourself at home." + +I'm afraid at that juncture I began to laugh. The "Judge" was just +the kind of man that we love to see "on the pictures" in England, but +who we never believe really exists. I had seen his prototype dozens +of times before. Tall and wiry, thin legs and tight trousers, "Uncle +Sam" physiognomy with the usual goat's beard and with stars and stripes +printed in indelible ink all over him. He sat at a desk bare of papers, +books, letters or other impedimenta. How long the desk had been cleared +for action I know not, but his duties as a Justice of the Peace +evidently did not involve any overtime from the look of things. The +room was small and dingy and its walls were covered with shelves piled +with books of all colours, shapes and sizes. + +JUDGE.--"And what has this gentleman been doing?" + +SPEED COP (producing notebook and reading +therefrom).--"Driving a motor-cycle in excess of the legal speed limit, +namely at forty-five miles an hour." + +JUDGE (after reaching from a bookcase a large red book marked +"Laws, Bye-Laws and Regulations existent in the State of Maryland," +or words to that effect).--"I will proceed to read Statoot number +51, article 13, section 321b, subsection 2a of the 'Regulation of +Traffic in the State of Maryland Act, 1898.'"--(Submerged chuckle +from self)--"And it is hereby enacted that anyone found guilty of +exceeding 25 miles per hour but not exceeding 30 miles per hour will +be liable to a fine of not less than 5 dollars for the first offence +and of 50 dollars for a second and any subsequent offence; and anyone +found guilty of exceeding 30 miles an hour but not exceeding 35 miles +per hour will be liable to a fine of not less than 10 dollars for +the first offence, etc., etc.; and anyone found guilty of exceeding +35 miles per hour but not exceeding 45 miles per hour will be liable +to a fine of not less than 25 dollars for the first offence, etc., +etc."--(Considerable amusement visible on the face of self)--"and +anyone found guilty of exceeding 60 miles per hour will be liable to a +fine of 100 dollars, etc., etc."--(Feeling of merriment subsides)--"but +anyone found guilty of exceeding 60 miles per hour will be liable to +a fine of 250 dollars for the first offence and of 1,000 dollars and +imprisonment for any subsequent offence. I am afraid, sir, in view of +the evidence and of the dictates of Statoot number 51, article 13, +section--etc., etc., I shall have to administer the minimum fine of 25 +dollars." (I breathe again). + +SELF.--"Say, Judge, we seem to have got a bit ahead, don't we? +Aren't I going to have a chance to say anything?" + +JUDGE (a little "peeved." Evidently that aspect of the case +hadn't occurred to him).--"By all means, sir, by all means. Say jest +what you like." + +Now I have neither the eloquence of a Disraeli nor the declamation of a +Demosthenes, but I do claim to have no small power of persuasion when +it comes to an argument or a question of opinion. So I mustered up +every effort and summoned every resource to convince this malevolent +Judge that he had been reading his "Statoots" upside down and that, +far from being incriminated, I should, on the contrary, be granted a +handsome award. I invoked the aid of every artifice known to humanity. +Every inflexion of the voice; every modulation of speech; every appeal +for sympathy, innocence, ignorance and youth known to me was conjured +up. + +And to what purpose? Did the Judge budge?--I might as well have read +him Gibbon's _Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_ in five minutes for +all the good it did. + +"I am very sorry, sir," he said, "but the Statoot says that the minimum +fine is 25 dollars, so it must be 25 dollars." + +"But, my dear good Judge," said I, "I've only got about 25 dollars in +the world at the present moment." + +"Well, I'm very sorry, but the fine is 25 dollars"--(and then an +afterthought)--"Oh! and costs as well." + +"Costs!" I gasped in amazement. + +"Yes, my costs will be 75 cents, and that makes 25 dollars 75 cents +altogether." + +Then ensued more argument, more persuasion, more eloquence, more +appeals, but it was all in vain. I took out my wallet and counted out +my belongings. + +I had just 25 dollars and a few odd "bits." + +And then the humour of the situation appealed to me once more, and +stronger than ever before. I laughed at the Cop and I laughed at the +Judge and I laughed at myself for laughing and paid over the 25 dollars +75 cents. + +"Thank you very much. Good-day, sir," said the Judge as he put the +"bucks" loosely in the drawer in his desk. + +Here the Cop spoke up: "I have another charge against the defendant, of +riding without his registration certificate, but it's getting late, and +I think we might as well overlook it in view of the circumstances." (He +was evidently thinking of his girl waiting outside.) + +I suggested it _would_ be as well and left the Judge to gloat over his +ill-gotten gains. + +The idea of that goat-faced Judge and his sleek-eyed friend the "speed +cop" having a good dinner together at my expense did not appeal to my +better self. How was I going to travel 450 miles, buy petrol, oil and +food with about tenpence in my pocket? On the opposite side of the road +stood Lizzie with her carrier piled high and dusty, waiting, patiently +waiting, for her lord and master. Ah, pathetic sight!--An idea--I +return to the sanctum of the "Attorney-at-Law." + +He was counting over the notes again. + +"Say, Judge. S'posing you give me those notes back again. What'll it +mean in imprisonment?" I had always since childhood cherished a wild +desire to spend a night in prison. "The Statoot stipulates that there +will be an equivalent of one day's imprisonment for every dollar fine." +(Depths of despair once more, then enlightenment.) "Can you show me the +statute that says that?" + +"Sure," and he reached for the volume. + +"All right, don't bother," said I, and left him once more to count his +25 dollars 75 cents. + +Somehow I couldn't help laughing at everything. Such interesting +sidelights into the workings of the ragtime laws of America are not met +with every day of the year, I mused. But what fun to be all alone in +America with nothing but a motor-bike and tenpence! + +I guess the Judge was wondering what I was laughing at as he watched me +through the fly-net at his window while I kicked the engine to a roar +and rode away. + +Truth to tell, I didn't quite know myself. + +I was wondering when the petrol would give out. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +ACROSS THE ALLEGHANIES + + +Strange to say, I felt not the slightest bit "peeved" about this +occurrence, but facts have to be faced, and anyone who has ever found +himself in a strange land 4,000 miles from home, with a motor-bike +and tenpence, will agree that something has got to be done about +it sooner or later. All sorts of ways and means of making money +quickly--the eternal problem!--occurred to me, but I dismissed them +all for one reason or another. I could hold up the next car I passed +and shoot the occupants after relieving them of their surplus cash. +But that I thought was a distasteful way of getting money. I had seen +it done in the "movies," but decided to leave that _modus operandi_ +for a last extremity. What was it to be--a week's work or "trading +away" the watch? I pondered. I got very little inspiration from my +surroundings on a problem of such moment. Instead I was exhorted at +almost every hundred yards to "Say it with flowers" or to "Chew our +famous Smello'mint Gum." A huge yellow sign would then loom in sight +bearing the legend "Playtime Biscuit." Every mile or so would appear +another and more ominous inscription, "Sell it and buy a Ford." "For +all internal ailments 'Kewrit' is the Sovereign remedy," blurted forth +another placard. "The Sovereign remedy," I mused.--But say! What was +that? The SOVEREIGN remedy?--Inspiration at last. Lizzie's +throttle seemed to close its eyes with a snap. The brakes went on of a +sudden and in a few moments I was taking off my tunic at the roadside. +The memory had dawned upon me of a kind sister sewing some golden +sovereigns in the lining of the belt of that very same tunic months ago +way back in good old Brum. She had no doubt imagined me falling into +the hands of Mexican bandits at some period in my peregrinations. At +first I remembered I had protested against such a seemingly unnecessary +precaution. Thank Heaven that argument against a woman is never of any +avail! + +I searched and I found; a few stitches carefully removed with a +pocket-knife revealed two glittering "yellow boys" to my anxious gaze. +On we sped once again, bounding, spinning ever faster onward. Truly we +toiled not, but we sure did spin. If the sky was blue, it was bluer +than ever before. If the road had been good, 'twas never so good as +now. Refreshing breezes rolled down from the hills; sweet vistas sprang +into sight; charming dells and streamlets flitted by, and never did the +call of nature sound so strong. + +And all because of two forgotten coins. + +Hagerstown hardly welcomed me with open arms. A fair-sized, prosperous +little town, it boasted a tramway service and two banks. My heart went +not forth in joy at the contemplation of the tramway service. It did at +the sight of the banks. + +Dusty, dishevelled, and of dilapidated attire, I leant Lizzie up +against the kerb and mounted the marble steps of the "First National +Bank." The massive swing-doors frowned back as they squeaked and +groaned to my command. I stood in the midst of a gilded palace replete +with austere-looking deities in white shirt-sleeves behind marble +counters and fancy-work grids. Nothing daunted, I flicked my precious +sovereigns on the counter before the very quintessence of immaculate +manhood with a "Change those, please" as if it were the kind of thing I +did every day of my life. + +Once upon a time I had often with swelling pride expanded my chest at +the thought of a British sovereign being honoured in every country +of the world and any corner of the globe. I had reckoned without +Hagerstown. It seemed that the austere-looking deity before referred +to was not at all impressed by my view of the situation. It must have +been the personal _tout ensemble_ that put him on his guard. He might +oblige me by sending it along to New York to the Head Office, he said. +"Couldn't wait a couple of days?" he supposed. + +It was no use. He didn't like my face and didn't want my gold. + +I scraped the dirt from my boots on his marble steps and crossed the +road to the "Incorporated Bank of Holland." + +After conducting a lengthy battle of argument and exhortation with +all the clerks in succession and all to no avail, I began to realize +that British currency was of no more worth than the little sea-shells +that in the earliest days of trade were supposed to be used by the +enterprising natives of prehistoric communities. With a gallant show of +indignation I demanded that the manager be produced forthwith. Strange +to say, he appeared. I took him on one side and into my confidence. +"Look here, old man," quoth I, "I'm in a bit of a hole. All your worthy +satellites here think I'm a sort of cross between a rubberneck and a +highway robber. Fact is, I've been rushed for speeding at the last +village and I've only got two sovereigns to take me to Cincinnati. Now +don't tell me you won't change them." Whereupon he looked warily at +me and then at the gold, examining it minutely. "Guess I might fix it +for you, but just hang on a minute till I can get some one to identify +them. We never see such things as these, y'know." + +In a few minutes he returned with an accomplice, who glared with +amazement at the coins as they lay on the counter. "Gor' blimey!" said +he, "don't that do yer blinkin' eyes good! Strike me pink, an' you've +brought these ole yallerboys orl the way from England?" and he picked +them up reverently and gloated over their merry chinkle as he dropped +them again on the counter. "Lor', I've spent many a one on 'em! How +much d'ye want for them, gev'nor?" + +"Four dollars eighty each," I replied. + +"Done! Pass him the 'oof, boss. Nuthin' wrong wi' them." + +Verily is it said that music hath charms for the savage breast. Once +again Lizzie burst into a roar, and once again I turned her nose to the +west. + +Music? That Cockney's dialect seemed like a wonderful fragrant melody +pealing forth through the strains of a ponderous fugue. It was like a +sudden rift in the thunderclouds through which burst a cheering shaft +of sunlight. It was sacrilege even to think of those nine paper dollars +that I had thrust so anxiously into my hip-pocket. "Thank Heaven there +is at least one spot in the U.S.A. where the King's English is spoken +undefiled," I murmured to myself. + + * * * * * + +The road to Cumberland was good going. We had now to commence crossing +the Alleghany Mountains. This wonderful range, which also goes by +the name of the Appalachians, has, in my opinion, no rival in the +American Rockies as regards the loveliness of its scenery and the +infinite variations of colour of its slopes. "The best scenery in the +world, sir," an American would say, and he would not be so very far +wrong either. Perhaps its heights are not so majestic as those of the +Rockies; there may be no glaciers on its slopes nor crests of eternal +glistening white on its peaks, but there is an unparalleled wealth of +natural beauty in the blue and purple pine forests of its less aspiring +heights and the myriad glistening streams and rivers that find their +source in the thickly-wooded foothills clustering around its borders. + +"Cumberland" is a comparatively large town in the middle of the hills +and is well named. Undoubtedly the surrounding district reminded +the early settlers so forcibly of our own lake district that they +were inspired to perpetuate its memory, as they have done in so many +other districts, towns and rivers in the far-eastern or "New England" +States. Although the descent from the mountains was in places almost +precipitous, the road was excellent, and excepting the concrete +boulevards of California, afforded undoubtedly the best running that +I met in the whole country. Although I stopped several times for +considerable periods to allow the brakes to cool, there was nothing +left of the brake-linings when ultimately I arrived in Cumberland, +where I ministered adequate and well-earned refreshment to the inner +man of both Lizzie and myself. + +The road now lay clear of obstructions ahead and led over undulating +country for several hundred miles. Once more thoughts of Cincinnati +in the distance with a vague anticipation of something approaching +"England, Home and Beauty"--and money as well--occupied the hours as +we sped along, leaving the mile-posts quickly behind us. In places +travelling was good. In places it was distinctly bad. Here and there +were stretches of several miles of brick road, and now and then would +reappear our old friend the "Natural Gravel," that so much conspired to +make life on two wheels not worth living. At times even that provided +quite a respectable surface. My firm intentions not to be baulked in my +aim to reach Cincinnati next day, however, kept up the pace even if to +our mutual discomfort, and made the going good. + +At Uniontown, about seventy-five miles past Cumberland, various trivial +little knocks and rattles in the engine disturbed my peace of mind. +The speedometer registered only about 800 miles, and I had hardly +expected to commence tightening things internally at that stage. A +little farther on and one cylinder, after a few peremptory misfires, +gave up the ghost altogether, and I proceeded a few miles on three +only. I changed the sparking plug, hoping for better results, but in +vain. After a few more miles I tried another plug and then another, +but always with the same result. After travelling a few dozen miles in +this unsatisfactory manner, I put Lizzie once again on her stand. This +time I examined closely and found the valves, tappets and clearances +all in good condition. There was apparently nothing wrong with the +ignition either, or the carburettor, and there seemed no reason at all +why such a trouble should arise--particularly, I reflected, as I was +anxious to lose no valuable time. On trying still another plug out of +one of the other cylinders and finding that No. 1 was still obstinate, +I got on again, determined to do the journey on three cylinders only. +I found I could touch well over forty-five even at that, so after all +there wasn't much to complain about. Every motorist, however, who has +a regard for his engine and can sense the "moral fitness" of even +running and good rhythm will understand that travelling under such +circumstances is decidedly unpleasant and monotonous. + +At Waynesburg I passed Pittsburg some miles to the right, the +"Birmingham" of America, the centre of a huge coal and iron industry +and, next to Philadelphia, the largest town in Pennsylvania. A few +miles farther on, and I crossed the borderline and entered West +Virginia once again. It was now quite dark and I had to pick out the +road as best I could by my headlight. I was getting tired and was +very hungry, not having had anything to eat for ten hours. After half +an hour the headlight flickered and went out, leaving me with only +a "dimmer," as the Americans call the small auxiliary light, with +which to keep on the road and find the way. The engine, which before +sounded pretty loose, now emitted noises signifying extreme agony of +mind. Then a thick ground mist settled over everything, making it +next to impossible to keep on the road at all, much less to keep on +the right one. Occasionally I dismounted in an endeavour to bring the +headlight back to life. Frequently I narrowly avoided being run down +by large cars with powerful searchlights that couldn't see me at all. +It generally meant pulling into the side of the road, getting off and +waving my arms frantically to signify my presence. Between time I got +more hungry and more tired, and kept asking myself the same question, +"Why, oh why did I leave England?" The answer always came: "Search me!" + +Shortly before midnight I reached the small town of "Moundsville," on +the Ohio River and on the borders of West Virginia and Ohio. Every +shop in the place was closed except that of a corpulent Italian +dealer in bananas, oranges and ice-cream sodas. I entered his door +with thanksgiving. The worthy proprietor scrutinized me open-mouthed. +Finally he gave it up. I could see he had been wondering to himself, +"What is this thing, and whence came it?" I sat on the counter in his +presence and consumed three ice-cream sodas, four bananas and two +oranges. After witnessing their consumption, he let drop his bottom jaw +and ventured, "Whare yer from?" + +"Doanchew worry your old think-box about where I'm from, brother, but +just tell me where I'm goin'. I wonna get to Cincinnati. Now for the +love of Mike don't tell me I'm not on the right road." + +His jaw dropped through a further angle of ten degrees. Finally he +volunteered the information that I was miles and miles from the road +to Cincinnati, and that he hadn't the "goldarnest notion" how I should +ever get back on it again. In disgust I filled my pockets with bananas +and oranges and presented one more ice-cream soda to the minister for +the interior and quitted his establishment. + +My next duty was to find somewhere to lay my weary head. I decided to +choose a spot where water was convenient, so that I could wash in the +morning. The river was quite inaccessible from the road and the only +places where there chanced to be a stream were infested with frogs +and mosquitoes. After a half-hour of weary searching and climbing of +long winding hills in the thick damp fog, I eventually gave it up in +disgust. I found an open space at the roadside sheltered by a few +trees, and here laid down my rainproof coat with the thick blanket +doubled on top of it, and with my suit-case as a pillow, soon convinced +myself that I was comfortably settled down for sleep. In a few minutes +I was well in the land of dreams. I dreamed that I was journeying to +the North Pole on a twelve-cylinder Ford which went so fast that it +melted the ice as it passed and ultimately crashed into the Pole at +such a terrific velocity that the equilibrium of the earth was entirely +upset, as also my own. At this point a lusty mosquito inflicted a +tremendous bite on the very tip of my nose, and I woke up with a start. +Then I dreamed that I had undertaken a banana-eating tournament with +an army of Italians, and was just finishing off the ninety-ninth when +another bite in the middle of my left eyelid brought me again to normal +consciousness, and thus the night passed. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE DIXIE HIGHWAY + + +In the morning everything was wet with dew. The mist was disappearing +quickly, and I arose refreshed in body and mind. Specialists would have +prognosticated acute rheumatism. Doctors would have foretold death +within forty-eight hours. But I was never so free from rheumatism as +I am now; moreover, I live to tell the tale, with the probability +of continued existence for several years to come. Lizzie looked +disconsolate and rusty in every nut and bolt, but with a few kicks she +rattled into life once more. The driver of a passing Ford informed me +that I was twenty miles from the right road, which meant returning into +Moundsville and crossing over the broad, muddy Ohio River, spanned +by a lofty suspension bridge made almost entirely of wood. The Ohio +River, once seen, is never to be forgotten. It is verily a flowing mass +of dirty, yellow-brown mud. The natives of Ohio refer to it as the +"Golden" River, I believe, but when I first made its acquaintance, I +was in no mood to appreciate such poetic nomenclature. Instead I was +bent on reaching Wheeling and breakfast. + +Wheeling was reached in a couple of hours' riding along the banks of +the river. It need hardly be said that I did justice to a substantial +breakfast, which put an entirely new aspect on affairs in general. I +struck the main "pike" through to Cincinnati, and continued hopefully +on three cylinders with the best of intentions of reaching it that +evening, although it meant a ride of over 300 miles. + +I did 150 in fairly good time and reckoned on having my +lunch-tea-dinner-supper meal at Columbus, the State capital, about +five in the afternoon. But about twenty miles from that city a most +distressing sound arose from the engine. I had previously slackened +down to a steady thirty miles an hour so as to give Lizzie the best +chance of holding out over the journey. But now a series of violent +thumps and bangs disturbed once and for all my hopeful frame of mind. +Undoubtedly there was a big breakage somewhere and it was evidently +quite impossible to continue another mile. With a final thud the engine +stopped and the machine came to a standstill near a little bridge where +a tiny streamlet trickled under the roadway. Near the bridge was, as +might be expected, the inevitable hoarding: "SELL IT AND BUY A +FORD." Strange that Fate should at times be so ironical! + +I made myself comfortable on a grassy slope and proceeded to take the +engine down. This I soon discovered was no mean task. It took nearly +three hours to remove the cylinders. Woe be unto the man hereafter who +puts nuts where they cannot be loosened or places cylinders where they +cannot be removed save by an Indian sword-swallower! The result of my +investigations was that I found the front piston in fragments, mainly +in the bottom of the crank-case. The gudgeon pin was broken in half and +the connecting rod was waggling about merrily in the cylinder. All the +bearings were loose, and although there was plenty of oil in the sump, +one was devoid of metal altogether. This was discovered at the bottom +in the form of powder. An encouraging outlook indeed! + +Although my motto where a refractory motor is concerned--"to get it +home somehow"--could have been ignored, I was not even in walking +distance of anywhere. There was no town or village for miles around, +and only a solitary farmhouse here and there. Further, an empty stomach +does not improve one's outlook on life under such circumstances, and +mine was very empty. I took stock of the whole situation. What should +it be? Walk to Columbus and take the train, or stick by Lizzie and get +along somehow? I counted out my money. It amounted to three dollars and +thirty-five cents, not even enough for the railway fare. "No, I've set +out to cross these infernal States on a motor-cycle, and I'll do it," I +resolved, and sat down again to patch Lizzie's engine together. + +The rumble of cart wheels on the brick road attracted my attention. The +cart was drawn by a weary horse in the charge of a more weary driver. + +"Hi, brother, got anything edible on board?" I shouted. + +"I gotta lot o' old boots here," he replied, evidently in ignorance of +the meaning of the word "edible." + +"No, thanks, I gotta good pair of my own to start on before I come to +that. Aincher got any oranges?" + +"Yep, I got one box left, four fer a quarter." + +Bang went seventy-five cents for a dozen, leaving me with two dollars +sixty. Now, thought I, I have enough provisions to last a couple of +days. Let Old Harry do his worst. + +The vendor of boots, furniture, and oranges went on his weary way. + +From a bough of a willow tree I shaped a neat gudgeon pin that fitted +dead into the loose end of the connecting rod to guide it up and down +in the cylinder. I fished out all the big lumps of the broken piston +that remained in the crank-case and tightened up the bearings as well +as I could. By the time it was dark I had everything replaced ready to +start on the road once more. + +Before daybreak, I was up and on the road; my plan was to keep on all +day at a steady twenty miles an hour and reach Cincinnati about five +in the afternoon. The machine ran well considering its wooden gudgeon +pin, although it was not easy to avoid being reminded continually of +Lizzie's indisposition, and as time went on the rattles became worse, +the clanks became gradually louder, and I began to wonder where my next +stop would be. + +I passed through Columbus about breakfast-time, but did not stop for +breakfast. There was no money for breakfasts. Now, although I did not +stop at Columbus, I cannot with but a few words dismiss it entirely +from consideration. Although not by any means the largest town in Ohio, +it is the State capital. That feature, as I have pointed out before, +is not at all unique in the States. In fact, I do not think I could +name a single State capital that is the largest town of the State, +without referring to the authority of one Baedeker. Not only are there +over 125,000 people in Columbus, but it appeared to me to be a very +fine city. The streets are wider and are better paved than those of +most American cities, and in places are illuminated by large electric +arches. Although there are seven towns throughout America boasting this +title (each one in a different State), I think Columbus, Ohio, must be +the _élite_ of all the Columbuses. + +Outside Columbus I stopped, had lunch--three oranges--and continued. +There was really no necessity to stop, but I liked to feel that lunch +was just as important an occasion as when it wasn't oranges. + +The engine was by now getting rather noisy. People who passed in +cars, many of whom I had passed two days before, slowed down as they +approached and looked at me wonderingly, as if to ask if I knew +anything about it. They probably came to the conclusion that I was a +deaf-mute. + +Then we got to Springfield, and a noticeable feature at the side of +the road, on a special track of its own, was an electric train service +connecting up all the large towns in the district, even though the +distances amounted to thirty and forty miles, in some cases even +fifty, as is the case between Columbus and Springfield. Perhaps I am +complimenting them by referring to them as trains, as they are more +in the nature of single or double-coach trams, but I was surprised +not only by the speed at which they travelled, but also by the number +of passengers who availed themselves of the service. In a way, the +presence of that track was comforting, particularly when some new noise +or rattle emanated from my thrice-weary steed. On the other hand it is +distinctly humiliating to be astride a 10 h.p. motor-cycle de luxe, +jogging along side-saddle (to ease the growing soreness!) at fifteen or +twenty miles per hour on three crotchety cylinders, when a tram-load +of disinterested Americans flies past with a shriek at forty or fifty. +Generally the driver realized the position and sounded a piercing +whistle with a supercilious air, as if to say: "Make way for the fast +traffic, please!" + +At Springfield the speedometer flicked off the 1,000th mile, and +I branched away from the "Pike's Peak" Ocean-to-Ocean Highway +(for such it appeared to be), and turned south-westward towards +Dayton, a flourishing manufacturing and business centre. "Detours" +and sub-detours were the order of the day and were conspicuous by +their presence, as also by the general looseness and rottenness of +their surface. In theory I was travelling upon the "Dixie Highway," +reputed (by advertisements thereon appearing) to be "the finest and +most luxurious highway in the States." As far as my experience was +concerned, I found it paved with good intentions and bad cobblestones. +Sometimes, when the paving blocks had been pulled up preparatory to new +ones being laid down, the surface was tolerably good, but then would +appear a "detour" heralded by an insolently-improvised notice-board +which led the unfortunate traveller miles and miles from his appointed +path and over the most disgusting road-surface imaginable. + +I was pleased with Dayton. As I left it behind me, I wished it +prosperity. It seemed to have the right kind of air about it. A +friendly policeman held up a bunch of traffic for two minutes for me +while he put me "wise" to the road to take. He noticed my New York +number-plate and finished his chat with "Well, good day, brother, and +the best of luck to you." I wouldn't even have killed a mosquito in +Dayton! + +It was now well after midday. Cincinnati was still about sixty miles +away. Would it be safe to have a meal in the next town? I had filled up +with "gas" and oil in Dayton and had about fifty cents (2_s._) left. +With a three days' diet of oranges, I had cultivated an appetite of +great latent possibilities. I determined to be rash. Next stop, I told +myself, I would look around for a "bakeshop." + +An hour later I arrived at a little town called "Lebanon." It was +very small, very picturesque, and very unpretentious. But it boasted +an excellent "bakeshop." I leant Lizzie against the kerb outside and +pressed my nose against the window-pane. The sight of all those nice +cakes was almost as good as a feed--but not quite! I espied one, plain +and large but tasty-looking. I valued it at twenty-five cents. "Well, +it'll last a long time," I thought, and entered meekly to inquire the +price. "Five cents," replied the lady of the counter. "Done! It's mine, +_all of it_!" + +Long live Lebanon! + +A few miles out, I halted near a bridge under which ran a little stream +of crystal water. It was a treat to be out of the glare of the baking +sun, so I sat down on the bank underneath the bridge and settled down +in earnest to a sumptuous dinner. The bill of fare was as follows:-- + +_Hors d'oeuvres_ Gâteau de Lebanon (varié). +_Consommé_ Eau Naturelle. +_Entrée_ Gâteau de Lebanon. +_Plat du jour_ Ditto. +_Légumes_ Ditto. +_Dessert_ Ditto. +_Wines_ Vin blanc d'Adam (direct + from the distillery). + +And oh, what a meal was there, my countrymen! There was enough and to +spare. The cooking was excellent, the service irreproachable, and there +were no gratuities. + +After a leisurely half-hour I stuffed what little cake I couldn't +contain into the tool-box, took one last, lingering draught from the +cool crystal stream, and again kicked Lizzie into a rattle. + +Once more towards Cincinnati! Two hours only, now, I reminded myself, +and all the trees and birds in hearing. Gradually those two hours +became shorter as mile after weary mile rattled past. Sure enough, in +about the time I had reckoned the pot-holes in the road grew larger and +the ruts deeper, a sure sign of approaching civilization. Then a huge +signboard appeared, "CINCINNATI, THE QUEEN CITY OF THE WEST. +Make your home in Cincinnati." + +The Cincinnati Speedway was passed on the right, and after a couple of +miles or more I struck tram-lines. The reader can well imagine how glad +and relieved I felt when I spotted trams and tram-lines, those things +which in normal life I rightly detest and abhor. Whereas once upon +a time I considered them to be the motorist's greatest enemy, I now +smiled upon them with friendly gaze. + +By the time I was actually on the outskirts of the town, I was "baked +to a frizzle." And such a thirst! For three days I had been amassing a +good thirst. Ohio mud is not really a good beverage. It might perhaps +"put one over" the "near" beer that I have tasted in various American +towns, but that's not to be wondered at. The man who first called it +"near" beer wasn't much of a judge of distance! Never could I remember +having been so hot, so thirsty, and so fed up, all in one. I pulled up +at the first drug store and literally squandered twenty-five cents in +an orgy of ice-cream sodas. I took the precaution to retain ten cents, +however, "in case anything turned up." + +At about half-past four WE ARRIVED. A wealth of meaning rests +in those two words. My friend Steve heard the noise as he sat reading +on the verandah of 3,450 Clifton Avenue. "That can't be Shep. That's +somebody wheeling a lawn-mower," he said to himself without looking-up, +and went on with his book. But when the lawn-mower had overrun itself +and turned round and came back and continued indefinitely to lawn-mow +outside the same 3,450, he looked up and saw that it was indeed a +motor-cycle or, at any rate, the unmistakable remnants of one. When he +saw the rider, he thought: "No, that can't be Shep after all; that's +the dustman." + +But fact will always triumph over fiction. In the same way soap, +thank Heaven, will always triumph over dirt. But what a relief to be +once again in a comfortable house, that could almost be considered +"home," and once more to know the joys of a good hot bath and feel the +luxurious embrace of clean clothes again! + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +CINCINNATI AND ONWARDS + + +I spent in all twelve days in Cincinnati. They were twelve happy days; +days of leisure, days of interesting experiences, followed by days of +longing to be on the road again. + +The first of July, 1919, will live in the mind of every free-born +American citizen as the day when Prohibition became law throughout the +entire States. Not by design, but by coincidence, was it also the date +of my departure from my friends in Cincinnati to explore the "perils" +of the West. My sojourn there was brought to a sudden close by the +astounding discovery that Lizzie's overhaul was completed. I had a few +warm things to observe when I was presented with the repair bill. It +amounted to a mere seventy-five dollars, half of which represented the +alleged value of the somewhat indifferent labours of a more indifferent +mechanic and a small boy. On the various occasions when I had visited +the shop, the mechanic was generally conspicuous by his absence, and +were it not for the occasional activities of the small boy, who seemed +to delight in "salivating" at frequent intervals on every available +inch of the floor surrounding Lizzie's remains, I feel inclined to +think that I should even now be enjoying myself in Cincinnati. The +other half of the bill represented sundry replacements which, to my way +of thinking, should have been made free under the firm's guarantee, +which had still three-fourths of its term to expire. After much +argument, the proprietor and myself agreed to differ on this point. + +The early afternoon witnessed my departure. The kindly attentions of +mine hostess had provided me with good things for the journey. Meat +sandwiches in boxes; fresh butter in tins; fruit and nuts galore. +Little packages were squeezed in here and big ones strapped on there. +Odd corners and crevices revealed an unsuspected orange or banana and +hard-boiled eggs or biscuits in twos and threes lurked amongst the +shirts and socks. + +With a light heart I spun down the beautiful, well-paved avenues +that set at defiance the rigid, straight-edge avenues of more modern +American cities. I hummed over the cobble-stones of the lesser streets +and swung past trams and over bridges and was soon speeding along the +road to Indianapolis, thinking like a true pessimist that Lizzie didn't +feel as well as I had hoped, and that I should be hung up again at a +not far-distant date. + +In America, in the east, it is the easiest thing in the world to take +the wrong road. Moreover it is generally the most difficult thing to +find out whether one is on the right road or not. I have no objection +to make when roads in towns and villages will run either north and +south or east and west, because for town life this arrangement spells +efficiency. In the country, however, the _raison d'être_ of these +chess-board roads is somewhat obscure. When combined with old-time +roads that originally followed goat-paths or sheep-tracks, its effect +is confusing. But when taken to the extreme, and one finds the main +highways connecting large cities abound with sharp right-angle turns at +every few miles, sometimes going north to make up a little latitude, +then continuing west, then returning south to lose the latitude gained, +and afterwards continuing west again, the result is ridiculous and +sometimes exasperating; very often two, three, four, or more roads run +parallel and only a few yards distant, all leading to the same place. +Sometimes they lead to different places. Sometimes they lead nowhere at +all. Sign-posts are not popular anywhere in the United States. Instead +the roads are identified by painting every third or fourth or tenth +or _n_th telegraph pole with different colours. When properly carried +out, this principle is a very commendable one, and without it travel +would be absolutely impossible. But when followed only imperfectly, or +when the colours become faded and obliterated, so that one trail can be +easily mistaken for another, the traveller has many troubles and trials +ahead. + +I had ample moral consolation, therefore, for completely losing my way +only ten miles out of Cincinnati, and wasted a full hour in trying to +get on the right "pike" without going back. + +Incidentally the system of decorating telegraph poles in accordance +with the trail they follow has its humorous side. There are, all told, +over a hundred different trails or "National Highways" in different +parts of the States, and each one is supposed to have its distinctive +sign. Thus the "Pike's Peak Ocean-to-Ocean Highway" is identified by a +circle of scarlet above a circle of white, and the "Lincoln Highway" +by circles of red, white, and blue. Sometimes, as in the cases of the +"Blackhawk Trail" and "Mackinaw Indian Trail," the sign is of a more +or less complex nature, including the profile of an Indian's head, for +instance. The humour of the situation will be apparent when a single +stretch of road coincides with say four or five separate trails. Each +telegraph pole is truly a thing of beauty and a joy for ever, with its +inscriptions, circles, squares, profiles, bales of cotton, etc., etc., +painted on in various colours from top to bottom! + +In large towns and cities where several trails meet, it requires the +quintessence of alertness and deduction to find one's way by the +telegraph poles, which, save for a few exceptions, represent the only +means of identification. Strange, in a country using twenty times the +number of cars per head found in any other country in the world, that +facilities for using them should be so meagre as at times to be almost +prehistoric! + +It is strange also that some of the roads that were constructed even in +modern times were the achievement of personal enterprise and are even +now "boosted" and advertised by their "promotors." An outstanding case +is that of the "Pike's Peak Highway" just mentioned, which is one of +the three trails that cross the Continent from east to west. This road +boasts a President, three Vice-Presidents, and a Secretary-Treasurer! +Between them these worthy gentlemen are responsible for the proper +maintenance of the road (experience compels a sarcastic smile), and +for the furnishing of information to travellers thereon, etc. Where +the money comes from I wot not, unless it be from the various motoring +clubs in the country. In a booklet, published apparently by them, it is +described as "The Appian Way of America." Permit me to quote passages +from this remarkable publication:-- + +"Increased attention is this year being focussed on the 'See America' +idea, and motorists planning a trans-continental trip will naturally +select the route of greatest scenic and historic interest. That is +why the discriminating tourist will travel over the Pike's Peak +Ocean-to-Ocean Highway, the improved central route from the Atlantic +to the Pacific coast. From New York it follows the National Old Trails +Road to Indianapolis; from that city to Salt Lake City, it has its +own DISTINCTIVE ORGANISATION; and west of Salt Lake City it +follows the line of the Lincoln Highway. History places the stamp of +approval on this as the LOGICAL trans-continental Highway. +Etc., etc. (pages of it).... The trip has no dreariness and no +monotony.... (More pages)." + +Never was such a grossly misleading impression of ease, comfort, and +luxury perpetrated upon an unsuspecting Englishman! It was well said +that the pen is mightier than the sword. If ever again I find myself +so utterly demented as to motor-cycle across the United States before +proper roads have been constructed, may Heaven preserve me from "The +Appian Way of America"! + +The reader may think that I am dwelling unduly on the subject of roads, +but I do so at this juncture because it was a subject which now became +of increasing magnitude. Practically the last sign of paved road of +any kind between this point and the Pacific Coast (some 2,500 miles +away) would be encountered at Indianapolis, and from there onwards +were universally the execrable "dirt" roads that so seriously threaten +not only the comfort but the safety of motor-cycling. I was not even +disappointed at the outlook, because I came to America without even +expecting any form of trail or route across its entirety to be at my +disposal. But I feel the natural resentment of the Englishman when I am +led to believe that there is a luxurious "highway" ahead, only to find +an aggravated series of dust-heaps, mud-pools, and cow-paths! + +The road, however, to Indianapolis was not of the "Appian Way" variety. +It was comparatively good in places, and ran for many miles along the +valley of the Miami River, amidst beautiful scenery of ever-changing +variety. After a few miles, the Ohio-Indiana boundary was crossed, and +here, as many times afterwards, I was struck by the apparently sudden +change of landscape, the same as the home tourist can almost always +discern by the "feel" of the country whether he is in England or Wales, +no matter if he be without his map for reference. I do not mean that +either Ohio or Indiana is particularly mountainous. On the other hand, +the latter is on the whole somewhat flat, as if in preparation for the +weary stretches of monotonous prairie that are to be encountered the +more one travels westward until the Rockies are reached. + +I made little headway that afternoon, and at 10.30 in the evening I +was still some distance from Indianapolis, the capital of the State. +I therefore looked around as best I could in the pitch-darkness, with +only my lights as a guide, for a likely spot for my night's abode. +Water is a _sine qua non_ for the camping vagrant, and when I came +to a large steel bridge I decided that that was the place for me. It +evidently spanned a pretty big river, but it was so far below, or +seemed so far, I could not see the water. A lengthy reconnoitre from +the road led me to the edge of a field of corn whence I could hear the +river but could not see it for dense masses of vegetation. + +I propped Lizzie up on her stand and found to my dismay that when +the engine stopped the lights went out. Not feeling in the mood +for investigating the cause of the trouble, I was satisfied to keep +the engine running slowly as long as illumination was necessary in +unstrapping my baggage and "making" my bed. Then I set out to find the +river and enjoy the luxury of a wash. + +Easier said than done! I could find openings in the thick undergrowth +where I deemed the river should be, but could find no way of making +closer acquaintance with its waters. As I continued my search, the bank +suddenly gave way beneath me, and I was plunged up to the waist in the +river I had been so diligently seeking! + +My exit was more difficult to negotiate than my entrance. The bushes +and weeds on the banks were not strong enough to enable me to pull +myself out, but came away, roots and all, and left me sinking in the +muddy river-bed. I eventually extricated myself, however, and decided +to retire unwashed! Pulling off my soaking top-boots was a herculean +task, and this done, I hung my wet breeches on a tree to dry in the +warm summer night. + +I passed a splendid night and awoke with the dawn, only to find my +clothes wetter than they were the night before, thanks to a heavy dew. +Such conditions, I reflected, were of mere trifling importance in the +life of a bona fide tramp, and I was soon humming along once more +through the fresh, crisp morning air. + +We arrived in Indianapolis at breakfast time and with a hearty +appetite. I remember Indianapolis chiefly as a city with long wide +streets full of cobble-stones, tram-lines, and traffic policemen. My +first duty was to take Lizzie to see the vet. I didn't like the sound +of her at all, and she seemed but a rickety shadow of her former self. +I was taking no chances now. As if by instinct we went "right there." +The Henderson agent took Lizzie under his protecting wing, and while I +settled down to consume a hefty breakfast of cantaloupe, puffed rice, +and coffee, he took her for a spin along the few miles of concrete road +that I had left behind with such regret. + +"Waal, I guess there ain't very much wrong with her, boy," was the +verdict, although he did not seem over-exuberant about it. + +"How far you goin'?" he added. + +"Just to the end of the road," I replied. + +"Hm, and a tidy ride too, I'll say so. I've done it, but not on one o' +them." + +Then, after meditation, he added, "But I think she'll take you there. +Give my love to 'Frisco, won't you, boy?" + +I promised, paid him a dollar, and left to track down the offices of +the local branch of the "3 A." Club, or Automobile Association of +America, whom, I was informed, I must see before going any further, to +inquire about the roads ahead. Dirt roads, it will be understood, vary +with the weather. Hardly ever does the English motorist hear of a road +being washed away with the rain, but the idea of its being borne away +on the wings of the wind would indeed appear strange to him! + +I found the "3 A." Club located at one of the large hotels, all alive +with "bell-boys" and commissionaires and elevators. I was greeted by +the hotel staff with haughty aloofness. "Put that gink outside," I +could imagine the desk clerk saying to the hall-porter. But I was being +whisked up the elevator to the umpteenth floor before he had the chance. + +At the "3 A." Club office I was greeted most cordially. The gentleman +at the desk was a human encyclopædia of roads and places. Beneath +the dirt and dust he believed he perceived some person of high rank, +a brigadier or something, and my brown tunic and field-boots must +have borne out this assumption. However, that may be, he certainly +did his best to give me every assistance. But when I told him I was +motor-cycling to the Pacific and wanted to know which was the best road +to take, his jaw dropped suddenly. There were two alternative routes to +Kansas City, the "Pike's Peak" through Springfield and the "National +Old Trails Highway" through St. Louis. Which should I take? + +"Well, sir, the National Old Trail is impossible just now. The rains +have been very heavy and there are several places where you couldn't +possibly get through. And as for the other--well, I shall have to +think." + +Which he did. He hummed and ha'd and stroked his chin and hummed and +ha'd again, as if struggling with some momentous problem. He spread out +maps in rows before him and followed the route with his finger. Then +silence. + +After a minute or two of this, in which the merits of "washouts" and +hold-ups and detours by the score were being weighed together in his +troubled brain, he spoke: + +"Yes, sir, I think you can get through"--and, more deliberately--"I +_think_ you can get through. Yes, it's a good road," he added. + +I learnt then for the first time one outstanding principle in the +road-study of America. I confirmed it on innumerable occasions later. +There are two classes of roads and two only. They are good roads and +bad roads. Any road, ANYWHERE, in the whole of the United +States of America (and, I presume, her Colonies as well) is a "good" +road if you can "get through." The remainder are bad. + +I thanked my benefactor and accepted sheaves of maps and guide-books +for which he would take no payment. He was indeed the quintessence of +obligation. I on my part was the quintessence of gratitude. + +"Now for the fun," I chuckled as I kicked Lizzie to a roar and set out +for the highway with red- and white-circled telegraph poles. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +INDIANA AND ILLINOIS + + +The first bit of fun was not far ahead. In places the road was passable +if one ignored the six-inch layer of loose sand and soil that covered +it. The country was flat and uninteresting. Diversion was occasionally +encountered in the form of side-slips and here and there an unexpected +spill. The quicker I went the easier I got through, as the soil did +not cling to the wheels so much and hinder steering. At thirty it was +almost impossible to maintain balance. At thirty-five it was tolerable, +and at forty it was comparatively simple. + +Now and then I would pass a kind of harrow the width of over half the +road and drawn along by a team of horses. The function of this was to +break up the big lumps of solid mud formed by the recent rains. After +this would follow a similar team of horses dragging a "grader"--a kind +of snow-plough arrangement which scraped the surface flat and shovelled +the surplus sand and mud-lumps into the side. In these districts the +farmers are held by law individually responsible for the condition of +the roads their farms adjoin, and the process of grading is expected +to be carried out within three or four days after the rain. When the +farmers are busy with their crops this doesn't get done, and when they +aren't, it sometimes does, according, I think, to whether the farmer +is a sheriff or a justice of the peace and has to set an example to +others. Fortunately all farmers are motorists as well; they have to be +able to get about, so when they wish to travel, they grade the roads +for their own use if for no more altruistic object. + +Once I was passing one of these road-ploughs drawn by a team of three +horses abreast, which took up most of the road and showed not the +slightest intention of drawing in to the side. In endeavouring to pass +it, I struck at too small an angle the huge ridge of solid mud-lumps +that it had formed. I was going fast, of course. The handlebar was +wrenched out of my hands and I was thrown with great force over it and +on to the bank at the side. Lizzie herself lay roaring on her side in +the dirt. The horses took fright and galloped off. The only damage done +showed itself in some nasty cuts and scratches, some small areas of +skin missing from different places, and a few bent levers and controls. +From past experience I had learnt that in all such cases the clips and +brackets and sharp corners of Lizzie's profile ALWAYS seemed +to be in the path of my flight over her handlebars. + +A handkerchief bound tightly round the cuts, a few adjustments made, +and on we go with smiling faces, only to overtake the wretched thing +again! + +After twenty or thirty miles of this, we came to mud in earnest--mud +measured not by the inch in depth, but by the yard. Never was it soft +and squishy and respectable, but always baked rock-hard into ugly +contorted shapes that simply defied progress on two wheels alone. +The diabolical effect had been heightened by the passing of numerous +cars through the roads when the surface was still plastic, and great +ruts and cracks and ridges were thrown up at every point between +the road-boundaries, each one representing an eternal struggle to +"get through." When the fierce sun came out and poured down for days +unceasing upon such ugliness as this, the hideous surface was as if +petrified by its glare, and the efforts of a "grader" would be futile +to alter in the slightest degree its abominable condition. + +Riding was out of the question. It was haulage work that had to be +done, and many times when I got into a huge solidified "crevasse," +I had to leave the machine standing in it on the tubes of its +cradle-frame and proceed ahead to chip the edges down until the wheels +would reach to the bottom again. + +Anyone who has stood on the "Glacier des Bossons," looked upwards +towards the summit of Mont Blanc, and seen the contorted, fantastic +shapes that the ice assumes as it swells over the ridges in its path, +can perhaps imagine the same effect on a smaller scale applied to the +dirt roads of Indiana. + +Fortunately there were stretches of road, generally when there was a +slight gradient, where the surface was well-drained, hard, and flat, +and going was good. But invariably at the foot of every slope, or at +the dip between two hills, there was a stretch of excruciating "agony" +that would reduce the most defiant motor-cyclist to submission. + +Thus it was for eighty or ninety miles. The truth began to dawn on +me that a fellow has to be a "tough guy" to motor in these parts. +Sometimes I would stop and rest awhile to let an occasional car get by. +It was funny to see how they all went! The big heavy touring car would +roll along as if to devour all that came its way. It would meet a nasty +patch and with broken dignity would heave and sigh from side to side +as it slowly crawled on bottom gear over the ridges and furrows; and +then it would rear proudly into the air as it surmounted some huge lump +of solid mud and suddenly flop down with a dull thud on the bottom of +the springs as it plunged into the hollow beyond. One could hear every +joint groan under the strain and could sometimes see the bottom of the +engine scrape ridges in the chunks of earth and watch the little bits +knocked off an unfriendly obstruction as the back axle dragged its +weary way along. + +And then perchance would come some cheeky Ford, the essence of +impudence as opposed to the dignity of its wealthier brethren. With a +hop, skip, and a jump, it would scramble over the furrows, swinging +gaily from side to side, wagging its tail in the air and rattling in +every sinew as only a Ford knows how! But the "Flivvers" got through +easier than any. + +The worst patch I struck was near the small town of Hume. I have never +seen in the space of 200 yards a more apt imitation of a volcanic +lava-bed. The thick mud of two days before had been churned up into the +most fantastic shapes that ever a main highway has taken. Every square +inch of the ninety-foot-wide road bore signs of the passage of some +vehicle or other. Some of the ruts were so deep that the machine rested +on the engine and the frame and not on the wheels at all. Pushing it +anywhere but in one of the best ruts was impossible. When the rut got +too deep, I had to lift up the back of the machine bodily and wheel it +foot by foot, while the rut took the front wheel whither it listed. +Here and there were signs where car-drivers, in similar predicaments, +but a day or two before, when the mud was not yet baked quite hard, +had shovelled away large quantities of the road to allow the engine +and chassis to clear. Half-way through was a large hole, deep and +broad enough to allow a small car to be hidden therein from view. In +this hole the mud was still soft and plastic. A good Samaritan of the +road had procured a piece of old corrugated iron from somewhere and +propped it against two poles to warn any others who might follow of its +presence. + +Lifting four-cwt. Lizzie across this whole stretch took three-quarters +of an hour all told, and at the end I was faint with exhaustion. The +sun was never hotter and I never perspired more, not even in the middle +of the Mohave Desert in California, where the thermometer rises up to +140 degrees or more! I begged a glass of milk from a farmhouse a mile +farther on, and thanked God that He made cows and that I was still +alive to appreciate them! + +And thus we toiled and thus we spun for many miles until late in the +afternoon, when I came to parts where the sun had not yet had time to +do its work. Every inch of the road was thick, black, slimy mud; mud +that stinks with a smell peculiar to itself alone; mud that clings to +the tyres and wedges in the forks and fouls the chains and blocks the +wheels; mud indeed that sticketh closer than a brother. I stopped at +a ramshackle little village of a few dozen shops and houses, all made +of wood, and boasting the name of "Murdock," to partake of afternoon +tea. Outside an old rickety "store" (this term includes any conceivable +kind of retail shop in America), I saw a notice: "HENRY T. HODGES, +JUSTICE OF THE PEACE; DRY GOODS STORE; GENERAL MERCHANDISE; POST +OFFICE; REAL ESTATE; REFRESHMENTS." + +[Illustration: AN AWKWARD STRETCH OF ROAD IN INDIANA.] + +[Illustration: THE MIDNIGHT COUCH.] + +Henry T. Hodges beamed on me benignly from behind a pile of preserved +fruit tins as I entered his gloomy establishment. + +"See here, dad, I want a good meal," I said; "money's no object. Get +me?" + +"Sure; an' have ye come far, brother?" + +"I should reckon about a thousand miles to-day. Dandy roads you've got +in these parts, dad." + +"Aye, but you'd 'a seen 'em when we 'ad the rains, brother; they wuz so +mighty slick the hottymobiles sunk right down in 'em and 'ad to be dug +out wi' a shovel and dragged along wi' a team of four 'osses." + +"Why, I shouldn't have thought there were four horses in Murdock," I +replied. + +"Aye, an' I know there is, brother, 'cause they're my 'osses." + +"Um! Guess you make a pretty good living out of them, don't you, dad?" + +"You've said it, brother. Ten dollars a time is my charge, and if a +chap don't pay I jest leave 'im there till 'e does!" + +"Well, what about this meal, dad? I'm mighty hungry--and, say, who's +the road commissioner about here?" + +He essayed no answer, but disappeared hurriedly to boil the tea. I had +no doubt now who the road commissioner was! + +After leaving the "Store" of Henry T. Hodges, J.P., I did another +twenty miles or so until dark, and sought out a comfortable secluded +spot near the road, but far enough from it to avoid the smell of +it, and settled down for the night. Mosquitoes were the only source +of worry now. Otherwise this roadside sleeping was getting quite a +commonplace event. + +Up at dawn in the morning! On the road once again; labouring, pushing, +hauling, heaving, lifting, cleaning off the mud, speeding a mile or two +and then more labouring and more pushing. + +At breakfast-time I reached Decatur, a flourishing town of 20,000 or so +inhabitants, and had breakfast at a "get-fed-quick" eat-house where you +sit on a stool in front of the counter and the man at the range behind +fries you a mutton steak, bakes the "waffles," or poaches the eggs as +per your desire. + +Then on again towards Springfield, the capital of Illinois State. The +mud changes to sand and the sand to dust. More spills, more cuts, more +bruises. The country as flat and uninteresting as they make it. More +right-angle bends, more losing of the way and more frizzling in the +sun. Two villages are passed in forty miles. One has a population of +417 and the other 59. + +At 11 a.m. we draw into Springfield, hot, tired, dusty, and sore. +Springfield is a mass of roads, trams, telegraph poles, and people. I +leave Lizzie leaning against the kerb and go for an ice-cream soda; +when I return, Lizzie is no longer visible. Instead there is a large +crowd. They are all examining something. Those on the outside elbow +their way to the middle. Those in the middle try to keep them out. The +passers-by wonder what it's all about and stop to see. They in turn try +to make their way to the middle. Many are disappointed and pass on. The +traffic cop, seeing the crowd, strolls over to see what's wrong. + +When he had moved the crowd away, I got astride Lizzie's saddle and +rode away, amid murmurs of astonishment. + +"Come quite a ways, I reckon." + +"That's the kind of bird to go travelling on." + +"Looks as though he's seen some mud somewhere." + +"Look, Bill, he's got 'igh boots on like they have in the movies!" + +"Ah, that's what 'e is, 'e's a dolgarn movie actor," etc., etc. + +All the trails in America seem to go through Springfield, Ill. +Consequently the telegraph poles and tram poles were a mass of +hieroglyphics. It took a few minutes to get into Springfield. But it +took the best part of two hours to get out of it satisfactorily. Once I +thought I was well away, but found that for ten miles I had followed a +trail that had white stripes on a red background instead of red stripes +on a white background, or something of the kind. + +Jacksonville was the next town, some forty miles away. There are six +smaller towns on the way. I don't remember passing six, but my map +vouches for this number. Their respective populations, taken from the +said map, are as follows:--Riddle Hill, 25; Berlin, 251; New Berlin, +690; Alexander, 200; Orleans, 38; and Arnold, 15. So America is not +full up yet. But fancy showing a village of fifteen inhabitants on +the map! If it were in Arizona instead of Illinois they would have +called it Arnold "City." Here are some more names, taken at random from +the map, to show the endless variety that the American cartographer +has drawn upon:--"Daisy," "Whitehall," "Quiver," "Cuba," "Golden," +"Siloam," "Time," "Pearl," "Summum," "Birmingham" (population 76), +"Illinois City" (population 80), "Bible Grove" (population 10), +"Enterprise" (population 7). + +After Jacksonville the road seemed to change its mind. It refused to +be a road any longer. It turned instead into a sea-beach and dodged +in and out, here and there, to evade the approaching traveller. +Everywhere was to be seen white sand. It lay feet deep on the trail, +making progress almost impossible. It covered all the vegetation at +the roadside, and it filled the air as well. Here for the first time I +encountered the type of road that can disappear with the vagaries of +the wind. It was easy to imagine that in æons of time this self-same +road would help to form some great geological strata deposited in the +Gulf of Mexico or elsewhere. The country became hilly and thickly +wooded, and sometimes the trail would narrow down to just a few feet in +width and then just as quickly open out to fifty or sixty. The trees +grew thicker, the sand grew thinner, the trail dodged around boulders +and trees, shot up little sandy slopes, and then, all of a sudden, +without any warning whatever, stopped at the bank of a great wide +silent river. + +It was the Illinois River, a tributary of the great Mississippi, which +itself was only fifty miles away. About a couple of hundred yards wide, +it was navigated by a ferry-boat of unknown antiquity pulled across the +river by a cable wound round a drum. Every man, woman, and child, and +every vehicle that crosses America by the Pike's Peak Highway, swells +the funds of the man who owns that ferry-boat. + +"Which is the road now?" I asked him when we eventually reached the +other side. I could see no signs of any continuation of the trail. He +had better eyes than I, however. + +"Go straight ahead; you can't miss it." + +There was certainly visible a little pathway that scrambled up the +bank and then wound in and out among the trees, and as I could see +nothing else, I followed it. Sure enough it led to "Valley City" +(population 52), and thence onwards, through "New Salem" and "Barry" +towards "Hannibal" on the Mississippi River. + +The Mississippi! Long had I conjured up visions of this mighty river of +over 4,000 miles total length that cuts through the United States from +north to south, and drains nearly 1-1/2 million square miles of land! +I had imagined its vast breadth and followed in my fancy the great, +silent, moving river as it flowed from west to east and north to south +through ever-changing scenery and ever-widening banks. And here I was +within a few miles of it! The thought was almost absurd. + +Just when the sun was about to set the road made one more swerve to the +left. The trees and the surrounding country fell away as if by magic, +and there was nothing beyond, save a massive bridge of steel. Beneath +and from horizon to horizon flowed the majestic river. + +The other end of the bridge was probably some 3,000 feet away in the +town of Hannibal and the State of Missouri. Hannibal bristles with +statues, tablets, posters, placards, and picture-postcards. They all +have the same theme for a subject--"Mark Twain." The Hanniballians, if +such they are called, are just as bad. I believe it is not possible +for a stranger to be in Hannibal for five minutes without being told +that Mark Twain was born there. If the "clerk" at the refreshment +bar doesn't tell you, the man at the post office does. If the young +"fellar" who pumps a couple of gallons of "gas" into your tank forgets +to tell you, the old girl at the fruit-shop doesn't. They must have a +secret code in Hannibal whereby they arrange these things. And I will +guarantee there aren't two out of every dozen picture-postcards on sale +in Hannibal that don't show Mark Twain's birthplace or his cave or his +statue or his ass or his ox or something that he either did or did not +"immortalize." + +Seeking a quiet little spot by the river where I could spend the night +and fulfil one of my long-cherished hopes--to bathe in the River +Mississippi, I turned down a little road that ran along the bank and +reconnoitred the country. To my dismay a railway ran between the road +and the river, almost at the very water's edge. Nothing daunted, and +hoping that it would sooner or later swerve away and leave me in peace +with my river, I continued for miles, long after it was dark, but with +no success. The road itself was on a ledge high above the railway, +and the railway was on a ledge built some six or eight feet above the +river. Eventually I left Lizzie at the roadside, camouflaged her with +leaves and branches, and scrambled down with my bags over the ledge on +to the bank below. I found a comfortable little spot about ten feet +from the rails and laid my bed. And oh, what a glorious bathe I had in +the river! + +It was the eve of July 4th, the American "Day of Independence." Sounds +of revellers from far away were wafted over the calm, silent waters. +Now and then would be heard the faint swish of a canoe as it glided +past in the darkness of the night, and soft music crept up the river +from time to time, now clear, now faint, as if from its dark and mystic +depths. + +I tucked myself under the blanket feeling like a good Christian that +night, with never a worry in the world--a world that was good and kind +and comfortable always. + +Nevertheless I should have liked to know when a train would be coming +past to disturb my slumbers. + +Just as I was dozing over, I heard footsteps along the rails. They came +closer and closer, but I could see nothing. The night was pitch-dark. +As the footsteps came opposite to me, I made out the form of a man +against the starlit sky. He did not see me. + +"Say, bo, can you tell me how many trains pass here to-night?" I asked. + +He jumped as if struck in the back. + +"Only a couple, brother," he replied to where the air had spoken, +"one of them in about half an hour and the other about one in the +morning;--but they won't worry you," he added. + +Sure enough in half an hour's time I heard the distant rumble of a +train. I began to wonder if I had not rolled any closer to the rails +than when I lay down. The earth shook and a red glare appeared in the +distance, and with a mighty roar the huge train came thundering through +an opening in the trees. Although I knew I was at a safe distance, the +feeling of impending annihilation swooped suddenly down upon me. "Don't +be an ass," said I, "what's the use of getting the wind up?" And the +next second it seemed that the rushing torrent of steel and fire was +but an inch from my head. Clatter bang-thump, clatter-bang-thump, for +twenty long seconds, and the intruder was gone. In another minute not a +sound broke the silence of the midsummer night. + +Thinking what an excellent test of self-control it would be to pitch +my bed between the rails, but disinclined to do so on account of the +possibility of a cow-catcher being in front of the trains, I rolled +over into heavy slumber. + +In half an hour I was awake again and the same process was repeated. I +deemed then that I should be left in peace for the night. But my friend +had not reckoned on the freight trains. Only the passenger trains were +of account to him! + +Regularly every half-hour they thundered past. At dawn I had counted +thirteen in all. I resolved not to sleep on a railway embankment again, +even though it be in company with the Mississippi. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +STORMY WEATHER IN MISSOURI + + +Hannibal is a nice, clean, respectable place; were I an American +tourist I would call it a "cute little city." + +I found an eating-house with a tempting smell around it, and ordered a +hearty breakfast. After polishing off this meal, I mounted Lizzie and +started off once more. + +We were now in Missouri, the State of the small farmer. Not that the +farms are so very small, but they are not on so large a scale as +further on in the west, where the hundred-square-mile ranch is the +order of the day. + +Again the scenery experiences a quick change; the country becomes hilly +and rough; one sees maize growing almost everywhere and very often +pigs (or hogs as they are termed in the States) turned out to pasture. +Nevertheless there is much uncleared and uncultivated land to be seen; +the towns and villages are clean, modern, and well laid out, and all +give an air of prosperity and plenty. Every farmer has his car, and +it is generally a Ford; youngsters of twelve and fourteen can be seen +driving them, and generally with as much skill as their parents, if not +more. + +But for all its hills and vales and the luxuriance of its natural +beauty, Missouri has one great drawback. There is a very big fly in +the Missouri ointment--RAIN. And when it rains in Missouri, +it rains properly, not in tantalizing little showers as it does in +England. It is as though the whole sky had burst its water-mains. It +falls not in inches but feet; not for hours but for days. Then suddenly +the sun breaks out and scorches everything with renewed vigour. If +a car is out far from home when the rain comes, it generally has to +"stay put." The rain sinks into the road and so does the car. Every +car carries a set of chains for its wheels, but although they improve +matters slightly, they are often futile in ploughing through the +thick slime. Then come the teams of horses at five and ten and twenty +dollars a time to drag the unfortunate automobile to some garage where +it "lays up" until the rain has gone and the sun has dried the roads +sufficiently for further progress. + +Sometimes enterprising individuals do not wait for rain to bring +in the shekels. I have often heard of perfectly authentic cases of +a farmer deliberately flooding likely patches of the road and then +waiting patiently with his horses to drag out some unfortunate victim. +This seems absurd, but care is always taken to select a spot where it +cannot be definitely proved that natural conditions are not entirely +responsible for the result! + +In the early afternoon, after a hard ride from Hannibal, punctuated at +every village with a stop for the consumption of ice-cream, I reached +a small town called "Bucklin." No sooner was I there than a huge black +cloud appeared suddenly in the sky and a terrific windstorm rose which +blew everything that was not fixed to something in all directions. For +half an hour it raged. The air was thick with dust, leaves and bits of +paper. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the wind subsided, and rain +commenced in torrents. So fast did it fall and so heavy were the drops +that the surface of the road was beaten into a froth which hovered +all the time a few inches above the road itself. Even to walk across +it was a test of skill; so slimy was the mud that one's feet slid +aimlessly about in any direction but the one desired. For this reason +concrete pathways are invariably provided so that pedestrians can +move with comparative ease and can leave their homes and visit anyone +anywhere in the town without actually touching the mud at all. These +concrete pathways naturally have to cross the road in places, and when +the road surrounding them is washed away, as very often happens, the +result to a passing vehicle can be imagined. + +Further progress being out of the question that day, I hied me to the +only hotel in the place and prepared to while away the days that were +to follow in writing letters, studying an obsolete almanac, and eating +bad food. + +It rained in a continual deluge all that day, all night and all next +morning. At midday it stopped with a bump, the sun came out with +another, and the birds began to sing again. At three I ventured forth +with Lizzie. I had not gone a dozen yards when the back wheel slipped +sideways round to the front and left me reposing in the half-baked mud. +Back again for another hour's wait while the broiling sun did its work. +Next time I got as far as the outskirts of the town before I decided +to turn back. After another hour we started out to do or die, come +what might. During the remainder of the day until dark we covered ten +miles, going hard all the time. When I was not extricating myself from +a spicy bit of quagmire, I was poking semi-hard mud out of the wheels +and mudguards. + +On one occasion I came to a sudden dip in the road, followed by an +equally sudden rise. As usual there was an uninviting "slough of +despond" in the hollow. After trying two or three different ruts in +an effort to "get through," giving up each one in turn as hopeless, +and pushing back again to where still another rut branched off from +the one I was in, I eventually worked my way through. The struggle up +the slope on the other side was a formidable one and was being slowly +accomplished by a combination of bottom-gear driving, pushing, lifting, +and "paddling." Just before the summit was reached I was thrown by a +steep furrow into the ditch at the roadside, breathless, exhausted, and +extremely bad-tempered. + +As I was extracting myself, a young man in shirt-sleeves strolled +leisurely over, hands in pockets, from a stationary car a little +further on. When I had safely extricated my right leg from under the +machine and hauled Lizzie on to her wheels again, the stranger spoke. + +"Say, fella, does that front cylinder get hot? I've heard say that's +the weak point about them four-cylinder motorsickles." + +Here follows a flow of language from self entirely unprintable. The +stranger opens his eyes, whistles softly, then adds, as if to turn the +subject: + +"Where you from?" + +He remained with his hands in his pockets staring at my diminishing +form. He was still there when I looked over my shoulder half a mile +further on. He is probably there now! + +As time went on, black clouds appeared in the sky; the sun went in; the +wind rose, and a repetition of the events of the day before commenced +just as I arrived in the small town of "Wheeling." The only thing to +do was to eat ices until the climatic conditions adjusted themselves. +This took the best part of two hours. Once again I sallied forth with +Lizzie. This time in the short space of five yards I reposed gently +but thoroughly in the Missouri mud, much to the amusement of the +population, who had all turned out to witness my departure. Again I +tried and again I fell. The whole machine seemed to act as though it +were made of jelly. I gave it up on the third attempt. + +"Try the railway," jeered the village comedian, pointing to +a level-crossing in the distance. This amused the onlookers +"considerable." For myself, I discerned a glimmer of wisdom in the +suggestion. + +"Look here, you guys," I retorted, "what about giving me a hand to push +this as far as the depot" (I never made the fatal mistake of referring +to it as a "station") "instead of looking on and grinning like a lot of +schoolboys?" + +It had its effect. Three or four volunteered at once. We all pushed; we +slithered to right and left; we slipped over each other and ourselves. +But we got there. + +Riding on the sleepers was hardly humorous, but it was better than the +road. They were not filled in and were very irregular. Consequently +progress was slow and a trifle disjointed. The "depot" was not far +away. The "line-boss" looked at me curiously, as though I were a +strange offshoot from some wayward train. + +"Many trains coming along this way?" I queried, wishing to know what I +should have to meet, as there was only a single track, double tracks +being seldom, if ever, laid in the States, and if one was unprepared +it might prove embarrassing to meet a train coming in the opposite +direction just in the middle of a tunnel or a bridge. American railway +bridges are remarkable for their narrowness. Very often the sleepers +themselves project into space, and never is there any track beyond +them. + +"You said it, brother," he replied, "dozens of 'em." "And what's more, +there's a couple of long tunnels just a mile away--look, you can see +the beginning--and beyond them there's a bridge pretty nigh half a mile +long--and trains is mighty funny things to play hide and seek with, y' +know!" + +I was of that opinion myself. As I looked, I saw a train emerge from +the tunnel ahead. I reflected that I should have been just about there +by now if I hadn't stopped. I went back to Wheeling. + +The next day I covered twenty miles in four hours and found myself back +in Wheeling again, but this time by another road. Nothing daunted, I +said nothing, clenched my teeth, and polished off another twenty until +dark. + +The day after I did better. The nett progress at the end of the +day's work was twenty-five miles instead of twenty. I arrived at the +conclusion that Missouri had one great advantage that I had hitherto +overlooked. It was an excellent place to get out of! + +On the next day I covered five miles in six hours, and although only +forty miles or so from Kansas City, which marks the commencement of the +historic Santa Fé Trail leading to the Pacific Coast, I made a solemn +vow that I would "ship" everything there by train at the next town. +The next town happened to be "Excelsior Springs," twenty miles further +on. The road improved considerably, and the comforting thought of +civilization at so short a distance urged me on and I broke that solemn +vow. I rode into Kansas City late that afternoon, a mass of bruises +from head to foot, just as the speedometer showed 1,919 miles from New +York. I ferreted out the Henderson agent and left Lizzie in his tender +keeping. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +RESULTS OF A BREAKDOWN + + +It took three days for me to find that the Kansas City I was in was not +the Kansas City I thought I was in. I took it for granted that Kansas +City would be in Kansas State. But it was not. _My_ Kansas City was in +Missouri, but after searching diligently at the post office for mail +that wasn't there, I found there was another Kansas City on the other +bank of the river. All good citizens of Kansas City, Mo., turn up their +noses at the mention of Kansas City, Kan.,--"no connection with the +firm opposite" sort of thing. + +Of the two, Kansas City, Mo., is by far the more commendable town. It +hustles and bustles just as every good American city should do. It is +exactly "one hundred per cent American." The advertisements in the +papers said so. I believe it, because any city that boasts of being +four times larger than it really is must be 100 per cent. American! +But I must give Kansas City its due. It represents the essence of +keenness and enterprise in business and farming circles. It has that +"breezy" air that is so healthy in city life, compared with the dull, +gloomy inertness so characteristic of most manufacturing towns, +especially here in England. Kansas City has some excellent streets and +some magnificent buildings, and has undoubtedly grown at a remarkable +rate during the last ten years. Being the last city of really large +dimensions that one meets until the Pacific Coast is reached, it is +the connecting link between the East and the Far West. Grain and farm +produce from the vast States of the West flow unceasingly through its +warehouses and stockyards. A network of railways concentrates to a +focus at Kansas City, railways bringing in and taking out millions of +tons of produce annually. + +The next day, when I visited the motor-cycle agency, Lizzie was +standing disconsolately where I had left her the day before. I begged, +entreated, exhorted, and threatened that she be given immediate +attention. I lied abominably to the manager that I was putting up a +record between the coasts and every minute was important. + +How could I expect to beat all existing records if they kept my machine +in dock for a week? I was promised that it would be started on "right +now." That term "right now" has a significance unknown to Europeans. It +is subtle and evasive, intangible and incomprehensible. It conveys a +sense of such utter obligation on the part of the speaker that one has +not the heart to query its exact purport. As far as I can ascertain, or +at any rate as far as I have experienced its application, it is more +similar to the French "tout de suite" than any other expression I can +identify, in that it might imply anything between the immediate present +and the indefinite future. + +Lizzie required several replacements, including a new set of bearings, +a cylinder and two gudgeon pins, these latter being broken in half at +the middle. The agent told me that they always were liable to break. If +they were put in upside-down, as he always fitted them, so that the oil +hole was at the bottom instead of the top, they would not break at all. +Further he hinted that my particular machine was turned out while a +good fat strike was in progress at the factory. + +"Well, you can stick it together so that it will take me to the coast +all right?" I queried anxiously. + +"Well, yes, I guess I can," was his studied reply. + +"Go right ahead then, boss, but do it quick! I'm running short of money +and can't afford to stay in your metropolis right here for the benefit +of my health." + +Being destined then to remain in Kansas City for four or five days +more, I found myself with ample leisure in which to collect my thoughts +and prepare for the journey through the "wild west" ahead. + +One result of my leisure was that I paid a visit to the editor of the +_Kansas City Star_. This is one of the most progressive newspapers in +the United States, and circulates everywhere in the West. The extent of +its circulation and the results of its progressiveness I was, however, +still to learn. + +The editor was found as usual at his desk in the middle of a large +room, surrounded by his myrmidons in typical American style. He greeted +me with extreme cordiality. "No need to tell you I'm English, I +suppose?" I said. + +"See that door over there?" (pointing to the one in the far distance +through which I had entered). "Well, I spotted you were an Englishman +the minute you came in there." + +I explained with complete humiliation that I was travelling across the +United States of America on a motor-cycle and wondered whether his +readers would be interested in the point of view of such a despicable +object as an English motor-cyclist on this great and wonderful country. +"Not for the love of the thing, you know," I added, "I don't see why I +shouldn't earn a dollar or two on the wayside." + +He pointed to a typewriter standing idle at a desk. "Let's have the +story right now, and give us something about roads. There's a big +movement just started to get good roads, so you can just hand out the +straight dope to everybody on the subject. Get me? Something good and +snappy." + +I explained that while no one was more eminently capable of writing +about American roads than myself, I had never graduated as a typist in +the course of my business career. I should, therefore, have to retire +and push the modest pen. + +"What! a business man who can't use a typewriter? I didn't know there +was such a thing," was his rejoinder. + +I let them have it about roads. I referred also to their commendable +system of arresting road-hogs. This with a few pro-American +embellishments such as "wonderful country," "indescribable beauty," +"inexhaustible wealth," etc. etc., rounded off the theme. + +My friend the editor not only rewarded me at the noble rate of a dime +a line (5_d._), thus assuring the hotel expenses for my stay in the +city, but also gave me about an hour of his valuable time in talking +about almost everything under the sun--mainly American. It is rather +surprising to an Englishman to find that practically any worthy +American business man, no matter how busy he may be or how valuable the +time lost thereby, will entertain a visitor for an incredible length of +time. If the visitor happens to be an Englishman, he is all the more +pleased to do so because then he can talk uninterruptedly about America +and what a wonderful country it is. All the noted men of Europe, I +learned, had been in the office and sat in that same chair. The editor +told me so. Lord Northcliffe spent all his leisure hours there while +in the States. So also did many other notorieties, some unknown to +me. Leastways, so the editor told me. I took his money and bade him +farewell. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE SANTA FÉ TRAIL + + +On the fifth day after my arrival in Kansas City all was in readiness +for my departure. There was another big bill to meet for Lizzie's +overhaul, but I had the satisfaction of knowing that the bearings had +all been replaced, as well as a few cylinders and pistons and things, +and that there was just a chance of getting to the coast before +something else went wrong. Once again I wrote polite letters to the +factory at Chicago, paid many dozen "green backs" over the counter, +and started off once more, this time with only thirty-five dollars in +pocket. Once again fate and the post office had been unkind. Not a +suggestion of anything was there at either of the post offices at any +of my calls thereon. Amid vague wonderings and oft repeated doubts +I promised myself a big cheque at Santa Fé, next stop. I was just +beginning to know the ins and outs of the postal service. + +The Santa Fé Trail is the oldest and most interesting highway in +America. Rather should it be said that the pioneers over what later +became known as the Santa Fé Trail were the first to leave permanent +marks on routes that have since become "highways" between the +Central-Western and the Far-Western States. In the days of the ox +team and prairie-schooner, the plains and mountains were crossed by +trails, usually along the lines of least resistance, keeping as close +as possible to bases of supplies and water. Travel over the Santa Fé +Trail began about 1822, starting from Little Rock, Arkansas (pronounced +Arkansaw), and following the Arkansas River west. A few years later, +this trail was superseded by a more permanent one going west from +Kansas City (then called Westport) to "Great Bend," a base situated, +as its name implies, on a great bend of the Arkansas River, and thence +to Santa Fé by a choice of two routes. An important trade with the +Spanish population of the south-west was early developed, reaching its +zenith in the '60s. This route, the one which I followed, has now been +marked a considerable part of the way by stone monuments erected by the +"Daughters of the American Revolution" and constituted the chief inroad +from the East to the Far West. Santa Fé itself, next to St. Augustine, +Florida, is the most ancient city in America, having been founded in +1605 by Spanish settlers on the site of a "pueblo" or Indian village of +far-distant origin. Naturally, therefore, it was the centre of trade +for years numbered by hundreds, and traders from afar brought their +goods and supplies in boats up the rivers as far as navigable and then +in teams across the dreary plains and over the steep Rockies to this +one destination. + +Later, in the gold-rush to California in 1849, emigrants reached San +Francisco, the "Golden Gate," via this same Santa Fé Trail, undergoing +indescribable hardships on the way, and at all times subjected to +frequent onslaughts by the hostile Indians. + +The first railroads were built across the plains alongside the old +trails. The first automobile trips (and I take off my hat to them!) +naturally followed the railroads, from the necessity of keeping near +to supplies. But the motor-car of to-day frequently makes either short +cuts or detours--leading perhaps 100 or 200 miles away from the +railroad--in order to visit sections offering unusual attractions, or +places of historical interest, even when located in desert regions. + +Thus, with Kansas City behind me, the journey begins to be really +interesting from an historic, if not from a scenic point of view. The +hand of modern civilization at last is seen to relax its grasp. Now, +instead of the prosaic, the conventional and the luxurious, are we to +find the unique, the heterodox and the primitive. After the tainted +breath of huge cities and the seething, crushing, maddening turmoil of +wealth and modernism are to follow the pure unbounded atmosphere of the +giant plains, the mystic call of the great mountains, the vastness, the +fearfulness and the rapture of the scorching deserts. Which shall it be +for me? + +Before me lie 500 miles of perfectly flat and uninteresting country +before I leave the State of Kansas and enter Colorado. Then follow +another 200 equally flat, equally drear, to be crossed before the +Rockies loom into sight. Seven hundred miles of endless weary prairie, +stretching always, everywhere, as far as the eye can see, with never +a hill nor a dale nor hardly a tree in sight!--Nothing but boundless, +illimitable corn, wheat and prairie. + +That night, after an afternoon's run of 120 miles, I rested in a +cornfield. The road had ended abruptly. An old bridge had been +demolished and a new one was about to be erected. A heap of debris +in the middle attracted my attention, and I was fortunate. Here the +road ended; there was a little chasm some thirty feet across; beyond +was the road again. Nothing for it but to turn back. Turning back is +always objectionable. I deemed that it would be less so in the morning. +That is why I wrapped myself in my mosquito net behind a hedge in a +cornfield and offered up thanksgiving. + +The mosquito net--I have not mentioned it before! I purchased three +yards of it in a little store back in Missouri while waiting for the +road to dry up. I also bought a cap. Having worn no headgear since +leaving New York, I soon discarded the cap and later gave it away to a +little urchin who looked as though he needed one more than I. But the +mosquito net remained for a longer spell. Nightly was it unfolded and +wrapped around my unworthy self, and daily was it folded carefully up +again and packed into the bag once more. + +I shall never forget that mosquito net. It was white. Leastways it +was when I bought it. I tried countless ways of enveloping myself in +its folds, but never with any great measure of success. The _tout +ensemble_ when struggles had subsided, with self in pyjamas surrounded +by wrappings of white chiffon on a black background (my waterproof +groundsheet) must have presented an extraordinary spectacle to the poor +birds above. No doubt they mistook me for some miscreant angel served +with an ejectment order without notice from the star-lit sky! At first +all went well. I breathed the calm midnight air unmolested. "It can't +be true," I told myself, "there is a catch in it somewhere." There +was. I discovered that whereas it was comparatively difficult for a +mosquito to get inside the net, once he did get inside it was an utter +impossibility to get him out again. One mosquito inside a mosquito net +is worth much more than two outside. He is worth at least forty! + +Then I tried various stunts because, when I did get properly wrapped +up, I invariably rolled out of it in my sleep. I rigged up poles and +sticks and cut little pegs from twigs to hold the net down like a +tent. I had it stitched up the sides like a bag and wriggled into it +nightly, only to find it wrapped around my feet in the morning and my +face and arms a mass of bites. Finally, in the heart of the Rockies I +think it was, I gave it up as a bad job and resorted to the Citronella +method once again. For aught I know that old mosquito-net is still +hanging to the fence of a cow-ranch at the foot of Pike's Peak, Colo.! + +Up at dawn in the morning and away. I found another road some three +miles back and continued on my way westward rejoicing. Sixty miles were +covered before breakfast. The towns and villages became very few and +far between, and Council Grove, where I enjoyed my morning repast, was +practically the first town to be encountered. I had set my mind on a +good day's run and prayed for good roads. On my map, which was said to +be the only road-map of the United States published, and was hopelessly +inaccurate and inadequate, there was a huge river, the Arkansas, a +couple of hundred miles ahead. I judged it to be about half a mile +wide. Verily, thought I, the Arkansas River shall be my resting place +to-night, and Great Bend my destination. + +After a long day's ride I toiled into Great Bend at sunset. The journey +had been monotonous and the road fatiguing. I longed to stretch +my weary bones on the banks of yon mighty river and bathe in its +refreshing waters. While I was devouring my evening meal, on a little +high stool in the one and only café of Great Bend, I was consoling +myself with this prospect. + +Outside, a little group of men were sitting on the pavement eyeing +Lizzie propped up against the kerb. It is the general thing to sit on +pavements in the Far West. They are much higher than those we are +accustomed to and afford adequate and comfortable accommodation for the +weary population. Often one can see a row of men sitting on the kerb +for the whole length of a "block" when the sun is in such a direction +that the sitters are sheltered by the buildings behind them. I made a +mental note: "Another good idea for importation to England." I pictured +tired Londoners sitting down in rows on the pavements of the Strand or +clustered leisurely around Piccadilly Circus chewing "shag"! + +My pockets bulged with bottles of "Buckeye," an imitation root beer +sold extensively in the States (since prohibition) and alleged to have +a "kick" in it. A suspicious swelling elsewhere on my person indicated +a tin of pineapple chunks (a delight of my youth). + +"Goin' far?" inquired one of my scrutineers. + +"Down to the river to-night. This the right road?" + +"Right slick in front of your nose half a mile away." + +I came to a long wooden bridge arrangement, but could find no river. +After going two or three miles and finding no Arkansas, I returned to +Great Bend to try another road. This time I inquired at the café. + +"Straight ahead, you can't miss the bridge." + +"Oh, is there a river there? I didn't see one." + +Back again to the bridge, but no signs of a river. Instead there was a +great stretch of white sand like a sea-beach, but with little trees and +shrubs and tufts of grass dotted here and there. + +"Well, this is no Arkansas River," said I to myself, "but I'm through. +This sand looks pretty comfortable, so here goes." + +In amongst the sand dunes I made my bed and never did traveller camp +in more delightful surroundings or rest in more peaceful conditions. +The stars shone out with unusual brilliancy in the heavens, and the +moon rose at the setting of the sun, enveloping all in a magic sheen +of silver. A soft cool breeze played gently over the plain and little +birds of unknown song and uncounted variety slowly sang themselves to +rest. This indeed was no night for sleep; more was it a time for quiet +contemplation of all the things that make life good and noble and +worthy of the living. How terrible, how awful it would be when I should +in the end return to the narrow beaten track of city life, and once +again be fettered to "the trivial round, the common task" that knows no +magic spell and thrills with no mystic breath. Could it ever be that +the duties that bind and numb, the needs that hamper and clog, the +tasks that chill and estrange, should once again enshroud me in their +toils? Such I suppose are the meditations of everyone who breaks away +from home to enjoy for a spell the bounties of nature and whose canopy +is the sky. + +In the morning I awoke as fresh as the merry sandpipers and +waterwagtails that ran and hopped about in dozens. There was no trace +of fatigue, no thought but of the glorious day that was opening, no +regret but that every day had not brought and would not bring this +rapturous dawn. + +I learned in the village that I had indeed slept in the middle of the +Arkansas River! The summer had been excessively dry and that part of +the river which, several hundred miles away, had risen boisterously in +the heart of the Rockies and had not been dried up with the heat, had +drained through the sandy bed, never to emerge again. This though was +one of many rivers that I was to meet with no water in them. Sometimes +even, I was to see fences and railways erected across would-be rivers +to prevent the cattle straying! + +The farther westward I travelled the fewer became the towns. +Nevertheless, albeit they were sometimes thirty and forty miles apart, +they were all prosperous, new and inviting. Of gasoline there was +always an abundant supply at 22 cents (11_d._) per gallon. Of garages +there were enough and to spare. Indeed, it was surprising what palatial +garages were to be found everywhere. Outside each was the familiar +"Bowser" pump communicating with a 1,000-gallon tank below the pavement +from which anything from half a gallon to six gallons at a time could +be pumped up by the garage hand at one turn of the handle. A flexible +pipe with a cock at the end leads from the pump, and one's tank can be +filled in a few seconds without a drop being spilt. Not once in all my +travel through the States have I seen a petrol tin. I do not believe +they are used at all because nowhere in the States is it necessary to +travel by road with spare petrol on board, provided, of course, that +one is careful to fill up regularly at the different towns or stations +on the way. Even in the heart of New Mexico and Arizona, even in the +terrible "Death Valley" and Mohave Desert of California, stations are +found where "gas" and oil can be bought in plenty to carry one well +beyond the next to be reached. + +At Larned I made a hearty breakfast from canteloupe, coffee and "pie." +Now "pie" is one hundred per cent. symbolical of America. In the States +they have attained the absolute limit of perfection in the manufacture +of pies; indeed I think it must be a "key" industry. Not only can pies +of every conceivable kind of fruit (and many inconceivable ones) be +obtained, but the cooking thereof is perfection itself. + +On the road again, ever westward, ever looking forward to the day when +from the dreadful monotony of the plains the Rocky Mountains would loom +high and faint upon the horizon. + +I passed a few small towns at long intervals, towns with picturesque +names such as "Cimarron," "Garden City," "Lamar," and "Las Animas." In +every case an approaching town was heralded by an unspeakable stretch +of road. With the passage of traffic of all kinds the road was ground +up into powder. Every inch of it was loose sand, sometimes a couple or +three feet deep, sand that would be impassable to any but horse-drawn +traffic. As a saving grace it was generally less deep at the edges of +the road than in the middle, and locomotion was just within the range +of possibility with frequent assistance by way of "leg-work" and with +occasional spills and crashes. The only use I had for these towns +lay in the unlimited scope for ice-cream consumption which they all +afforded. As time went on, Lizzie showed signs of further disrupture. +Gradually little noises and rattles developed and slowly her power fell +off by almost imperceptible degrees. Of course I had ample power even +at that to cover the country, which, with few exceptions, was level, +and the road, where dry, was good. I averaged no more than twenty-five, +and as there was hardly any stop to make or traffic to slow down +for, this did not mean travelling more than thirty at any time. A +good conscientious motorist, I told myself, would stop and examine +everything. I had got far beyond that stage. "Let the old crock go on +till she busts," I muttered inwardly and opened up to avoid an oncoming +thunderstorm. + +Thunderstorms travel quickly in U.S.A. They get a hustle on and don't +mess about generally. There's never any doubt about it when you +see one coming. It means business; there is none of that burbling, +gurgling, gloomy overture that hangs around for hours in England +and very often comes to nothing at all. No, no. In U.S.A. you see a +thundercloud on the horizon and before you've got "George Washington" +off your lips it's on you with a crack and a bump and a splash and woe +betide any innocent motor-cyclist who is riding in his shirt-sleeves +with his jacket strapped on the back. + +But that rain was good! Kansas can be hot when it likes and it's mostly +liking all the time, so that a shower-bath is a gift from the gods. +When it stopped, and fortunately before it had had time to do its foul +work on the surface of the dirt road, I arrived in Syracuse, a small +town with not much of a population to substantiate its artistic name, +and but twenty or thirty miles from the Colorado State Line. Net result +150 odd miles that day and to-morrow with luck I should behold the +Rockies. Oh, those Rockies! How I longed to see them! + +The rest of the evening I spent adjusting Lizzie's tappets (they had +all worked loose, hence the noise) and eating pies and ices at every +café in the place. The night was spent in a dirty inhospitable little +inn calling itself, I think, the Broadway Temperance Hotel. Heaven help +Broadway, and the Devil take all temperance hotels! I shivered as I +compared this with the night before. + +Westward once more. In an hour I crossed the State Line. Invariably +there is a large sign-board denoting this fact. "THIS IS THE STATE +OF COLORADO, THE MOST PICTURESQUE AND FERTILE STATE IN THE UNION," +it read on this occasion. This time there was not such a marked change +in the country. It was still flat, still dismally uninteresting. +Everything looked dried up. At times the trail, which hitherto had +followed the Arkansas "River," crossed and re-crossed it by long low +creaky wooden bridges. There was still no water flowing underneath +them. "Water? That was only meant to flow under bridges," says the +confirmed toper. The Arkansas River "puts him wise" on that point! + +Flagrant mistakes now appeared on the map. Roads and towns which +in reality lay on one side of the river were alleged to be on the +other. Distances became either grossly exaggerated or hopelessly +underestimated, so much so that I only expected to get to a place when +I found myself already there. If it turned out to be another place than +that I had expected--well, there, that made it all the more exciting. + +Later on the trail became very dishevelled and forlorn. Great waves of +sand were piled up in ridges and furrows defying all comers. Sometimes +a benevolent signpost advised all drivers of automobiles not to risk +travelling thereon, but to follow such and such a detour which would +lead back to the road ten or fifteen miles farther on. I saw many +such notices. At first I scorned them, but the sand grew so thick and +deep that it enveloped the frame of the machine and the projecting +footboards brought progress to a standstill. For several hours I pushed +and heaved and skidded and floundered about on highways and detours and +pathways that baffle description. If I averaged ten miles an hour I was +content with that. I got through many places that passing pedestrians +swore were impassable. In short I was beginning to reduce locomotion +over American roads to a science. + +At La Junta, the Santa Fé Trail swerves to the south-west towards New +Mexico, but another trail continues westward and northward towards +Pueblo, Colorado Springs, and Denver, the three "cities" of Colorado +State, and Pike's Peak, one of the highest points of the Rockies. +I decided to leave the trail for a day or two and go sightseeing +in famous Colorado. So I continued westward, scanning the horizon +all the time for a vision of a vast and rugged mountain range. The +sight of mountains would be as balm to a sore wound; as welcome as +a spring of water in the desert; or even as the sight of land to a +shipwrecked mariner, so heartily tired was I of the endless plains and +the inexhaustible flatness and monotony of the country for the past +thousand miles. + +Instead of mountains came a cloud. Soon the whole horizon was black. I +knew what that meant. It meant "laying up" for a day or two and looking +round for a good place to lay up at "right slick." But I was in the +midst of nowhere. Not a house or a shack could be seen anywhere. Even +as I scanned the country the rain came. The road was not sandy enough +for it to soak through. Instead it absorbed it greedily and changed to +mud. I rode as far as riding was practicable and then I pushed. In a +few miles I came to a little wooden shack at the side of the road near +a large dyke already swollen with rain. The shack looked as though it +had recently been thrown together with matchboarding and liberal use +had been made of tarpaulins as curtains instead of doors. I left Lizzie +in the road and went to explore. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE ROYAL GORGE OF ARKANSAS + + +There were two huts. I drew aside the tarpaulin and peered in one of +them. It was stuffy and dark and filled with beds, tables, cupboards +and piles of odd furniture and miscellaneous clothing, boots, blankets +and mattresses. In a clearing amongst the general debris sat a +middle-aged woman on the top of a trunk before a sewing machine. + +"Hope I'm not intruding, but is there anywhere I can get out of the +rain until it goes off?" + +From a heap of assorted oddments under my very nose came a voice, a +man's voice. + +"Sure; come right in, brother. You're welcome to any shelter we can +give you. Guess you've gotten a little wet out there? Jim, go you into +the kitchen and bring a chair for this gentleman." + +A pile of musty books rocked on its foundations in another corner and a +young lad of fifteen or sixteen rose as if from out of the earth. + +We talked for an hour, but the storm showed no signs of abating. The +wind whistled through the tarpaulin doorway and gloomy blobs of water +dropped from the ceiling from time to time on all and sundry. + +Strange to say I did not betray my nationality. I presume that by that +time I had unconsciously acquired in a small degree the language of the +race. + +"You're from the East, I suppose?" queried mine hostess after half an +hour, the first words I had heard her speak. + +"Oh, sure, I'm from the East, the far East--in fact, the VERY +Far East!" I replied. + +"Boston?" + +"You've said it," was my rejoinder. "Ever been to Boston?" I added. + +"Yep, I was there I reckon fifteen fall. All I remember now was the +railway depot. What do they call it, the South Union?" + +"Sure, it's the South Union all right. Why, I was born only a couple of +blocks from the South Union depot." + +Miserable liar that I am, I have never been in Boston in my life. + +"Fine city, Boston," interjected the male voice from below. + +"The finest in the world, sir," I effused. + +Meanwhile the rain continued, with not the slightest sign of abating. + +"You best bring your motor-sickle under shelter and stay the night +right here," suggested the man of the house when the shadows deepened +and still the rain went on. + +"I'm sure that's very good of you, sir, but I'm afraid I'd better not +trouble you any more." + +"No trouble at all; we're delighted to have you; we can soon make a bed +up with a few chairs and some of these blankets." + +I was only too pleased to avail myself of their hospitality and agreed. + +At supper I had a chance of studying the various members of the family. +Apart from the man and his wife, there were two boys, and quite a few +more people rolled in afterwards from a source unknown to me. Supper +consisted of stewed beans, with plenty of bread and water, and more +beans. + +That night I slept on four chairs in a row near the door. The two boys +were elsewhere in the gloomy darkness within. All through the night +I waged war upon mosquitoes and slapped myself vigorously for many +hours until the guerrilla warfare grew so tiring that sleep overcame +its anxiety. The mosquitoes then nibbled my face to their hearts' +content--if they have hearts, which is doubtful. + +In the morning breakfast consisted of stewed beans with plenty of bread +and water, and more beans. + +By lunch-time it was still raining, but slower. I stayed to lunch. It +consisted of stewed beans, with plenty of bread and water, and lots +more beans. + +In the afternoon the sky cleared, the sun opened his eyes with a snap +and began his work of drying up the roads. Throughout the day I had +employed my time with giving Lizzie an overhaul. I had the cylinders +off, examined the bearings, and tightened things generally. Meanwhile I +discovered that my friends were building a house on an adjoining field. +They were doing the work alone, with the help of a few friends, who +no doubt accounted for the other partakers of stewed beans. A pile of +timber lay in one corner of the field and the foundations had already +been laid and the uprights erected. + +It was well seen that the house was for themselves to live in. Never +have I seen a house grow so quickly or watched the progress of one so +keenly. Moreover the walls were not all out of the vertical or the +windows far from square as one generally gets in home-made houses (and +very often other kinds too!) + +"You'd better stay and have something to eat, brother," said mine host +as I was strapping my bag on Lizzie's back in preparation to depart. +"We've only got stewed beans, but they're a mighty wholesome food." + +But I had visions of apricot pie in Pueblo, thirty miles ahead, and +urged my desire to be getting on the road "right now" while the weather +lasted. + +They were good folks, those house-builders of Nepesta. Not a cent would +they accept under any circumstances for their hospitality to me. They +worked hard and feared God, and every time they partook of their frugal +meals grace was said beforehand and afterwards as well, in thanksgiving +for the blessings that rewarded their toils. One could not refrain from +comparing the civilization of the West with the sordid life-scramble of +the East. + +Once on the road again the despondent sort of gloom that seemed to +surround everything became a thing of the past, as gradually the +Rockies loomed up on the horizon; at first faint and mysterious +they gradually deepened in colour and sharpened in outline. What a +refreshing and soul-inspiring sight after nearly 1,000 miles of travel +across the dusty, dreary, tiring plains! + +In the late afternoon a thin cloud of curling black smoke was seen +upon the horizon. This is invariably the forerunner of a western town. +Long before one actually draws near to one's destination, if that +destination be a town, it is discernible sometimes twenty and even +thirty miles away by the tufts and clouds of smoke that hang over it. +The sight is as that of a huge Atlantic liner no more than a fraction +above the horizon. One cannot discern its hidden size or form, but the +smoke from its funnels threads upwards into the heavens like a sentinel +in the engulfing vastness of the sea. + +Thus does one approach a town set in the heart of a bewildering plain. +Gradually it is possible to discern here and there a chimney-stack and +sometimes the reflection of a solitary window in one of the tallest +buildings will scintillate on the distant horizon. + +The busy town of Pueblo drew nigh. With a rapidly increasing population +of over 50,000 and nearly 300 factories, some of which are among the +largest steel-manufacturing plants in the States, Pueblo is known as +the "Pittsburgh of the West." But let not the reader be misled by this +title into thinking that Pueblo is miserable and gloomy and odoriferous +as is the wont of most towns of its character. Its streets are wide, +clean and well-lit with electric lamps; its buildings also are clean +and of comely architecture; there are no slums or poverty-stricken +quarters, and with the giant mountains looming in the distance Pueblo +is an ideal manufacturing town in ideal surroundings, besides being the +centre of a rich mining district. + +From Pueblo, after ministering to the wants of the inner man, I turned +again westward towards Canyon City, some forty miles away in the heart +of the Colorado Rockies, in order to visit the famous Royal Gorge, +known also as the "Grand Canyon of the Arkansas," thence to return by +a large detour through Colorado Springs, another Western city like +Pueblo, and with perchance a side-trip up the automobile road that +has been cut to the summit of Pike's Peak (the highest highway in the +world), to return to the trail to the south into New Mexico. + +That rise from Pueblo into the Rockies will linger ever in my memory. +Surrounded in all directions but behind with glowering mountain +ranges, the road cut across vast rolling plains and prairies that +spoke of desolation immense and wonderful. As the sun set behind the +mountains they became tinged and fired with every shade of colour, +and darkness slowly crept through the valleys and filled the air with +vague wonder and glorious contentment. In front and slightly to the +right rose Pike's Peak high above its fellows, thrusting its massive +splendour 14,000 feet and more into the ruddy heavens. An eerie feeling +of intense loneliness crept through my veins as mile after mile was +passed through naked prairie in the midst of such awful surroundings, +with never a soul to be seen. I travelled thirty miles before the +chilly breezes and the growing darkness constrained me to stop. (The +headlight was _hors de combat_; only the "dimmer" would work.) In all +that distance I saw no living thing save the tufted grass and the black +pine-trees peppered over the sides of the foothills. + +When progress was no longer possible, I pulled Lizzie to the side of +the dusty road, propped up her stand, and unfolded my blanket on the +grass of the prairie at her side. Once again I should enjoy the sweet +luxury of Nature's bedchamber in the heart of Nature's best. + +But Dame Nature's bedchamber is oft a chilly and inhospitable one, and +despite the invitations she tenders to all who count themselves her +lovers. "Bring your own blankets" is the one stipulation. She will +provide the rest. She will bring the magic sleep, the fairy dreams, the +golden dawn and the thrills of ecstasy as one wakes again fresh and +strong into her lovely world of health and beauty. + +From rolling plains we passed to bounding foothills where the road +twisted and turned and crossed torrential streams, spanned by +picturesque stone bridges, until the delightful little town of Florence +was reached. Here came a short stop for breakfast and thence on again +towards Canyon City. + +From Canyon City to the Royal Gorge has been built a wonderful piece +of road, winding and climbing into the very heart of Colorado's rugged +bosom. The gradient in places is terrific. Every ounce of power +was sometimes necessary to surmount certain stretches, and blind +=S=-bends carved from the solid face of the rocks made travelling +a danger as well as a test of skill. At every bend and every turn +some new panorama would spring to view and farther and farther away +would fade the distant horizon of the east. Whither the road led was +impossible to see. Frowning cliffs and wooded crags seemed to be the +only goal ahead. After half an hour of heavy toil we reach an opening. +There is a turn to the left, a flat plateau and a slight dip down; the +trail dies away to nothing and a sign "Royal Gorge" is announced from +a bungalow near its end. The gaunt pine-trees also end, there is a +huge gap in the earth and the plateau beyond is seen a clear half-mile +to the westward. We clamber over the rocks and boulders, carefully +and gently, where the ground has suddenly stopped, and peering down +from the brink we gaze upon a tremendous cleft in the crust of the +earth. Some 3,000 feet below we see a raging torrent like a huge white +snake lashing with a sullen roar along its tortuous path, hemmed in by +vertical walls of cold relentless granite. The rushing torrent is the +Arkansas, a mighty flood although but a few miles from its source, and +the same river whose bed 700 miles away towards its mouth had afforded +such excellent nocturnal accommodation a week before! + +It is as though one is peering into the very bowels of the earth. That +this gigantic chasm has been cut out by that river which now is over +half a mile below seems almost incredible. As we gaze there is another +surprise in store. Like a tiny plaything, a train emerges from a bend +in the cliffs and with little infantile puffs of smoke crawls along the +rails which one now sees running along the narrow river bank. Clinging +close to every twist and turn the train proceeds. There is scarcely +sufficient space between the rugged walls and the surging river for the +single track. At one point the width of the ledge is but 10 yards and +the track has been built out over the water. The river dashes madly +through; the engine sways from side to side as it drags its heavy load +onward. Down there, it is said that the sky above is but a thread of +light and the stars can be seen at midday as in a mine. + +One moves one's gaze and scans the rugged boulders that lie heaped and +stacked and strewn about as if but a push would suffice to send them +hurtling down into the chasm below. Here and there are stunted growths +of sage, cactus and prickly pear, or a giant fir-tree springs from a +grassy cleft in the rocks. + +Retracing the trail, we find ourselves soon descending the precipitous +winds and turns that lead back to Canyon City. On the left we pass +"The Famous Sky-line Drive," which announces itself by placards here +and there as "The greatest scenic highway wonder of the world." But +a little distance from here is also "the one-day trip that bankrupts +the English language" and such beauty spots as are suggested by the +names "Hell Gate," "The Frying Pan," "Roaring Fork," "The Devil's +Thousand-Foot Slide," "Cripple Creek," "The Garden of the Gods," and +other similarly euphonious and onomatopoeic appellations. + +It would be tempting to explore all these places and to see more of +Colorado and the immense fund of natural beauty which she displays +in endless variety. But impatience draws me again towards Pueblo, so +that I can once again strike the trail that leads to California. I am +already getting anxious to see the blue sea, though yet only half-way +between the oceans! + +That afternoon as I paused beneath a "bowser" in Pueblo while Lizzie +was filled to the brim, I inquired the condition of the road to +Trinidad, some 100 miles to the south on the Santa Fé Trail. + +"Trinidad? The worst road in America, sir!--ab-sol-oot-ly the worst +road in America, sir." + +The prospect was not pleasing. There was certainly an element of +interest about it because it would be fascinating almost to see for +oneself exactly what Americans did consider a bad road. My formula so +far had been that when an American said a road was good, it was bad. +When he said it was bad, it was damn bad! But what would the "worst" be +like? + +As I sped along, the sky deepened and a severe thundershower +threatened. Heavy black clouds glowered around the mountain-tops +and every moment I expected a sudden outburst from the heavens. On +my right the Rockies rose higher and higher. In the distance, but +gradually approaching, rose Blanca Peak, a dreadful, ponderous giant +amongst its brethren, its gloomy crest piercing the very vaults of the +sky and hardly visible in the sombre blackness that so often hangs +in the neighbourhood of these western mountain peaks. Now and again +a streak of lightning would flash through the heavens, and the dull +thud that followed, belated and awe-inspiring, would rumble backwards +and forwards along the valleys, reverberating from peak to peak until +finally it was lost in the depths of the firmament. + +On the left spread the rolling plains as far as the eye could reach, +like as the sea stretches up to the shores of Dover whence the cliffs +rise sheer and stubborn. In front lay the road, skirting the borderline +twixt plains and peaks. + +I soon came to the conclusion that that garage hand in Pueblo had +been "pulling one over me." The road was just splendid. Laid in +hard flat well-made macadam, its surface was excellent, passing all +understanding. As I sped on ever quicker to avoid the gathering storm, +the non-skid pads of the tyres hummed a merry tune. Could I be on the +right road? I asked myself once again. I must be, for in these parts +there is only one road to be taken. No others exist. There must be a +catch in it somewhere, I told myself. + +An hour went by and still the thunder rushed around Blanca Peak the +Mighty, now receding from view. An occasional shower just on the edge +of the storm would hasten me on my way. Still the road was perfection +itself, and still it fringed the chain of minor peaks that runs from +north to south, the boundary of the vast plateau of over 1,000,000 +square miles that includes, in those unassuming words, "The Rockies." +Another hour flew by. + +And then it came, like a thief in the night, sudden and unexpected. +The smooth grey macadam vanished, as though the magic wand had ceased +its power. Instead lay ahead a villainous track in the dark brown soil +of the prairie, a track beaten with sorrow and stricken with grief, +here battered into ugly patches, there heaped into fearful ridges and +seething masses of mud and rock. It had rained. Those words alone +express a world of sin and shame, when one speaks of a trail "out +West." Here once more were the old agonies, the old discomforts, +the old tortures, the old haulings, heavings, pushings, joltings and +bruisings. The sky again became overcast. The rain began to fall +tormentingly. I had still twenty-five miles to go to the nearest town. +The sun sank lower behind the mountain ridge. The rain fell faster; if +I did not reach Walsenburg that night I should have to rest among the +prairie-dogs in the pelting rain. And what chance was there of reaching +Walsenburg before dark with no lights and at an average of six miles an +hour "all out," with only a paltry hour before dusk? + +I will not attempt to describe that ride. I feel it should not be +described. "The ride that bankrupts the English language," indeed, +thought I. Many times I left the road altogether and pursued my course +whither I listed over the rough prairie. Strewn with boulders, rocks +and ugly stones, carved here and there in fantastic shapes, with +mysterious hollows and quaint prairie-dog holes, it was just possible +to scramble along. From a distance the "road" I had left looked better +and I returned to it, only to find that the prairie still looked more +enticing. How I leapt over the smaller stones and skipped round the +larger ones always intent on nothing but the few yards that were to +follow, I shall never completely remember. Again and again I returned +to the road and endured its agony for a spell, and again I swerved away +from it, my every bone shaking in its joints and my teeth rocking in +their sockets with the vibration. + +Let me forget. These things are not good to gloat upon! I remember +but one amusing incident, which was but the forerunner of many more +to come. I had returned to the road for a spell. I came to a slight +dip. It was like a lake full of fluid mud where a wayward stream had +swollen with the rains and encroached upon the sanctity of the road. +"Not negotiable" was the unspoken verdict. Strange to say, the prairie +was now fenced off from the road boundary, so there was no avoiding the +coming struggle. "It's got to be done, so here goes"; slowly I dived +into the yellow mass. Just half-way the back wheel turned to jelly and +seemed to crumple up to nothing. With one big splosh the whole five +hundred-weight of us flopped gaily over into the mire. Pinned down by +the weight of the machine, the mud had ample time to soak through all +my clothing, into my pockets and down my neck. Lizzie's submersion +would have been entire instead of partial had I not intervened.... +After a short struggle I ultimately succeeded in extricating my right +foot from between the brake-pedal and the engine, and heaved the bulky +mass from its repose. No sooner was this done than we slithered once +more and fell over _en bloc_ on the opposite side. + +Oh, the joys of motor-cycling in Yankeeland! + +I did get to Walsenburg that night. As luck would have it, the two +hotels were full. At least the desk-clerks avowed by the bones of their +saintly grandmothers that there wasn't a room left. Probably they +were moved to anxiety lest their worthy name should be soiled by this +mud-covered intruder! + +I found a room after a long search at a fifth-rate "doss-house" devoid +of furniture, where the landlady demanded my money in advance before +giving me the key to my room. + +Thus passed another day. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +IN SOUTHERN COLORADO + + +There is only one road in the States as bad as that from Walsenburg to +Trinidad. I refer to the road from Trinidad to Walsenburg. + +In spite of that it was a good road; I got through. It took endless +patience, perseverance and a morning of time to do those fifty weary +miles. The scenery was strange, almost to the point of weirdness. From +the surrounding flatness would rise sudden plateaus, with dead vertical +sides and perfectly flat tops. Even the hills and mountains where they +occurred (save in the distant Rockies) were modelled on the same plan, +rising abruptly from the plain and ascending in two, three or more +sudden steps. The effect was just as though the land architecture had +been entrusted to some aspiring cubist or futurist instead of to the +well-disciplined laws of Nature. + +I do not profess to have attained much learning in the science of +geology, and speak, therefore, as one without authority. But it seemed +to me on many occasions that to study the geology of the Far West, the +English scientist would have to forget all he had ever learnt about +physical geography and start all over again in Southern Colorado. + +At first I was puzzled in the extreme to see how the mountains rose +suddenly out of the great plains, without any warning almost, and +without the customary foot-hills and valleys that one would expect to +see clustering around a mountain range of several thousands of feet +in height. Afterwards I became accustomed to this unusual formation, +when I found that mountains always grow that way in the Far West, and +particularly farther on in New Mexico and Arizona. All their ranges +seemed like elongated "Wrekins" set in a plain of gigantic dimensions. + +At Aguilar, half-way on the road to Trinidad, I met the first really +Mexican town. It will be remembered that all the south-western States +once belonged to Mexico and one by one they have been ceded or bought +or otherwise appropriated until Mexico now is only a shadow of its +former self. Nevertheless a large proportion of the population is +still Mexican, in spite of the continued influx of American settlers, +and consequently Mexican is spoken almost universally in addition to +English as the national tongue. + +Trinidad styles itself "The industrial and commercial centre of S. E. +Colorado." With a population of something in the region of 14,000, +it stands at the base of Fisher's Peak (10,000 feet), and it is an +admirable example of the inextricable mixtures of Old Mexico and New +America in the cities of the West. I took its picture and left its +shining well-paved streets to track down my old friend, the Santa Fé +Trail. + +I got one mile away from the town and then struck. The trail climbed +rapidly, skirting the Peak all the time in preparation for the Raton +Pass soon to follow, which cuts right over the Rocky Mountains into +New Mexico. That in itself was nothing. I am always game for a good +hill-climb. But I had thought better of the Santa Fé Trail. After +climbing 1,000 feet in just over a mile, it changed into the most +absurd hotch-potch of ruts and mud-heaps that ever eye witnessed, and +this for as far as one could see. The condition of the road strained +my credulity to breaking point. Getting through the far-off mud-hole +at Hume in Indiana was a child's tea-party compared with this. In half +an hour I did just 100 yards and then, after resolutely determining to +return to Trinidad and take the train, I found that to go back was as +much out of the question as to go forward. It simply couldn't be done +single-handed. To turn Lizzie round would require nothing less than a +sky-hook and pulley-blocks. + +I left her standing in a huge rut in the middle of the road and +reconnoitred to see how far this appalling state of affairs continued. + +Fortunately a Flivver appeared round a bend in the road ahead, +coming in the opposite direction. It heaved and swayed and bumped +and side-slipped and hiccoughed its way along. I watched it until it +finally reached the spot where Lizzie blocked the way. Then something +had to be done. The car had two occupants, both hefty-looking men, whom +I enlisted to my aid. Together we lifted and pulled and heaved and +pushed until the worst was past, and then I struggled on alone. + +Farther into the mountains we travelled; higher and higher we climbed. +In places the trail was hewn out of the rugged mountain sides, and +except in a few places there was hardly room for more than one vehicle +to pass. Occasionally a "washout" would be encountered where a mountain +stream had encroached on the road and washed it away altogether. +Then would come a short detour over a gap in the bank, with the +grassy slope strewn with branches and small tree-trunks to prevent +the unfortunate vehicle sinking in and thus permanently blocking all +progress that way. + +The ascent of the Raton Mountains by the Raton Pass is made amongst +some of the most beautiful scenery imaginable. The trail is only +visible a few yards ahead and is lost in sudden twists and turns as +gradually the mountain slopes are devoured. On the right, almost +behind, are still to be seen the famous Spanish Peaks towering like +twins in solitude above the rest of the Sangre de Cristo range, some +forty miles away. Soon we shall be leaving Colorado State behind +us--Colorado the Glorious, the Beautiful, the Great. + +It is said that "amongst all the mountain kingdoms, Colorado seems to +stand easily first in physical adornment: not even Switzerland and her +Alps offering more than a fair comparison." Mont Blanc, the highest +peak in the Alps, is 15,784 feet high, while Colorado has many peaks +lacking little of this height. The lowest depths of some of Colorado's +famous parks are higher than the average height of the Alpine Chain. + +Upward we climb, amid thickly-wooded mountain tops, round thrilling +bends and tortuous precipices and over the rockiest of roads. The end +is in sight. A depression in the sky-line ahead shows where the Raton +Pass (7,620 feet to be exact) reaches its highest point and gazes +forwards into the heart of New Mexico and behind into the vastnesses of +Colorado. + +A gradual bend, a sudden swerve, and then--the summit is reached. +Colorado is passed. Before us lies a great and thickly-wooded valley, +broad and deep and beautiful. Beyond lie the great plains of New +Mexico, plains so vast that in their utter defiance of limit and +dimension they beggar description. The eye could not follow the +great expanse. So immense were the distances that the earth merged +indefinitely into the sky at the horizon. Dotted and strewn here and +there were hills and mountain ranges that seemed to have sprung up so +suddenly out of the plateau to have really no connection with them. + +Here I stood at the gate of another world. Before me lay a land of +mystery and romance, a land of health for body and soul; a land of +desert and sage-bush, of cactus and strange vegetation; a land of +antiquity unparalleled by any other in the world. Here at my feet lay +New Mexico and beyond, Arizona, the two States that at the same time +are the oldest and the youngest in America. Although only admitted to +the Union in 1912, their history dates from remote ages when they were +peopled by a race unknown to-day but nevertheless well advanced on the +road to civilization, a race that built cities while Babylon was as yet +unknown, and laid down irrigation systems that puzzle the engineers of +the present day. + +Arizona and New Mexico, you are the pearls of great price that no human +being has ever yet valued at your true worth. When the day shall come +that man can say of you, "I have seen you in all your moods and have +discovered all your secrets," then this old earth will be a lifeless, +soulless, aimless globe, its purpose fulfilled, its course completed. + +A five mile descent through the scented pine-trees brought me to +Raton, another half-Mexican, half-American town, small but modern +and well-arranged. "No more 'rooming-houses' for me," I resolved and +turned my gaze to the far-distant plains where the darkness was slowly +gathering. + +Even in New Mexico, one need never go without a meal. The way to +an Englishman's heart is through his stomach (this applies also to +Americans and most human beings in general!). My heart was greatly +touched by Raton in this manner, and shortly before dusk I was speeding +on my way southwards towards Santa Fé. + +Ten miles out the trail crossed a river. It must have been the Canadian +River, a tributary of the Arkansas, which it joins several hundred +miles to the east. The surrounding country was desolation and solitude +itself. Half prairie, half waste, almost desert, it was a country of +new sensations. Just to the west, from horizon to horizon, stretched +the gaunt and rugged Sangre de Cristo range, dark and threatening +always in their aspect. Not a living thing was in sight, not even a +suggestion of life. I ran Lizzie off the road to the brink of the river +and laid down my bed in the silver rays of the rising moon. + +At 6.30 in the morning the sky was ruddy and the air pure with the +fresh breezes of the dawn. From minute to minute the myriad colours of +the mountains changed their tints as the sun rose higher in the Mexican +sky. I continued on my way. + +The road was broad and good, but a surprise was in store. After a few +miles there appeared a dilapidated signpost where a bedraggled pathway +joined the broad highway through a gap in the fence which now ran +alongside. It bore the legend "To Santa Fé" and pointed through the +fence to the left. My first impression was that some small boy had been +playing pranks. It was inconceivable that these two ruts but a few +inches wide in the coarse green grass should lead to Santa Fé while +there, straight on, was a good broad highroad that led nowhere. It ran +clear ahead and was lost over the brow of a hill. I never found where +that road went. I have never seen it on any map and have made many +inquiries since. Some travellers, like myself, had seen that road and +wavered, but not one had gone that way and could enlighten me. + +New Mexico is not a nice country in which to lose oneself. Towns +are very few, and often one can go a hundred miles without seeing a +village or meeting a soul. So in spite of the temptation I swerved +to the left and entered the field that was without corn or pasture, +following those two ruts that cut deep into the prairie soil and were +not visible more than 50 or 100 yards ahead at the most. In places the +two ruts had become too deep for further use and another pair had been +started at the side, running parallel with the original ones. When +these had worn too far another pair had sprung up, and in many places +I counted eight distinct pairs of ruts running side by side across the +prairie, each representing a distinct phase in the evolution of the +Santa Fé Trail. At any point, if one looks far and long enough, one +can find the original tracks that centuries ago were formed by the old +prairie-schooners as they journeyed westward across the plains to Santa +Fé. + +The next town lay far across the plains beyond the horizon. I should +have to hurry if I were to get any breakfast, but the riding was rough. +Tufts of coarse grass and sharp stones covered the prairie and held +back the speed; here and there were the holes of prairie-dogs, who +respect no one in their choice of a site. If it pleases them to build +their front-door entrance where your favourite inter-rut strip happens +to be, well, they build it there. Their holes are generally about six +inches in diameter, the mouth being funnel-shaped. Passing vehicles +smash them in until the opening is sometimes two or three feet across. +Our friend the prairie-dog doesn't mind in the least. He continues to +live there in spite of the traffic and never a curse escapes his lips. +He is a dear little animal. One cannot help loving him. In stature +these animals have the characteristic of both a squirrel and a rabbit, +and are about a foot in length. They sit on their fat little haunches +like a squirrel, but have only a little bobbed tail like a rabbit. I +believe they are the most friendly rodents in existence, and have the +reputation of dwelling in friendship even with rattlesnakes, who never +harm them! If you surprise one when he is away from home, he watches +you, motionless, to see if he has been seen, if only a few feet from +the intruder. And when he sees that you have seen, away he runs with +his head well down and his little tail well up until he reaches his +burrow in the flat prairie. This done, he considers himself safe, turns +round, sits on his haunches and stares inquiringly at you. But if you +dare come too close he disappears in a second and is seen no more. + +One cannot help laughing at the antics of these amusing little animals +as they scamper off like month-old puppy dogs. Ofttimes I have chased +one to his hole in the road and watched the anxious look on his face as +for a brief moment he turns his head before flashing into the ground +below your front wheel. No true traveller could harm one of these +innocent little beasts; they are often his only companions for hundreds +of miles. + +Ten, twenty, thirty miles I travelled over the almost trackless +prairie. Occasional mud-pools barred the way, but when the trail was +unfenced, these were easily avoided. Later on fences appeared, limiting +the road from some neighbouring ranch. I judged I was getting near to +Springer. + +An old shack of a two-seater car hove in sight, coming in the opposite +direction; I had an opportunity of studying it in detail as it came +close up. Naturally we both stopped. All travellers are friends in the +Far West, where distances are great and people are few. + +"Guess you'd better follow us if you want to get to Springer this +week," essayed the driver. + +"Why, is there any mud about?" + +"Mud? There's a hole down there outside the town that we've been trying +to get either in or out of these two-and-a-half hours. Had to get some +hosses to pull us backwards out of it in the end. Gosh, I've never +seen a mud-hole like it in all my days. We kin get around another way +though, I'm told. Where you headin' for, stranger?" + +"Santa Fé." + +"Oh, we was expectin' to get to Santa Fé this mornin'. We're bound for +El Paso, and must get there by to-morrow." + +I reflected that El Paso was in Texas on the Mexican border, some 500 +miles to the south! "Well, if you don't mind, I'll come along to Santa +Fé with you, so then we can each help dig each other out of any holes +that happen along." + +"Righto, glad to have your company, but we're not speed merchants like +I guess you are with that 'oss there." + +"Don't make any mistake, brother. I passed the speed craze a thousand +miles back. It doesn't pay." + +So we retraced our tracks, the car leading. It was shorn entirely +of mudwings and footboards to save the wheels becoming clogged or +the running boards fouling the road. On the back was strapped a +large trunk. This I found is the usual way of travel by "auto" in +the West. Seldom does one see wings on a car that is driven for any +distance from home. Running boards, if present, are generally of an +improvised variety made by planks suspended and fastened in place by +ropes around the body work. Thus the road clearance is increased and +the necessity for constant cleaning removed. By far the most popular +"machine" is the Ford. You can buy one cheap and sell it as scrap when +the journey, if a long one, is finished. Owners of large expensive +touring cars very often have a Ford as well for emergencies and for +long distance travelling. In New Mexico and Arizona I have seen scores +of huge touring cars stuck helplessly in the road and often abandoned +altogether until the seasons permit of their removal. + +I followed my friends from Texas along little pathways and rough +tracks strewn with boulders, through gaps in fences, across fields and +back gardens, all, to my mind, at an alarming pace. It was only with +difficulty that I kept up with them at all, owing to the many ruts and +rocks and other obstructions that are far more hindering to two wheels +than four. + +Arrived eventually in Springer, I resolved to postpone the promised +meal until later in the day. + +We passed many ranches and crossed many mud-holes, some of alarming +width across. In most I managed to fall off at least once and wallowed +in the mud. Sometimes the car got so far ahead as to be lost +altogether, but after each encounter with a mud-lake I managed to make +up the lost time. + +Thus passed nearly thirty miles in which I realized the utter absurdity +of two wheels compared with four. At one place I lost so much time that +I began to give up as hopeless the attempt to keep up with the car +ahead. After all, what was the use? Once out of the mire, however, the +trail became better and turned into loose sand for many miles. + +Over this sand I made good progress. It was now nearly midday, and I +had visions of a meal in Wagonmound, a small village some twenty miles +away. The appetite was there all right, and as I trimmed off mile after +mile at good speed I forgot all about mud-holes and the like. + +All at once the engine burst into a wild roar and Lizzie began to slow +down. What new trouble was this? A broken chain, or something worse? I +stopped as quickly as I could and proceeded to an examination of the +transmission. The chain was all right, but the engine sprocket had +almost come right off the driving shaft. The key and nut, where were +they? + +For an hour I searched up and down in the sand and in the grass at +the roadside for the missing parts, but without success. The sun was +almost vertically above and its rays poured down unmercifully from a +cloudless sky. There was not a sign of water or of any living thing in +any direction. + +I returned to another examination to discover whether I could remove a +nut from any other part of the machine to replace the defaulter. Not a +nut was there anywhere that at all approached either the size or the +thread required. I searched once more, wondering in how many days' +time another vehicle would pass that way, and half resolved to walk the +next twenty miles. + +What! Leave Lizzie and walk! NEVER! + +Another hour elapsed. I had explored all the ruts and searched every +inch of the road for half a mile back. I stopped, and wondered where +I could find water to drink. Water would be even more acceptable than +the nut and key now. I scanned the sun-baked prairie in all directions. +From horizon to horizon there was nothing but the solitary distant +mountains, and here and there a lonely parched-up hill. Truly a nice +outlook! Henceforth I would carry a water-bag with me. + +I decided to return to Lizzie, push her off the road and try walking. +But just to think of coming 3,000 miles in her constant company, and +then having to forsake her! "Poor old Lizzie, she's a dear old crock," +I murmured to myself. + +What was that? I stooped down to see, and there hidden in a crack +in the hard mud was the missing key. That put a different aspect on +matters altogether. The nut would in all probability not be far away. +I set out to explore every stone and every rut and every crack. Sure +enough I found it not very far away. + +In a few minutes the midsummer air was whistling past my ears once +again. + +In ten minutes I found myself surveying the biggest thing in mud-lakes +that it has ever been my misfortune to negotiate. The road was fenced +in, naturally. There was a ranch on either side of it. The lake of mud +extended sideways to the very borders of the road, ninety feet wide. +The distance across was about fifty yards. I estimated that the mud and +water were waist-deep in the middle. Ridges and furrows of harder mud, +where passing cars had churned it up, in a desperate attempt to get +through, led into the sickly mass and then were lost. + +"This requires a scientist, not a motor-cyclist, to cross," I averred, +and, propping Lizzie upon her stand, went to reconnoitre. + +I then created a precedent in the art of crossing mud-holes by which +I benefited on all future occasions. I was wearing water-tight field +boots which came up to my knees. The _modus operandi_ was this: I would +select a likely-looking rut and walk along it as far as I could without +the water coming over the top of my boots. If it came over I went back +and tried another one. This process was repeated until I had a good +idea how the land lay. If I could possibly get through without the mud +reaching my knees, I knew I could get Lizzie through all right. This +manner of prospecting in advance I found indispensable and at the same +time perfectly successful. + +I got through somehow, but prayed that I should never meet another like +THAT. + +I rolled into Wagonmound about three in the afternoon a very weary +and mud-stained traveller. When I got there, it started to rain; it +naturally would. + +There is but one restaurant in Wagonmound, which enjoys a population +of 200 or so Mexican-Americans. Here I learnt that there had been a +"cloud-burst" near Santa Fé but a few days back; also that the oldest +inhabitants of New Mexico had never known so much rain to fall as this +summer; also that the roads ahead were almost impassable; also that +at one place on the other side of Santa Fé and at a distance of fifty +miles between two towns there were one hundred cars stranded in the +mud and abandoned! I was proof against it all, however. I considered +that by now I could get through anywhere. I was not to be daunted +by fancy yarns and sceptical reports. Time was when I cursed the +Americans for being optimistic about their roads. That stage had long +since been passed. Now I was proof against even their pessimisms and +discouragements. + +The rain stopped and I proceeded once more, determined to make a big +effort to reach Santa Fé that night, though still ninety miles away. + +At Wagonmound there was a station of the Santa Fé Railway, which for a +good distance ran close to the trail. I inquired at the "Depot" what +were the chances of travelling on the track. I did not want to try +conclusions with any trans-continental trains if avoidable. + +"What! Ride in the track!" ejaculated the line-master. "You can't do +that!" + +"Oh, I guess I can if I'm careful," was my response. + +"Waal, I jest guess you _can't_, my friend," was his rejoinder. "I'll +have you arrested if you try to work that stunt." + +Argument was useless. "D'ye think I want to damage your bloomin' old +track?" I asked him heatedly after much discussion. We settled the +matter finally by my tendering the information that I would ride up +and down his track all day long if I wanted to (not much fear of such +a desire developing!) and if he liked he could "write to _John Bull_ +about it"! + +The humour of the situation was lost upon him. + +"You'll get shot," was his reply, whereat we parted. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +NEW MEXICO + + +I set out from Wagonmound with a light heart and a heavy stomach. + +The road ran parallel with the rail for a mile, then crossed over by a +level crossing and continued parallel on the other side. I did not get +far. No doubt there had been unusual rain; great fields were now lakes +with the grass bottom not always visible; little streams, normally no +more than the size of a small spring, were now swollen rivers. These +crossed the road in places. The road was fenced in. And thereby hangs a +tale. + +After precisely half an hour I found myself just three miles advanced, +and in the midst of a hopeless chaos of sun-dried emaciated mud. I +had "explored every avenue" of the road, but found none possible +of negotiation. Bit by bit I dragged Lizzie back and returned to +the level-crossing. Come what may I would try the track. Even if +the sleepers shook my very bones to powder it would be better than +eternally forging through the mud of New Mexico. + +On each side of the road where it crossed the rails the track was +guarded by a satanic device in the form of spikes and knife-edges +skilfully arranged and extending to a distance of several yards. The +function of these was evidently to prevent cattle and other animals +straying on the line. Traversing these was no easy task. If one did +not ride on top of the spikes, one's tyres wedged in between the +knives. Once past, the rest seemed easy. But things are not what they +seem, especially on railroad tracks. The sleepers were not ballasted +and were anything but level. There was no room outside the track, for +it was steeply banked, and the sleepers projected beyond the rails into +space. At every few hundred yards the track ran over a brick bridge +spanning a bog or a stream. The bridge was just the width of the rails +apart. But when it came to riding--ugh! As every sleeper was passed, +the wheels fell momentarily into the intervening space between it and +the next, and a series of sudden, sharp shocks was hammered through +Lizzie's poor frame as each sleeper in turn was struck by the front +wheel. The faster I went the quicker and smaller were the shocks, and +above a certain speed it was quite tolerable running. + +I was just getting up a comfortable speed when I imagined I heard the +whistle of a locomotive behind. This was discouraging and certainly +unexpected. I stopped quickly and looked back. Sure enough there was +a train coming, but it was easily half a mile away. To go forward in +the hope of out-pacing it would be useless. There was not even room to +get off the track, for once I got down the steep bank, I knew it would +be next to impossible to get back again, or to get anywhere, for that +matter. + +Neither was there room to turn round and go back. + +More than ever before did it appear to me that discretion was better +than valour. + +So I commenced to push Lizzie backwards to the level crossing, prepared +to roll sideways over the bank if I found the train got there first. + +I was just beginning to feel sure about winning the race, and judged +that I should get there with a good hundred yards to spare. I reached +the crossing, but as naturally as one would expect, the back wheel +wedged tight between the knives of the cow-guard. + +Would she budge? No. + +As I struggled and heaved (I could not look on and see Lizzie go west +in such an absurd fashion), the "California Limited" bore down upon me. +Fortunately American trains do not always go so fast as they might; at +any rate, not so fast as one thinks they should when one is travelling +in them. + +With a final desperate lunge, Lizzie yielded to my efforts and came +unstuck. No time was lost in getting out of the way. Fifteen seconds +afterwards the train rolled by at a modest thirty. She had evidently +not got properly under way since her stop at Wagonmound. + +I returned to the mud-hole like a smacked puppy with its tail between +its legs, and reflected on what might have been. + +But it was no use. I stuck again. + +This time I was well armed with refreshments. I had bought six bottles +of a ginger-pop concoction from the last village. I carried one in each +pocket and the other two as reserves, only to be used in case of great +emergency, enveloped in the blanket strapped on the carrier. + +I drank one bottle at the close of every engagement with the road. But +after an hour I was still no farther ahead. I reclined on the bank and +waited for something to turn up. + +Fact revealed itself stranger than fiction once more. Something turned +up very speedily. It came in the form of a "Marmon" touring car, +bearing a Californian number-plate. I had taken the precaution, of +course, to leave Lizzie in the right spot, so that no disinclined +passer-by could get through if he wanted to. After all, one musn't +RELY on everyone playing the Good Samaritan. + +The two occupants of the car were courtesy itself. They not only +assisted me in lifting Lizzie over the _pièce de résistance_, but also +showed considerable interest in me. Out here, where friendship between +motorists is much more marked (almost as a matter of necessity), there +is seldom any need for anxiety, and it is remarkable how potent a +thing is this roadside courtesy. Practically every town I stopped at +afterwards had heard of the strange traveller who was coming along on a +10 h.p. motor-cycle, and awaited my arrival with interest. + +"Had a fella in here on his way to California told us about you," said +one garage hand, in the heart of Arizona. "Said you'd be here sooner or +later." + +"Oh yes? And how long ago was that?" I queried. + +"Um--guess well over a couple of weeks ago." (The word "fortnight" is +unknown in America.) + +Such little incidents happened many times, and these, coupled with the +amazing reports that had been circulated by the Western Press about +me since that inflammatory article on "Roads," etc., in the _Kansas +City Star_, had generally managed to achieve for me quite a notorious +reputation in most towns long before I ever rattled into their midst. + +It was now nearly fifty miles to the next town. I pushed ahead as fast +as I could to reach it before dark. Progress, however, was slow. In +places where the road was not fenced, I rode upon the rocky prairie. +It was, for the most part, a considerable improvement, and one could +ride around the bogs and mud-holes instead of crossing them. + +Never had I been in such wild and barren country. It was quite beyond +hope of cultivation in most places, being strewn with rough stones, +rocks, and boulders, and only sparsely covered with meagre-looking +grass which, in its efforts to keep alive at all, had to arrange itself +in small tufts dotted here and there in order to derive the maximum +nutriment from the scanty, unfruitful soil. The country itself changed +from flat to hilly as the Sangre de Cristo range once more drew nearer. +When it became hilly, great rocks projected through the surface of the +trail, which seldom or never swerved to avoid them. + +The trail itself resolved itself later on into no more than a mere +medley of ruts and grass-bare strips of all widths, running and +crossing each other at all angles and in all directions. There was +no time to look around and enjoy the wild scenery or study the +ever-changing sky-line; it was "eyes on the road" all the time. It +was quite impossible to dodge more than a fraction of the rocks and +boulders, and one was always abruptly brought back to stern reality, +if for an instant one's thoughts diverged to other things, by a sudden +shock from one's front wheel, or a sickening crash on the bottom or +side of the crank-case. + +It was a slow job, and travelling was more in the line of a mountain +goat than a motor-cycle. I was ultimately satisfied if I could average +eight or ten miles an hour. + +After thirty miles of this, I was surprised to discern ahead something +which looked like a caravan. There were two vehicles, apparently +joined together, but with no visible means of locomotion. Nevertheless +they moved slowly. I judged that some enthusiast of the "See America +first" order had converted a Ford into a travelling home, or maybe +a wandering tribe of gipsies had become sufficiently modernized to +appreciate the benefits of auto _v._ horse transport. + +I caught them up and stopped to have a chat. Both sides seemed curious +at the other's means of locomotion, and wanted to know the why and the +wherefore. + +The team, I found, consisted as I had surmised of a Ford chassis, on +which had been skilfully built a caravan body. Behind was a trailer, +on two wheels, and of construction similar to, but smaller than, the +other. Evidently one was the parlour, kitchen, and store-room, and the +other the bedroom. + +The driver stopped his engine and jumped down. + +"Good day, sir; how do?" I inquired. + +"Very fit, thanks; you the same? How in Heavens'n earth d'you manage to +get along on THAT?" + +"Mostly by plenty of bad language and good driving," I returned. +"And what in the world are you doing in this benighted place with +THAT?" + +"Oh, I'm goin' west...." + +"Shouldn't be at all surprised at that!" + +"I'm bound for somewhere in Arizona. Come from Chicago. Fed up with +the life there, so I'm out for a change. Looking for a likely spot to +settle down where there's plenty of fresh air." + +"What! You've come all the way from Chicago on THAT?" I +inquired incredulously. + +"Sure enough." + +"How long has it taken you?" (I was already becoming sufficiently +Americanized, the reader will observe.) + +"Best part of three months." + +"How many with you?" + +"Wife and two children. Here they are." + +"Well, I wish you luck, brother; but it doesn't strike me that the +roads are ideal from a furniture-removing point of view, so to speak." + +"Roads?" (Here he waxed furious: I had touched a sore spot.) "Don't +talk to me about roads. The gor-dem Government oughta a' bin shot that +provided roads like this. Just think that across a civilized country +like America there isn't a dem road fit to drive a cow on to!" + +"Ah, I've thought that way myself; but there's a fallacy in the +observation, old man." + +"What d'ya mean?" + +"Just this--who told you America was a civilized country?" + +Long pause. + +"Aye, you've said it," and he relapsed into a stony silence. + +I bade him farewell, and left him scrambling slowly over the rocks and +mounds, while the caravan rocked from side to side and jerked its weary +way along. I reflected also that, after all, THAT was the way +to see the country. + +At dark I was but a few miles from Las Vegas. Once again heavy clouds +rolled over the sky. Rain began to fall. My spirits did likewise. I +wondered whether it was a habit. But what cared I for rain or mud? By +now surely I was proof against them. I struggled on. And ultimately I +got there. + +Las Vegas is a fair-sized town. In order of merit it is the second +largest in New Mexico. The first is Albuquerque and the third is the +capital, Santa Fé. There are no more towns of any size in New Mexico. +Including native Indian villages there are, in addition, in the whole +of New Mexico, some seventy or eighty small towns and very small +villages, making the total population of the whole State about 50,000. +When it is understood that New Mexico is about four times the area of +England, the reader will be able to form an idea of the sparsity of its +people. + +Now most people would have predicted that immediately on my arrival in +Las Vegas I would have sought out the best hotel and consumed a big +square meal. I did no such thing. I went to the movies instead. + +Then I returned and went to bed, half wondering whether to standardize +the one-meal-per-day experiment for future requirements. + +In the morning it was not raining, but all the time until midday it +showed signs of just commencing. + +At midday I became impatient and started out for Santa Fé. I had just +left the outskirts of the town when it did finally and irrevocably +decide to rain after all. I continued for five miles, when a Ford car +hove in sight. "Here goes for a chat and some straight dope on the +subject of roads to come," said I to myself and stopped. The Ford +stopped also. It had two occupants, a man and his wife. They both +looked bored, so we made a merry party. + +"What's the road like back there?" I inquired. + +"Mighty rough--mighty rough. They get better the further east we come." + +"Do you think I shall be able to get through to the coast?" + +"Well, it's mighty hard riding, but I guess you ought to be able to get +through. Oh, but stay a minute, there's a big wash-out before you get +to Santa Fé--big stone bridge washed clean away with the floods, not a +trace of it left. I don't know much about motor-cycles, but I guess you +could get across the river all right. You'll want to be careful though. +There was a whole cartload of people washed down the river last week, +so they say; all of 'em went west, horse and cart and all!" + +"Ah well, that'll add a bit of excitement to the trip. I'm good at +crossing rivers." + +"Ugh! Guess you'll not be looking out for any excitement time you've +gotten to Santa Fé!" + +I was particularly interested in these people's domestic arrangements. +Without a doubt I have never seen an ordinary touring car, much less a +Ford, equipped and arranged in such excellent style. They carried with +them a portable stove on which could be cooked any dish they required. +They carried ample supplies of vegetables, fruits, eggs, butter, bacon, +bread and tinned goods, and even tanks of fresh water for culinary and +drinking purposes. This is certainly a wise precaution, because it is +never safe to drink water from even the most tempting of rivers in the +West. Furthermore, they had two collapsible beds, which could be laid +upon the top of the seats from back to front, and which were fully +equipped with feather mattresses and blankets! One would think that +all this paraphernalia would have taken up an enormous amount of room. +Not so. Apart from the fact that the back part of the car was neatly +covered in, there was not the slightest sign that the car was anything +but an ordinary Ford with a lot of luggage in the back. + +I bade them farewell only on the strict condition that if the rain +continued I should return and share their supper. They would not be far +away, they told me. The _plat du jour_ was salmon and Mayonnaise sauce, +above all things! + +Still, it is a habit of mine never to go back, however tempting the +circumstances. At intervals I passed a few Mexicans driving teams of +horses, and once more I was alone with Lizzie. As a compensation for +the drizzling rain, the scenery was perfect. The trail had now swerved +into rugged, mountainous scenery, thickly wooded, wild and picturesque +in the extreme. It was almost ridiculous to watch how the narrow +trail dodged in and out of the trees, cutting across small forests of +cedar, aspen, and pine, curving to right and left round some awkward +prominence, now dipping down suddenly into a little valley, and then +darting up over hilly slopes all strewn with loose rocks and broken +with jutting crags. + +We were approaching the Pecos, the haunts of the bear and +mountain-lion, and the headquarters of numerous tourists and campers +attracted thither by the fine fishing, shooting, riding, and +mountain-climbing. + +Occasionally, as one took a sudden swerve around the face of a +projecting hill, one would see, away there in the valley beyond, +a Mexican village set back from the road, and would marvel at the +strange sight of the square mud buildings, congregated together in such +unique and regular formation. The brick-red hue of the houses was so +near to that of the surrounding country as almost to hide the village +altogether from view, even though it was right "under one's nose." + +My first impression of a Mexican village was one of amazement. To think +that several hundred people can live together in those single-storied +mud huts in peace and comfort, with ne'er a sheet of glass in the +windows and seldom a door within the door-posts--well, it was absurd! +But my second impression absorbed the first entirely, and was one +of appreciation for the primitive beauty of these native dwellings. +It is a beauty that lingers in one's memory, a beauty that lies in +natural flowing forms, defying the unrelenting sharp corners of modern +architecture. And I have seen many "adobe" houses in New Mexico that +would be far more comfortable to live in than many that have sheltered +my bones in Europe! + +I was meditating thus when the sound of rushing waters reached my ears. +Sure enough, the road ended abruptly, like a cliff, and continued in +like fashion on the opposite side. Between, and several feet below, +swirled the River Pecos. It was still swollen with rain from the +mountains, although it had evidently been much higher recently. + +Not a soul was about. There was a solitary Mexican house on a hill +to one side. I contemplated the river in silence, save for the sound +of its waters as they swirled over the rocky bed and now and then +dislodged a weighty boulder. + +To the right two rickety planks had been erected, supported partly +by ropes and partly by vertical props from rocks in the river, for +pedestrians to cross. I wondered what pedestrian would find himself in +these parts! + +To the left, a detour had somehow been dug at an angle of about 20 +degrees to the water's edge. In the opposite bank a similar detour +had been dug, but at an angle of about 30 degrees. Evidently several +cars had already passed through the river that way. But a car is not +a motor-cycle. I meditated. A car on four wheels could not only hold +its own better in the middle of the torrent, but could also get up +the opposite bank easier. One thing was quite certain--even if I got +through the river all right, it would require a superhuman effort to +push the machine up the steep, greasy incline on the opposite side. + +I reconnoitred up and down the river bank in the hope of finding a +better place to cross, but the quest was in vain. The banks grew +steeper and higher and the river-bed wider and rougher than ever. I +returned to Lizzie and said a prayer for her. Then I took off my tunic +and removed the bag and blanket from the carrier. + +I judged that it would be expedient to rely upon momentum as far as +possible, as the engine would certainly not run for long under water, +so, starting the engine once more, I put in the bottom gear and charged +down the greasy slope into the river. + +There was a tremendous hiss, and a cloud of steam went heavenwards. +The engine stopped long before I reached the middle, and the smooth +nature of the loose rocks that formed the river-bed was treacherous +for two wheels. There was nothing for it when the engine stopped but +to dismount quickly and push. When I reached the middle, the water was +up to my waist, and it took most of my strength to keep the machine +upright and hold it against the force of the river, which swirled +around the cylinders and washed up against the tank. I managed to avoid +being washed away, however, thanks to the great weight of the machine, +and got her to the opposite bank. + +It was a relief to be out of the water, but the task still remained +of climbing up the bank. I exerted all my strength, but the slope was +so greasy that neither my feet nor the wheels would grip on anything. +Twice or thrice I got it half-way up, only to slither down to the river +again _tout ensemble_. Then I tried the expedient of wedging a huge +stone under the back wheel and pushing an inch or two at a time. But it +was no use. The grease was impossible. I laboured with it for a quarter +of an hour. + +I was just on the point of giving it up after we had all slid down to +the bottom once again, when a huge Mexican appeared on the scene. He +was evidently the owner of the house on the opposite bank, and looked +hefty enough to lift a tram. + +We pushed with our united effort. We slipped and slithered and wallowed +about, but we got to the top. I breathed a sigh of relief, rewarded the +Mexican liberally, and walked across the plank to bring my tunic and +luggage. + +Lizzie had never been so clean since the day she came out of the +crate. Every speck of mud and dirt had been washed clean away, and her +pristine beauty was revealed once again. It was an hour's task to dry +the carburettor and the magneto and get the engine running. It was +getting dark when I got going again. The rain had stopped, but the mud +was terrible. Every half-mile I had to stop and poke it out of the +mud-guards with a screwdriver. + +Eventually, just before dark, I reached the tiny Mexican village of +Pecos, called after the river in the locality. It consisted mainly +of a general store and "rooming-house" for the benefit of stranded +travellers. A rooming-house, by the way, is a kind of boarding-house +but with no accommodation for meals. + +At Pecos I was surprised to see an Indian motor-cycle and side-car +"parked" on a strip of green, which in generations to come would be +the _plaza_ or square. Examination revealed it to be a most remarkable +machine. It was equipped with tool-boxes galore at every available +place and, strange to remark, there was a small emery wheel mounted +skilfully on the top tube and driven by a round belt from a pulley +on the engine shaft. There was also a small hand-vice clipped to the +frame, and numerous other small tools and fitments, which, to say the +least, were not usually found in the equipment of a motor-cycle. + +"Well," I said to myself, "if all this paraphernalia is required to get +a motor-cycle across to the coast, I'm in for a rough time." + +But I was relieved to find that it was the property of a tinsmith +who, out for a holiday, combined business with pleasure, and repaired +people's tanks and pots and pans wherever he went! In this way he not +only defrayed his travelling expenses, but made a far better income +than he used to get in his home-town in Ohio. + +He was a tall, burly-looking chap, and greeted me with effusion. In +like manner did I welcome him. The sight of another motor-cyclist +removed my worst apprehensions. + +"Strike me pink!" quoth I, "I thought I was the only madman in this +part of the world!" + +He glanced at my number-plate. + +"Gee, brother, put it right there. I wuz beginnin' to think I'd never +see another motorsickle agin; you goin' to the coast?" + +"That's where I'm heading for, but of late I'm not so sure about +getting there as I was when I left New York." + +"Oh, boy, yew'll git there all right if yew've come this far--I said +it; but say, there's some smart bits o' travellin' to do ahead on yer!" + +"What? Is it worse than what I've passed?" + +"Waal, I've bin there an' got back--travellin' with the missus +here--an' I tell you, the road gets better the further east I come. +And what's more'n that, brother, yew've got some mighty warm times +ahead before you see California--like goin' through Hell, it is. Wait +till you find yourself in the middle o' the Mohave Desert with the +sun beatin' down at 130 in the shade, and no shade--no nothin' except +prickly pears and funny-lookin' cactuses and a bit of sage-bush here +and there. Say, boy, wait till you see piles o' bones and carcasses +by the score lyin' at the side o' the road, an' yew'll begin to think +it's warm, all right. Whatever you do, boy, take water with yer. Yew'll +drink GALLONS of it!" + +"How long have you been here, then?" I asked. + +"Nigh on a couple o' weeks, brother. We've bin waitin' fer the rain to +clear off." + +Truly a bright prospect. + +I slept well that night, in spite of the fact that my day's mileage was +only thirty, and awoke to find the sky clear and promising. + +I spent the morning in tuning Lizzie and making minor adjustments +and preparation. I commissioned my tinsmith friend to make me a new +accumulator box, my own having become entirely disintegrated with +the vibration. For 1,000 miles it had been held together with straps +fastened tightly round it to the frame. + +The distance to Santa Fé was only twenty-five miles, so I judged I +should be able to reach it that day. + +Those twenty-five miles took four hours. I will not attempt to +describe those four hours. They were filled to the brim with mud, +rain, wash-outs, and bridgeless rivers. In many places there were +great "washes" of sand brought down from the hill-sides that nearly +completely obliterated the trail as it struggled across the mountains. + +It was a very weary motor-cyclist indeed who rattled into Santa Fé at +5.30 that afternoon. And that motor-cyclist had quite made up his mind +to have a few days' rest before anything else happened his way. + +With a deep sigh of relief I leant Lizzie up against the pavement +opposite the "Montezuma Hotel." With heavy, aching limbs and sodden, +mud-stained clothes, I walked towards the door. + +It opened ahead of me. + +"Ah! how do you do, Captain Shepherd? We've been expecting you for over +a week. Come right in. We know ALL about you. Here, James, +take Captain Shepherd up to his room at once. No, don't bother to say +anything. Just go and have a good hot bath." + +It was the voice of an angel that spoke! + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +SANTA FÉ + + +Santa Fé is the most delightful of places. It has a charm all its +own. It is small, quaint, and intensely old. It is far removed from +other American towns--just as far as west is from east. It represents +the quintessence of New Mexico, and at the same time--so it is +alleged--sets the standard of art in America. + +The first words of a mediocre Easterner when he enters the _plaza_ of +Santa Fé are "Heavens'n earth! what kind of a hole have I struck now?" +But if he has a soul underlying that eastern veneer of his, if he +has an appreciation for art and beauty in architecture unimpaired by +familiarity with gigantic skyscrapers, he will repent those words. His +disdainful grin as he first catches sight of the Art Museum and sees +an edifice of mud with ne'er a corner that could be called sharp, will +fade slowly from his face, and once he has recovered from the shock of +the "sudden uniqueness" of everything, his look will turn to one of +wonder and admiration. + +Santa Fé is small. It contains no more than 6,000 inhabitants--a +curious mixture of Mexicans, Indians, and Americans. Its population, +moreover, is at a standstill. As the capital of a State of 160,000 +square miles, it seems ludicrous, until one reflects that there are but +50,000 people in the whole country. Of Spanish origin, it is laid out +in Spanish style, with the _plaza_ or public square in the centre. +Around the _plaza_ are arranged most of the more important buildings. +These, with few exceptions, follow closely the "adobe" architecture +of the "Pueblo" Indians, combined with the architecture of the later +"Franciscan" Missions that were instituted by the Spanish Friars, who +in the early days of colonization penetrated far into the continent. + +In the forefront of every march and every exploration there was always +the brown-robed Franciscan, bearing along with his crucifix the trowel +and the book. To convert, to build, and to teach--these were the +self-imposed tasks to which he consecrated his life. Especially do we +honour him as a builder. Living among a passionate people, who resented +the intrusion of strange gods among their own, often surrounded by +cruel and relentless foes, the type of his structures was determined +by the conditions of his existence. There must be a church in which to +preach the new religion, a convent in which to live, and along with +these, a school in which he might give instruction. These must be +connected and compactly placed to serve as a fortress against present +enemies; and they must be massive, to withstand the ravages of time. +There were eleven such churches in New Mexico alone prior to the +landing of the _Mayflower_--and more than fifty others were established +during the century which followed. + +This is the only type of architecture that can be referred to as truly +"American," saving perhaps the unenvied skyscraper of the East. This +latter, however, belongs to no school and knows no creed; it is not +indigenous to the soil or produced by environment, native material, or +climate. Instead, it defiles the heavens and cuts the landscape into +futuristic nightmares of edge and angle. + +By far the choicest flower of this renaissance style is the New +Art Museum at Santa Fé. Recently completed, it is admired by all, +architects and laymen alike. It embodies the designs of six of the +ancient Spanish Missions, three centuries old, some of which have now +disappeared. The others are fast decaying with the ravages of time. +The outlines of the Museum are plastic, smooth, and flowing, rising +in curves and terraces, without stiffness, sharpness, or repetition. +There is a noticeable lack of symmetry, contrasting so much with the +style of the Californian Missions. Consequently, there is a different +composition and an added charm with every new position or change +of aspect. Inside are paintings and sketches of Indian, Mexican, +and desert life and scenes, specimens of native handiwork, and an +exhaustive library. + +Across the road, on the opposite corner, is the Governor's Palace, the +oldest governmental building in the States. Its appearance would in +modern eyes hardly justify the term "Palace." It is a very unimposing +building of native architecture but contains relics, trophies, and +works of art brought from all corners of the Western world. Within its +adobe walls are housed prehistoric remains of the extinct civilization +that thousands of years ago thrived in Western America. + +[Illustration: THE ART MUSEUM AT SANTA FÉ.] + +[Illustration: THE OLDEST HOUSE IN AMERICA, AT SANTA FÉ.] + +But not only the public buildings of Santa Fé are of Pueblo +construction. Many of the latest private edifices, both residential and +commercial, are of this strange architecture. The offices and works of +the "Santa Fé Water and Light Company" give one the impression of its +unique application to business buildings. But for sheer delight give +me the private dwellings. It is beyond my power to convey an adequate +impression of the soft beauty of one of these exquisitely-designed +houses, with its smooth-flowing profiles, its shady "patio," open-air +bathing pools and well-planned garden. One must go and see to +understand and feel the charm of it all. + +But from the Mexican houses as residences Heaven preserve me! Seldom do +they boast more than one story; the roof is flat, and very often grass +and weeds are found thriving thereon. The "adobe" walls are recovered +from year to year throughout the ages as the hand of Time and the +ravages of weather work their destructive way. It can almost be said +that a Mexican house never grows old. The sun-baked mud that forms +its walls withstands the weather to an extraordinary extent. There is +a little house in a little street in the outskirts of Santa Fé, now +uninhabited, from whose roof rises a notice-board: "This is the oldest +house in America," it reads. It was supposed to have been built over +250 years ago. + +The citizens of Santa Fé are not progressive. The climate is against +them. They do not run any risk of over-exertion; a considerable time +is spent in eating ices, drinking cold concoctions, and lounging about +the _plaza_ in the early hours of the afternoon. Here it was that I +developed this Western habit. In almost every Western town there is a +central square shaded with many trees, or palms in the hottest places. +The good citizen and the weary traveller alike are welcome here. They +lie about on the grass, or sit on their toes as only a Westerner knows +how. Thus pass the blazing hours. It is a treat to find oneself away +from the eternal hustle and bustle of city life and in the midst of +languid, easy-going freedom. I had several photographs that I took to +the drug-store to be developed and printed. + +"Shall I call in to-night for them?" I said. + +"To-night? Why, We won't be able to get them through for four days," he +replied, amazed at my ridiculous presumption. + +"But in New York they develop and print in one day only. Surely you're +not behind New York?" + +"Oh, we don't do things like that in this part of the country, friend; +you've made a big mistake. Nobody hurries in New Mexico!" + +By dint of special pleadings, I got the photographs in three days. They +were nearly all ruined with having been hurried! + +For three days I created quite a furore in Santa Fé. The news of +my doings and misdoings was published daily in the _Santa Fé New +Mexican_ during my stay. I evidently afforded just the right kind of +newspaper fodder that New Mexico wanted. My fame had spread all the +way from Kansas City long before I actually fell upon the anxious +population. My article on Roads, etc., was reproduced immediately after +its publication in Kansas, together with several caustic editorial +comments. Here is one example:-- + + "SEES AMERICA BY COW-PATH." + + English Warrior gets little rest touring America by Motor-cycle. + + "Roads? What roads? I haven't seen any roads. I have been + following a place where cows had been walking...." + +Here is another heading to a two-column "article":-- + + "COW-PATHS"--and not roads in America:--Verdict of British Royal + Airman here on Motor-cycle. + +And again (this headed a quarter-page "Report"). + + "BALLOON"--Only way to get over New Mexico roads, declares British + Aviator. + +I was pounced upon immediately after my arrival. No sooner was I +settled down in a good steaming hot bath (oh, joy untold!) than the +telephone bell in my room rang. I let it go on ringing for two or three +minutes. It would not stop. I jumped out and lifted the receiver. + +"A reporter is here to see you, sir." + +"Och, Hell! Tell him I'm having a bath," and I banged the receiver down +and plunged again into the tub. + +In a minute there was a knock at the door. "No use trying to shake off +an American reporter," I told myself.... "Come in!" + +The result appeared in next morning's paper--not the result of +MY observations, be it noted, however. Amongst other +statements the following was laid to my charge:-- + + "In my opinion the old Prairie-Schooner is far superior to a + motor-car (for travelling in New Mexico). If you can't get a + schooner, try horse-back travel. I really believe some horses + could get through the mud and dodge the boulders. (It was almost + funny there!)... But the ideal form of transportation over these + United States is a big dirigible, say 700 ft. in length, modelled + on Great Britain's R.34. (It had just recently crossed the + Atlantic, hence the introduction.)... I might have suggested the + use of an aeroplane, but I have been told two aviators got stuck + in Santa Fé last winter owing to the deep snow in the environs. So + then, after seeing your roads, I should recommend the R.34 type of + machine in which to travel...." + +Suffice it to say that I never mentioned Prairie-Schooners, dirigibles, +or aeroplanes! We talked (or rather our friend the reporter did) about +the many notorieties that had passed through Santa Fé of recent years, +and the Lowell Observatory at Flagstaff some 500 miles away. + +Every day during my stay our friend the reporter called in at my +hotel. Every day appeared in the press a lengthy report of an alleged +interview. + +What an interminable worry it must be to newspaper editors of the West +to provide adequate copy for their hungering readers! + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE RIO GRANDE VALLEY + + +My stay in Santa Fé was a pleasant one. At the Post Office I found +a few letters and some money, the former forwarded from Cincinnati, +and the latter from Washington (it had been cabled there two months +before). On the morning of the fourth day my weary frame was +sufficiently rested to warrant my continuing once more. I bought a +two-gallon water-bag in preparation for the 700-mile desert journey +ahead, and once more set out westward. A crowd of interested citizens +witnessed my preparations outside the hotel, plied me with questions +as to how far I was going, how long it would take, and how old I was, +and finally bade me farewell as Lizzie burst into a roar, and we moved +sadly, if noisily, away. + +The next town was Albuquerque, some sixty or seventy miles ahead. The +road in between lay over a barren wilderness of sand and prairie. The +blazing sun poured down upon it fierce and unrelenting; nowhere was +there a sign of any living thing. Hardly a hill or a swelling relieved +the monotonous flatness of the trail. In the distance, on my right, +rose rugged mountain ranges suddenly out of the trackless plains. + +After twenty miles appeared La Bajada Hill, crossing the trail at +right angles. There was not much climbing to be done, but going down +the other side was a different matter. It seemed that a great "fault" +or outcrop had appeared in the plain, making it much lower on the +one side than the other. No less than thirty-two acute hairpin bends +conducted the trail down the precipitous slope. The gradient in places +was terrific. At the bottom was a cemetery! + +Here and there we crossed the sandy wash of a one-time river, leaping +over bumps and boulders and picking the road as well as possible. +Occasionally a wooden shack was passed, with a few dirty-looking +Indians hanging around: Indians dressed not in native garb but in +pseudo-modern style. The only things that betrayed them were their +faces and lank dark hair. He that goes to the West and expects to see +the landscape decorated with Indians dressed in multicoloured garbs of +picturesque pattern, is doomed to disappointment. The first impression +of a modernized native is disheartening if one has lingering thoughts +in one's mind left from childhood's days when one read with ceaseless +delight of stalwart Indians with huge muscles and painted bodies +galloping along, bow and arrow in hand, on a fiery white mustang in +pursuit of an unfortunate "pale-face." + +Ah, no!--_Nous avons changé tout cela!_ The Indian as a rule is +not stalwart, and decidedly not picturesque. Having had the gentle +arts of civilization thrust upon him, and being naturally of a lazy +disposition, he is content to loaf around chewing shag and disfiguring +the landscape generally with his presence. + +As Albuquerque was approached, things looked more flourishing. The land +was cultivated where possible, and in places corn and wheat appeared. + +It is very strange to find a prospering city in the midst of such +desolate surroundings as Albuquerque has. It came as a pleasant +surprise to me to see the electric trams, the wide streets and the +clean modern buildings. I was puzzled to know just what it was that +kept the place going. Albuquerque, however, although the largest town +in the State, has only 10,000 or so inhabitants, and is the nucleus +of a very extensive ranching district which undoubtedly largely +constitutes its _raison d'être_. I left it rather sadly, because, with +the exception of Flagstaff some 500 miles away, I should not meet +another town of anywhere near its size until I reached the Pacific +Coast. + +Shortly after leaving Albuquerque the trail crossed a very wide shallow +muddy river--the famous Rio Grande. It was spanned by a low wooden +bridge which creaked and rattled in its planks as we rumbled across +it. We saw quite a lot of the Rio Grande and got to look upon it as +a friendly sort of river. That is not to be wondered at, because in +a wilderness that is next to being called a desert one can become +attached to anything that has life or movement, even if it be a muddy +stream! Probably in consideration of the feelings of weary travellers, +but for no other apparent purpose, the trail from time to time crossed +and re-crossed the same old river with the same old friendly wooden +bridges until finally, eighty miles farther on, it was left to wander +southward unmolested through the plains and deserts of New Mexico and +Texas into the Gulf of Mexico. + +At Isleta there was a surprise in store. Isleta is a charming Indian +pueblo, built wholly of "adobe" mud and populated entirely by native +Indians. So unique, so bewitchingly attractive are these pueblos, that +I must digress awhile to describe their nature and origin. + +The history of the American Indians since the advent of the White Man +is an unsatisfactory one from all points of view. Different authorities +on the subject have widely different opinions as to the eventual +outcome of the American domination, which from generation to generation +has vacillated in its policy and, sometimes with bloodshed, sometimes +with bribery, has gradually reduced the red man to subjection, occupied +his country and enforced an unwilling civilization upon him. But +all are agreed that the Indian of to-day is in a far lower stage of +civilization than when the early settlers first drove him from his +rightful property. + +There are, however, a few tribes which advanced much farther along +the road to civilization than the others. Moreover theirs was a +civilization quite their own, not acquired through contact with the +whites. Chief among them are the Pueblo (pueblo-building) Indians, and +the Moqui Indians, the town-building natives of New Mexico and Arizona. + +The "Pueblo" Indians include several different tribes, each speaking +a different language. Each tribe, with only one exception, comprises +a number of separate "pueblos" or villages, generally built on the +"community dwelling" basis, that is, the houses are in a large and +solid mass, several stories in height, each one receding from the one +below and approached by ladders. In these houses, which look like great +pyramids, live a number of families. In some pueblos most of the houses +are on this plan and as many as 1,600 people have been known to live +in one house. The houses are built of adobe, and sometimes of stones +cemented together with adobe. + +[Illustration: PUEBLO OF TAOS. + +_By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler._] + +Several of these Indian villages are clustered together in the vicinity +of Santa Fé, often on the banks of the Rio Grande. Each has its own +customs and makes its own laws. All are centres of interest. Artists +flock to them from all parts of the Continent to paint and sketch +them. Travellers tramp for miles to see the Indians in their native +costumes and conditions. Some make jewels; some make vases, ornaments, +idols, and all manner of earthenware goods; some work in silver, while +others make blankets and rugs. With hardly an exception they all make +an excellent living out of the things they make and sell. + +Each of the pueblos has its own feast-days, or "fiestas," when, for a +time varying from a day to over a week, the whole population devotes +its time to feasting, dancing and games. The religious rites that are +performed and the strange customs that prevail at these feasts and +dances form in themselves a vast and interesting study. + +At Isleta the road again crossed the Rio Grande. This done, it found +itself in a dry sandy wilderness, with the Manzano Range running from +north to south in the distance. In patches the ground was white with +sandhills, and the trail became two straggling white lines, where +the wheels of passing vehicles had left their imprint in the soft +white sand. These two white ruts were my only guides. All around was +desolation. Nothing was to be seen anywhere, save those two thin +white lines straggling aimlessly ahead, the sun-scorched desert with +its ragged stones and evil, scanty, tenacious vegetation, and on +the horizon that fiery stretch of mountain range, whose peaks rose +rugged and defiant and glistened with red as if roused to anger by +the eternally raging sun. I had never before realized the great depth +of feeling that a mountain range is capable of evoking. The Alps are +majestic beyond description. They awe the observer to a sense of his +own utter insignificance as he gazes upon that glistening majestic +sky-line, and feels the overwhelming influence of those mighty +mountains upon him. But if it is an overwhelming influence, it is +a friendly one--at least I have found it so. Although there is an +instinct in me, as in most people, impelling me to guard and protect +myself against anything that is tremendous--a relic, I suppose, of +prehistoric days--I feel towards the Alps always like a little boy +feels towards his "big brother." The same feeling is seen reflected in +the "Sierra Madre" (Mother Mountains) of California. + +But in New Mexico I have seen huge ranges that one could truthfully +call nothing else but "wicked." They seem to gaze and glower with a +cruel, terrifying gleam upon the wanderer who defies their hateful +solitude. The hours of travel that followed were hours of weary +monotony. A brief lapse every thirty miles or so when a tiny Mexican +village on the Rio Grande was passed, and once more the two white ruts +came into view, the stones and cactus, and again the evil mountains. + +Later, the sand turned to rocks. The trail began to climb the +mountains, and the sun sank low in the sky. If ever there was a place +to starve to death, thought I, it is here. I reflected upon what the +consequences would be if I ran out of petrol or had a bad smash. + +I didn't run out of petrol and I didn't have a smash. Instead of that, +after about eighty miles from Isleta, the trail descended the mountain +pass, re-crossed the Rio Grande for the last time, and swerved at +right angles, to continue its course westward. Shortly before sunset +I arrived at a little Mexican town called Socorro, where both man and +machine were rested, while the man that kept the "C'fay" in the _plaza_ +got busy with some "eats" for weary me. + +After dinner away once again we go. The sun is setting. We must find a +resting-place before dark sets in, for in these countries where the +air is clear and mountain ranges hem in every horizon the darkness +comes quickly and the sinking of the sun below the sky-line means +almost the final close of day. + +There is another range to climb: it lies right ahead of us. As we +approach, it looms its massive bulk like a wall before us. The trail +bends and turns as if hesitating before it tackles this difficult feat; +up there in front is a great gap. The road cuts through it, and is seen +no more. Beyond are much greater heights to climb. Shall we attempt it +now or leave it till the morrow? + +The smell of petrol, which the last few minutes was a suggestion, +became a reality. I look down in the fading light and find the precious +fluid spurting out from the carburettor union. Evidently the pipe has +broken away with the vibration. So I swerve off the road (almost easier +done than said) and stop at the flattest patch of earth that I reach. + +Oh, the joys of the open life once again! Never shall I forget that +night in the desert past Socorro. The sun as it set behind the range +that I had commenced to climb plunged everything around into gloomy +blackness. Across the valley, from north to south, stretched the +Manzano Range that I had already crossed. It shone like fire throughout +the whole of its length. Gradually the rugged shadow of the range +behind me crept farther and farther away, crossing the river and +mounting up the opposite side of the valley. Slowly, slowly it mounted +up, higher and higher as if a great black cloak were being drawn +by an unseen hand over that fiery ridge that glistened in its evil +splendour. In five short minutes there were but a few of the highest +peaks remaining above the inky shadow. They enjoyed their splendour for +a few brief moments and then were gone, as though wiped suddenly out +of existence. All was blackness: silent, heavy blackness. The stars +appeared, one by one. + +I prepared my bed for the night. + +What was that? A faint tinkle reached my ears. It sounded like the +noise of a cow-bell, such as one hears in the Swiss valleys. Yes, there +it was again. It must be a cow! But what was a cow to live on here? No +doubt there was a well near by. I felt then that nothing in the world +would taste better than a drink of pure fresh milk. The heat of the day +had been intense, and one can always drink in New Mexico. + +I slipped into my field-boots, took a collapsible cup from my bag and +set out in search of the cow. I was quite determined to milk that cow, +come what may. + +I stumbled over the rough stones, picked my way between the cactus +plants and sage-brush. I arrived at a fence. The tinkle, tinkle seemed +to come from just the other side. Cup in hand, I climbed over, very +gingerly so as not to tear my pyjamas. Pyjamas in a desert, think of it! + +"Now, where are you?" Ahead I saw dimly a large black form. + +"Come along, girlie, come and be milked," quoth I in my most bewitching +manner. She moved not. I advanced slowly, trying to discern which was +the business end. Meanwhile I pictured the cow asking herself, "Wot's +the big idea milking me in py's at this time o' night?" + +I drew closer and looked.... + +It was a bull! + +I returned hurriedly to my bed, and cursed when a prickly pear caught +me on the left shin! + +[Illustration: THE RIO GRANDE, NEW MEXICO. + +_By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler._] + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE PETRIFIED FOREST OF ARIZONA + + +In the morning I patched up the broken petrol pipe as well as I could +with insulation tape, and started again on my way. I had to do forty +miles before I should see a soul--forty miles before breakfast could be +thought of. + +It was as well that I had stopped where I did the night before. The +road twisted around precipitous bends and climbed up rough rocky slopes +into the mountains. Down on the other side we found ourselves in a +great sandy plain, stretching due west and bounded by parallel ranges +of rugged mountains. There were frequent washouts and frequent spills. +In places the little streamlets that flowed from the mountain sides cut +great chasms across the road, sufficient to crush one's wheels if one +leapt into them at too great a speed. + +Magdalena is a typical cow-boy town. In the heart of ranching country +and hundreds of miles from anything but a few similar towns, it was in +the early days (before prohibition) one of the "warmest" places in the +West. Cow-boy outfits are seen advertised at all of the few "Stores," +but there has been one big change--the notorious saloons are no longer. +New Mexico adopted prohibition several years before its universal +approval. Consequently Magdalena had had ample time to settle down by +the time of my arrival. + +I was directed to a "C'fay" that had the reputation of providing the +best meal in the town. I pushed open its swing doors and beheld a +picture of cleanliness and tidiness. The tables were all spick and span +in their clean white tablecloths and not a vestige of dirt was visible +anywhere. + +The small boys of the town displayed a lively interest in me as +I disported myself with my camera at the expense of their public +buildings (to be exact, one wooden church). "Look at 'is boots, Jem," +said one. "Looks like as though he's a gor-dem buck-jumper." "Aye, but +'is pants don't look ter be the right stuff, Joe." + +I left them wondering and fell upon the trail once more. A few miles +out I came to a "round-up" of steers. There were ten or twelve cow-boys +on horseback, and some 5,000 or 6,000 steers grouped together in a +large dense mass, blocking the road altogether. "Tough guys, those +cow-boys," I remarked to myself and pretended to ignore them. But I +couldn't help thinking what MIGHT happen if I barged into one of their +animals or if for any reason they didn't like the look of my face! + +Slowly, very slowly, the great mass of cattle moved, like a tide +sweeping over the plain. Carefully I picked my way along and felt +relieved when I left them right behind. I opened out and prepared for a +long weary jaunt. The next town of any kind was ninety miles away. + +The first thirty were dead flat but hard going. There had evidently +been considerable rain recently. Emaciated mud-holes were now rock-hard +contortions in the road. Often I rode on the prairie in preference. + +Another thing was evident. There had been a great drought the previous +year. Ranching is impossible without water, and even now, in spite +of the recent rains, could be seen here and there a great lake-bed +completely dried up. Nothing remained but a great mass of sun-baked +hoof-marked mud, and here and there a skeleton lying upon it. The +ranches of New Mexico are of huge size and cover enormous areas. True, +a few good years mean a fortune to the rancher, but one bad one means +ruin. Hundreds of ranches had been ruined the previous year, I found, +and several thousand head of cattle had died from the drought. As I +passed along, their skeletons lay strewn at the roadside, sometimes +singly, sometimes in groups of a dozen or more. Hardly a refreshing +sight for a poor innocent motor-cyclist! + +At the end of the thirty mile stretch we entered hilly, thickly-wooded +country. The scenery was wild and rough. I met no one and saw no one. +After another fifteen miles was a shack at the side of the road. +The occupation of the owner was selling petrol and oil to passing +travellers. I opined that this was probably not an enviable vocation +from a financial point of view. I filled up, and found to my dismay +that the price, instead of being twenty-five cents per gallon, was +seventy-five. It was 100 miles from the railway, and all supplies had +to be brought by road, hence the trebled cost. + +I have never been through wilder country than that which followed for +100 miles. Hilly, densely-wooded, and fertile, it was most difficult +to believe that it was so thinly populated. Strange rock-formations +appeared. Grotesque boulders of leviathan size lay strewn and standing +in grass-covered openings. Wild pigeons by the score darted in and out +amongst the trees. Merry squirrels scampered up the pine trees and eyed +me from above. Huge "Jack Rabbits" and young antelopes bounded here +and there, and, seeing the intruder, disappeared. It all seemed such a +change from the desert journey of the day before. + +At Quemado, about ninety miles from Magdalena, I felt hungry. Quemado +consists of a wooden shack of an "hotel," and one "general merchandise" +store. I stopped at the "hotel" and fed. Meanwhile it commenced to +rain. My spirits sank with the barometer. + +The rain stopped three hours afterwards. + +I set out full of energy and perseverance an hour after that. We +slipped and slithered and slid in the miry road. Ten miles was enough. +All the energy and perseverance had flown to the winds. I rode up +on to a hill-side to a spot on the fringe of a forest of cedar and +yew. Propping Lizzie up on her stand, I went in search of fuel. I had +decided on the luxury of a camp fire. + +Fuel there was in abundance. Withered trunks and broken boughs lay +strewn about the hill-side. I soon had a roaring fire and passed away +an hour or two before dark in writing letters and ruminating on the +delights of a camp fire. + +As the sun sank down in the valley, I slipped under the old blanket +and watched the flames as they leapt from the burning embers. Just +ahead, almost in sight from where I lay, was the western borderline of +New Mexico. Just beyond there, where the golden sun was slowly sinking +in the valley, was Arizona; the Arizona that I longed so much to see. +I had heard much of Arizona; its wonderful climate, its ancient, +unknown ruins, its extinct volcanoes, its stupendous gorges, its great +thirsty deserts. What would Arizona have in store for me? I wondered. +And the fragrant smell of the burning cedarwood wove a magic charm +about my thoughts as they slowly drifted into the mystic realm of the +unconscious world. + +Morning brought a smiling dawn. I rose early and returned to the trail. + +In ten minutes I was in Arizona. A large signboard indicated the fact. +The road grew wider and better. Even the scenery seemed to change +perceptibly. I somehow felt at home in Arizona. + +At Springerville I breakfasted and bought picture post-cards. When +travelling the latter operation is equally as important as the former. + +Here the road makes a sudden turn to the north, bearing afterwards +to the north-west. After twenty miles of riding, the country became +flatter; it seemed as though it were now an immense plateau. After +another twenty, I reached a little town known as St. John. Here I +filled a half-hour in the commendable process of consuming ices. I had +now to traverse some difficult country, as the great desert of Arizona +was approached. There were more mountains to climb, but when the summit +was reached there was little or no decline on the opposite side, the +altitude grew higher and higher, and as it did so, strange as it may +seem, the earth grew flatter and flatter. + +There is but one ridge ahead to climb. The rocky trail bends and twists +as it slowly swallows up the gradient that connects us to the horizon. +A final swerve, and we commence a slight descent. There is a gap in the +hills; the trail skirts around one side, and behold, a vast, unbounded +plain lies before us, stretching to left and right as far as the eye +can see. + +But what is this strange sight? On our right, barely a half of a mile +from the road, is a gigantic mound. Its presence there, rising abruptly +out of the mathematical flatness of the plain, seems ridiculous, +absurd, uncanny. It gives the impression of having been just dropped +from the sky. It is a mud volcano--an uncommon sight, and formed by +the ejection of sand under pressure from below the surface of the +earth. All around, the plain is of distinctly volcanic formation. +Indeed, we have now entered a vast volcanic region, extending for +several thousands of square miles. Many of the mountains that we shall +see, some of them giant peaks, and some only little hills, are extinct +volcanoes of other ages. They were young and active while man was in +his barbaric infancy on this weary globe, perhaps even before that. + +But soon is to appear a far more wondrous sight. In a few miles we +enter a country of strange shapes and magic colours--the Petrified +Forest of Arizona. The first signs of approach are chains of little +lava hills of grey and white. They also have an air of abruptness. One +wonders how they came to be there at all. Flowing down to the flat +plain in graceful, mathematical curves, they look like mounds of chalk, +although they are softer still. Composed of soft, fine lava-dust, +they weather rapidly away. Now all the plain is lava-dust and a tuft +of lean grass here and there has found a spot wherein to make a home. +Further on one notices great blocks of stone, like pillars of marble, +lying strewn about the plain, some half buried, some barely projecting, +and some perfectly naked. Here is one, there is another--they are +everywhere, in every direction, of all shades of colour and varying in +size from fragments an inch in diameter to pillars twenty or thirty +feet in girth and over 100 feet in length. Every fragment, every +massive block of marble once formed part of a great forest that spread +for hundreds of square miles. The trees of this great forest were huge +leviathans, unlike anything we know of in the Old World and similar +only to the giant Sequoias of California (but a few hundred miles +away), that send their mighty trunks hundreds of feet into the air--the +relics of a bygone race. + +This great forest of Arizona was at its prime. The stately pine trees +rose towering into the sky. Birds of wonderful plumage lived in those +mighty branches, and wild animals roamed amongst its undergrowth. Then +something happened; no one knows exactly what--this great forest was +enveloped in volcanic dust that in time buried it completely. To the +eye, if eye there was to witness the scene, the forest was no longer +visible; it lay buried in the bowels of the earth; it had passed away; +as a mighty, living forest it would exist no more. But those monster +trees remained awhile, preserved by the all-surrounding lava. What +happened then took thousands of years to achieve, though it can be +recited in a few brief words. The trees in substance disappeared, but +their forms remained in the hardened lava, like huge moulds waiting +to be cast, their every crack and wrinkle preserved with inexorable +accuracy. In time, it may have been æons, the moulds were cast, by +some inexplicable phenomenon, and where once were timber and vegetable +tissues came fluid marble rock that filled the hollows and cracks +and wrinkles and reproduced the forms that ages before had been so +suddenly arrested in their growth. Further ages passed, and gradually +the soft lava was removed by the action of wind and rain and other +causes. Gradually the harder material was laid bare, and the giant +trees once more saw the light of day, but this time they were trunks of +solid marble instead of pine wood. The work of denudation continued. +The marble pillars, unsupported, fell to earth. Some broke into huge +blocks, while others remained more or less intact through the whole of +their length, and unless one examined them at close quarters and saw +the nature of their texture, they could not be distinguished from a +tree that had been recently felled. + +There are hundreds of these marble pine and spruce tree trunks, whose +cross-sections, revealed where they have broken, glisten with every +colour of the rainbow. In places, where they lie tumbled and heaped +together, it is as though a whole quarry of onyx had been dynamited +out. In one place a fallen trunk of marble, nearly 200 feet in length, +has spanned a gorge and formed a natural log bridge that all who dare +can walk across. + +Such is the fairy tale that scientists tell. The traveller whose +privilege it is to journey across the Petrified Forest of Arizona will +be lost in amazement at this fact which is so much stranger than any +fiction. + +I left the wonderful scene behind me with a feeling that I was bidding +farewell to one of the prime mysteries of the world. Trunks and +fragments of trunks could be seen projecting even from the surface of +the road over which I passed, and a few blades of fine grass, with +here and there a stunted cactus plant, were the only sign of life in +any direction. I passed out as suddenly as I had entered. A double +=S=-bend, where strange contorted rocks lay piled up in confusion +on either side--and the Petrified Forest was left behind. + +[Illustration: A PETRIFIED LEVIATHAN.] + +[Illustration: "LIZZIE" IN THE PETRIFIED FOREST, ARIZONA.] + +The sun was nearly setting when a couple of hours later I set out from +Holbrook, well fed and well refreshed. From my map I judged I should be +able to reach the Little Colorado River, on whose banks I could spend +the night. But in Arizona the sun sets quickly. It can almost be said +to get dark with a bump. The result was that in half an hour I was +completely lost in the outskirts of the Great Arizona Desert. The trail +had somehow disappeared, I knew not where, and but for my headlight, I +should undoubtedly have ended in difficulties amid the inky blackness. +Loth to turn back, I continued over the almost trackless waste +of rock, sand, and prairie. I arrived at the rocky bed of a small +stream. There were a few inches of water here and there, but it was not +perceptibly moving. It could not possibly be the Little Colorado. I +walked across to the other side. There I found a large ditch, more like +an artificial dyke, that I knew I could never get Lizzie across. There +was grass growing near, however, so I laid down my bed for the night, +resolving to leave further investigations till daylight. + +I should have known better than to camp by an almost stagnant stream, +but I was so utterly tired that I defied the counsel of my own +experience. Mosquitoes literally filled the air. Never have I known +them so thick and so tenacious. The vibration of millions of wings kept +the air in a constant shriek--a wild yell that never abated. I could +only obtain relief from their attacks by enveloping my face completely +with the thick blanket, and breathing through it. Then everything +became so hot--the night itself was very sultry--that sleep was next to +impossible. I snatched an hour or two of rest, but was a mass of bites +and itching lumps next day. + +In the morning, I returned to Holbrook, had breakfast, and searched for +information about the road. It appeared that a bridge had collapsed +somewhere, so a new trail had been formed to circumvent it. I had +missed the turning the night before. At the garage where I made +these inquiries, I took the opportunity of removing Lizzie's wheels, +and of cleaning and adjusting the spindles. I packed them with new +grease in preparation for the sandy journey to come, and removed and +re-aligned the chain sprockets; I wanted no breakdowns or searches for +missing parts in the baking, sandy desert. It was as well that I had +taken precautions. I found the lock ring of one chain wheel missing +altogether, and the sprocket half-way unscrewed from its shaft. The +only item for regret was the charge of one dollar for the use of the +garage! Having already had experience of American garage mechanics, I +resolved not to allow any more to learn their trade at Lizzie's expense. + +I had no difficulty in picking up the trail in the full light of +day. Once again I set out to cross the great Desert of Arizona. The +next town, a kind of oasis, was Winslow, about forty miles away. The +barren prairie soon gave way to bare limestone rocks and shifting +sand; vegetation disappeared altogether, save for occasional clumps +of greeny-grey sage brush dotted here and there over the rocky waste +that ever met the eye. The air was hot but clear. On an elevation one +could see for tremendous distances. The little tuft of black smoke that +hung over Winslow looked clear enough to be a mile or two away. It was +thirty; in the distance was a great silver line, threading its way +intermittently across the plain. I knew it to be the Little Colorado, +which, like its mother, the Great Colorado, flows nearly the whole of +its length in a canyon and seems deliberately to choose the path of +greatest resistance, cutting through rocks and gorges of limestone and +granite with ne'er a murmur. + +As Winslow drew near, the narrow sandy track gave way to a broad +concrete highway. I had not seen a made road of any description for +many days. The appearance of concrete here in the middle of a desert +seemed ridiculous. I would enjoy it to the full. Lizzie's throttle +jumped open unexpectedly and away we sailed through the breeze. +"There's a catch in this somewhere," I told myself. There was! It +nearly meant grief. The city architect had foreseen the goading lure of +that cold flat stretch of concrete and made up his mind that speeding +should not exist thereon. So he made several dips therein at intervals, +each dip about five or ten feet below the normal level of the road. Any +attempt to travel at more than twenty would mean damage to the vehicle +when it hit the opposite side. Unfortunately these obstructions were +absolutely invisible until but a few feet ahead. Sometimes there was a +warning. More often there was not. The first I came to quite unawares +and at a high speed. The machine with its momentum nearly leapt clean +across the space, and had I been going much slower it would have struck +the opposite side lower down and inevitably have caused a serious +crash. I went warily after that and wondered what ingeniously contrived +anti-speeding devices I should meet next. + +Arrived at Winslow, I ate heartily of ices. The busy modern town seemed +a most remarkable contrast to the sandy wastes that surrounded it. + +I now had a long journey ahead. Flagstaff, the next town, was over +eighty miles away, and the trail ran across some of the most arid +country of Arizona. For mile upon mile there was nothing to be seen +but yellow sand and, on the horizon, a rugged range of hills. Ahead, +nearly a hundred miles away, loomed up the San Francisco Peaks, dark +and threatening. Overhead the sun beat down with unrelenting fury. +One could see the shimmer of the air above the baking sand as the +tremendous heat oozed out of it into the atmosphere. Here and there, +one could see spirals of sand hundreds of feet high whisked up by some +strange whirling motion of the air, and carried for hundreds of yards +across the wilderness, gathering in volume and height as they moved, +only to collapse again and give birth to others. Not a sign of life +or vegetation was visible anywhere. What a place to be stranded in +without water! But I had plenty with me. I stopped to drink from the +bag on my handlebar every few miles. The heat and the glare were awful. + +A few miles out of Winslow one cylinder ceased to fire. I had been +wondering when the next instalment of misfortune was to arrive. Like a +true pessimist, I expected it would come in a place like this. So I was +not disheartened. + +I stopped two or three times to change plugs and examine the engine. +It was of no avail, and the heat grew so intense when I was not moving +that it was impossible to stop for longer than a few minutes at a time. +There was no shade, not even a rock to hide me from the fiery sun. The +frame of the machine seemed red-hot, and even the tools in the tool-box +were too hot to handle unprotected. + +"Another overhaul at Flagstaff," I told myself, and continued again +on three cylinders. Ploughing through the loose sand absorbed much of +the power of the engine, but I was content, so long as we kept moving. +Slowly the metal sign-posts of the "Touring Club of California" that +marked the miles were passed. They were the only items of interest in +this barren country. Many times they were missing altogether. Often +they lay prone upon the ground, the strong, eight-feet-long steel +tubing of the post bent in strange forms. They had been uprooted by +some unfortunate traveller and used as levers or crowbars to extricate +a car that had left the beaten track and sunk in the loose sand of the +desert. Some even bore conflicting particulars, and it was quite usual +to notice the distances increase instead of decrease the nearer one +drew to one's destination! Often the signs themselves had been riddled +with bullet-holes "just for fun" by some blasé traveller with a taste +for shooting. Splendid amusement, to shoot at a sign-post put there at +enormous expense by a private club for the benefit of all! + +Slowly the hours went by and, as they did, a huge thunder-storm could +be seen brewing over the San Francisco Peaks, now only forty miles +away. The whole sky became dull and overcast. The loose yellow sand +gave place to rocks and shingle, and gradually the desert was left +behind. As the altitude increased--we were climbing slowly all the +time--signs of life appeared. Lean grass, parched with thirst and brown +with the heat, was seen once more, and later a few sheep were noticed +sheltering behind rocks and boulders. + +I pushed forward with all haste. Flagstaff was at the foot of the San +Francisco Peaks and there would certainly be a deluge very shortly. The +road was abominable. In most places it was so rocky and the gradient +so steep that it was like riding up great flights of rugged steps. The +sharp rocks dug in the tyres down to the rims, and the vibration shook +the very sockets of one's bones. + +On the left, barely a mile from the trail, we passed the "Meteor +Mountain." This is a most remarkable sight. Situated in the midst of +comparatively flat or rolling country, it looks at first sight like the +crater of a great volcano. But its origin is not volcanic. It gives +the impression of having been formed by artificial and not by natural +means. The crater is half a mile across and the interior of the crater +is saucer-shaped. An air of mystery envelops its origin, and many +theories have been put forward to explain it. But the theories have +either been disproved or have never been definitely accepted. + +"Meteor Mountain" remains to this day a mystery of geology. In its +crater is a ranch-house and hundreds of sheep graze in its vicinity. + +A dozen miles farther on the trail led on to a magnificent steel bridge +spanning the "Diablo Canyon"--a wonderful gorge in the limestone rocks. +Far, far below ran a little stream of clear water. + +The sky grew blacker still. We continued climbing over the sharp, rocky +trail. The mighty peaks ahead were almost lost in a sea of blackness. +Distant thunder rumbled and groaned across the desolate waste. Sharp +flashes of lightning lit up the heavens for a moment and revealed the +sharp, lurid outlines of the three giants around whose peaks centred +the fury of the skies. Slowly the storm abated. I thanked Heaven for +that. + +Then we came to the fringe of a wonderful forest that covers the +plateau and clothes the mountain sides almost to the summit of their +peaks. The sight of the trees, the sound of the breezes as they rustled +through the branches bearing with them the magic scent of the pines, +was like passing from death to life. It was a new world, a world of +new sensations and pleasant forms. The broiling wastes, the dazzling +yellow sand, the strange and sometimes ugly shapes, the grotesque, the +mysterious, the incredible: these were left behind--for a while. + +The storm had almost passed. Much rain had fallen, but fortunately the +trail lay through a stretch of volcanic dust. The rain when it fell did +not dissolve it, but soaked through as quickly as it fell, leaving the +surface almost as hard and dry as it was before. I thanked Heaven again +for that. Closer, closer, ever we climbed, until often the mountains +were hardly to be seen; we were amongst them, climbing them, in them. +Here and there the clustering trees grew thinner and fields of wild +flowers, mauve and purple-coloured, would burst into view, clothing +the valleys and the slopes like a great carpet. Then a glade would +appear of fresh green grass--grass so fresh and so green that it would +seem to have been meant more for a child's fairy-book than for a real +live world. Then a beautiful mountain would appear through the trees, +its sides and its angles glistening with every colour of the rainbow +and changing with every new aspect. This would be an extinct volcanic +cone and the colours would be reflected from the loose cinders that +formed its whole. Then amongst the lofty pine trees the traveller would +see--as a last remnant of the grotesque--vast fields of lava, great +beds of solid cinder, thrown up into monstrous shapes with strange, +sinister outlines. And onwards, ever onwards, ever nearer to Flagstaff +we went, the wheels gliding noiselessly over the smooth lava-track +that wound its way in and out of the pine trees and up and over the +foothills and valleys towards the West. We enter a large valley, +from which a wonderful view of the San Francisco Peaks delights the +traveller. They are barely a half-dozen miles away now; their great +volcanic cones, over a couple of miles in height above the sea, can be +seen as sharply and as clearly as though they were but 100 yards away. +So mighty are they, and so pure is the air of Arizona, that on a clear +day they can be seen for 200 miles in any direction. + +At last the small town of Flagstaff is reached. It is clean, modern, +and laid out in pretentious square blocks, some with only a few +bungalows built thereon. Evening was drawing on. Not having had a +meal for over twelve hours, I hied me to a restaurant where puffed +cereals and apricot pies and mugs of good coffee effected a miraculous +disappearance. Thereafter I followed the scent of a comfortable hotel, +where once more I slept the sleep of the righteous. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE GRAND CANYON + + +I woke up next morning feeling very groggy, for no reason accountable +to myself. It was Sunday. My first endeavour would be to fulfil one of +the desires of my boyhood. It lay at my very door. + +The Lowell Observatory at Flagstaff is known throughout the whole of +the civilized world. Years ago, hundreds and thousands of people read +with unabated interest of the theories and discoveries of Professor +Lowell concerning the planet Mars. In his book, _Mars and its Canals_, +he recorded the researches of a lifetime on this most interesting of +planets. He announced his conviction that civilized life of a very high +order was present and flourishing on Mars, and supported his theory +with exhaustive data and series of beautiful photographs of the planet +at different times and under different aspects--the result of the work +carried out at the Lowell Observatory which he himself had founded, +built, and maintained at his own expense. + +In my boyhood's days that book read like a wonderful fairy story, +illustrated with photographs that were far more wonderful and far more +strange than the merely pretty pictures of fancy. Some day, I promised +myself, I would see the Lowell Observatory, and look through the giant +telescope that revealed to the human eye, millions of miles away, so +much of the mysterious and the unknown. + +[Illustration: SAN FRANCISCO PEAKS FROM FLAGSTAFF.] + +[Illustration: THE LOWELL OBSERVATORY, FLAGSTAFF.] + +[Illustration: THE TRAIL TO THE GRAND CANYON.] + +And here I stood, at the door of the hotel, but a few hundred yards +from that same Observatory. Looking up the main street I could plainly +see the white dome, perched on the summit of a hill overlooking the +town, surrounded, but unobscured, by the tall pine trees that clustered +thickly on its slopes. + +An hour later I was standing inside the great dome. The dream had come +true. + +The astronomers of "Mars Hill" treated me, like all visitors, with the +utmost hospitality. My wishes to see this and that and the other thing +had only to be expressed, and they were granted. I was shown the result +of years upon years of tireless, ceaseless research. In the library, +a magnificently designed and equipped building, I found myself in a +veritable Monte Cristo's cave. Arranged around the walls, and lit from +behind by a wonderful system of electric lights, were treasures of far +more value than would appear to the casual, disinterested sightseer. +There were transparent photographs of planets, star clusters, nebulæ, +and comets by the hundred, some but a fraction of an inch in diameter, +and others several feet across. There were volumes of records and +reports of every Observatory, besides astronomical and other scientific +works of all classes, sizes, and tongues. + +Hours afterwards I slowly descended the path that wound down the +hill-side through the pine trees, wrapped in thought and proudly +conscious of having at last achieved something that for so long had +been but a vague vision of the imagination. + +Unfortunately my indisposition of the morning did not disappear. It +increased. I surmised that somewhere or other I had drunk some poisoned +water--an easy thing to do--and must suffer the consequences. + +The consequences I suffered were those of ptomaine poisoning. The +next day was spent in the throes of it. I crept out of bed for an +hour or two, with just enough courage to visit the garage to whose +charge I had confined Lizzie for an overhaul. Finding her once again +in pieces, but with no parts broken, I returned, with a sigh of relief +and a body full of pains, to bed. I had discovered that many patrons +of a certain restaurant--the one which I had so heartily greeted upon +my arrival--had also suffered from ptomaine poisoning. I reflected +that this was an ailment that often proved fatal. But I determined +that it would not be so in my case, at any rate not until Lizzie and +I had gazed down on the deep blue waters of the Pacific Ocean. That +accomplished, anything could happen! + +The next day found things much brighter. The sickness was fast +disappearing, and I was consoled towards midday by the sight of +Lizzie erected, tested, and passed O.K. I was, however, sceptical of +the youth to whom, in my indisposition, I had entrusted her delicate +body. He had sworn that he had overhauled Hendersons until he could +do them blindfold. With characteristic American modesty he claimed to +be the only man between Kansas City and Los Angeles who knew anything +at all about the breed. That made me a trifle suspicious at the +outset. Furthermore, he had agreed to turn in on Sunday and commence +operations, but when Sunday came he was hardly conspicuous by his +presence--the garage door was locked. + +However, I paid over the required quota of dollars with Spartan +stoicism and took Lizzie once more unto my bosom. Being naturally of +a lazy disposition and a firm believer in the futility of walking +whenever there is the remotest opportunity of some form of mechanical +transit being available, I had deferred an extensive survey of the town +until I could execute it in comfort. + +Originally a stores depot on the early trail through the West, +Flagstaff soon became a ranching centre and a kind of "Mecca" for +cow-boys, globe-trotters, wasters, drifters, Indians, Mexicans, and, +of late years, speculators and East-weary business men. Although +boasting only a few thousand inhabitants, the town is growing fast, +and naturally where towns grow fast--a thing known only in the west of +America and the Colonies--the "real estate" agents flourish in their +legions. The people of Flagstaff are "boosters," and so do all they can +to encourage and quicken the growth of their neat little town. Many +come there, buy a plot of land in one of the outlying blocks, build +a bungalow and settle down for good, charmed with the climate, the +atmosphere, the surroundings, the great pine forests, and the view to +the north of the mighty Peaks that are almost always capped with snow +and seem to look down and protect the little town that lies scattered +at their feet. + +Next morning I had concluded all preparations for the fulfilment +of another life-long desire. My next ambition was to see the Grand +Canyon of the Colorado, of which I had read much in school-books in my +childhood. + +In and out through the pine trees we swung once again, darting down +sudden dips in the road and skipping up little hills all fresh with +grass and thick wild flowers. In ten or fifteen miles of exquisite +woodland scenery we had come once more to the fringe of the forest. +Ahead lay plain, prairie, and desert, with never a town or a village or +a house to be seen until the Canyon was reached seventy odd miles to +the north. On the left rose the great San Francisco Peaks, clothed in +green and white. On the right lay Sunset Mountain, a volcanic cinder +cone of ruddy-brown hue, that glistened in the morning sunlight. + +Slowly they were left behind as we hopped, skipped, and jumped over the +rough trail that swerved and twisted untiringly through the strangest +country imaginable. Here it would be broad and sandy; there it would +narrow down almost to nothing; further on, it would make a sudden bend +and dip across a "wash" or some waterless river that had never known a +bridge; then it would enter a beautiful valley all aglow with golden +flowers that crowded thickly up its sides--there were yellow flowers +everywhere, in each direction as far as the eye could see, and at +the same time so close that they were swept aside by the machine as +it passed. Then that picture passed away and there remained just two +deep undulating ruts that struggled persistently across a wilderness +of sand, rock, and boulder. We passed on either side the remains of +ancient volcanoes, now but solitary hills rising abruptly from the +desert around. Then appeared giant heaps of stone clustered strangely +together, the ruins of ancient towns for many a thousand years +deserted. Then for miles and miles was nothing but barren, arid waste +that tired one's patience and cut one's tyres and shook one's limbs, +while thousands upon thousands of prairie-dogs were ever running, +hurrying, scurrying away from the intruder upon their solitude. Their +holes were everywhere, even in the ruts of the trail that stretched +always like a forgotten, lifeless thing through this land of scorching +loneliness. + +Four hours and a half we had now been travelling, and not a soul, not +even a sign of a living being had we seen, save the merry little vermin +that scurried off at the sound and the sight of us. For the first time +in the whole of the trip I felt a great sense of loneliness creeping +over me. The solitude, the peace of the great barren distances at last +made itself known--it was a solitude and a peace that I had never felt +before. It took time for me to appreciate its worth. I amused myself by +bursting suddenly into song. All the old familiar refrains came to my +aid, were they hymn tunes or ridiculous rag-time airs. + +Feeling absurd--even positively ridiculous--in my efforts to remain +cheerful at all costs, but comforted by the thought that there was no +one to witness my insanity, I continued thus until my voice rebelled +and I relapsed once again into stony--very stony--silence! + +Once again the trail entered a great forest; huge pine trees and cedar +trees closed densely around and the trail branched and split here and +there to avoid them. The vegetation grew thicker. It seemed wonderful +how it could possibly thrive in such a country. Not a drop of water +had I seen for eighty miles, when suddenly a most beautiful vista +appeared directly ahead of me. There was a wonderful lake bordered with +giant pine trees, its waters still and flat like a great jewel. At its +edge a few horses were drinking. It was such a magnificent sight that +I was forced to stop to admire it to the full. I breathed a prayer +that my little pocket camera would do it justice, and convey, if only +a fraction, some of that entrancing charm that hung over its glassy +waters. + +On once again we rode, through avenues of pine and cedar; the further +we went, the thicker the forest grew and the greater the stately +trees became. It was possible only to see a few yards ahead in some +places.... "But say, we must be getting near the Canyon soon! How can +all this be?" I asked myself. + +Swerving now to the right, now to the left, to avoid some obstacle, now +leaving the trail altogether to ride on the soft green grass at the +side, when a boulder or a fallen branch blocked the way, it was like +exploring one of those magic forests where fairies.... + +The thought was never finished. + +It seemed as if the whole earth had suddenly stopped dead. There, in +front, the great tree trunks stood silhouetted against space itself. It +was as though something dreadful had happened. Beyond was tremendous, +awful nothingness that made the observer catch his breath and sent a +shiver throughout his frame. But see, there, on the distant horizon, +like a dimly-coloured shadow, lies the opposite side of the gigantic +rift, ten, twenty--aye, in places thirty miles away. It is a sight to +enjoy in silence, with reverence and with fear. Once seen, it is never +to be forgotten, that first glimpse of the greatest of all natural +wonders--the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. + +The trail made a sudden swerve to the left and followed close to its +brink. There were some wooden railings; beyond, a varying strip of +broken, rocky moorland; and then, space. Leaving Lizzie, I clambered +down a narrow pathway carved in the rocks that led to a jutting +prominence known as "Grand View Point." Seated on a huge lump of +limestone that reared like a lofty pinnacle thousands of feet above +the chasm below, I surveyed in mute bewilderment the overpowering, +awe-inspiring sight. + +The Grand Canyon has never been described. It is too immense, too +sublime, too unearthly for mere words to convey one iota of its might +and majesty. One struggles with the futility of mere expression +by words where such a spectacle is concerned and finds that all +the known phrases and well-used artifices of speech are useless to +convey to another the sense of infinite grandeur that only sight can +appreciate--and that so feebly! + +The Canyon is a titanic rift in the earth, over 200 miles in length. +The Colorado River, hardly ever seen from its brinks, lies 6,000 feet +below the surface of the plain through which it has cut. Æons of +time have been taken in the making of it, and it is yet but young, +its progress still continuing. That sinister river, to reach which +takes a seven-mile walk down the trail that leads to its waters, has +cut down through strata of rock that took untold millions of years +to be deposited, has cut lower and lower until it has come to the +very beginning, the foundation of the earth, and then it has carved +its way even through the granite, the very crust of the earth, to a +depth of almost 1,000 feet. Eternal erosion by water, winds, and frost +has helped it to play its part, and now nigh on 2,000 cubic miles +of limestone, sandstone, and granite have disappeared entirely--all +carried as sediment into the Pacific Ocean by the river that for ever +swirls and rages in its bosom. + +The actual settlement that goes by the name of the Grand Canyon is +twenty miles further on. The trail follows closely the rim of the +Canyon, cutting through the fringe of the "Coconino National Forest," +with its stately pine trees that crowd up to the very edge of the +plateau. + +When the end of the trail is reached, it is as though the traveller +had arrived at the edge of the world. On the right is a luxurious, +low-built hotel all but toppling over the edge; on the left is a +railway station; and that is all. The road almost doubles back on +itself, swerving due south towards the Continental Trail eighty miles +away. I do not mean to imply that at the end of this world there will +be either a luxurious hotel or a railway station at the service of +the weary traveller, but the appearance of finality of all things is +complete when one is faced with that terrible chasm ahead. + +For three days and three nights I sojourned at the Canyon, content +to gaze upon its ever-changing colours, and to marvel at the wealth +of beauty and variation of spectacle that lay in its mighty bosom, +always changing, always fresh, always more wonderful than before. +One day after breakfast I began strolling down the narrow "Bright +Angel Trail" that leads from the summit to the river. Between two +and three feet wide in most places, it is wonderfully built and kept +in excellent repair for the mule-back parties of tourists that daily +descend its seven tortuous miles in the morning and ascend them again +in the evening. In places it is like a spiral pathway down an almost +perpendicular wall. One looks over and sees it doubling and folding and +twisting on itself like a thin white line until it is lost behind some +prominence thousands of feet below. + +I did not mean to walk down. Walking is not my forte; I only set out +to take a few photographs. I have the best of reasons for believing +that people never walk down the Canyon. Instead they bulge upon +diminutive mules in strings of twenty or thirty or more and make the +descent slowly, nervously, solemnly, and more or less in comfort. True, +there are places where the trail is so precipitous that they have to +dismount for safety's sake, but to walk the whole way would be absurd. + +Perhaps that was the reason I found myself tramping down the long, +steep trail. The more photographs I took, the further down I went to +take another. One view followed another with endless change. At every +turn there was some new sensation, some fresh vista that just cried out +for remembrance. In this way I gradually found myself descending into +the depths of the Canyon. Truly it is the most wonderful walk I have +ever had. + +It was as though the traveller were entering a new world of a new +climate, new scenery, and new sensations. Up on the plateau at the top +the altitude was 8,000 feet above sea level, and the heat there had +been intense. But as I descended thousand after thousand of feet into +the bowels of the earth, the air became more dense and the heat more +intense until at the bottom, over 6,000 feet below, the climate was +almost tropical. Further, the great "temples"--the fragments of the +plateau where the erosion had left isolated mountains remaining within +the gorge--took on a far different aspect when viewed from below. +From above one saw them as one would see hills and valleys from an +aeroplane--with hardly any relief. But from below they loomed up sharp +against the sky, each one a mighty mountain in itself. What seemed +from the brink to be a mere blotch of green mould on the bare rocks +below proved on closer acquaintance to be a luxurious coppice, dense +with trees and shrubs and tall, thick grass. Minute specks of black +scattered broadcast on the slope turned out to be trees that eked out +a scanty but sufficient livelihood on the crevices and the crags. A +brown, inconspicuous carpet from above developed into a huge tropical +plateau several miles across. So clear is the atmosphere and so great +are the distances that magnitudes are ridiculed and illusions raised to +the point of absurdity. + +It was well after midday when I reached the bottom and watched the +roaring, rushing Colorado, like a great yellow flood, lashing its angry +way between the steep walls of the granite gorge. Above, it had been +invisible, unknown, and whisperless. + +The walk back developed into a tiring, eternal struggle up an +interminable staircase that had no stairs. Sometimes I half decided +to rest until next day. At intervals I grasped my knees in my hands +and helped to lift the heavy, tired feet one above the other. I +abused myself heartily for not having furnished myself with reserve +refreshments before starting, and then remembered that I had only set +out to take a few pictures; I had quenched my thirst at a little creek +six hours before, but felt that a meal of some kind would be acceptable. + +I arrived at the top about 5.30. The mule-party had overtaken me a +quarter of an hour before. They had only stopped half an hour at the +bottom for lunch. + +"Waal, I've done some walkin' in my time, boss, but I guess you've +gotten the best pair o' legs that ever MY optics did see," was the +remark of one heavily-spectacled American who beamed from his mule upon +me as he passed. + +"Aye, that's so," echoed others in the long file with undisguised +approbation. + +So the reader will observe that I am already becoming Americanized, +even in true modesty! + +[Illustration: THE BOTTOM OF THE GRAND CANYON. + +_By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler._] + +My stay at the Canyon was longer than I had anticipated. Considerable +rain had fallen on the second day, and a report came through that +the road in places had been washed clean away. Just what that meant I +did not know, but I did not fear it in the slightest. My experience of +the roads in Arizona was that they were much better away than present. +But I had no taste for mud, so I waited for the sun to do its work +before starting back again. + +I left the Grand Canyon with regret. Everything was so wonderful +and I just seemed to have begun to make friends with it. At first +it all seemed so great, so awful, so grotesque as to give one the +impression of anything but friendliness. I had begun to overcome that +feeling, as everyone does in time. The truth is that it takes a long +acquaintanceship with the giant wonders of the world to form anything +approaching a true idea of them. + +Mud there was in plenty on the way back. In the forest going was bad +and slow, for the sun had not had its due quota of time to play upon +the damp earth. But in the open there was a marked improvement. The +only evidence of the heavy rains was an occasional pool of water +between the tracks of the road that had not yet been completely dried +up, and this remained as a pool of muddy water within a ring of soft, +dark-brown mud. + +I was glad that progress was not so bad as I had expected. I was tired +of making slow progress, low averages, and big delays, so whenever I +had the chance I gave Lizzie her reins and with many bursts of speed +where the condition of the road permitted, and occasional hold-ups +where it did not, we made pretty good progress for a couple of hours. + +Until.... + +We were about half-way between the Canyon and Flagstaff. The country +was bare and rocky--almost on the fringe of the "Painted Desert." I was +riding on the narrow but level track between the two large ruts that +formed the road. I was furthermore enjoying a little burst of speed, my +eyes glued on the little strip below me, for if I but once missed it +and allowed Lizzie to slip into either of those deep, treacherous ruts +that bordered it, there would be a nasty smash. + +I must have been too careful, for I had not noticed a fairly large and +deep mud-pool dead in the centre of the track and only a few yards +ahead of me. There were just about three or four inches between either +side of it and those terrible ruts. If I banged into it, it would mean +a nasty jar to the machine and possible damage. I judged I could steer +round all right without fouling the rut. + +The front wheel went through splendidly. The back one, approaching at +an angle as I swerved, did not. It just skimmed the greasy edge of the +pool and commenced momentarily to side-slip down into the hollow. That +was the beginning of the end. I was going fast, and the equilibrium +of the machine had been suddenly upset. The nightmare known as a +"speed-wobble" ensued. + +I did my utmost to check it, but it got worse and worse. From one side +to the other the machine swayed, like a great pendulum, swinging faster +and faster and each time through a greater distance. For some time I +managed to keep the swerves within the limits of the track without +fouling the ruts and the rocks at the side, but it was no use; I saw a +fearful crash coming. + +The wobble developed at an alarming speed; no doubt the heavy baggage +on the carrier helped. At the end of each oscillation the machine was +at a still greater, a still more ridiculous angle to the ground. The +front wheel caught something. It had to come sooner or later. With +a wild lurch we crashed down on the loose rocks and boulders that +bordered the trail. Our momentum was soon absorbed owing to the rough +nature of the rocks and boulders aforesaid. + +"Here endeth the trip to the coast. Farewell, Lizzie; it might have +happened sooner, you know, old girl." That's what I was saying to +myself as I struggled from underneath her remains! + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE MOHAVE DESERT + + +I have often thought there must be a guardian angel watching over +mad motor-cyclists. Certainly in my case some theory of that sort is +necessary to account for the almost entire immunity from personal +damage that I have always experienced when fate has led me into crashes +of all kinds. At one time and another I have performed wonderful +acrobatic feats after a bad skid or a sudden encounter in the dark with +a stray horse or a flock of sheep. By all the laws of nature and common +sense, I should long since have ceased to labour on this earthly plane. +Instead of that, I continue to flourish like the green bay tree, the +terror of the country I inhabit, and the bane of the Company that has +the misfortune to insure my machines! + +Thus it happened that when I extricated myself from the debris, I found +myself still sound in wind and limb. Apart from one finger having been +crushed between the handle and the final boulder, and the absence +of one or two square inches of good epidermis here and there, I had +nothing whatever to complain of. + +Lizzie, however, wore a forlorn look. Her left handlebar was badly bent +and most of the controls and projections on her starboard side were +either bent backwards or swept clean away. The stand, a heavy steel +structure strong enough to make a suspension bridge, had broken away +altogether, and had not the footboard been of the collapsing type, it +would undoubtedly have shared the same fate. + +An hour of doctoring, with frequent applications of wire and insulation +tape, and Lizzie was going again. I was relieved in the extreme to find +that after all there was a chance of continuing to the coast under her +own power. My forefinger pained a trifle, and I could not bear to bend +it. I believe always in leaving Nature to carry out her own repairs--it +saves a lot of time and bother and generally gets the job finished much +quicker in the end, so I spent no time in doctoring it. + +We got back to Flagstaff all right that evening and, accepting the +hospitality of one of the astronomers at Mars Hill, I spent the night +at his bungalow up amongst the pine trees. It was nearly a month before +I regained the use of my finger and over three months before the sense +of feeling came back to it. Evidently it had been broken at or near the +joint. + +Two days afterwards I made an unwilling exit from Flagstaff. I was so +enamoured with the spirit of the West and the cordiality of its people, +as well as the scenery and the climate, that it seemed a shame to move +away. But how could I do otherwise when in three days' good running +I should be enjoying the reality of the deep blue Pacific washing up +against the fringe of some golden Californian valley? + +From Flagstaff to Williams, a thirty-mile jaunt, the road traversed +the edges of the Coconino Forest. In places it was almost impassable. +Stretches of rock-hard mud, that had been cut up into fantastic shapes, +hindered progress for hundreds of yards at a stretch. I had often to +resort to the old expedient of chipping the edges of the ruts away in +advance to enable Lizzie's cradle frame to get through. Then for miles +there were stretches of incredible roughness where often I left the +road and scrambled over the rough prairie at the side, leaping over +gullies, mounds, cracks, and rocks in preference to the treacherous +trail. But the wild scenery compensated for everything. It was +exquisite. + +Town after town slowly but surely went by, and as they did so, the +country grew wilder and the climate hotter. The trail wound through +great gorges with towering cliffs that obscured most of the sky. +Mad rivers would come rushing down from mountain sides and seldom +were there bridges with which to cross them. Vegetation became less +plentiful and here and there were stretches of barren prairie land with +great boulders and masses of rock spread indiscriminately about them. + +Past Ashforks, some sixty miles from Flagstaff, I came upon a Ford car +by a wide, rough-bedded, unbridged river. The owner, dressed in blue +combination overalls (the standard garment of the West) was playing +round it with a "monkey-wrench." + +"Want anything, brother?" I asked. + +"No thanks, nothing wrong," he replied, eyeing Lizzie and me +curiously up and down. "Gee! What the ..." (his eye caught the number +plate)--"Well, I'll be goldarned!" + +"How's the road ahead?" I asked, ignoring his evident amazement at one +so young having come so far! + +"Pretty tough in places. You've got a fairly good run for a hundred +miles, but you've got to keep your eyes skinned for washouts. There's a +big one about ten miles further on, just before you come to Pineveta. +You can't miss it. It's just beyond a big cliff on the left side where +it says 'REPENT YOUR SINS, THE END IS AT HAND.' And by G--, +you'd better repent 'em quick in case anything does happen!" + +Washouts there were, good and plentiful. Great gullies had been cut +across the roads by the rains. Many were not visible much before they +were felt. On the whole it was exciting running. + +Pineveta was a most "movie-looking" town. I could easily have imagined +myself a Gaumont operator on several occasions. Every building, whether +a house, the village church or the town hall, was of wood and of the +simplest construction possible. Everything seemed loose, ramshackle +and toppling. It was a good home for the tough guys of the West, +where towns spring up in a night, prosper awhile and then fade into +insignificance. + +After Seligman, another twenty miles further on, the trail showed signs +of nervous prostration. It led into a great canyon whose grey walls +towered high on either side. Then it seemed to say to the traveller, +"See here, Boss, you can go on if you like, I'm staying right here; +had enough of this." It had already dwindled down to a couple of ruts +in the sandy bed of the canyon and now it was besieged on all sides +with dense growths of grey scrub, like sage-brush. Even the ruts were +barely visible and now appeared only in white patchy blotches through +the scrub that grew a foot or a couple of feet high in dense, clustered +tufts. It seemed as though something would have to be done about it +soon. + +Finally we came to a wooden fence, rudely but effectively constructed +and barring the way entirely. Behind the fence was a railway track. +Evidently it was necessary to cross the track somewhere but not the +slightest opportunity did there appear of doing so. I explored awhile. + +On the left, where the trail had ended, the fence showed signs of +having been pulled down and ruts in the ground bore witness to traffic +having gone that way at some time or another more or less remote. But +stay, what is this? A large post had been torn down from the fence and +laid right across the track of the apparent detour. In the middle of +it, and fastened on by a piece of wire, was a scrap of paper bearing +the following anonymous inscription in scrawled handwriting--"DOANT +GO THIS RODE CANT GET THRU." + +Now wasn't this kind of some one? I began to wonder if I would have +gone to the same trouble if I had struggled through a fence on an old +Ford car (I was sure from the writing that it was a Ford) and after +proceeding half a mile or so over interminable boulders and gullies had +found it necessary to come back again. I came to the conclusion that I +WOULD, at any rate, if I was in the West, and thus consoled, I +proceeded to search for another outlet. + +Yes, here were a pair of ruts leading off backwards at a tangent. Where +they went was not possible to see, for they were overgrown with scrub. +I started Lizzie once again, put her front wheel into the deeper of +the ruts and set off whither it should take me. It was faithful and +true. Brushing the bushes sideways with the machine as we passed, we +arrived in half a mile at a gate where a good wide road appeared. It +was the entrance to the "city" of Nelson, consisting of a few shacks, +a ranch-house and a railway station. After opening a few more gates we +crossed the rails at a level crossing and were going once again swiftly +westwards. + +"Dinner in Peach Springs," I told myself. Peach Springs on my AAA Map +was a fair-sized town fifteen miles ahead. Evening was drawing on and +there would not be much light left for travelling, but where dinner was +concerned it was another matter. Proceed we must, until fodder hove in +sight. + +Slowly the canyon was left behind. The country opened out and became +flatter. Vast rolling plains appeared, with cedar woods creeping down +their slopes. The air was sultry, hardly a breeze stirred in the trees; +wild pigeons in hundreds flew hither and thither; occasionally a young +antelope or a great jack rabbit leaped across the plains. I hardly gave +them a thought. My mind dwelt upon an imaginary tin of pineapple chunks +somewhere in the distance! + +Peach Springs showed no trace of materializing when required. There was +no sign of it anywhere where it should have been. I stopped at a wooden +shack near the roadside. There was a Bowser pump outside the door. + +An old man with a goat's beard appeared at the door. + +"A couple of gallons of gas, please," I shouted, and while he pumped +it in I surveyed the surroundings; there was another little shack not +far away and two dirty-looking Mexican women were sitting down outside. +Here and there, round about, lay rubbish, pieces of timber, tin cans +and other débris. + +"Guess you get mighty lonesome here, dad?" + +"Aw, dunno," he replied. "Bin here nigh on forty years. Guess I got +purty well accustomed to it now." + +"Forty years! I should say so!... Thanks. Say, how far's Peach Springs +from here?" + +"Peach Springs? This is Peach Springs. You're in it right here," and he +pointed to his shack. + +"_This_ Peach Springs? I thought it was a big town with umpteen +thousand people in it." + +"And so it was, till they moved it." + +"Moved it?" I stood aghast at the thought of such a horrible thing. + +"Aye, I mind the time when there was over 40,000 people in Peach +Springs. They'd all come in a heluva sweat lookin' for gold, and what's +more, they found it. Then the gold begun to give out until in the end +there warn't none at all, an' when the gold went the people went with +it. I'm the only one as didn't go and I guess I'm not much concerned +about it neither. Provisions and gas and oil are better'n grubbin' +after gold all yer life." + +"Provisions?" I queried. "Got any pineapple chunks?" + +"Sure thing. Got everything." + +Overcome with emotion, I filled my pockets with tinned fruit and +biscuits. + +That night my camp fire burned in a glorious spot sheltered by high +cliffs. Fuel was scarce, there were just a few dried-up bushes to burn, +but it was splendid, camping there with the beautiful clear sky above, +the stars shining as I had never known them shine before. + +On again we went at dawn. This time it was to leave behind the cedar +forests and the towering canyons. We were getting near the fringe +of the great arid desert that stretches for nearly 300 miles to the +heart of California. Gradually the ground became flat, almost as flat +as the proverbial pancake. On it grew no vegetation at all, save the +scanty sage-brush that can flourish where all other things die. Miles +away, but clear enough to be only a few hundred yards, rose ranges of +saw-toothed, evil-looking mountains, as barren as barrenness could be. +Ahead lies the trail stretching beyond the traveller's vision to the +horizon. On the left runs a fence. Beyond the fence is the Santa Fé +Railway. The telegraph poles and the distant mountains are the only +objects that break the interminable flatness. The sky is cloudless and +the heat of the sun intense. At every five or ten miles a stop is made +to drink water from the bag on the handlebar. One has a glorious thirst +in these parts. + +Mile after mile goes by, and hour after hour. The sun grows higher in +the heavens, its rays pour down upon my back with unrelenting fury. +When shall we get to anywhere? The inner man grows weary of fasting in +this infernal heat. A massive rock, lying all alone in the vast plain +on the right, asks: "Why will ye not repent?" Oh, the irony of it! The +man who painted that rock was a fanatic, but he knew what he was about. + +Kingman at last! Kingman meant breakfast. Breakfast meant water melons +and coffee and pies and other good--nay, beautiful--things. Kingman +meant drinks and ices and sundries to one's heart's content, and one's +pocket's contents. + +On again I pursue my way, feeling like a new man. Next stop Yucca, +thirty miles. Gee! the sun is hot. Nearly eleven. My stars, what +will it be like at one? Everything is sand now--underneath, around, +everywhere. The wheels tear it up in clouds as they skim through. +Sometimes they slip sideways in it and flounder about, trying to grip +on to something firm. Sometimes we slither over altogether but the sand +is soft and spills do not disturb one much. But the sun--I wish it +would stop working a bit! + +Vegetation appears once again, but of a very strange kind. It is a +vegetation that is different from any we know in Europe. It is at the +same time grotesque, mysterious, ridiculous, wonderful and luxurious. +It is desert vegetation. You have always thought of deserts as devoid +of every sign of vegetation? It is not so in the great deserts of +America. Life abounds but, as if in recompense for the privilege of +living, it has to take strange forms. Yet, if they are strange, it is +only in comparison with the vegetation to which in temperate climes we +are accustomed. The unnumbered varieties of cactus plants and trees are +in reality beautiful and strange beyond description. They are always +green, always fresh and always beautiful. It is a kind of "Futurist" +beauty that adorns them. The cactus trees, for instance, have their +leafless branches projecting almost at right angles to the trunk, and +they in turn branch out in a similar manner, presenting a grotesque +appearance. The tall and beautiful Ocatilla--one can almost refer to +it as a desert "shrub"--springs directly from the ground like several +long waving feelers bunched together below and spread apart above. The +prickly-pear, with its needle-covered fleshy leaves, each one joined +on to another without stem or stalk, presents a most weird aspect. +Even the modest and unassuming sage-brush, the poor down-trodden "John +Citizen" of every desert, seems to have been arranged on the barren +plain in regular rectangles and rows, spaced at mathematical distances +apart. + +The secret is that each one has to think of only one thing--water. Each +cactus plant or tree is provided in itself with the means of storing +a reserve of water. Moisture is the one great thing that dominates +them all. That being so, the constitution of desert vegetation has +to be altogether different from that of humid climates just as our +constitutions would have to be entirely different if we lived on Mars, +where there is hardly any water at all. + +This was truly a world of wild fancy. It would be ridiculous--I +thought--to try to explain a scene like this to people who had +never seen anything but ordinary trees and plants and flowers. They +would laugh in scorn when I tried to describe to them that strange +conglomeration of fanciful shapes, those mad-looking cactus trees with +every joint dislocated, those weird Ocatilla waving their long slender +arms twenty and thirty feet above the ground. And look at that great +organ-pipe cactus over there, nothing but a huge light-green fleshy +trunk, with two or three other trunks all perfectly straight and +perfectly vertical on top of it! How could one possibly describe things +like that? + +"With a Watch-Pocket 'Carbine,' of course. What else?" I mused and +stopped to take out my camera from the toolbox. It was not so easily +done as said. The toolbox lid seemed red-hot to my fingers. I could not +bear my hand on the top of the tank even. + +Oh, water, water: how beautiful thou art! Even when imbibed under +hand-pressure from a smelly canvas water-bag! + +Could it EVER get any hotter than this? The only way was to +keep going, the faster the better. Then the heat, with frequent drinks, +was just tolerable. When I stopped, it was like being plunged suddenly +into a great furnace. Never mind; there would be ice-creams at Yucca. +On again, as fast as we can, leaping over gullies, ploughing through +the loose white sand. Lower and lower we get as we travel. The gradient +is not noticeable, for there are ups and downs all the way, and ridges +of hills here and there. All the same, we are making a steady descent. +In a couple of dozen miles we shall cross the River Colorado. That +morning we were over a mile high above it. Now we are at its level. +That explains the increasing heat the further we go, and further on for +hundreds of miles the road lies but a few feet above the level of the +sea; in places it is actually below it. + +In the distance appear trees--poplars, eucalyptus and cedars. They +denote the small ramshackle town of Yucca, like an island in the plain. +The trail widens into a road. Living beings are seen, horses, carts +and motor-cars. It is the civilized world once again. What Yucca does +for a living I am at a loss to know. It cannot certainly be a ranching +town. Probably there is a little gold in the vicinity and it is a small +trading centre. Probably it is more important as a thirst-quenching +centre! + +A short stop and on we went again into the desert, leaving behind +us the little oasis, and plunging ahead into a still hotter region. +The strange cactus trees and desert plants gathered round once more. +Rougher and rougher the road became. The sand gave place to sharp +loose grit interspersed with rocks and jutting boulders. As it did so, +gradually the luxurious vegetation of the desert grew thinner and the +dull miserable sage-brush took its place. The trail divided up into two +deep and solitary ruts and in between them lay loose shale and grit +that absolutely defied progress. The wheels would sink in freely and +churn the road up aimlessly. It was necessary then to ride in one of +the ruts. Where they were broad this was not difficult, but when they +narrowed and deepened a spill was almost bound to occur if one wobbled +but a fraction of an inch from the dead centre of the rut. Negotiating +a road of this nature was something new in the sport of motor-cycling, +but it was exasperating. I was to find later that riding continuously +in a rut was like riding on a greasy road, in that the more carefully +one went and the more timid one grew, the more dangerous did the riding +become. Time and time again I was thrown off by fouling the side +of the rut and plunged headlong over the handlebars into the road. +The slower I went the more often was I thrown. If I travelled about +ten or twelve miles an hour I could maintain my balance by using my +feet where necessary. Riding at that speed, however, was out of the +question. It was better to go faster and risk the frequent spills than +to be roasted alive. So I went faster. The faster I went the easier +was it to maintain balance naturally, because the steering became more +sensitive and only a very small movement of the handlebars within the +limits of the rut would suffice to correct any deviation from perfect +balance. I found that at between thirty-five and forty miles an hour +it was moderately easy to follow the rut through the swerves in its +course. But even then, occasionally there would be a nasty spill, a +few bent levers and some scratches. (I learned a week or so later from +"Cannonball Baker," the famous American racer, that he travels in these +same ruts at between fifty and sixty!) + +Here and there the trail would cross a "wash" or a dried-up lake bed +and then the sand régime would reappear. And ever did death speak from +all around--desolation in bewildering intensity almost cried aloud +from the fire-swept waste that lay all about me. Often I passed the +remains of derelict cars left at the side of the road; sometimes it +was a mudguard or a spring, a tyre or a broken wheel; sometimes it was +a complete chassis, stripped of everything that could be taken away. +For what could be done in a region like this if the breakdown were too +large? Nothing but to push the car off the road and leave it to its +fate. Almost without exception the remains were of Ford cars. That +shows the wisdom of travelling in a machine that bears no great loss if +it is damaged or forsaken! + +Occasionally I passed a gigantic heap of small tins all rusty and +forlorn. I was puzzled at first. How did they get there? And why had +they been heaped up if they were the discarded food-tins of passing +travellers? But no. They are the sole remains of a "mushroom" town of +the West. In them one can picture the sudden growth and the almost +equally sudden decay of a settlement that thrived while there was gold +to be found in the vicinity. + +Here and there, too, were little heaps of bones, bleached white as +snow--the remains of a horse or a cow that had strayed. To lose +oneself, be it man or animal, is sure death in the Mohave Desert. + +It is just midday. The sun is vertically above. It beats down on my +shoulders and dries up the skin of my hands. My hair, over which I had +never worn a hat since I left New York, is bleached to a light yellow +colour and stands erect, stiff and brittle. The alkali sand and dust +have absorbed all the moisture from my fingers and gradually cracks +and cuts are developing in my finger tips and at the joints. I find +it easier to grasp the handlebars with the palms of my hands alone. +My clothes are saturated with dust and my trench boots are cut and +scratched, with the seams broken away; the right sole has pulled away +and threatens to come off altogether unless carefully used. I feel that +the sooner I get out of the Mohave Desert the better it will be for me. + +But the heat! It seems to know no shame, no pity. It is terrific. Every +five miles I stop and drink from the water bag. There is just enough +to carry me to the next stop. For the first time I begin to long for +shelter from the burning rays. There is none around anywhere--not as +far as the horizon. I must push on quickly.... The rut suddenly breaks +and swerves away.... CRASH!... Up again, lose no time. On once +more; what matter if the footbrake doesn't work? A motor-cycle is made +to go, not to stop! + +In front, to the left, rise pinnacles of purple granite. They stick up +sharply into the sky like the teeth of a great monster grinning over +its prey. They are the "Needles," and they fringe the Colorado River. +What a glorious sight it will be to see a river again, with water +flowing in it. + +Now on the horizon appears a blotch of green. Its beauty in that yellow +wilderness is beyond description. It is the green of the stately poplar +trees that surround the railway station of Topock. That is where the +road and the railway and the river all meet, and where we leave Arizona +and enter the State of California. Thank Heaven it is not far away. The +pinnacles rise higher and higher, the little oasis grows bigger and +bigger, and the trees greener and taller. + +At last! Lizzie's rattle is silent. We come to rest under a great +shelter thatched with straw that has been erected by the roadside +opposite the restaurant--the only building in the town beside the +railway station. A few yards further on was a massive steel bridge 400 +yards long that spanned the Colorado. Beyond lay California, but I was +satisfied with Arizona and the straw-thatched shelter for an hour or +two. + + * * * * * + +At two we crossed the great bridge. What good fortune would California +bring, I wondered. It brought even worse roads than I had seen in +Arizona. There still remained over 200 miles of desert to be crossed. +The trail was very rough, like a mountain track at the start, full +of ups and downs and swerves and washes. Twelve miles further on I +arrived at the town of Needles, so tired and hot that I decided to +abandon travel until the evening. Then I would ride out into the desert +and make my bed under the steel-blue sky. I was too enamoured of the +wonderful sunsets and the glorious sunrises of the open plain to allow +them to pass unseen in a musty, stuffy hotel bedroom. + +Needles, I was surprised to find, was very much bigger than I had +expected. It is now a good-sized town and its main street a bustle of +activity. After disposing of a steak at a Chinese restaurant, I bought +a book and retired to the square. There I took off my tunic, rolled +up my shirt sleeves and lay on the grass beneath the tall, thick palm +trees and whiled away the hot afternoon hours. + +At evening as the setting sun was drawing a magic cloak over the +tropical sky, I stole out of Needles along the lonesome trail that I +had learnt to love. Except for low-lying mountains all around, there +was nothing but the everlasting sand and sage-brush. Behind lay the +gigantic plain and across it, like a silver snake, crept the great +silent river. It was the most impressive scene that I have ever beheld +from my bedroom window. My mattress was the sand with a waterproof +sheet laid upon it. Never did Monte Cristo with all his wealth sleep in +such luxury as that. + +[Illustration: IN THE MOHAVE DESERT.] + +[Illustration: CACTUS TREES NEAR SAN BERNARDINO, CALIFORNIA.] + +He who all his life has associated the dawn with the soft greetings +of birds and the mellow noises of awakening nature, is struck at +once with the vast difference of desert countries. I have read that in +unexplored Africa and South America, the dawn is heralded by a mighty +tumult of millions of voices, a great chorus of every soul in the +great populace that lives in forest and jungle. In the Mohave Desert +the majesty of the dawn unfolds itself in deathly silence. The entire +absence of sound of any kind is awe-inspiring, almost weird, and the +observer can but watch and wonder at it as he sees the whole firmament +set ablaze with colours and shades that he never imagined existed, and +gradually the silent grandeur of the spectacle is revealed. + +It was with just such feelings that from my bed I watched the unfolding +of another day from the depths of the great silent plain which lay +beyond that thread of silver in the distance. + +And then, on again. There was a low range of mountains ahead to be +crossed. It was slow work and very tiring. The constant looseness of +the surface, the need for everlastingly keeping one's eyes glued to the +trail, and the terrible monotony of it all for mile after mile, made +me long all the more for a sight of the orange groves and the blue sea +beyond that to-morrow I might, if nothing unforeseen happened, enjoy. +Thus went fifteen, twenty, thirty miles. The first halt was reached. +It was only a railway station, a "hotel," a garage and two or three +houses, but it meant breakfast, and a good one at that, for the journey +that was ahead. Feeding over, out we went once more to brave the ruts +and the rocks and the sand, for miles and miles unending. The morning +sun grows slowly into a midday sun. + +We have been climbing a little. Low-lying ranges of absolutely bare, +purple-brown jagged hills seem to hem us in. Soon we shall be across +them. Beyond there will be--what? More, perhaps. The road here has been +"oiled," that is, the sand has been levelled and then crude mineral oil +poured on. This hardens the crust and prevents the road from blowing +away, giving to the uninitiated the impression of well-laid macadam. It +is a relief after the loose sand, and it looks so strange for a black, +broad highway to be going across a desert! It does not last long, but +comes and goes in patches. Where it does appear it is often lumpy and +cut into grooves and slices. Nevertheless it is welcome.... The road +turns when it reaches the crest, continues for a few yards, and then.... + +A marvellous sight has suddenly appeared, viewed from the meagre height +at which we stand. A great plain lies beneath and before us, greater +and flatter and more desolate than my imagination could ever have +conceived. All around it are mighty saw-toothed ranges of mountains +pressing close upon the horizon and fading away into nothingness. In +it is nothing, not a prominence of any kind, save the omnipresent +sage-brush that seems to stretch in streaky uniformity like a great +purple-brown veil above the cream-white sand. It is impossible to go +on--to do anything but stop and wonder that over so great an area +nature can be so desolate. It is wonderful, mystifying in its intensity. + +Did I say there was no prominence? What are those two minute specks +away over there in the heart of the plain? They must be a tremendous +distance away, but in their very minuteness they are conspicuous. It is +obvious that they are not there by the design of Nature.... As I look, +a tiny white speck appears further still to the left, as though it +emerged from behind the range of mountains that I have just crossed. +Look! There is a short black tail behind it. It is a train! + +Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it moves across the great wilderness. The +black specks then are stations, small man-made oases where water has +been brought to the surface. Yes, it is true. Ten minutes elapse, and +the little white speck merges into the little black speck. Thus are +sizes and speeds dwarfed into insignificance when Nature has the mood +to show her magnitude! + +On again we go, spinning smoothly awhile over the smooth, oiled road. +It stops in a mile or two and leaves nothing but the old heart-rending, +twisting, wayward ruts and sand to guide us. Hours go by. They are +hours of wild effort, maddening heat, and interminable boredom. +Generally, every fifteen or twenty miles, there was a railway station +and a restaurant where one could stop for drinks, ices, and petrol. + +Four o'clock saw me in Ludlow, a small town, larger than the other +stops. I was dead tired. Come what may, I was not going to work myself +to death. I had done 200 miles since daybreak. That was enough for +anyone in a country like this. + +At eight o'clock I set out with Lizzie in the deepening twilight to +find a resting-place for the night. The road was oiled, but in most +places the sand of the desert had blown over it, covering it for +several inches in depth, and sometimes obliterating it from view for +many hundred yards. + +"I will sleep at the foot of yonder hill," quoth I, and saw visions of +concrete roads and orange groves beyond the horizon. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +I REACH THE PACIFIC COAST + + +I saw something else on the horizon too. It started as a little black +speck on the road, seeming to swerve now and then from one side to +another. It emitted a strange noise that at first was scarcely to be +heard, but increased until it reverberated indefinitely from the bare +angular mountain ranges. + +It was a motor-cycle! + +An inexpressible feeling of sympathy and comradeship surged through me, +as I realized that here was another fool starting to do what one fool +had already almost done. I wondered vaguely whether he knew what he was +doing. + +We both stopped, dismounted, and looked at each other for a few moments +before either spoke. The sight of another motor-cycle seemed to take +both of us by surprise. The stranger, a young man of twenty-four or so, +had an old twin-cylinder Excelsior that looked very much as if it had +seen better days. I led off the conversation. + +"Where do you reckon you're going on that?" + +"New York." + +"Ever done it before?" + +"Nope." + +"Insured?" + +"Nope." + +"Pleasure or business?" + +"Both." Here he fumbled around a huge bruise on his forehead. +"Leastways, that was the idea. I'm writing it up for the _Adventure +Magazine_ when I'm through"--and he added guardedly, "That is, if I +don't kill meself with a few more headers like this." + +"How'd you get that?" + +"Oh, Boy, I came such a crash on a bit of oiled roadway back there by +that salt-lake bed. Don't remember anything of it except being chucked +clean over the grips about fifty. My Gad, it was some crash! I came +round about half an hour after. Say, Boy, you look out for them ruts; +ride plumb in the middle of the road, and you may miss 'em, 'cause +they're filled in and blown over with sand. Jest the right width of +your wheel, they are." + +"Sure, I've made their acquaintance already; kind of keep a man fit, +don't they? But, say, you've got many more like that coming between +here and New York. Take my tip, old man. If you've got anyone depending +on you for a living and you don't want to knock the 'X' and yourself to +little pieces, you had better go back home right now and tootle up and +down the Californian coast for a holiday. And if you still want to get +to New York--well, all I can say is, there's a dem fine train service, +and you'll find a depot right there in Ludlow." + +"Don't you worry, Boy; I've done a heap of motor-cycling in my days +and I guess I don't get scared at a header or two, and s'long as I can +fix anything that happens along, I guess I'll git to Lil Ole Noo York +before a couple of weeks is gone." + +"Young man," said I in a fatherly tone, "you don't know what you're +saying. You're talking blasphemy--sheer heresy. Your crash has turned +your wits a little." + +"Thanks, but I've made up my mind to go by road, and go by road I will." + +"That's the spirit, but just a few more words of advice. Sell it and +buy a Ford. Then you'll be able to take some one with you." + +"I'm taking some one already, Boy. He's back at Ludlow. Shipped him on +from Barstow, the road was so dog-gone bad and he got scared at the +desert." + +"What! You're taking him on the carrier?" I cried aghast. + +"Sure enough. What's against it?" + +I was speechless. His youth and innocence held me spellbound for a +moment. Then I burst forth: + +"Man, you're mad! ABSOLUTELY MAD! Here, c'mon, Lizzie, before +it gets too dark and before this lunatic gets unsafe." I kicked her +into a roar. "Cheerio, old man! Give my love to the Angels to-morrow!" + +Then his open exhaust burst into a clatter and I saw him no more. I +often thought about him, though, and wondered how, when, and where he +ended up. + +Next morning I shook the desert sand from my blanket for the last +time. By hook or by crook I should be sailing through the streets of +Los Angeles before nightfall. I judged I looked pretty fierce on the +whole. I had no looking-glass, having left my suit-case to be shipped +on back at Santa Fé, but I had the best part of a week's growth on my +chin and I had not known the joy of a wash for four days. My hair, my +boots, my clothes, my everything, were saturated with sand and dust. My +tunic, which in its earlier days had been a green tweed, was now white +at the back, bleached almost colourless with the sun and then soaked +with alkali dust. In the front and below the sleeves it maintained +something approaching its original colour. My boots? Well, they had not +been off for four days, and the right sole, which had been threatening +revolution, had so many times nearly tripped me up by doubling +underfoot, that I had removed it near the instep with my pen-knife! + +And Lizzie was in no better condition. Externally she was a mass of +string, wire, insulation-tape, mud, oil, and sand. Internally she +was a bundle of rattles and strange noises. Everything was loose and +worn; the sand had invaded her at every point and had multiplied wear +a thousandfold. Latterly the tappet rods had had to be cleaned and +adjusted over a sixteenth of an inch every day until there was no more +adjustment possible. The valve rockers were worn half-way through, some +more than that. One had worn right through until it had broken in the +middle. I began to be afraid that the engine would not hold out even +for the 200 odd miles to come. By handling her carefully and giving her +ample oil, I hoped to "deliver the goods" and get across the remaining +half of the great desert tract that borders on the Sierra Madre Range +running parallel with the coast from north to south. Once across that +range, everything, I told myself, would change abruptly, the roads, the +scenery, and the climate. + +Mile after mile of rock and sand went by with the sweating hours. +Often little patches of oiled road appeared, stayed awhile, and then +miraculously disappeared below the white, loose surface. Nearly always +there were two ruts, beautifully sharp and well cut, sunk three or four +inches below the rest of the surface, caused by the fierce rays of +the midday sun converting the oiled surface into a plastic condition +easily moulded by passing cars which, once given the lead, follow +blindly in the others' "footsteps." Many a bad swerve and an occasional +spill did I have when my front wheel found such as this. But the major +portion of the road was just the bare, loose sand and gravel of the +desert. + +I had by now become so used to my own company that the sense of +loneliness almost disappeared, and I felt as perfectly at ease here as +anywhere else. I felt that the great wastes had a charm, nay, even a +lure, that eclipsed all past sensations and gave a mental satisfaction +that no other phase of Nature could ever reveal. I cannot describe +the ineffable something which made me love the great solitude and the +mighty spaces, but it is there nevertheless, and, like the greatest +of passions, it gives extremes. After one has lived but a few days in +the desert, either he loves it passionately or he loathes it. There is +nothing in between. + +On the right there lies the great "Death Valley" that stretches a +hundred miles to the north between the Armagosa and the Paramint +Mountains. Its name is suggestive of the many people who have miserably +perished of thirst in its clutches. It is the remains of a long-since +dried-up inland lake and parts of it are 150 feet below the level of +the sea. There is nothing in it save bare rock and shifting alkali +sand, with here and there a cactus or a little sage. The heat is +tremendous and the thermometer sometimes rises to 140°. In all, not a +pleasant place either to live in or to die. But there are those who in +the search for gold live here for months at a stretch. + +Confound it! There goes No. 1 cylinder again. Why doesn't she fire? Am +I to start overhauling the engine in this terrible place? I stop to +change a plug.... Nothing doing.... Try another.... Still no result. +For ten minutes I tinker with red-hot tools. Gee! the blessed machine +will be melting soon if we don't move quick. In disgust I go on again +with only three cylinders working. Past memories crowd into my mind, +but the eternal battle with the loose sand suffices to keep them out. + +It was too bad, to start playing pranks like this within a few hours of +the coast. The sand of the road absorbed most of the power I now had +left and often I had to change down to bottom gear to get along at all. +It was wonderful what a difference just that one cylinder made, and it +was most annoying that it should happen just here, where the earth was +nothing more than a confused mass of rocks and sand, and the sun stood +vertically above in the sky. "Thank Heaven, I've some water left, if +anything happens," thought I. + +"What in the world is that thing?" I asked myself. Closer acquaintance +proved it to be a motor lorry, dressed up as a caravan and minus a back +axle--a most remarkable sight in most remarkable surroundings. From the +numerous loop-tracks that swerved around it, it had evidently stood +there many days. Its owner was lying underneath on his back. + +"Pretty place to change a back axle, old man," I remarked intelligently. + +"Yep. Not the kind o' thing a feller does for the fun of it, either," +he retorted, scrambling out from his resting-place in the sand. + +"Well, is there anything I can do for you, anyway? I don't quite +like to see a chap stranded in a blankety-blank country like this on +blankety-blank roads like these." I forget just the adjectives I used, +but I know they were hardly of the drawing-room variety. Imagine my +surprise when a feminine voice from inside chirped out: + +"Yes, that's just about got 'em sized up! I've never heard such a +mighty cute description of 'em." + +Five days they had been there. The back axle had broken under the huge +strain of dragging the load through the deep, loose sand. A passing car +had taken it to San Bernardino to be repaired, and other passing cars +had kept them well supplied with water. They expected to have the axle +back the next day and then had nothing to fear. As I could do nothing +for them, I propped Lizzie up against the side of the lorry and tried +once more to persuade No. 1 cylinder to join hands with the rest. + +After half an hour of useless toil, I bade farewell to the caravan and +its occupants. + +"Quite sure I can't do anything?" + +"Plumb sure, thanks. Mebbe we shall be there before you, y'know,"--with +a wicked twinkle in his eye. + +Then followed hours and hours of ceaseless toil. We climbed hills and +crossed great lake-beds that glistened white with a dazzling glare. +In some of these there was nothing to be seen in the vast stretch of +alkali deposit where once, thousands of years ago, rested the briny +waters of lakes and inland seas--nothing, not even a plucky bush of +sage-brush, clinging valiantly to its life-hold. + +We came to Barstow, a growing settlement, a railway centre and with +great alkali factories. Here, after nearly 100 miles' running, I had a +substantial breakfast-lunch-dinner meal and filled my water-bag for the +last time. We were nearing the end of the Mohave Desert. + +Here the trail turns sharply to the south to "San Berdoo," the +colloquial abbreviation of San Bernardino. At one time the trail had +crossed the desert by a different route altogether, in places almost +100 miles from the railway line. So many souls had perished with the +heat and lack of water--perchance through some breakdown or through +losing their way--that later a new road was "constructed" following +closely the track of the railway so that travellers by road need never +be in difficulties for long. It is an unwritten law in any of the +American deserts that anyone can hold up a train anywhere if he needs +water or supplies or other help. It is willingly given, whether it be a +freight train or the "California Limited" express from New York to San +Francisco! + +The San Gabriel Mountains now rose high on the horizon. They had but to +be crossed, and then all our troubles would be over. + +So I thought. + +At Victorville, a growing town at the north base of the range, the +desert had almost disappeared. Eucalyptus trees became strangely +intermixed with cactus trees, and the aroma of their long, grey-green +leaves filled the air with a new sensation. It was the approach of +civilization once again. + +And then followed the long, winding climb up to the Cajon Pass. In the +thick sand and with only three cylinders, it was hard work and slow +work. I thought we should never get to the top. Looking back, I beheld +a wonderful panorama of desert plain, and a glistening sea of sand; +looking forward, I saw just a gap in the great black wall and a rocky +pathway winding through it. + +Are we NEVER going to reach the summit? We must have climbed +nearly a mile high already, I argued with myself, when, of a sudden, +the twisting, rocky trail ceased to exist. It vanished like magic, and +instead there was before us a magnificent, broad highway of smooth, +flat concrete that made me yell with delight. It was wonderful. I +laughed and sang with childish glee to think that after 4,000 miles +of mud and sand and soil and rock and rut and unspeakable goat-track, +I was at last on a concrete road once again, with a surface like a +billiard table. I swerved madly from side to side to make sure those +two haunting ruts had really disappeared, and laughed again when I +found I was not thrown off. It was just glorious. + +One more turn, and a great valley lay at my feet. It was green with +grass and the mountain sides were clothed in pine trees. Pine trees! +How beautiful they looked! It was surely a dream, a vision, a trick +of the imagination. There was a long, winding gradient down into the +valley. I shut the engine off and we coasted down the smooth concrete +without even a whisper or a jar of any kind. It was like a sudden entry +into heaven--and almost as silent. + +There were now seventy miles of concrete leading between avenues of +eucalyptus and groves of orange trees into Los Angeles. Further, the +road was almost perfectly flat, although bordered by the San Gabriel +range, and, with a few right-angle bends here and there, cut straight +across from east to west, with hardly a swerve from the straight line. + +Truly it was like a new world, this fruit garden of California. For +miles unbroken save by little avenues, one passed row upon row of +orange trees laid out in perfect symmetry and exactitude in the rich +flat soil. A narrow ditch, dug parallel with each row and having small +branches to each individual tree, communicated with larger ditches +along which flowed a constant stream of fresh water led from the +mountain sides. + +Interspersed would be groves of prunes, peaches, and apples, then a +plantation of water-melons and cantaloupes of all shapes and sizes. + +And then, as if to snatch away the enjoyment of all these pleasant +things, a great clatter arose from the engine. Something had broken at +last, and it seemed that the whole was a revolving mass of loose pieces +all knocking up against each other. Then, before I had been able to +slow down--it all happened in a few seconds--there was a metallic thud, +the back wheel locked dead, and the machine dry-skidded itself to rest. +Once again Fate had decreed against me, angry that I should have got so +far in spite of all her efforts. + +Well, well! There was plenty of time to spare now; no need to hurry. +I sat down on the grass at the roadside in the shade of an orange +tree, ate two oranges--from the tool-box--and smoked a pipe. Feeling +refreshed in every sense, I then proceeded to take the engine to pieces. + +No. 1 piston had broken in fragments and a large piece had jammed +between the big end of one of the connecting rods and the crank-case. +It was strange that it had not punched a hole through it. + +It was far too long a job to take off the sump at the roadside--it +would have meant taking the whole engine out of the frame--nearly a +day's work--so I removed as many of the pieces of piston as I could get +at through the inspection window. The piston-head was floating loose +like a flat disc above the small end. This I removed and packed the two +halves of the broken gudgeon pin apart, so as to guide the small end +up and down in the cylinder. It was impossible to remove the connecting +rod entirely, even with the cylinder off, without removing the whole +engine from the frame and taking off the sump. + +In a couple of hours I was going again, but very very gingerly, lest +another piece of piston should be caught up and cause another jamb. +The noise of the rattle too was terrific, and I could hear the warning +of passing cars (of which there were now several) only when they were +right behind me. Sometimes it would get suddenly worse and a further +disrupture would appear imminent, and then it would go suddenly back +again to its normal. Thus we toiled for thirty miles, at an average +speed of twelve miles an hour. + +At Ontario--the towns were as numerous as they were prosperous--I +feared another and final episode. A Ford car that was passing slowed +down to offer me assistance, and putting Lizzie in "free engine" I +hung on to his hoodstays with my right arm as a tow-rope. This lasted +for ten miles, but I could stand it no longer; my arms were stiff and +aching with the uneven strain. I thanked my benefactor and let go. + +The remaining twenty miles into Los Angeles were endured and +accomplished under our own power at about eight miles an hour. The +attention I attracted was considerable. Hundreds upon hundreds of cars, +buses, and motor-cycles passed, hurrying here and there, their tyres +making a continuous low hum on the concrete road. Luxury, wealth, and +happiness abounded on every hand. No greater antithesis to the aching +void of the desert back behind the mountains could be imagined. + +Every house was a picture, a model of cleanliness and homeliness. The +art of building bungalows is reduced in California to the irreducible. +It is amazing to see the variety of design and the characteristic +beauty of them all. They made the modern English bungalows of my memory +seem like enlarged dog-kennels by comparison. + +At five o'clock in the afternoon we rattled into Los Angeles, the New +York of the Far West. Lizzie's clatter rose above the noise of the +trolley cars that thronged the busy streets. Here at last was the +long-sought-for goal--the goal that for nearly three months had urged +me westward! And my steed? Poor Lizzie, she cried aloud for a respite +from the long, weary journey! + +Had I known where the Henderson Agency was I could not have found my +way there quicker. It seemed as if Lizzie's instincts had taken her +there just as a lost cat, transported hundreds of miles from home, +slowly, painfully and perseveringly drags its tired body back again. + +A quarter of an hour later I was sailing in a side-car towards the +"Clark Hotel." That was where my hotel at Santa Fé had recommended me +to go and had forwarded my baggage. + +We drew up at the door of a palatial establishment--the "posh" hotel +of Los Angeles. Once again, after many a long day, my knees began +to quake. Brushing by the magnificent door-porter, I swung into the +luxurious lounge. Afternoon tea was just finishing. I strolled across +to the reception desk, trying hard to maintain an air of complete +innocence as regards my personal appearance. I endeavoured to assume an +attitude of perfect congruity with my surroundings. + +To say the least, I was lamentably unsuccessful! Little groups of +people chatting together stopped and gazed at the dishevelled +intruder. Imperfectly disguised smirks were evident on all sides. +Pages, bell-boys, and porters quickly brought their grinning faces to +attention as I glowered upon them in turn. At last I reached the desk. + +"You've got some baggage for me, I believe--a couple of grips--sent +from the 'Montezuma' at Santa Fé. Shepherd is my name." + +Meanwhile the manager appeared on the scene. Resting himself with both +hands on the desk as if to steady himself against any possible shock +that he might receive from the contemplation of so strange a spectacle, +he gazed at me in silence. Then, below his breath, he found words to +convey his astonishment: + +"My Gad!" he said, and paused deliberately. Then he continued +explosively, "I've seen some sunburnt faces in my time, but never, +NEVER, NEVER have I seen a man anywhere with a face +like yours!" + +"It's nice of you to say so," I retorted. + +"Heavens, man!" he continued, ignoring the interruption, "your hair's +nearly white and your chest is nearly black. Where in hell have you +been?" + +"Oh, I didn't stay there long," I replied, "no longer than was +necessary to get here from New York." + +"New York!" (I was quite expecting him to say "Whar's that?" but +evidently its existence was known in well-informed circles in Los +Angeles). "Have you walked it or swum it or what?" + +"Only motor-cycled it, Old Bean!" + +"Well, now, if that's not.... Here; I'll give you your key. Go and have +a good bath RIGHT NOW." + +I thanked him. A porter had got my bags and stood waiting. His face was +the essence of staid immobility when I looked at him. Together we went +in the elevator to the _n_th floor. Eager to see what I really did +look like, my first indulgence was to look at myself in the glass, a +thing I had not done for many a day. + +It certainly was a shock. I could barely recognize myself. I really +was the most remarkable creature I had ever seen. I could not refrain +from bursting into uncontrollable laughter. The hitherto straight-faced +porter did likewise, and we both felt the better for it. + +A hot bath! Wonder of wonders! I tumbled into it and the past was +forgotten in the inexpressible ecstasy of the present. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +LOS ANGELES TO SAN FRANCISCO + + +In full, the real name of Los Angeles is "La Puebla de Nuestra Señora +la Reina de los Angeles"--"The City of our Lady the Queen of the +Angels." Founded by Spanish settlers about 1780, it is built upon the +plains that roll from the foothills of the Sierra Madre down to the +sea. It represents the very last word in the civilization of the Far +West. + +Los Angeles is a city of which to be proud. It is a hustling +metropolis, but not too hustling. Its streets are wide and well-laid, +its buildings clean, and its residences are just too wonderful for any +words of mine. It is moreover the "movie centre" _par excellence_ of +the world. "Duggie" and "Mary" and "Charlie" are not merely familiar +characters on the screen. They are your neighbours. You see them pass +in the streets and go shopping with them in the stores, like ordinary +human beings. Undoubtedly the development of Los Angeles in recent +years is due largely to this industry. So also is the amazing beauty +of its feminine population. Going deeper still, we find that the +secret of its success lies in the wonderful climate. There is but one +rainy season in Los Angeles during the year, and that is the month of +December. + +Strange to say, Los Angeles is not on the sea-coast. It is twelve miles +to the nearest part of the beach. This seemed rather extraordinary +to me, particularly as San Francisco, with whom they are so eagerly +competing, stands on one of the finest and largest harbours in the +world. I remarked so to the _Times_ reporter one day. "But why," I +asked, "did they build Los Angeles so far from the sea?" "Oh well, you +see," he replied in all seriousness, "they had a mighty good idea about +things. They reckoned that by the time Los Angeles had really started +growing she'd be right on top of the Pacific, so they gave her a chance +and laid the place out twelve miles away." "Oh, was that it? I see," +was my innocent retort. + +Be that as it may, there is a network of beautiful, straight, concrete +roads leading from the city down to the coast in all directions. +Dozens of small residential towns are springing up amid this network +of roads--towns that some day will be suburbs of Los Angeles. At least +that is the way to think of them. And the roads themselves? On Saturday +afternoons and Sundays they are like great living arteries along which +flows an endless stream of motor-cars. The Californians know how to +enjoy themselves. There is not one fragment of the art of exterminating +boredom that they have not studied. They frivol _en masse_, and to do +it they naturally choose the sea-beach as a habitat. Consequently the +coast is strung with dozens of seaside resorts of every type and shade +of description, and with only a mile or two between them. + +A trip to one of these "Los Angeles Beaches" is essential to the +education of the true student of Southern Californian civilization. +Never at any time have I seen public highways so completely covered +with motor-cars. The number seen approaches the incredible, in the eyes +of the astonished European. Frequently there were two almost endless +rows of cars with but a few feet between them, moving slowly along like +a gigantic procession several miles in length. Occasionally there would +be a hold-up, and the whole string of cars, one after the other, would +pull up, each car close upon its forerunner. Without exception, all +American cars are provided with buffers at front and rear so that the +car does not suffer any damage when one touches another even with quite +a severe impact. The obstruction is removed, and on the procession goes +again. Perhaps some unfortunate is changing a wheel at the roadside. +Then there is a big curve in the long, straight line where the more +fortunate Fords and Maxwells and Buicks and Overlands, etc., etc., +swerve round him. And thus we carry on until the coast is reached. + +Naturally the first glimpse I had of the Pacific Ocean gave me feelings +of unbounded joy. I even confess to having obeyed the childish instinct +to pick up shells and seaweed on the beach. It was a sight to look upon +until the majesty of the breakers and the infinite expanse of the deep +blue ocean eclipsed one's sense of magnitude altogether and one became +lost in a world of vision and fantasy. + +I spent over a week in Los Angeles. During that time I was almost +overwhelmed with hospitality. The Californians I found easily the most +hospitable people in America. At every hand I found people, whom I had +neither seen nor heard of before, inviting me to dinner, and taking me +rides in their cars. Further, I found I was friends with the police, +and that without any difficulty either! In fact, the very air of +California is charged with friendliness. Consequently, I was sorry when +the day came when I should leave it behind. + +Lizzie was finished. She had had a complete overhaul and several parts +of the engine replaced. Numerous telegrams and letters had been flashed +across the States to the works at Chicago. They were in vain. Although +still under the makers' guarantee, they would accept no responsibility. +I paid the last bill that made Lizzie's repair account just exceed the +amount I originally paid for her three months before and started out +to complete the journey to San Francisco. I cannot, however, omit to +mention the extreme courtesy and hospitality with which I was met at +the Henderson Agency itself. I could never at any time wish for better +attention or hope to make better friends in foreign countries than I +was fortunate enough to do in the "City of Angels." I left it with a +pang of regret. + +It was late in the evening when I started. I found to my annoyance that +the lights were defective. The headlight was _hors de combat_. Only the +"dimmer" remained to light me on my way. I had about sixty dollars in +my pocket, though, so I was the perfection of happiness withal. + +I am afraid those sixty dollars need some explanation. I arrived in +Los Angeles a week before with about twenty. The Post Office, as ever, +maintained an inexplicable silence. Having now quite reconciled myself +to being mailless wherever I went, save for a letter or two forwarded +through my friends in Cincinnati, I decided to direct my energies to a +profitable purpose while waiting for Lizzie's return from hospital. + +I scanned the newspapers night and day. Had I been a tram-driver or +a page-boy I could have made a hit at once without any difficulty. +There was also a big demand for boot-blacks, but for anything that +suited my tastes and inclinations there was nothing. My small stock +of "greenbacks" (paper dollars) was slowly diminishing the while. +Something had to be done. + +So I started in on journalism. Strange to say, I made money at it. With +the one exception of Kansas City, it is the only time I ever have. +Americans seemed interested in the impressions of stray Englishmen +through "God's own country." Better still, Californians seemed +interested to learn what one stray Englishman in particular had to say +about California on the one hand, and all the other States on the other! + +I have the best of reasons for believing that they were perfectly +satisfied with my report. So that is how, after paying for Lizzie's +operation, I still had sixty odd dollars left to my credit. + +The broad, well-lighted city streets with their trolley-cars soon were +left behind, and we rode for miles along boulevards of wondrous surface +through the residential quarters of Los Angeles. There were magnificent +bungalows of countless variety, the homes of both poor and rich. +Further on, we passed through Hollywood, the home of the homes of the +"movie" people. Occasionally would be seen a great block of buildings, +unpretentious in architecture but palatial in extent. These were the +"studios" where the films are made that instruct, amuse, and annoy the +world's population. + +Finally, the last bungalow receded into the background and ahead was +inky blackness, a beautiful concrete highway, and the faint forms of +mountain ranges. In the darkness, dispelled only within a radius of a +few feet by the small pea-lamp that remained in service, everything +looked mystic, shadowy, and strange. It seemed just the night, just the +surroundings for adventure, the kind of environment that makes the +vagrant life so much worth living. + +The road ran parallel with the coastline, some ten or more miles away, +but in between lay the Santa Monica Mountains, whose feet the highway +skirted. Sometimes the hill-sides were barren and rocky; other times +they were clothed in gloomy cedar forests. I wondered what strange +animals lurked in them and whether I should make the acquaintance of +any mountain lions, bears, wolves, wild cats and other animals that +still are plentiful in the mountain regions of California. Occasionally +a car passed, the glare of its headlights transforming the sombre +surroundings into a still stranger world of silver and gold. The road +for a few moments changed to a path of glistening white leading to +the unknown. And then, when the car dashed by, everything plunged +instantaneously into a sea of blackness so intense that it could almost +be felt. + +I had intended to polish off a couple of hundred miles before morning. +I love nothing better than a long night ride on a good road. But lack +of illumination defied my intentions. After thirty miles I pulled in to +the side of the road where a great beech tree overhung its branches, +and laid down my ground-sheet upon the soft bed of dead leaves and nuts +that lay beneath. + +It was the softest mattress that I have ever lain upon in the open. In +a few minutes I was fast asleep. + +In the early hours of the morning I began to dream. I dreamt that some +great animal was walking slowly around me as I lay. It snuffled about, +grunting at intervals in a most dissatisfied manner. It is not a habit +of mine to dream about anything. I remember reflecting subconsciously +that I had ceased to dream of bears and such like when I reached the +age of four. Why then should I dream about them now? Oh, hang the +fellow! What is he making that confounded noise for? + +A few minutes later I discovered that I was not dreaming at all. I +was wide awake. Without moving anything but my eyes I peered into the +darkness that still enshrouded everything. Sure enough I could make out +a huge black mass somewhere near my feet, but could not discern its +actual form.... Slowly, gently, I slipped my hand underneath my pillow. +At last, I thought, I shall have a chance of shooting at something +bigger than prairie-dogs! And then the thought struck me, how strange +it was that in all these thousands of miles of travelling through +plains and deserts and forests, my slumbers had never been interrupted +by any nocturnal visitor--I had not even SEEN anything that +could possibly annoy the most domesticated young person who loves his +feather-bed. + +The big black thing became more distinct as I looked. His head was down +and he was engaged in wondering just exactly what my feet were and who +put them there; whether they'd be nice to eat if vegetable, and if not, +whether they were animal or mineral, and if so, why? I waited my time. +He put his head closer to smell the offending object. With a sudden +kick I landed out straight for his nose with my right foot. A yell rent +the air and the big black thing leapt away squealing into the darkness. +A 33 bullet followed him there just for luck. + +His squeaks gradually died down as he scampered helter-skelter down the +road. It was only a poor harmless pig looking for nuts--but he had no +right to disturb my slumbers! + +In the morning we continued towards the west. The end of the Santa +Monica Range came in sight and soon the road descended in long winding +"grades" towards the sea-coast. For the first time by daylight I saw +California in its true colours. Here I should mention that the height +of summer is not the best time to explore California. It is in the +winter and the spring that the country is arrayed in its greatest +glory. The lack of rain, even near the sea-coast, is so marked that +by the time summer is reaching its zenith, there is not a green +blade of grass to be seen. The face of the country, where it remains +uncultivated and unirrigated, is an eternal brown. At first this +brings a sense of disappointment to the traveller who has heard so +much of California's meadows of wonderful green mingled with the hues +of countless kinds of wild flowers. In summer-time there are none. +But in spring-time, when the sun has not started to blaze and the +rain has worked its miracles, the charm of the country must be beyond +description. + +At Ventura, a pretty town on the sea-coast, Lizzie's speedometer ticked +off the 4,500th mile. There remained another 450 to be done, and the +journey would be at an end. I had little doubt now of getting there. +The roads were so good that motor-cycling was child's play. Indeed it +often became monotonous. At most times one could travel at almost any +speed of which one's machine was capable, and still the straight, flat +roads would be tiring to the point of boredom. + +The towns and villages one passed, however, were full of charm. The +most famous road through California, El Camino Real--which means +"The Highway of the King"--was one which I was following and had its +origin in the old trail which the historic padres followed in the +romantic days of the Spanish occupation two and three hundred years +ago. This trail, blazed by the padres "by God's will for the reigning +monarch of Spain," stretches for 900 miles from Mexico to Oregon, +and along it there still stand the old Mission Houses that are so +prominent a feature of Californian history. There are nineteen of them, +each "a day's journey apart," and each of an entirely distinct and +characteristic type of architecture. + +These Missions stand to-day, having with few exceptions been maintained +intact in their original form, and they serve as beautiful testimonies +to the genius of their builders. So admired is their style of +architecture that they are religiously copied, more so now than ever +before, in public buildings and sometimes private dwellings in all +parts of the West. One even sees railway stations and tramway termini +modelled in the form of one of these ancient Franciscan Missions! + +If I was charmed with Ventura, I was thrice charmed with Santa Barbara, +another wonderful coast town of modern style built on an ancient site. +The old Santa Barbara Mission stands away up on the hill-sides of the +Santa Ynez Range above the town and looks over the blue waters of the +Pacific towards the craggy islands of Santa Cruz that lie beyond. For +sheer delight of climate, scenery, and surroundings I would forsake any +home in any town in any country that I have yet seen to live in Santa +Barbara, had I the wherewithal to do so. + +Following the coastline, and in many places separated from it only +by a ridge of stones or a strip of vegetation, the road continues on +its happy way for many miles. On the left splash the deep blue waters +of the Pacific. On the right rise steeply the Santa Ynez Mountains, +which like a link in a great chain form, with many others, more or +less disjointed, the "coast range" that fringes the sea from Mexico +to Oregon. Sometimes the road is bordered with Yucca palms, sometimes +with pepper trees, and sometimes with eucalyptus. One even sees, almost +simultaneously, cactus plants and prickly pears growing amid the +parched-up grass on the sun-swept side of some unfriendly hill! + +At Caviota, a few miles south of the famous "Point Conception," the +road leaves the coast and swerves inland. Across the tip of the Santa +Ynez Range it goes, swerving now to the left, then to the right, +climbing, dipping, and swerving again for sixty or seventy miles until +once more it catches a glimpse of the Pacific at El Pismo beach. + +Near here I left the beaten track and followed a narrow pathway that +led around a hill-side to the cliffs. Here I made my bed down once +again in the long, dry grass that clothed the top. I could say with +tolerable certainty that never before had a motor-cycle followed that +path. It was soon no more than a little rut scarcely visible in the +grassy slope. But I achieved my objective. With the murmur of the sea, +as it dashed against the rocks a few hundred feet below, singing always +in my ears, I passed one more night of exquisite repose and magic charm. + +I awoke in the morning and sniffed the sea air. It was very attractive +certainly, but was there not something the matter with it somehow? Or +was it my imagination? I wriggled half out of bed and peered over the +edge of the cliff. I stopped; I looked; I listened. Down there, on a +little bed of white sand, lay a dead seal stretched out flat, as one +would lay a tablecloth. He looked a dismal sight, poor fellow. + +Ten miles more, inland again, and it was breakfast-time. We were at San +Luis Obispo, a fine little town at the foot of the Santa Margarita--one +more link in the coast range. San Luis Obispo took its name from an old +Mission founded in 1772, and once was the centre of wealth among the +Spaniards of the country. + +Afterwards we cross the hills and continue northward. Always the +Southern Pacific Railroad is on our right, sometimes just a few feet +from the highway. The concrete has stopped and at intervals we have +our old friend, the natural gravel. The laying of concrete is being +proceeded with at many places, a hundred yards or so at a time, and +detours running parallel at the side connect us up with the road ahead. +Many little seedling towns are passed--all of them well planned and +well advertised--and at last we come to Paso Robles (Pass of the Oaks), +a larger town which derives its name from a great natural oak park. I +should mention that oak trees are abundant in California and they grow +often to a very great size. + +We are now in the Salinas Valley, in proportion like a long, narrow +groove 100 miles long cut in the face of the country. Through it runs +the Salinas River, winding and bending with great sweeps through its +sandy bed. At midsummer it is dried up completely, and, from the +long wooden bridges that cross and re-cross it, looks like a sandy +sea-beach, with fences across from one bank to the other to stop the +cattle straying! + +Along this valley blows a constant cool wind from the sea in the +north. All day long it blows, week in, week out. The further north one +proceeds the stronger it becomes, until it approaches almost a gale +that whistles down the narrow channel like a cold blast, even in the +broiling heat of the cloudless sun. Where, here and there, were to +be seen bunches of poplar trees and eucalyptus, they were invariably +leaning distinctly to the south, their gaunt trunks permanently moulded +by the inexorable wind. On the smaller trees, the sycamores and the +cedars, there was often not a branch nor a leaf to be seen on the +northern side of the trunk, the foliage almost touching the ground on +the southern side. Those hundred miles were the coldest I had known in +the whole journey, and always I found the head wind so strong that the +power of the machine seemed half absorbed in merely combating it. + +San Miguel, San Ardo, King City, Soledad, Gonzales, and finally, at +five in the afternoon, Salinas was reached at the end of the valley. +San Francisco was now but little more than 100 miles beyond. To-morrow +would be the last day. The end was in sight. + +But what of Lizzie? Alas, she was in a sorry condition. Gradually since +we left Los Angeles two days before she had fallen off in power. The +old rattles and noises had recurred with astonishing alacrity. I had +had many stops for minor adjustments and examinations, and even feared +another breakdown before the skyscrapers of 'Frisco loomed in sight. +The reader may be in as good a position as I to judge of the merits of +American compared with English motor-cycles, but he will admit that +seldom could occur a worse combination of bad luck and pig-headed +pertinacity than is witnessed in the wanderings of Lizzie and me +through the United States of America. + +At Salinas I ate and drank right heartily, and drowned my sorrows in +wistful contemplation of the blue eyes of the gentle damsel who served +apple pie across the counter of the "quick-meal" luncheon bar. + +"Lizzie, would you like to sleep by the sea to-night for the last +time? Think we can get there, old girl? It's twenty miles there and +twenty back, y' know!--Righto, c'mon!" and she burst once again into an +animated confusion of noise and life. + +Monterey is on the coast. It stands surrounded by hills on a +magnificent bay which, with its yachts, motor-launches, and +fishing-boats, is one of the most famous beauty-spots of the +Californian coast. Monterey was once an important centre of history in +the early days of Spanish and Mexican sovereignty. Later, it enjoyed +the distinction of being the first spot in California where the +American flag was hoisted. Now it is little more than a seaside resort, +but as famous in California as is Naples in Italy. + +A splendid highway leads from Salinas and cuts through beautiful hills +clothed in cedar and oak. The journey was worth doing, if only to +breathe the sea air again and sleep to its murmur. + +It was rather a pathetic affair--that last night out. I hated to +leave Lizzie propped up on her stand on the low cliffs while I made a +comfortable bed in the sand on the beach. The tide was out, but I was +determined to get as near to the sea as possible. I chose a spot where, +nestled in a sandy cove in the rocks, I could see the breakers just a +score of yards from my feet. + +I awoke in the early morning to find the sea barely a foot from my +feet. The tide rose higher than I had expected, but I had time to enjoy +a few delightful minutes of lying half awake in bed before I finally +proved discretion to be better than damp bedclothes and dragged my +belongings to a less obtrusive spot. + +Thus dawned another day, the day that was to see the end. I had ample +time and lingered on the way, now administering friendly attention to +Lizzie, now stopping for a light refreshment or to take a leisurely +photograph. It was all too glorious--that last day. + +But poor old Lizzie again showed signs of exhaustion. I nursed her +tenderly and rode as slowly as I felt inclined throughout the day. + +Monterey was left behind after breakfast. Then Salinas was reached once +more, and now we were again on the road to 'Frisco. + +Over the mountains to the east once again, down the San Juan Grade, +that wound and screwed itself round the rocky slopes, and we got to San +Juan, where the tall eucalyptus and waving pepper trees gave an air of +majesty to the fine old Mexican town it proved to be. + +Then we turn to the north once more and enter another valley, the +valley of Santa Clara. The towns become larger and more frequent, the +country more developed. Orchards and fruit-groves are frequently seen. +At the roadsides, built up on trestles, are great water-tanks that are +used for irrigation. I notice that here and there, where the pipes that +lead to them have leaked a little, the dark brown soil below has burst +into great masses of fresh green grass, while all around is parched and +lifeless. + +At San José we find a great fruit-growing centre, and at the same time +a beautiful city of many thousand inhabitants. Its streets are lined +with palms and its suburbs extend into the orange groves that abound on +every hand. + +Simultaneously one cylinder starts to misfire, and then another. Soon +they are all missing. At intervals they would all chip in for a second +or two, and as suddenly chip out again. I smelt magneto trouble. + +I also smelt prunes, millions of them. O Californian Prune, how often +have I eaten of thy tasty endocarp in far-off England! And here thou +art in myriads about me! + +I stopped a dozen times, changed plugs, examined leads, and tinkered +with the magneto. Evidently there was something the matter inside the +magneto. I would trust to luck to get to 'Frisco--only forty miles more. + +And thus we continued, sometimes dawdling along at fifteen and then +suddenly bursting into full power and shooting along at forty for +a minute or two, as Lizzie's peculiar whim would have it. It was +annoying, tiring, disheartening, but I felt I should get there. I had +long since planned a trip to the Yosemite National Park, returning +thence to the north across the border and eastward through Canada back +to New York. That little project would certainly never come off. I had +had enough already. I made one great big oath to sell Lizzie's carcase +for what it would bring in San Francisco. Poor old Lizzie! I pitied her +in a way. She must have been born with a curse on her head. But she +would have to go, if only for 100 dollars. Already I began wondering +who would get her after we had parted. + +After ten miles appeared the southern tip of the great harbour that +stretches inland to north and south from San Francisco. This bay is +fifty miles long and ten miles wide and forms one of the grandest +harbours in the world. All the navies of all the nations of the earth +could be comfortably tucked away in a corner of it. The road follows +within a few miles of the western shore of this inland sea, and at +every few miles are small, fast-growing cities comparable with nothing +but their prototypes that cluster around Los Angeles. For here we +are absolutely in the centre of the wine-making district. Sixty +years ago cuttings and rooted vines of every variety found in Europe +were brought to California and planted, mostly around this great bay +of San Francisco, where the frequent sea-fogs contribute so much to +the maintenance of perfect conditions for the growing of vines. They +flourished, and now we have Médocs and Sauternes and Moselles and +countless others from California, as well as from France. + +For miles and miles we see nothing but vineyards and fruit-groves. +There is no fence, no ditch, no railing. The orange trees and plum +trees fringe the very road. It is not possible to say where one estate +ends and another begins. The owners probably know. + +The towns are now so thick that with them also it is difficult to say +where one ends and another begins. Only another fifteen miles! Poor old +Lizzie, she may peg out altogether. + +But no. She keeps at it. Sometimes she ceases firing altogether, +but only for a moment. On she goes again, now on one, now on four +cylinders. Hey ho! We shall get there all right. + +'Buses and cars in hundreds pass in both directions. We shall soon be +in 'Frisco now. + +Tram-lines appear and then trams. Trolley-cars, they call them in +America. 'Frisco at last! + +I dodge in and out of the traffic as best I may. It is very thick +indeed, and in very much of a hurry. I sail down Market Street, the +"Strand" of San Francisco. What matter if Lizzie clatters and rattles +and stops and shoots on again? She has brought me here. And as I say +so, the little indicator on the speedometer moves to 4,950. Just 50 +miles short of 5,000 from New York! Gee! it seems like an extract from +another life, that departure from far-off New York. And how long? Three +months? It feels like twelve at the least! + +I found the post office and sang out for mail. Sure enough there was +some--forwarded from Cincinnati. I learnt for the first time that the +detailed "Schedules" that I had dispatched three months ago at New +York had not yet reached England. Hence the reason for the seeming +unkindliness of the Post Office en route. But where were they? I was +not to know until a week after my return to England, when they arrived +suddenly, without any warning, and simultaneously, to all my friends +and relatives there. They had been all round British East Africa; +Heaven and the New York postal authorities alone know why! I had not +counted on such waywardness on their part when in my innocence of +American ways I had dropped them in the post-box at New York. + +Thus ends my tale of woe. It is a strange thing, but nevertheless true, +that now I have done with it and written about it and done with writing +about it, I still think what a glorious trip it was and what a perfect +ass I was to do it, and what a still greater ass I was to say anything +about it! + + + + +EPILOGUE + + +SCENE I + +SCENE.--_Outside the Post Office, San Francisco, Cal._ + +TIME.--_August_, 1919. + + + + +CHARACTERS + +LIZZIE. +MYSELF. +AN ARMENIAN. +CROWD OF LOUNGERS, SMALL BOYS, AND WOMEN OF VARIOUS NATIONALITIES. + + (SELF _emerges from portals of Post Office. Chorus of + voices from crowd._) + +"'Ere'e is; look at his face; look at his chest. You're one +globe-trotter, I'll reckon. How long did it take? How much has it cost? +What did you do it for? How'd you like San Francisco?" etc., etc., etc. + +MYSELF (_dangerously ruffled at not having received a +cheque_). "Well, and what are you all gaping at, like a lot of +half-witted school-kids? Never seen a motor-cycle before? Here, you (to +ARMENIAN), where's the Clift Hotel?" + +ARMENIAN. "Do you vont to zell zis machine?" + +MYSELF (_successfully concealing rapture at the suggestion_). +"Sell her, after she's brought me all the way from New York? SELL +HER? Why, I'd sooner sell my mother-in-law." + +ARMENIAN. "I vill gif you 'undred dollar right 'ere." + +MYSELF. "Hundred dollars be damned, and you with 'em! Where's +the Clift?" + +CHORUS OF VOICES. "Up the hill here and second on the right. +Von 'undred dollar. Follow the trams. Give us yer water-bag, boss. Look +at his boots. There's a cop on the corner. Von 'undred ten dollar, +right now. Look at 'is 'air," etc., etc. + + (_Exit slowly in procession_, SELF _leading; Alarums and + Excursions._) + + +SCENE II + +SCENE.--_My room at the Clift Hotel._ + +_Half an hour has elapsed._ + +(SELF _discovered, washing face. There is a knock at the +door._) + +SELF. "Come in." + +(_Enter_ ARMENIAN.) + +ARMENIAN. "Ah, 'ere you vos. Ze manager tolt me your room. I +come right up." + +SELF. "Apparently." + +ARMENIAN. "I vont to buy your motorsickle; vot you vont for +'im?" + +SELF. "Speak respectfully, please. I want 500 dollars for +HER." + +ARMENIAN (_throwing up his hands in horror_). "Ah, zat vos too +much, my frent! Dot vos more zan you give for 'im--for 'ER." + +SELF. "And how the devil do you know what I gave for her?" + +ARMENIAN. "I haf made enquiries, jhust. I af bin to ze aghency +'ere. Zey say it vos 480 dollars." + +SELF. "Well, any fool knows a machine improves with running +(the blush is unnoticed beneath my Indian complexion); and what's more, +if a machine can stick it all the way across THE UNITED STATES OF +AMERICA it must be a dem good one. I should have asked 600, but I +like your face (_cold shivers down spine_), so I only want 500." + +ARMENIAN. "Ah, zat vos far too much. I vill gif you von +'undred fifteen--no more." + +SELF. "Nothin' doin', bo. Five hundred. Here's my card; you +can call round any time between now and to-morrow midday with the +money. If you can't do it by then, you can drop in and see me at +Salt Lake City after next Wednesday, or Chicago after next Saturday. +Cheerio; close the door as you go out." + +ARMENIAN (_reading card and much awed by same_). "Ah, you vos +Mistaire Sh---- Captin Sheffer, R.A.F.? I tink you vos vaire rich man. +You could afford to GIF me ze machine! Not so? Me vaire poor +man, Captain Sheffer, R.A.F." + +SELF. "If you knew as much about the Air Force as I do, you'd +know better, my friend. Now, for Heaven's sake, BUZZ OFF, and +don't worry me." + +(_Exit_ ARMENIAN _with bows, shuffles of the feet, and +salaams_.) + + +SCENE III + +SCENE.--_The same._ _Half an hour later._ _A knock._ + +SELF. "Come right in." + +(_Enter_ ARMENIAN.) + +SELF. "What, again? Got the 500?" + +ARMENIAN. "Grieved to trouble you vonce more, Captin Sheffer, +R.A.F., but all ze money I 'af in ze world vos von 'undred twenty-five +dollar. Me vaire poor man, Capt----" + +SELF. "Yes, I've heard you say so. I believe you. Now we're +both liars." + +ARMENIAN. "Ah no, you insult me, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F. I am +poor, but I am 'onorable man. I tell always ze truth. Zat vos all I 'af +in all ze vorld." + +SELF. "Look here, Mister--I don't know what your name is, but +I guess you're a Hebrew of some kind----" + +ARMENIAN. "My name is Mistaire Karachan, and I come from +Armenia." + +SELF (_aside_--"I might have guessed it."). "Well, Mr. +Karachan, I'll take your word for it. Give me 125 right now and you +can take the machine away with you. She's outside on the pavement. But +mind, I shall never want to see your face again." + +ARMENIAN (_moved almost to tears_). "Ah, you vos a torough +zhentleman, Mistaire Sheffer; all ze Englishmen are zhentlemen. Zer is +only von contry in all ze vorld vaire zer are such zhentlemen." + +SELF. "Well, you can hand over the wealth right now, here." + +ARMENIAN. "Ah, but I 'af not got it wiz me, Mistaire Sheffer. +It is too much to carry about in my pocket. But I can gif you fifty +dollar and bring ze rest zis afternoon. Zat vos alright? I can take ze +machine now, yes no?" + +SELF. "You can take the machine when you've paid me 125 +dollars IN CASH, and not till then. Get me? I shall be in +again at two this afternoon. You can meet me in the hall with the +money. Good-bye till then." + +ARMENIAN. "Vell, you vill gif me written undertaking not to +sell it to anyvon till then, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F.?" + + +SCENE IV + +SCENE.--_The same._ + +TIME.--_3 p.m._ + +(_A knock on the door, followed by_ ARMENIAN.) + +ARMENIAN. "Mistaire Sheffer, I 'af come to make you a good +bargain. You see zis gold votch? It vos giffen me by my fazer and it is +solid gold wiz twenty-von jewels. You could sell it anywhere for fifty +dollar. Now you 'af bin zhentleman to me, I vill be zhentleman to you. +I vill give you ze votch and von 'undred dollar for your motorsickle! +Is it not a bargain, Mistaire Sheffer?" + +SELF. "Get out!" + + +SCENE V + +SCENE.--_The same._ + +TIME.--_An hour later._ _A knock on the door._ + +(_Enter_ ARMENIAN.) + +ARMENIAN. "Oh, Mistaire Sheffer, I 'af jhust von more offer +to----" + +SELF. "Look here, Mr. Karachan, I'm getting fed up with you. +Better quit before I bang this water-jug on your head. You've wasted +all my day as it is." + +ARMENIAN. "Ah, you vill not do zat. I know you vill not do +zat. You are too much zhentleman. But wait, Mistaire Sheffer. Hear me +vot I say. I 'af von great big suggestion to make for you. I make my +living viz growing fruit. I 'af small plantation only five mile from +'ere. I vill pay you for your motorsickle viz grapes. I vill gif you +five ton of beautiful grapes and send them wherever you like in United +States. Or if you not like zat, I vill gif you 'undred dollar and von +ton of grapes. Is zat not good offer, yes no?" + +SELF (_recovering from momentary speechlessness at the thought +of swapping Lizzie for five tons of grapes_). "Look here, Mr. Karachan, +I've had enough of this fooling. I've undertaken to sell you the +machine for 125 dollars, and if you don't bring me the money, and all +of it, right now, I'll report you to the police. Now there's an end of +it. Get out." + +(_Exit_ ARMENIAN _amid more alarums and excursions_.) + + +SCENE VI + +SCENE.--_The same._ + +TIME.--_7 p.m. A knock._ (_Enter_ ARMENIAN.) + +ARMENIAN. "Oh, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F., I 'af got your money +'ere, but I 'af bin to ze police to register ze machine and zey say I +'af stolen it and vould not let me come away. After much trouble we +telephone a big frend of mine who know police and zey let me come away. +But zey vont your address and ze registration certificate you 'af in +New York." + +SELF. "But, Good Lord, man, who the devil said you could +register it? It isn't yours yet! Give me the money." + +ARMENIAN (_handing me fifty dollars and a cheque for +seventy-five_). "'Ere it vos, but you vos not angry, Captin Sheffer, +R.A.F? I vonted only to save time, because I vont to use ze machine +to-morrow." + +SELF. "Yes, but this is no good (_showing the cheque_). This +isn't CASH. How do I know this'll be honoured? Besides, the +banks are closed now and won't be open till Monday, and I'm leaving +to-morrow." + +ARMENIAN. "Ah, but no, zey vill 'onour ze cheque. Mistaire +---- is vaire well known in San Francisco. You can speak to 'im on ze +telephone if you like and 'e vill tell you ze cheque is all right." + +SELF. "No doubt, but all the same I'll see if the hotel +manager here will cash it. If he won't, that's good enough for me. Come +along, and we'll see him together." + +ARMENIAN. "But you vill gif me receipt now, yes no? Ah, but +vot is zis? _(picking up a small adjustable spanner that lay on the +dressing-table)._ It is part of ze machine! You vould not surely make +me pay for a motor-sickle vizout no tools? Ah, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F., +it is not jhust; I must 'ave everyzing. Are zer any more----" (_At +this juncture_ ARMENIAN _is successfully extruded through the +doorway, still protesting volubly._) + + +SCENE VII + +SCENE.--_In the hall of the Hotel. Manager behind desk._ + +SELF. "Excuse me, but I have a favour to ask. I have just +done a deal with this gentleman, but as all the banks are closed till +Monday, I am wondering if you would be good enough to cash this cheque +for me as I am leaving for the East to-morrow." + +(MANAGER _looks closely at me and proceeds to open till; then, +looking at_ ARMENIAN, _pauses for a moment. Ultimately the +money is paid over._) + +(ARMENIAN _and_ SELF _walk toward door opening on to +street_.) + +SELF. "What the blazes! Where's Lizzie? I left her up against +the pavement. She's gone!" + +ARMENIAN. "Oh, zat vos alright. I move 'er zis afternoon to a +garage round ze corner. Jhust zink how terrible it would be if some one +stole 'im!" + +SELF. "Well, I'll be goldarned!" + + +SCENE VIII + +SCENE.--_Garage "round the corner." Lizzie stands surrounded +by darkness_, ARMENIAN, _and_ SELF. SELF +_discovered explaining to_ ARMENIAN _how the wheels go round +and why._ + +SELF. "Well, good-bye, Lizzie, old girl. I grieve to let you +go into the hands of this being, but it is all for the best. We've had +some jolly times together, but the time is come to part. Good-bye, once +and for all; good-bye, GOOD-BYE----" + +ARMENIAN. "Ah, Mistaire Sheffer, you 'av forgot ze adjustable +spanner!" + + + + +Transcriber's Notes + + +Minor punctuation errors were silently corrected, and oe ligatures +were spaced out. + +Page 39: In the sentence: "and anyone found guilty of exceeding 60 +miles per hour will be liable to a fine of 100 dollars, etc., etc." +"60" may be a typo for "50" because the following sentence says the +fine for exceeding 60 miles per hour is "250 dollars for the first +offence...." + +Page 48: "Pittsburg" may be typo for "Pittsburgh." + (At Waynesburg I passed Pittsburg some miles to the right,) + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Across America by Motor-cycle, by C. K. Shepherd + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44505 *** diff --git a/44505-h/44505-h.htm b/44505-h/44505-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6d304d1 --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-h/44505-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8202 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Across America by Motor-cycle, by C. K. Shepherd. + </title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +.ph1, .ph2, .ph3, .ph4 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } +.ph1 { font-size: xx-large; margin: .67em auto; } +.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } +.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } +.ph4 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +div.titlepage { + text-align: center; + page-break-before: always; + page-break-after: always; +} +div.titlepage p { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + font-weight: bold; + line-height: 1.5; + margin-top: 3em; +} + +.xsmall {font-size: x-small;} + +.author {text-align: right; + margin-right: 5%; + font-variant: small-caps;} + +.hang {margin-left: 2em; + text-indent: -2em;} + +ul.list { list-style-type: none; } +li { margin-top: .5em; } + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; + margin-left: 27.5%; + margin-right: 27.5%;} + +hr.chap {width: 65%; + margin-left: 17.5%; + margin-right: 17.5%;} + +hr.r5 {width: 5%; + margin-left: 47.5%; + margin-right: 47.5%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +.figcenter {margin-top: 1.5em; + margin-bottom: 1.5em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + text-align: center;} + +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:smaller; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; } + + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44505 ***</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + + + + + +<h1>ACROSS AMERICA BY MOTOR-CYCLE</h1> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 561px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="561" height="800" alt="(cover)" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 473px;"> +<a id="frontispiece"></a> +<img src="images/i002.jpg" width="473" height="600" alt="Portrait of the Author." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">Portrait of the Author.</span></div> +</div> + + + +<div class="titlepage"> +<p class="ph1"> +ACROSS AMERICA<br /> +BY MOTOR-CYCLE</p> + +<p class="ph3">BY<br /> +<span class="ph2">C. K. SHEPHERD</span></p> + +<p class="ph3">ILLUSTRATED</p> + +<p class="ph3"><span class="ph4">NEW YORK</span><br /> +LONGMANS, GREEN & CO.<br /> +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD & CO.<br /> +<span class="ph4">1922<br /> +<i>All rights reserved</i></span></p> +</div> + +<hr class="r5" /> +<p class="center"> +<span class="xsmall"><i>Made in Great Britain<br /> +by</i> Butler & Tanner, <i>Frome and London</i></span> +</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE">PREFACE</a></h2> + + +<p>A few months after the Armistice of 1918 was signed, when the talk of +everyone concerned was either <span class="smcap">when</span> they would be demobilized +or what they would do when they <span class="smcap">were</span> demobilized, two young +men were exchanging views on this same subject in the heavy atmosphere +of a very ordinary hotel somewhere in London.</p> + +<p>One was wondering how near, or how far, were the days when he would see +the old home-folks once again "way back in Dixieland."</p> + +<p>The other was wondering what form of dissipation would be best suited +to remove that haunting feeling of unrest, which as a result of three +or four years of active service was so common amongst the youth of +England at that time.</p> + +<p>"How about getting married?" suggested the one.</p> + +<p>Then followed a long pause, wherein the other was evidently considering +the pros and cons of such a unique proposition.</p> + +<p>"Nothing doing," he replied eventually—"not exciting enough, old +man." Another pause—"And when I come to think, I don't know of any +girl who'd want to marry me even if I wanted to marry her." And as +if to give a final decision to any proposal of <em class="italic">that</em> nature, he +added—"Besides, I couldn't afford it!"</p> + +<p>"But I tell you what I will do, Steve," said he, "I'll go back with you +across yon herring-pond and have a trot round America."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span></p> + +<p>So that was how it happened.</p> + +<p>Two or three months later, when I arrived at New York from Canada, +I purchased a motor-cycle and set out to cross the continent to the +Pacific, and I have it on the best authority that this was the first +time an Englishman had ever accomplished the trip on a motor-cycle. If +it is so, I don't wonder at it!</p> + +<p>The whole trip, which covered just fifty miles short of 5,000, was +undertaken quite alone, and although spread over about three months, +constituted a day or two short of a month's actual riding. For the +benefit of brother motor-cyclists who may be interested in such +details I may add that I dispensed entirely with the use of goggles +from beginning to end, and except at stops in large towns on the way +I wore no hat. I think that when the motor-cyclist gets accustomed to +doing without these encumbrances he will find the joys of motor-cycling +considerably enhanced.</p> + +<p>The total number of replacements to the engine alone comprised the +following: Five new cylinders; three pistons; five gudgeon pins; three +complete sets of bearings; two connecting rods, and eleven sparking +plugs.</p> + +<p>The machine was entirely overhauled on four occasions between the +Atlantic and the Pacific, and on three of these by the recognized +agents of the manufacturers. The engine cut-out switch was the only +part of the machine that did not break, come loose, or go wrong +sooner or later. I was thrown off 142 times, and after that I stopped +counting! Apart from that I had no trouble.</p> + +<p>Contrary to what the reader may think, I paid considerable care to +the machine, particularly in the early stages. For the first three +hundred miles I barely exceeded twenty to twenty-five miles per hour +in order<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span> to give the machine a good "running-in" before submitting it +to harder work. At the end of the trip I had spent more in repairs and +replacements than the original cost of the machine, and I sold it at +San Francisco for just over a quarter of the amount I paid for it three +months before.</p> + +<p>And I am still as keen a motor-cyclist as ever!</p> + +<p>The machine was of the four-cylinder, air-cooled type, and I have +nothing but praise for the smooth running that this type affords. I +have ridden scores of machines at one time and another, but never have +I driven any motor-cycle that for luxurious travel could I even compare +with the one mentioned in this narrative. As regards reliability, +however, I must leave the reader to form his own opinion from the +facts, which occurred exactly as I have stated them. Nothing in this +book is set down in malice, and I can only hope that my case was +exceptional so far as the frequent breakdowns were concerned. I must +admit that the conditions were exceptional and that anyone crossing the +United States on a motor-cycle might expect trouble sooner or later.</p> + +<p>The reader may observe that I say little of tyre trouble throughout the +story. That is for two reasons: the first is that there is nothing at +all interesting in the narrative of repairing a puncture, for instance; +the second is that I had very little trouble indeed to complain of. +With the smooth, even torque that is so characteristic of four-cylinder +engines, tyre trouble is easily halved, and practically all that one +has to fear is the terrible condition of most of the roads. I arrived +in San Francisco with the same tyres as I had when I started, and they +were still good for several hundreds of miles more.</p> + +<p>Petrol consumption, too, was excellent. Those who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> have not known +high-powered, four-cylinder motor-cycles would probably think the +consumption would be about forty miles to the gallon. On the contrary, +I found my machine much more economical than the same-powered V-twin. +As far as I know I averaged about 75 m.p.g. "all on."</p> + +<p>The journey was comparatively uneventful. I never had to shoot anybody +and nobody shot me! In spite of the relative wildness and barrenness +of the West, there were always food and petrol available in plenty. +I spent most nights at the side of the road and experienced neither +rheumatism nor rattlesnakes.</p> + +<p>In the following pages I have endeavoured to portray America and +Americans exactly as I found them and as they appealed to me. If at +times I perchance may give offence to any who are lovers of all and +anything American, I do it without intent. Suffice it to say that +before I went I had the highest opinion of anything that came from that +worthy country, so that it cannot be claimed that I am one of those +"Pro-British-every-time" individuals who delight in criticizing other +countries and other peoples in order to gratify their own sense of +national or other superiority.</p> + +<p>Finally, I will ask the reader to be patient, or at any rate, not +over-critical when he or she may confess to being bored. For the sake +of making this a complete record of my wanderings I have included that +which may lack interest, and as I can lay claim to no graceful diction, +I may, I am sure, rely on the reader's indulgence towards the narrative +of quite an ordinary, unaspiring, British motor-cyclist.</p> + +<p class="author">C. K. S.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Birmingham</span>, 1922.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</a></h2> + + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="toc"> +<tr><th align="right" colspan="2"><small>PAGE</small></th></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Prologue</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">I. <span class="smcap">Traffic in New York</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">My Efforts to Become Americanized—Reflections on New York +Traffic—Dissertation on American Roads—Coney Island—Equipment +for the Journey</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">II. <span class="smcap">New York to Philadelphia</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Companions in Distress—"The Playground of the World"—American +Proclivities towards the Superlative—A Lapse into +Philosophy—Introduction to the "Detour"—The Good Samaritan +Rewarded—Philadelphia—Adventures with a Garage Proprietor</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">III. <span class="smcap">Philadelphia to Washington</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Prosperity in New England Villages—Motor-cycling de Luxe—Peregrinations +of a "Tin Lizzie"—Insights into the Inner Life +of an American Highway—Humouring a Negro—Self-conscious +Scruples—Illuminated Signs—Hotel Life in Washington</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">IV. <span class="smcap">Exceeding the Speed Limit</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Experiences of Brick Roads—Approaching the Alleghanies—The +Lust for Speed—And Its Consequences—Queer Methods of Enforcing +the Law—Stranded</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">V. <span class="smcap">Across the Alleghanies</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Soliloquies of the Humble Poor—The Subtleties of Advertisement +Hoardings—Corn in Egypt—The Peregrinations of an English +Sovereign—A Whiff of Good Old London—Appreciation of Nature +in America—Lizzie Reports Sick—Lead, kindly Light—Auto-suggestion +as an Aid to Sleep</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">VI. <span class="smcap">The Dixie Highway</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">I Make the Acquaintance of the Ohio River—Lizzie develops<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span> +Acute Indigestion—The Irony of Henry Ford—I administer +First-aid—Hero-worship to a Rag-and-bone Merchant—A New Use for +an Old Tree—The Ubiquitous Columbus—The Friendly Tram—The +Dixie Highway—Eulogy to the City of Dayton—My Extravagant +Taste for Cake—An alfresco Meal—A Final Burst of +Extravagance—Home Once More</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">VII. <span class="smcap">Cincinnati and Onwards</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Cincinnati—A Memorable Day—Aspersions on an American +Repair Shop—Chess-board Roads—The Humour of Decorated +Telegraph Poles—Soliloquy on the Pike's Peak Highway—Effects +of State Boundary Lines—Indian Corn—A Luxurious Bathe—Indianapolis—The +3 A Club—What Constitutes a Good Road</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">VIII. <span class="smcap">Indiana and Illinois</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">How Dirt Roads are Cultivated—A Brush with a Road-plough—How +Flivvers "get through"—A Bad Patch and a Good +Samaritan—The Subtleties of General Merchandise—I attract a +Crowd in Springfield—Taken for a Movie Actor—Future Cities +of Illinois—Illinois River—The Mississippi at Last—I sleep on a +Railway Embankment</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">IX. <span class="smcap">Stormy Weather in Missouri</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Hannibal—Infantile Automobilation—Rain in Missouri—I get +Annoyed—Railroads v. Highways—Kansas City</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">X. <span class="smcap">Results of a Breakdown</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Kansas City—I visit Lizzie on her Sick-bed—I visit an Editor +in his Lair—Kansas City gets My Story</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XI. <span class="smcap">The Santa Fé Trail</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Westward Again—The Santa Fé Trail—Mosquito Nets—Into the +Great Prairies—I sleep in a River—Pie—Prairie Towns—In a +Thunderstorm—Colorado Reached—The Map proves not Infallible—A +Detour to the Heart of the Rockies—Rain Again</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XII. <span class="smcap">The Royal Gorge of Arkansas</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Strange Dwelling—I am Taken for an American—Supper +in Style—Sleep in Style—Breakfast and Lunch in Style—The Sun +Once Again—Housebuilding at Speed—An Appreciation—The +Rockies—Pueblo—Pike's Peak—The Royal Gorge—The Lust for +Taking Pictures—Picturesque Names—The Worst Road in America—A +Mud Bath—The End of a Perfect Day</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XIII. <span class="smcap">In Southern Colorado</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Strange Mountain Forms—Trinidad—A Flivver to the Rescue—The +Raton Pass—A Wonderful View—At the Feet of the Rockies—A +Phantom Road—Prairie-dogs—Companions—Lizzie sheds a +Sprocket—A Tiring Search—The Biggest Thing in Mud Lakes—Wagonmound—Argument +with a Linemaster</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XIV. <span class="smcap">New Mexico</span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Adventures with a Railway—Stuck Once Again—Assistance +from California—House-hunting by Caravan—Las Vegas—A +Wonderful Ford—A Mexican Village—Lizzie Clean Again—The +Travelling Tinsmith—Santa Fé at Last</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XV. <span class="smcap">Santa Fé</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Santa Fé—Adobe Architecture—The Art Museum—Where +Americans Hustle Not—In the Limelight Again</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XVI. <span class="smcap">The Rio Grande Valley</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Departure from Santa Fé—La Bajada Hill—Albuquerque—The +Rio Grande—Indians—The Morals of Mountains—Socorro—Camping +in the Mountains: A Farmyard Episode</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XVII. <span class="smcap">The Petrified Forest of Arizona</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Magdalena—A Strange Metamorphosis—I Sport a Camp Fire—A +Strange Sight—The Petrified Forest of Arizona—Holbrook—Lost +in the Arizona Desert—Mosquitoes Again—Winslow—An Ingenious +Anti-speeding Stunt—That Cylinder Again!—A New Use for Old +Sign-posts—Meteor Mountain—The San Francisco Peaks—Fairy-land—Flagstaff</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XVIII. <span class="smcap">The Grand Canyon</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Lowell Observatory—Wonders of Mars Hill—Ptomaine +Poisoning—Flagstaff Dwellings—Towards the Grand Canyon—A +Wonderful Ride—The First Approach of Loneliness—The End of +the World—The Greatest of all Natural Wonders</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_178">178</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XIX. <span class="smcap">The Mohave Desert</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lizzie Comes to Grief—Etiquette of the Road—The Tragedy +of Peach Springs—Kingman—Desert Vegetation—Yucca—The Art +of Rut-riding—The Tomb of a Town—The Colorado Needles—A +Marvellous View—Oiled Roads—Ludlow</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_192">192</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XX. <span class="smcap">I Reach the Pacific Coast</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Comrades in Arms—Lizzie begins to Complain—Death Valley—An +Unfortunate Caravan—The End of the Desert—The Cajon +Pass—Los Angeles is Startled</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XXI. <span class="smcap">Los Angeles to San Francisco</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Los Angeles—Friendly California—Towards 'Frisco by Night—I +Dream a Dream—The Californian Missions—The Salinas +Valley—The Last Sleep—Lizzie gives it up Again—The Struggle +for 'Frisco—4,950 at last!</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_224">224</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Epilogue</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</a></h2> + + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="loi"> +<tr><th align="right" colspan="2"><small>TO FACE</small><br /><small>PAGE</small></th></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Portrait of the Author</td><td align="right"><em class="italic"><a href="#frontispiece">Frontispiece</a></em></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Common Occurrence</td><td align="right"><a href="#common_occurrence">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">An Awkward Stretch of Road in Indiana</td><td align="right"><a href="#awkward_stretch_road">74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Midnight Couch</td><td align="right"><a href="#midnight_couch">74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Oldest House in America, at Santa Fé</td><td align="right"><a href="#oldest_house">150</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Art Museum at Santa Fé</td><td align="right"><a href="#art_museum">150</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Pueblo of Taos</td><td align="right"><a href="#pueblo_taos">158</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Rio Grande, New Mexico</td><td align="right"><a href="#rio_grande">162</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Petrified Leviathan</td><td align="right"><a href="#petrified_leviathan">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lizzie in the Petrified Forest, Arizona</td><td align="right"><a href="#lizzie_pet_forest">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Trail to the Grand Canyon</td><td align="right"><a href="#trail_grand_canyon">178</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Lowell Observatory, Flagstaff</td><td align="right"><a href="#lowell_obs">178</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">San Francisco Peaks from Flagstaff</td><td align="right"><a href="#san_fran_peaks">178</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Bottom of the Grand Canyon</td><td align="right"><a href="#bottom_grand_canyon">188</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Cactus Trees near San Bernardino</td><td align="right"><a href="#cactus_trees">206</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">In the Mohave Desert</td><td align="right"><a href="#mohave">206</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PROLOGUE" id="PROLOGUE">PROLOGUE</a></h2> + + +<p>One bright morning in June—to be exact, the thirteenth (the +significance of that number will be apparent later), in the year of Our +Lord 1919 and in the year of American Prohibition 1, a small assembly +of mechanics, passers-by, and urchins witnessed my departure from a +well-known Motor Cycle Agency in New York.</p> + +<p>The machine, a perfectly new and very powerful motor-cycle, was +dazzling in her pristine beauty. No spot or blemish could be seen on +her enamel of khaki hue. No ungainly scratch or speck of rust marred +her virgin form. Her four little cylinders, gaily murmuring as the +engine joyfully sprang into life, seemed to hide a world of romance +as if they were whispering to each other of the days that were to +come, the adventures and experiences they were to encounter, and the +strange lands they were to see. The purr of her exhaust, healthy though +muffled, smooth and even in its rhythm, was music in my ears. A thing +of beauty is a joy for ever, and to those who know the call of the +open road and who love to feel the rush of the wind and the glamour +of speed, such was this machine. Although she was in reality but an +organized combination of various pieces of unfeeling, soulless metal, +without even a name, and known only by a sordid number embossed on a +tinplate provided by the Law, she was soon to develop a character and +personality of her own. She was to play the rôle of sole companion in +the weeks and months to follow. There would be times when I should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> +curse her profanely and at the same time love her passionately. I +pictured vast prairies and deserts where we should be alone together, +far from the haunts of man or animal or perhaps of any living +thing—times when it would depend upon <span class="smcap">her</span> to bear me on to +civilization. So I trust, reader, that you will not think I was waxing +too sentimental on that memorable day in June.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The mileage indicator just flicked to 4,422.</p> + +<p>I was hungry, hungry as a dog. I was thirsty too, and tired—oh, so +tired! The skin on my face was tanned dark with the desert sun and bore +the dirt of many days' accumulation. The growth of the previous week +was upon my chin. My hair was bleached and dishevelled, my clothes and +boots laden with the sand and dust of Arizona and California. With a +bandaged, broken finger, and the rest skin-cracked and bloodstained +with the alkali sand, I held the handles with the palms of my hands. +The sole was missing altogether from my right boot, and the left +contained many a piece of stone or gravel from far away. A couple of +empty water-bags flapped up and down on the handlebar, and as the +old bus dragged her weary way on three cylinders through the crowded +streets of Los Angeles her hideous clatter told many a tale of woe. I +decided at that moment that the best thing in all the world was to get +something to eat and drink.</p> + +<p>"What's the day of the month?" I asked, when with a final "clank" of +the engine we drove into the Agency Garage.</p> + +<p>"The seventh."</p> + +<p>"The month?"</p> + +<p>"August."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And what's the year?"</p> + +<p>"Nineteen nineteen."</p> + +<p>"The seventh of August nineteen nineteen," I mused, and relapsed into +contemplative silence....</p> + +<p>Some one spotted the registration plate "N.Y.8844" and "rumbled" that I +had come from New York.</p> + +<p>"When did you start?" they asked in curious tones. The question +pulled me up with a jerk and brought me back to normal existence, so +inadequately measured by time.</p> + +<p>"Oh, seems like ten years ago!" I replied, and relapsed once more into +reverie.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br /><br /> + +TRAFFIC IN NEW YORK</h2> + + +<p>I spent the better part of two days in the survey of New York City +from all points of view. In the Pullman from Niagara I had decided +that America would probably be just as bad as any European country +for robbing the alien. I would therefore simulate the gentle habits +and customs of these (hitherto) worthy people. Having some slight +knowledge of their language I would endeavour to acquire perfection in +the art of American self-expression. I would cultivate the correct pose +of the hat and wear boots with knobbly toes. Only a little practice +would be required before I should be able to gyrate a cigar at the +accepted velocity from one corner of my mouth to the other. In a little +while, methought, I should feel much more at ease in tight-fitting +clothes with ridiculously small sleeves and three inches of projecting +shirt-cuffs. Maybe I should improve my outlook on the world if I viewed +it through a pair of large, round, ebony-rimmed spectacles. There was +just a possibility that I should some day appreciate the soothing charm +of a much-overworked morsel of chewing-gum. With all these splendid +accomplishments I could no doubt dispense with the less attractive +habits of Modern America.</p> + +<p>Let me say at the outset that I proved a dismal failure. I would sooner +master the Chinese than the American lingo. The infinite variations of +nasal accomplishment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> outnumber by far the tribal dialects of India +and leave the poor student to wonder and despair. Why! the number of +orthodox ways of translating the plain English word "Yes" is probably +beyond the scope of mathematical deduction! The shades and blends +between "Yep" and "Ye-oh" alone are sufficient to put a spectrograph of +the sun to shame.</p> + +<p>For four months I travelled through the wilds of New York, Ohio, and +Illinois, and even into the civilized states of Colorado, New Mexico, +and Arizona, in a vain search for the man who pronounced "Yes" with a +final "s." In the end I found him, lurking in a little restaurant in +Los Angeles. I gazed in wonderment intense and rapturous when I heard +it. I have his pedigree. He said he came from Boston. Boston, according +to all well-informed Bostonians, represents the acme of perfection in +all things relating to education, etiquette, and propriety. As such it +is unassailable by any other city in America.</p> + +<p>There was a time early on when I thought I was succeeding well. I found +that I did better by dispensing with speech altogether. If I dressed in +a "Palm Beach" suit, walked on people's feet, elbowed my way through +passers-by, and continually repeated to myself "The earth is mine +and all that therein is," there was never any doubt but that I was a +"Native Son."</p> + +<p>It is superfluous for me to say, however, that after many trials and +more rebuffs, I ultimately abandoned the idea of becoming Americanized. +"After all," thought I, "what sane Englishman wants to be an American?" +The project had been but a brain-wave to combat the "H.C. of L." To +the uninitiated, that is the recognized "Hearst" abbreviation for the +"High Cost of Living," a topic which so frequently appears in American<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +newspapers that editors were forced to face the question of either +referring to it in symbols or of cutting out the "Want-Ads." Finally, +therefore, I consoled myself that it was better for hotel bills, +cinemas, ice-cream sodas, petrol, and other necessities to rise 200 per +cent. on my approach than for me to lose my own soul. Incidentally, +virtue does not always have its own reward. On my return to England I +heard many accusations against me. "What an awful American accent you +have!" was the greeting of many one-time friends.</p> + +<p>... Some have recovered. Others are still in hospital!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>It took me some time to get accustomed to the traffic of New +York—rather should I say, to its habits and practices. New York itself +consists of a network of streets and avenues ingeniously arranged on +an island which is about five or six times longer than it is broad. +The avenues run the length of the island and the streets run at right +angles across them. In addition, "Broadway" wobbles across from one end +of the island to the other, cutting the avenues at a weird angle of +anything between nothing and twenty degrees.</p> + +<p>At all the important street crossings was stationed a "traffic cop" +whose duty was apparently to hold up at the most inconvenient intervals +all the traffic going one way until all the traffic going the other way +had passed. Then he blew his whistle and Hey, presto! the traffic in +the other street began to move. It was fatal to move before the whistle +was blown. I didn't know that!</p> + +<p>I had been sailing down Sixth Avenue, just trying the machine for the +first time, as a matter of fact. Everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> went smoothly. I felt at +peace with all the world. Here was I on my iron steed of ten little +horses, about to begin a long holiday wherein I should forget the +Kaiser and his deeds and the four or more years of my existence that +had gone in helping to bring about his everlasting undoing. But all of +a sudden:</p> + +<p>"Why the jooce don't yer stop, yer Goldarn young son of a gun?" +bellowed an irate "cop" who gesticulated but a few feet from my front +wheel.</p> + +<p>"Well, why the blankety blank <span class="smcap">should</span> I blankety well stop, +anyway?" I returned, not to be outdone, as I pulled up in the exact +centre of 34th Street, Sixth Avenue, and Broadway.</p> + +<p>I could see a crowd beginning to collect. I don't like crowds at any +time. I have a keen antipathy for publicity. My friend the "cop" +drew nigh. "See here, young fellar: whar yer from?" he inquired, +evidently anxious to investigate further the mental condition of this +unique defier of the Law.... To cut a long story short, I was finally +constrained by good judgment to avoid further constabulary hostilities +and, in accordance with the somewhat over-ardent desire of the "cop," +retired like a whipped schoolboy to the corner where there was already +a long queue of waiting automobiles and taxis. In a few seconds the +whistle was blown and the procession sailed across 34th Street, headed +by a much-humbled motor-cyclist.</p> + +<p>I should explain at this juncture that a motor-cyclist is an altogether +despised individual in America. Motor-cycles are not popular over +there. With few exceptions they are owned by delivery men, newspaper +boys, "traffic-cops" and sundry other undesirables. Personally I do +not wonder at it. The roads and streets in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> cities are bad enough +to ruin the constitution of any but the most confirmed young "blood" +who does not mind risking a few broken bones. I have seen places +in Broadway where the tram-lines wander six or seven inches above +the surface of the road and where the pot-holes would accommodate +comfortably quite a family of dead dogs within their depths.</p> + +<p>So much for the cities. The roads that traverse the country are with +few exceptions nothing better than our fifth-rate country roads on +which no self-respecting Englishman would ride.</p> + +<p>Here and there, in the far East and the far West, are found stretches +of concrete or macadam. Somehow, the Americans think they are great +road-builders. A couple of inches of concrete laid over a garden-path +or a sheep-track, with the cracks filled in with tar, represents the +zenith of road construction in this country of ninety odd million +inhabitants. I should like to see some of those concrete roads when +they have had a few years' solid wear with heavy lorries and occasional +traction engines.</p> + +<p>Ninety-five per cent. or more, however, of America's highways are dirt +roads, or what they are pleased to call "Natural Gravel." In many cases +they comprise merely a much worn trail, and as often as not a pair of +ruts worn in the prairie. Very often, instead of being a single pair +of ruts, there are five or six or perhaps ten, where individual cars +have manifested their own personality. When this multiplicity of ruts +crosses and re-crosses in a desperate attempt to achieve the survival +of the fittest, the resultant effect on the poor motor-cyclist is +somewhat disconcerting. But of this more anon. Suffice it to say that +on the whole journey of 4,500 miles from one coast to the other, I only +saw <span class="smcap">four</span> other motor-cyclists on the road anywhere.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> So the +reader will perhaps understand why the poor human who travels in this +fashion is to be pitied, and why his associates in the towns and cities +are despised by the rest of the community.</p> + +<p>When I had acclimatized myself to the traffic of New York and could +worm my way successfully in and out of the "hold-ups" or dart between +trams, taxis, cars, and other impedimenta without danger either to the +community or to myself, I felt that it was time for me to commence my +peregrinations in earnest.</p> + +<p>I decided first, however, to visit Coney Island, which is within easy +reach of New York (it is only a few miles away), and, with a plentiful +supply of trains, trams, and 'buses, is fed with a never-ending stream +of pleasure-seeking humanity. It has one avenue of perhaps a couple +of miles' length running parallel with the beach, and every nook and +corner on both sides accommodates a "fun palace" of some kind. There +are dancing-halls by the dozen; mountain railways, switchbacks, and +roundabouts by the score; soda fountains by the hundred. Fronting +the beach are hotels, boarding-houses, and restaurants of all types +save the best. Coney Island is decidedly not a place for the <em class="italic">élite</em>. +Hither flock young couples, married or single, representatives of the +American democracy, for a week-end of frivolity. The beach is at all +times sprinkled, as by a human pepper-box, with specimens of the "genus +anthropomorpha" of all sizes, of all ages, of all shapes, and in all +stages of dress and undress. I opined that indeed 'twas no place for +me, and with one push of the starting pedal the motor was a living +thing. "Enough is as good as a feast," and an hour at the Playground +of New York was an hour well spent; but I left it for ever behind me +without the slightest desire or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> intention of ever returning to its +whirl of plebeian gaiety.</p> + +<p>Arrived once more at New York City, I prepared to make my adieux. I had +two handbags only, one a beautiful new dressing-case, resplendent with +pig-skin writing pads, ebony brushes, and glass bottles, and the other, +a slightly larger one, which accommodated my spare clothing, boots, +etc., and the miscellaneous collection of junk that every globe-trotter +inevitably carries around with him.</p> + +<p>Now I have an inherent contempt for side-cars, although had one been +available at New York when I bought the machine I should have taken +it and carried all my luggage with me. That would have been the acme +of luxury. As it was, however, I contented myself with a good strong +carrier and with many straps; the dressing-case, surrounded by a good +thick blanket, was securely attached to the back of the machine. The +other bag I "shipped" on by train to my predetermined stops across the +country.</p> + +<p>That dressing-case must have weighed fifty or sixty pounds, and with +the blanket around it looked an alarming size when <em class="italic">in situ</em>. There +was no hope for it. I'm that kind of individual who always likes +plenty of silk shirts and pyjamas and things, so it didn't occasion me +the slightest worry if the people did stare wildly at me as I passed +through their towns and villages.</p> + +<p>And they "sure" did!</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br /><br /> + +NEW YORK TO PHILADELPHIA</h2> + + +<p>"Gotter match?" he inquired as I pulled up near him.</p> + +<p>I had left my palatial sky-scraper hotel only fifteen minutes before. +Soon, I contemplated, my experiences in and around New York would +be past history. Happy and light-hearted, I was humming along that +boulevard with the truly wonderful surface which runs along the edge +of Manhattan Island. It is known as "Riverside Drive," and here dwell +many of America's millionaires. A young fellow and his companion with +a Harley-Davidson and side-car at the side of the road attracted my +attention. Neither of them looked as though he were a resident of that +district. A khaki-coloured shirt, thick corduroy breeches, leggings, +and boots were their only attire. One of them held up his hand when he +saw me.</p> + +<p>"Maybe these fellows know something about the roads," thought I; so I +stopped.</p> + +<p>To stop a motor-cyclist and ask him for a match seemed quite a unique +departure from the well-established English customs with which I was +familiar. Feeling benevolent, I silently proffered a box of "England's +Glory" wax vestas. Without a word he took one, scrutinized it closely +as though it were something wonderful in the art of match-manufacture, +and slowly lit his pipe. A dozen puffs ensued. He broke the silence.</p> + +<p>"Where you from?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> + +<p>"When I left it they called it 'England,'" I replied.</p> + +<p>Another dozen puffs.</p> + +<p>"Where you goin'?"</p> + +<p>"I may get to San Francisco some day."</p> + +<p>"You sure got some bit of pavement in front of you. I said it."</p> + +<p>"Well, I guess it's never so bad but what it might be worse," I hinted.</p> + +<p>He spat twice, puffed a few clouds, spat again; took another look at +me, then glanced at my machine.</p> + +<p>"You got <span class="smcap">some</span> bird there," he ventured, and then added, as if +to place the assertion beyond all doubt,—</p> + +<p>"I said it."</p> + +<p>I agreed that it ought to be able to get along.</p> + +<p>"Yew said it.—See that bird thar?" he asked, pointing to his machine. +"Waal, I guess she can move some too; she done eight thousand miles on +them roads, an' I guess they warn't mos'ly booleyvards neither."</p> + +<p>In the conversation which followed, mainly in reference to many +inquiries on my part as to the various "National Highways" which I +had learnt were occasionally to be found throughout the country, I +gleaned from this worthy native son that it would be better for me to +"go back 'ome and pick strawberries" than to continue farther with +such an obviously insane desire as to cross the American Continent. +I persisted, however, that having come thus far, I would at any rate +continue while sanity remained, although I should certainly bear his +good advice in mind for future reference.</p> + +<p>With a final injunction from him that I should know him when next I saw +him if I were fortunate enough to subsist in the land of the living, we +parted, and after a trip on the Ferry across the Jersey River, I was +soon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> winding my way out of the drab and dreary suburbs of Newark.</p> + +<p>It would be incorrect to say that the best people do not go to Atlantic +City. Americans, I believe, reckon this well-known seaside resort to be +one of the nine wonders of the world. No free-born American citizen, I +do not doubt, would give the credit of the other eight, whatever they +may be, to any foreign country. On this assumption I felt I should have +no difficulty in identifying the other eight when I had seen more of +"God's Own Country."</p> + +<p>Now Atlantic City is just one hundred per cent. American. It would be +impossible to associate it with any other country but America. To begin +with, it has the inevitable "million-dollar" pier. Let me explain that +nothing in America is worthy of popular patronage unless it costs at +least a million dollars. When I was at Niagara I was told how many +million gallons of water flowed over the falls in a year. No one (on +the American side) seemed to worry very much about the magnificence +of the falls or the grandeur of the river. Such sordid interests do +not appeal to them. But ask someone how many million horse-power will +be developed in a year, and see with what eagerness he relieves you +of your ignorance! The American public <span class="smcap">will</span> have millions in +their calculations and their lust for the superlative <span class="smcap">must</span> be +appeased.</p> + +<p>In Atlantic City there are naturally many objects of interest to the +budding student of modern life like myself, but, on the whole, the +amusements of this nation do not differ considerably from the modest +efforts of our own. There one can see the usual bashful maidens whose +main delight is to recline on the sand or parade the beach in the +latest thing in bathing costumes,—but never under any circumstances to +get them wet. Also we find<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> the usual stores where every conceivable +variety of picture post card or "present from ..." can be bought.</p> + +<p>In two hours I was aweary of Atlantic City. In a very superior frame +of mind I trod on my feelings and the kick-starter of "Khaki Lizz" +(my soubriquet for the machine, which was finished entirely in that +delightfully-reminiscent hue) and turned her nose towards the west. +Philadelphia, I decided, was to be my resting-place that night.</p> + +<p>To be hot on the scent of Philadelphia was one thing; but to get there +was quite another. A glorious three-mile stretch of macadamized road +out of Atlantic City was indeed a tempting bait, and I admit for a +few luscious but brief moments I set at defiance all limits of speed +imposed for the general welfare of the public by worthy law-makers upon +the motoring population of New York State. I have always contended +(privately, not in public!) that laws are only made to be broken. I +might perhaps add that I was destined afterwards to supplement this +somewhat outrageous dictum with a further—"He only is entitled to +break laws who thoroughly knows and understands them!"</p> + +<p>As every wanderer in this vale of tears discovers, all good things +come to an end some time. That three-mile stretch of macadamized +road very soon came to an end. It ended, as far as I remember, in an +abrupt right-angle corner where in an endeavour to get round at about +forty-five miles an hour I nearly met myself coming back, and from that +point the road gradually bore resemblance to an elongated dust-heap. +They call it "natural gravel," which means that in the opinion of the +road engineers of that time the natural surface of the road did not +need any reinforcement in the way of metal. I should imagine that about +99 per cent. of all the roads in America are of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> this construction, the +remaining 1 per cent. being either covered with a layer of concrete, or +macadam, as in any civilized European country. At times, very few and +far between, this natural gravel forms quite a tolerable surface where +there is not much traffic, but it must be remembered that motor-cars +are used in the States on a far greater scale than is ever dreamt of +in England. I was, in fact, simply amazed at the tremendous number +of cars in the various towns and villages through which I passed. I +have sometimes been in a town, and quite a large one too, where it was +almost impossible to find a place at the side of the pavement where +I could leave my machine. Every available space was taken up with a +car, and in some towns, Salt Lake City for instance, I have seen cars +"parked" along the side of the road two-deep, so that to cross from one +side of the road to the other one has to traverse four separate ranges +of automobiles. In the summer, thousands of cars are travelling all day +long between Atlantic City and the adjacent large cities, so that the +reader can perhaps imagine the state of all the main highways in that +direction.</p> + +<p>I was here introduced to a diversion which at first seemed quite an +interesting one, but which continued familiarity certainly turned to +contempt. I refer to the "detour." The unfortunate motorist is perhaps +ploughing his way steadily along through the gravel, dust, and sand. +He encounters a barrier across the road bearing a notice that repairs +are going on and that he must follow the detour indicated. The road +selected, I believe, is generally the one with the most pot-holes, +ruts, mountains, canyons, etc., in its formation in the surrounding +district. Sometimes in these detours one finds further auxiliary +detours until finally one has to use the utmost intelligence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> and a +compass in order to get back to the main highway.</p> + +<p>I did not, therefore, arrive in Philadelphia strictly to schedule. +I was many times tempted to take up my abode at a convenient spot +on the side of the road. Several times I dismounted and examined a +promising spot, but always there was some very serious objection. This +objection either took the form of frogs or of mosquitoes or of both. +As we used to read in the days of the War, "the enemy was present in +large numbers." I did not relish either the prospect of being kept +awake indefinitely with the objectionable gurgling of a battalion of +bullfrogs or of being eaten to death in my slumbers by a nation of +bloodthirsty mosquitoes.</p> + +<p>So I spun onwards, ever onwards towards Philadelphia. Meanwhile the +sun was sinking lower and lower in the west. The nearer I got to +Philadelphia the more numerous became the cars on the road. It seemed +as though the whole of Philadelphia frivolled at Atlantic City on +a Sunday afternoon. I was working my way along, dodging tremendous +pot-holes and ruts, imagining myself in an hour or two's time reposing +comfortably between clean white sheets. All of a sudden a most +distressing noise came across my ear. It appeared to be a motor-cycle +in pain. At times there was only one cylinder firing. Sometimes there +were two. At other times there was none at all. I drew in to the side +of the road and waited for the unfortunate author of this disturbance +to arrive.</p> + +<p>He soon emerged from the darkness. He had no lights, and was only too +pleased to stop at the sight of another motor-cyclist.</p> + +<p>"Why, I thought I was the only madman about here," I greeted him, +surprised but gratified to know that there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> really were other seemingly +sane people who rode motor-cycles in America.</p> + +<p>How delighted he was to meet another Englishman! He had, he explained, +been in America only a year or two, having come from my old home town +of Birmingham during the War. He had got so "fed up" with Americans +that it was a treat to set eyes on anyone from the Old Country.</p> + +<p>He was a youth of eighteen or nineteen years, and after I had fixed him +up with a couple of sparking plugs and attended to a few other urgent +requirements, he asked me abruptly, but quite politely, the inevitable +question, just as I might have expected. "Where you from, an' where you +goin'?"</p> + +<p>I explained that I was making for Philadelphia, where I hoped to find +somewhere to lay my weary head.</p> + +<p>"Well, if you don't want anything very luxurious," said he, "I think I +can fix you up all right, if you don't mind going on ahead to light the +way."</p> + +<p>I gladly assented, and by this means, with my brilliant headlight +illuminating the road, it did not take us long to reach the Delaware +River, on the opposite bank of which stood the fine old city of +Philadelphia. It took a quarter of an hour to cross the river by the +ferry, but once in Philadelphia my friend was happy. "Now you follow +me," he said.</p> + +<p>He had no lights whatever, but his engine was running well, so I agreed +and followed. This was not in itself very easy. I am perfectly certain +that I have never seen <span class="smcap">any</span> motor-cycle <span class="smcap">anywhere</span> +dash along at such a rate through a city. Although it was dark and I +could not see my speedometer, I am sure that he must have travelled +about forty-five miles per hour through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> streets of Philadelphia. +They were certainly good and straight and wide. There was a little +traffic here and there, but this did not seem to worry our friend in +the slightest. Occasionally we saw a "cop" or two standing on a street +corner make a half-hearted attempt to step into the road to hold us up. +Our friend, however, was desperate and would stop for no one. After +about a quarter of an hour's riding, dodging round corners and shooting +past obstructions at a tremendous pace, he pulled up at a small corner +house in a secluded portion of the town and we dismounted. He lived +with his mother, he explained, but she was away in New York. Also he +had lost his latchkey. Also it was really a florist's shop, but he was +sure I wouldn't mind. "There is nothing for it," he said, "but to climb +the fire escape and get in through the front window."</p> + +<p>I shouldered him up to an iron frame projecting from the house. Thence +he clambered on to a rickety fire escape leading up the wall into +blackness, and he was soon lost to sight. A few moments later the front +door opened and we pushed our muddy, dirty machines on to the clean +linoleum of the front room, where they remained overnight surrounded by +pots of roses, carnations, palms, and ferns. This, he explained, was +quite the usual procedure and his mother would not mind a bit!</p> + +<p>It was then about 11.30, and when we had washed some of the dirt from +our faces we sallied forth in quest of a meal. We had no difficulty in +picking up the scent of a flourishing cafeteria. Neither did we have +any difficulty in disposing of disgusting quantities of hot coffee and +"waffles," a commodity peculiar to America, resembling pancakes and +eaten with jugfuls of maple syrup.</p> + +<p>Well after midnight we returned to our domicile, and I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> laid me down +to sleep the sleep of the righteous. At seven o'clock in the morning +I bade farewell to mine host. Not a cent would he accept in payment +for my night's lodgings. So, with the parting assurance that he would +drop in and see me when he was next in England, we each took our +several roads—he in the direction of a neighbouring works where he was +employed as a mechanic, and I towards Washington, drifting meekly along +the streets at certainly nothing like the speed of the night before.</p> + +<p>The road for some distance was good, the sun came out, and the day +promised to turn out fine and hot. I soon began to feel an inward +content. Everything was going smoothly. I was expecting some money to +be waiting for me at Washington, and then I should have nothing to +worry about for a long time to come.</p> + +<p>As it usually happens when one begins to pat oneself on the back, +I immediately had a puncture. It was of course in the back wheel. +Meanwhile the sun was rising higher and higher, and when, after about +half an hour, I had repaired the wheel, I was feeling very thirsty. +Another five miles further on I had another puncture. This time it +happened to be exactly outside a garage.</p> + +<p>I have known places in England where a certain amount of trade is +always guaranteed by the ingenuity of some of the garage proprietors +who regularly and systematically throw tacks and nails along the road +in their vicinity. It occurred to me that this was a practice not +confined to England, as examination revealed the cause of the puncture +to be a nice long nail driven through from one side of the tube to the +other. Not feeling of a very arduous disposition at the time, I wheeled +it into the garage to be repaired.</p> + +<p>I am afraid I was rather annoyed at the result. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> the first place, I +had to supply the mechanic with solution. In the second place, I had +to take off the tyre for him. In the third place, I supplied a patch; +and in the fourth place, I actually had to do the job for him. After +settling his account, I finally explained in language as polite as I +could muster that in my opinion the practice of strewing discarded +nails and other implements on the highway, while not being exactly +meritorious in itself, was just as commendable a method of obtaining a +business connection as many that were frequently resorted to in other +trades or professions of a higher standing. I explained, however, that +after having been so successfully victimized by such an artifice, one +would consider oneself justified in expecting a much higher standard of +workmanship than was apparently forthcoming in his establishment.</p> + +<p>Then we parted, the mechanic expressing the hope that he would never +(crimson) well see me again, and that if I ever did happen to be coming +back that way and got a nail in my (unspeakable) tyre that he would see +me in (Arizona) before he would (smoking) well repair it for me!</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br /><br /> + +PHILADELPHIA TO WASHINGTON</h2> + + +<p>The scenery now began to look charming. Rolling ranges of hills +extending into the distance clustered around as we drew nearer to the +Chesapeake River, which flows into the well-known bay to which it gives +its name.</p> + +<p> +"All aboard for Chesapeake Bay."<br /> +</p> + +<p>... I hummed the air to myself as the road abruptly ended and a +suspension bridge continued the course across the broad, peaceful mouth +of the river. The whole country around seemed to be permeated with a +comfortable, wholesome vigour. Nothing seemed shabby, discontented, or +poverty-stricken. I passed through many small towns and embryo cities. +All were prosperous and all extended a hearty welcome to the traveller +or visitor. Stretched across the road between two poles, just before I +entered one little town, was a huge white banner bearing the words:—</p> + +<p class="center"> +"CONWAY CITY WELCOMES YOU.<br /> +WE LIKE TRAVELLERS TO VISIT US.<br /> +HAVE A GOOD LOOK AT OUR CITY."<br /> +</p> + +<p>Conway "City" did not prove to be exactly a metropolis. It was probably +nothing more than a well-to-do farm town. But the houses were clean and +neat, indeed some of them were very beautiful, perfectly up-to-date but +never objectionably modern. The roads were a bit bumpy in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> places but +not at all bad as American roads go. As I passed out of the town I saw +another notice similar to the first:—</p> + +<p class="center"> +"THANK YOU FOR COMING.<br /> +WE HOPE YOU LIKE US.<br /> +COME AGAIN."<br /> +</p> + +<p>I got so used to being welcomed to every town I came to that I forgot I +was a "stranger" in a "foreign land." There was not a town or village +that did not publish its welcome in some form or other. In the main it +was by advertisements. But if I stopped at a wayside store to quench +my thirst (oh, the sun was hot!) I was met neither with scowls nor +incivility. I am reminded of the old joke of <em class="italic">Punch</em> many years ago:—</p> + +<p>"Oo's that bloke over theer, Bill?"</p> + +<p>"Dunno; stranger, I think."</p> + +<p>"'Eave 'arf a brick at 'im."</p> + +<p>That is typical of what we <em class="italic">English</em> think of strangers. The man +of better education or more refinement perhaps expresses himself +differently, but he feels just the same as a rule.</p> + +<p>At this juncture in my reveries the macadam road stopped and gave +way to "natural gravel." That was quite sufficient to postpone any +soliloquies I may have been indulging in until a later date. The +entire sixty seconds in every minute were employed in keeping myself +substantially upright. Small pot-holes gave place to larger ones, +and they in turn to larger still. The loose sand, which was an inch +or two deep at the start, soon assumed more considerable depths. As +the detective books of our youth used to say, "The plot grew thicker +and thicker." I was floundering about from right to left, prodding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +energetically on the ground each side with my feet to maintain some +kind of balance. At times the back wheel churned up the sand aimlessly +in an endeavour to get a grip on something solid. Here and there the +sand and gravel were heaped into great ridges as if a mighty plough +had been along that way. Getting through this stuff, thought I, was +no joke. Furthermore, it was warm work; very warm work. Now and then +I would find myself directed absolutely without control from one side +of the road to the other, and only with the greatest strain could +I keep the machine on its wheels. And with all this the "highway" +still maintained its regulation width of 90 feet! The casual observer +from an aeroplane above would in all probability be attracted by its +straightness, its whiteness, and its apparent uniformity. "What a +splendid road!" he would think.</p> + +<p>Not so I. I was on the point of physical exhaustion with the +seemingly-endless paddling and pushing and heaving (and don't forget +the half-hundred-weight bag on my back!) when I was thrown on to a +steeply-cambered part of the road at the side. The back wheel just slid +limply sideways down the slope and left everything reposing peacefully +in the natural gravel of Maryland.</p> + +<p>When I had extricated myself from under the machine, I surveyed the +position with a critical eye. What a road for a civilized country! +These Yanks must be jolly-well mad to tolerate such roads as this!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Just then an old Ford came by. It was shorn entirely of mudguards, +running boards, and other impedimenta. As he wallowed past me, swaying +to this side and that, sometimes pointing at right angles to the way +he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> going and with his old engine buzzing away in bottom gear and +clouds of steam issuing from his radiator (it had no cap; it must have +blown off!) the driver seemed perfectly at ease. He rolled a cigar +stump from one corner of his mouth to the other and gazed nonchalantly +ahead. I don't think he even noticed me and my recumbent motor-cycle. +I could not repress a grin as his old box of tricks disappeared slowly +up the road, wagging its tail this way and that and narrowly averting a +catastrophe at every few yards. "You ragtime bunch of tin merchants!" +I mused (not so much in reference to the driver as to the nation in +general!) as his diminishing form finally side-slipped into the ditch +at a bend in the road.</p> + +<p>And then a distressing thought struck me: "They'll never believe me +when I get back home and tell them!" So I took my little camera out of +the tool-box on the top tube and snapped the worst bit of road there +and then. A five minutes' struggle followed, in which "Khaki Lizz" was +withdrawn from her ditch.</p> + +<p>By way of nourishment to sustain me in any further fights with the +road, I slowly and meditatively consumed one only orange before +proceeding once more.</p> + +<p>But things did not improve. Here and there, where the ridges of soil +and gravel had not been disturbed, grew tufts of grass and weeds. Huge +ruts, crossing and recrossing in the remaining sand, showed where cars +were wont to pass as fancy dictated, and with only two wheels it was +barely possible to maintain any progress at all.</p> + +<p>"Hang it all! This is TOO much!" I exclaimed, after a few more +precipitate dismounts,—and took another photo and ate another orange.</p> + +<p>A mile or two farther on I came to a weird-looking machine at the +side of the road. It was a sort of combination<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> of steam tractor and +automatic plough, but very much bigger and more complicated. Its main +function was to chop down <em class="italic">en masse</em> the sides and banks of the road +and shovel the debris into the middle. Grass, shrubs, bushes, and young +trees alike fell victims to its activities. Now this really was the +limit! Not satisfied with the condition of the road as it was, they +sent forth this "Heath Robinson" mechanism to improve it. I stopped and +left the bike standing in the road where it was—there was no need to +prop it up against anything—and went back to question the driver of +this implement as to its function in life.</p> + +<p>He was not perturbed in the slightest either at my question or at the +heated state of mind and body in which I approached him. Punctuated +by intervals in which he slowly masticated a worn-out chunk of +chewing-gum, he explained that all good motorists liked wide roads; +that the State Council had decided that motorists should have wide +roads; that they had provided machines for widening roads that at +present were not up to standard width; and finally that he was there to +see that this machine did its work properly!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="common_occurrence"></a> +<img src="images/i026a.jpg" width="600" height="360" alt="Man digging a car out of a rut." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">A Common Occurrence.</span><br /> +<em class="italic"><small>By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler.</small></em></div> +</div> + +<p>So I took another photograph, ate another orange, kicked the +self-starter once more, and pushed on again. The road got worse and +worse. Sometimes there were ruts and sometimes there were strips of +unploughed field in the middle of it. But I spent no more films on +it. The people at home, I decided, would have to take my word for +it after all. About ten miles farther on I came to a cross-road. +It was perfectly straight and beautifully paved with concrete and +stretched from one horizon to the other. With what joy I gazed upon its +countenance! There was a wooden shack on one corner, evidently a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +saloon. A negro sat on the doorstep, gazing indolently at me.</p> + +<p>"Is this the road to Baltimore?" I inquired, indicating the concrete +highway.</p> + +<p>No reply. But he continued to gaze at me, and spat twice.</p> + +<p>"Must be deaf," thought I. "How's this for Washington?" I shouted.</p> + +<p>Still no reply.</p> + +<p>"Say, brother, which is the road to Baltimore?" I inquired as politely +as convenient.</p> + +<p>The appellation "brother" had its effect. The negro jerked his thumb +over his shoulder, indicating that I was to go straight on (and +incidentally follow that excruciating stretch of natural gravel).</p> + +<p>Fortunately, Baltimore was not many miles away, and when I got there I +breathed many sighs of relief. There were paved roads, good and true; +macadam and concrete for miles and miles, all the way to Washington. +I picked my way by instinct through Baltimore, the capital of the +State of Maryland, not stopping for food or rest. I would reach my +destination before I gave way to such physical necessities. I certainly +had an appetite, but I always feel that more than two meals a day when +on tour are not only unnecessary, but mean a dead loss of time, money, +and distance.</p> + +<p>The reports on the state of the road ahead turned out to be true +in every detail, and throwing to the winds all respect for such +trivialities as speed limits, I made up for at least a good fraction of +the time wasted on the road.</p> + +<p>When, about 5 p.m., I pulled Lizzie on to her stand outside one of +Washington's "cafeterias," I began to feel an incipient timidity. I +doubted whether I should be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> able to get into any respectable hotel. +I was covered in dust, and dirt. Headgear of any kind I had dispensed +with altogether. My hair was dusty and knotted with the wind. Owing to +the heat, I had also found it advisable to remove my collar and tie, so +that the wind could circulate as much as possible. How could I in such +a condition maintain my self-respect in Washington, the magnificent +capital of the United States?</p> + +<p>Fortunately, it did not take long for me to overcome such scruples. +Another day or two on the road, and I was perfectly at ease during the +intervals in which I had intercourse with civilization. Occasionally I +experienced a difficulty in entering a drug-store for an iced drink, +and sometimes I felt a trifle shy at my bare, sunburnt neck, but no one +seemed to mind. I soon found that in America, and particularly when +travelling in the West, one could wear absolutely anything that one's +fancy might dictate without rousing the slightest disturbance.</p> + +<p>After satisfying my requirements at the "cafeteria," the second item on +my programme was a visit to the Post Office. This revealed the sordid +fact that there was no money awaiting me. It can easily be understood +that such a discovery might have proved most distressing. I had been +advised not to take much with me, but to cable for a draft from home at +intervals. My adviser, as I was afterwards to find out to my cost, had +overlooked the utterly chaotic state of the post-war transatlantic mail +service.</p> + +<p>I still had a little left, however, quite enough to get me comfortably +to Cincinnati, my next financial depot, so why worry? I could always +work for a living, or at any rate, if I did not feel inclined to that, +I might pawn something.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<p>I found a hotel that, from the outside, just suited my fancy. Plain, +large and unpretentious, it described itself in an illuminated sign as +the "National." I booked a room at three dollars (12<em class="italic">s.</em> 6<em class="italic">d.</em>) and +sallied forth to see the sights.</p> + +<p>I was impressed with Washington. It is truly a city of beautiful +streets and magnificent buildings. Undoubtedly it is the city <em class="italic">de luxe</em> +of America. Being the capital, wealth is lavished upon it. No factories +or barren wastes disfigure its graceful countenance. Every street or +avenue glistens at night with a bewildering multitude of illuminated +signs. This method of advertising is typically American. The first +impression of a stranger visiting a large American city at night is +that he is in a children's luminous palace. There are illuminations +and decorations of every conceivable nature. Sometimes a single sign +advertising perhaps some particular brand of chewing-gum or cigarette +or motor-car has thousands and tens of thousands of lights wonderfully +displayed in different colours and arranged in different series, one +series flashing into view as another disappears, then a few seconds +later giving place to another still more wonderful, and finally there +comes a grand climax in which all the colours and all the series and +all the figures blaze forth in an indescribable orgy of light.</p> + +<p>When I found myself finally back in my hotel I was to be the victim +of still another disillusionment. No country anywhere could rival +America for hotels, I had thought. But I had not then experienced the +"National" at Washington. The room allotted to me was literally an +outrage. It was of the very poorest that one would expect to find in +an East End boarding-house in the Old Kent Road. It had one window, +which faced on to an unimaginably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> dreary "area." The carpet was +threadbare and colourless. The furniture, consisting of one bed, one +dressing-table, one wardrobe and one chair was obviously suffering from +advanced senile decay. There was a washbasin in one corner that boasted +of two taps and a piece of wood to stop the hole up with. The door +showed signs of having been minus a lock for many a long day. I was too +tired, however, to bother about trivialities of detail, so putting my +revolver under the blanket near me in case of possible eventualities, I +laid me down in peace to sleep.</p> + +<p>Nothing occurred, however, to disturb my peace of mind or body +throughout the night. The following morning found me hot on the warpath +after a bathroom. After sundry peregrinations I unearthed a clue. It +was in the form of a very corpulent negress—evidently a chambermaid. +"Bathroom?" "No, dere am no bathroom h'yar," she informed me. But I +persisted in my inquiries, suspecting her reply to be a mere excuse +for sheer laziness. Finally, as a last resort, I absent-mindedly took +my "life preserver" from my hip pocket and looked at it vacuously. Its +effect was magical. "Yes, saar, yes, saar, come right h'yar!—I find +you bathroom!"</p> + +<p>When I came to square up that morning I paid my respects and three +dollars to the management.</p> + +<p>"See here, Mister Manager," I said in such a tone that everyone +within hearing distance had the benefit of it as well, "I've done a +bit of travelling here and there, but never in <span class="smcap">any</span> city at +<span class="smcap">any</span> time have I struck <span class="smcap">any</span> hotel that for sheer +rottenness compares with <span class="smcap">this</span> one!"</p> + +<p>I have an idea at the back of my mind that that manager-man doesn't +love Englishmen!</p> + +<p>Now that I had seen America's capital, I turned my face to the west, +and began to make rash estimates and frivolous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> promises to myself +concerning my destination for the day. Could I get to Cincinnati +next day? How long would it take to do the odd 550 miles or so? And +what would be my reception when I got there? I had some friends in +Cincinnati, friends that I had never even seen. What would they think +when they saw <span class="smcap">this</span> specimen roll up to their front door in +Clifton Avenue? Was Lizzie going to stand up to it all right? When +should I get to the coast? What kind of roads should I meet "out West"? +And so I wondered on.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br /><br /> + +EXCEEDING THE SPEED LIMIT</h2> + + +<p>I did not waste much time on the road. Fortunately there was a good +proportion of concrete road, although the inevitable natural gravel +was not by any means conspicuous by its absence. I also passed many +stretches of brick road.</p> + +<p>This variety is confined in England mainly to city streets, and is +associated nearly always with trams. Not so in America. On the main +roads of the East I have passed many a ten-mile stretch of splendidly +paved highway made solely out of good red brick, and of the correct +size and shape and camber of surface that literally made one's +tyres hum and sing as each brick was momentarily touched in endless +procession. I need hardly say that for every good stretch of brick road +there are <span class="smcap">umpteen</span> bad ones though, just to add a spice of life +<em class="italic">à la grande route</em>. Here and there one would encounter by no means +solitary patches where apparently some enterprising farmer had torn up +a few bricks from in front of some one's house to repair his cowshed +or to build a new pigsty, or maybe to help put another storey on his +house. There would seem to the lay mind such as my own to be a most +decided disadvantage in this method of road construction! To put it +mildly, it is disheartening when one is enjoying a fifty-mile-an-hour +sprint on a straight stretch of road visible almost from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> horizon to +horizon, to be rudely awakened from swift but peaceful contemplation +of the beauties of nature, the loveliness of the atmosphere and the +joys of motoring by being mercilessly thrown on top of the handlebars +with one tremendous thump. At one spot of which I have very vivid +recollections, the road took a short dip down and up again. In the +bottom of the "valley" thus formed was a young but aspiring cañon where +a wayward stream had left its prosaic path to strike out in life on its +own across the road. Its presence was unfortunately undiscernible until +close acquaintanceship was made.</p> + +<p>When I came round I was vaguely conscious of something having happened, +but as the engine was still running and the front wheel was still +fairly circular, I got up and rode on, but not until I had arrived +definitely at the conclusion that had I been doing sixty instead of +forty-five I should have jumped across the bit of road that wasn't +there and been hardly the wiser of it!</p> + +<p>Here it was that I began to scratch crosses on the top tube to keep +count of the number of times I was thrown off on the whole trip.</p> + +<p>When the top tube got too short I put them on the front down tube.</p> + +<p>When that was full I scratched them on the bottom tubes.</p> + +<p>After that I trusted to memory. But that was when I got to the "Far +West."</p> + +<p>I made good time, however, in spite of an occasional set-back, and +looked forward to completing three hundred and fifty miles that day. +With luck I should reach Cincinnati the next, and then, oh for the joys +of a good hot bath, clean clothes, well-cooked food, and last, but not +by any means least, good company. And I wasn't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> forgetting either that +I had only about twenty-five dollars in my pocket. With no mishaps I +should have enough and to spare for even three or four days' travelling.</p> + +<p>It was not yet midday, and the sun was getting very hot indeed. +Moreover, I was getting hungry. Although I believe the two-meal-a-day +system to be an excellent one, one sure gets a roaring appetite for +breakfast at the end of a hundred-mile ride. So if I had not a moral +excuse for a little real speed work I at least had a physical one. The +road surface now changed from red brick to dazzling white concrete +as in the far distance the Alleghany Mountains, that inexpressibly +beautiful range that stretches parallel with the Atlantic coastline +from Maine to Georgia, loomed gradually higher on the horizon, its +varying tints growing deeper and deeper as mile after mile flew by.</p> + +<p>There was hardly a soul on the road. Occasionally I would pass a +touring car loaded up with human freight and with luggage bags, +bandboxes and portmanteaux piled up and strapped (and sometimes I +think glued!) to every available mudguard, wing or projection that was +large enough to accommodate them and quite a lot that weren't. Then +a hay wagon flew by, and then, after a few miles, a solitary farmer +on horseback—not at all a common sight in this land of Fords and +motor-cars. And after a few more miles a tiny black speck came into +view on the horizon. It took a long time to catch up. When I got closer +I made it out to be a Buick roadster, its two occupants, a young man +and his (apparent) fiancée, evidently enjoying a little spin in the +country. And he wasn't crawling either. A touch of my electric horn +(oh, a beautiful horn it was!) aroused his soul from its soliloquy and +he drew in to the right,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> waving me on vigorously as he did so. And +as I passed him he seemed to quicken a little. I glanced sideways for +an instant and spotted a gleam in his eye. So I accepted his unspoken +challenge and glanced now and then over my shoulder. He was hanging on +well, his six cylinders to my four. A mile was passed and he was still +just a little way behind. The road was clear and straight, so I opened +out a little more.</p> + +<p>Another glance. He was still there. My speedometer hovered around fifty.</p> + +<p>Not to be outdone I twisted Lizzie's right handlebar grip as far as it +would go, and like a bolt from the blue we darted ahead. Fifty-five, +sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-five. The wind was simply screeching +in my ears.</p> + +<p>Another glance back, our friend was slowly losing distance. A minute or +two more and he was fast dwindling behind. In ten miles he was almost +back on the horizon.</p> + +<p>I had visions of breakfast in "Hagerstown," the next town of importance +not so very far ahead. And so I forgot our friend of the Buick. In ten +minutes' time I came to a village. As usual the good surface of the +highway stopped and the roads through the town turned from the perfect +concrete to an infernal hotch-potch of holes, gullies, ruts and mounds. +Ironical notice boards warned the traveller that he must reduce his +speed to fifteen miles per hour. It was purgatory even to go at four! +To plunge into a seething mass of soil-waves at speed is disconcerting. +It annoys you. But it is a custom that grows on you in Eastern America. +You flounder about from side to side; you take a hop, skip and a +jump here, there and everywhere; your very bones are shaken in their +sockets; your temper approaches a frenzy of despair; and your language!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + +<p>Time was when I would blush with shame at the sound of a word that +was bad. Then a war came along and I learnt to experience the +soothing charm of an occasional flow of language. Occasionally I met +a sergeant-major who could swear freely for five minutes without even +repeating himself!</p> + +<p>And then I motor-cycled across the States. And my heart rejoiced within +me that I had received such an excellent education. I found that with +very little provocation or practice I could, had I the desire, have +graduated to a very much higher stage of perfection in the United +States than with the British Army in France. Indeed I will go so far +as to aver that when ultimately I reached San Francisco not only could +I have put to shame the most cultured sergeant-major that ever drilled +recruits on a square, but in his moments of greatest enlightenment his +powers of speech would have appeared as the futile prattle of childhood +compared to what <em class="italic">I</em> could have taught him.</p> + +<p>So that is why I slowed down when I got to "Victorville."</p> + +<p>In a few minutes, who should come alongside but our friend with the +Buick racer. He slowed down and put up his hand. "Mind stopping here a +minute?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," I replied, thinking he wanted to ask the way or borrow a +sparking plug—or maybe beg a match.</p> + +<p>He got out of his car and came along.</p> + +<p>"Say, d'ye know what speed you were doing way back there?" he asked +casually with a kind of ten-percent.-solution smile.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know exactly, but I guess I got <span class="smcap">you</span> beat, +anyway!" I chuckled.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> + +<p>Whereat he pulled a pocket-book from his coat and opened it. (Going to +give me his card, thought I.)</p> + +<p>"I'll trouble you for your number," quoth he, as he came to a page that +was all nicely printed in columns ready for use.</p> + +<p>From that moment I saw things in a different light. Verily the workings +of the Law would seem to be getting interesting.</p> + +<p>"And your licence, please?" after he had obligingly removed a layer of +dust from my number-plate.</p> + +<p>"What licence?"</p> + +<p>"Your driving licence, of course. What y' think?"</p> + +<p>"See here. Mebbe I do look a bit of a mug, but I do know you don't have +to have a separate licence in New York State, s'long as your machine is +registered. The number-plate is the same thing as a licence."</p> + +<p>"Oh, is it? I didn't know that." (Pause) "Well, do you mind following +me a short way down the road—next block but one. It isn't far."</p> + +<p>Whereat he got in his car again and moved slowly forward, while his +lady friend protruded her arm from one side as if to stop me if I was +inclined to dash past.</p> + +<p>I did think of it in fact, because I knew I could give him a run for +his money, but America, I recollected, was noted for its telephone +service and I couldn't quite fancy having to resort to a hiding-place +near the banks of the Ohio or perchance a field of corn somewhere in +Indiana.</p> + +<p>So I followed them down to the corner.</p> + +<p>We stopped at a small wooden shanty on the door of which was a board +bearing the sign "<span class="smcap">Daniel S. Tomkin, Attorney-at-Law</span>." My +friend the "speed cop" pushed open the door and ushered me into a +passage. On the right was another marked "<span class="smcap">Justice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> Tomkin</span>." +"Come in: come in," shouted a shrill seedy voice as the "cop" knocked +at the door.</p> + +<p>"I've got a case for you, Judge," said he, when we got inside.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, oh yes!"—and then to me—"Take a seat, sir, please, and +er—make yourself at home."</p> + +<p>I'm afraid at that juncture I began to laugh. The "Judge" was just +the kind of man that we love to see "on the pictures" in England, but +who we never believe really exists. I had seen his prototype dozens +of times before. Tall and wiry, thin legs and tight trousers, "Uncle +Sam" physiognomy with the usual goat's beard and with stars and stripes +printed in indelible ink all over him. He sat at a desk bare of papers, +books, letters or other impedimenta. How long the desk had been cleared +for action I know not, but his duties as a Justice of the Peace +evidently did not involve any overtime from the look of things. The +room was small and dingy and its walls were covered with shelves piled +with books of all colours, shapes and sizes.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Judge.</span>—"And what has this gentleman been doing?"</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Speed Cop</span> (producing notebook and reading +therefrom).—"Driving a motor-cycle in excess of the legal speed limit, +namely at forty-five miles an hour."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Judge</span> (after reaching from a bookcase a large red book marked +"Laws, Bye-Laws and Regulations existent in the State of Maryland," +or words to that effect).—"I will proceed to read Statoot number +51, article 13, section 321b, subsection 2a of the 'Regulation of +Traffic in the State of Maryland Act, 1898.'"—(Submerged chuckle +from self)—"And it is hereby enacted that anyone found guilty of +exceeding 25 miles per hour but not exceeding 30 miles per hour will +be liable to a fine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> of not less than 5 dollars for the first offence +and of 50 dollars for a second and any subsequent offence; and anyone +found guilty of exceeding 30 miles an hour but not exceeding 35 miles +per hour will be liable to a fine of not less than 10 dollars for +the first offence, etc., etc.; and anyone found guilty of exceeding +35 miles per hour but not exceeding 45 miles per hour will be liable +to a fine of not less than 25 dollars for the first offence, etc., +etc."—(Considerable amusement visible on the face of self)—"and +anyone found guilty of exceeding 60 miles per hour will be liable to a +fine of 100 dollars, etc., etc."—(Feeling of merriment subsides)—"but +anyone found guilty of exceeding 60 miles per hour will be liable to +a fine of 250 dollars for the first offence and of 1,000 dollars and +imprisonment for any subsequent offence. I am afraid, sir, in view of +the evidence and of the dictates of Statoot number 51, article 13, +section—etc., etc., I shall have to administer the minimum fine of 25 +dollars." (I breathe again).</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Self.</span>—"Say, Judge, we seem to have got a bit ahead, don't we? +Aren't I going to have a chance to say anything?"</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Judge</span> (a little "peeved." Evidently that aspect of the case +hadn't occurred to him).—"By all means, sir, by all means. Say jest +what you like."</p> + +<p>Now I have neither the eloquence of a Disraeli nor the declamation of a +Demosthenes, but I do claim to have no small power of persuasion when +it comes to an argument or a question of opinion. So I mustered up +every effort and summoned every resource to convince this malevolent +Judge that he had been reading his "Statoots" upside down and that, +far from being incriminated, I should, on the contrary, be granted a +handsome award.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> I invoked the aid of every artifice known to humanity. +Every inflexion of the voice; every modulation of speech; every appeal +for sympathy, innocence, ignorance and youth known to me was conjured +up.</p> + +<p>And to what purpose? Did the Judge budge?—I might as well have read +him Gibbon's <em class="italic">Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire</em> in five minutes for +all the good it did.</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry, sir," he said, "but the Statoot says that the minimum +fine is 25 dollars, so it must be 25 dollars."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear good Judge," said I, "I've only got about 25 dollars in +the world at the present moment."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm very sorry, but the fine is 25 dollars"—(and then an +afterthought)—"Oh! and costs as well."</p> + +<p>"Costs!" I gasped in amazement.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my costs will be 75 cents, and that makes 25 dollars 75 cents +altogether."</p> + +<p>Then ensued more argument, more persuasion, more eloquence, more +appeals, but it was all in vain. I took out my wallet and counted out +my belongings.</p> + +<p>I had just 25 dollars and a few odd "bits."</p> + +<p>And then the humour of the situation appealed to me once more, and +stronger than ever before. I laughed at the Cop and I laughed at the +Judge and I laughed at myself for laughing and paid over the 25 dollars +75 cents.</p> + +<p>"Thank you very much. Good-day, sir," said the Judge as he put the +"bucks" loosely in the drawer in his desk.</p> + +<p>Here the Cop spoke up: "I have another charge against the defendant, of +riding without his registration certificate, but it's getting late, and +I think we might as well overlook it in view of the circumstances." (He +was evidently thinking of his girl waiting outside.)</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>I suggested it <em class="italic">would</em> be as well and left the Judge to gloat over his +ill-gotten gains.</p> + +<p>The idea of that goat-faced Judge and his sleek-eyed friend the "speed +cop" having a good dinner together at my expense did not appeal to my +better self. How was I going to travel 450 miles, buy petrol, oil and +food with about tenpence in my pocket? On the opposite side of the road +stood Lizzie with her carrier piled high and dusty, waiting, patiently +waiting, for her lord and master. Ah, pathetic sight!—An idea—I +return to the sanctum of the "Attorney-at-Law."</p> + +<p>He was counting over the notes again.</p> + +<p>"Say, Judge. S'posing you give me those notes back again. What'll it +mean in imprisonment?" I had always since childhood cherished a wild +desire to spend a night in prison. "The Statoot stipulates that there +will be an equivalent of one day's imprisonment for every dollar fine." +(Depths of despair once more, then enlightenment.) "Can you show me the +statute that says that?"</p> + +<p>"Sure," and he reached for the volume.</p> + +<p>"All right, don't bother," said I, and left him once more to count his +25 dollars 75 cents.</p> + +<p>Somehow I couldn't help laughing at everything. Such interesting +sidelights into the workings of the ragtime laws of America are not met +with every day of the year, I mused. But what fun to be all alone in +America with nothing but a motor-bike and tenpence!</p> + +<p>I guess the Judge was wondering what I was laughing at as he watched me +through the fly-net at his window while I kicked the engine to a roar +and rode away.</p> + +<p>Truth to tell, I didn't quite know myself.</p> + +<p>I was wondering when the petrol would give out.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a><br /><br /> + +ACROSS THE ALLEGHANIES</h2> + + +<p>Strange to say, I felt not the slightest bit "peeved" about this +occurrence, but facts have to be faced, and anyone who has ever found +himself in a strange land 4,000 miles from home, with a motor-bike +and tenpence, will agree that something has got to be done about +it sooner or later. All sorts of ways and means of making money +quickly—the eternal problem!—occurred to me, but I dismissed them +all for one reason or another. I could hold up the next car I passed +and shoot the occupants after relieving them of their surplus cash. +But that I thought was a distasteful way of getting money. I had seen +it done in the "movies," but decided to leave that <em class="italic">modus operandi</em> +for a last extremity. What was it to be—a week's work or "trading +away" the watch? I pondered. I got very little inspiration from my +surroundings on a problem of such moment. Instead I was exhorted at +almost every hundred yards to "Say it with flowers" or to "Chew our +famous Smello'mint Gum." A huge yellow sign would then loom in sight +bearing the legend "Playtime Biscuit." Every mile or so would appear +another and more ominous inscription, "Sell it and buy a Ford." "For +all internal ailments 'Kewrit' is the Sovereign remedy," blurted forth +another placard. "The Sovereign remedy," I mused.—But say! What was +that? The <span class="smcap">Sovereign</span> remedy?—Inspiration at last. Lizzie's +throttle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> seemed to close its eyes with a snap. The brakes went on of a +sudden and in a few moments I was taking off my tunic at the roadside. +The memory had dawned upon me of a kind sister sewing some golden +sovereigns in the lining of the belt of that very same tunic months ago +way back in good old Brum. She had no doubt imagined me falling into +the hands of Mexican bandits at some period in my peregrinations. At +first I remembered I had protested against such a seemingly unnecessary +precaution. Thank Heaven that argument against a woman is never of any +avail!</p> + +<p>I searched and I found; a few stitches carefully removed with a +pocket-knife revealed two glittering "yellow boys" to my anxious gaze. +On we sped once again, bounding, spinning ever faster onward. Truly we +toiled not, but we sure did spin. If the sky was blue, it was bluer +than ever before. If the road had been good, 'twas never so good as +now. Refreshing breezes rolled down from the hills; sweet vistas sprang +into sight; charming dells and streamlets flitted by, and never did the +call of nature sound so strong.</p> + +<p>And all because of two forgotten coins.</p> + +<p>Hagerstown hardly welcomed me with open arms. A fair-sized, prosperous +little town, it boasted a tramway service and two banks. My heart went +not forth in joy at the contemplation of the tramway service. It did at +the sight of the banks.</p> + +<p>Dusty, dishevelled, and of dilapidated attire, I leant Lizzie up +against the kerb and mounted the marble steps of the "First National +Bank." The massive swing-doors frowned back as they squeaked and +groaned to my command. I stood in the midst of a gilded palace replete +with austere-looking deities in white shirt-sleeves behind marble<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +counters and fancy-work grids. Nothing daunted, I flicked my precious +sovereigns on the counter before the very quintessence of immaculate +manhood with a "Change those, please" as if it were the kind of thing I +did every day of my life.</p> + +<p>Once upon a time I had often with swelling pride expanded my chest at +the thought of a British sovereign being honoured in every country +of the world and any corner of the globe. I had reckoned without +Hagerstown. It seemed that the austere-looking deity before referred +to was not at all impressed by my view of the situation. It must have +been the personal <em class="italic">tout ensemble</em> that put him on his guard. He might +oblige me by sending it along to New York to the Head Office, he said. +"Couldn't wait a couple of days?" he supposed.</p> + +<p>It was no use. He didn't like my face and didn't want my gold.</p> + +<p>I scraped the dirt from my boots on his marble steps and crossed the +road to the "Incorporated Bank of Holland."</p> + +<p>After conducting a lengthy battle of argument and exhortation with +all the clerks in succession and all to no avail, I began to realize +that British currency was of no more worth than the little sea-shells +that in the earliest days of trade were supposed to be used by the +enterprising natives of prehistoric communities. With a gallant show of +indignation I demanded that the manager be produced forthwith. Strange +to say, he appeared. I took him on one side and into my confidence. +"Look here, old man," quoth I, "I'm in a bit of a hole. All your worthy +satellites here think I'm a sort of cross between a rubberneck and a +highway robber. Fact is, I've been rushed for speeding at the last +village and I've<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> only got two sovereigns to take me to Cincinnati. Now +don't tell me you won't change them." Whereupon he looked warily at +me and then at the gold, examining it minutely. "Guess I might fix it +for you, but just hang on a minute till I can get some one to identify +them. We never see such things as these, y'know."</p> + +<p>In a few minutes he returned with an accomplice, who glared with +amazement at the coins as they lay on the counter. "Gor' blimey!" said +he, "don't that do yer blinkin' eyes good! Strike me pink, an' you've +brought these ole yallerboys orl the way from England?" and he picked +them up reverently and gloated over their merry chinkle as he dropped +them again on the counter. "Lor', I've spent many a one on 'em! How +much d'ye want for them, gev'nor?"</p> + +<p>"Four dollars eighty each," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Done! Pass him the 'oof, boss. Nuthin' wrong wi' them."</p> + +<p>Verily is it said that music hath charms for the savage breast. Once +again Lizzie burst into a roar, and once again I turned her nose to the +west.</p> + +<p>Music? That Cockney's dialect seemed like a wonderful fragrant melody +pealing forth through the strains of a ponderous fugue. It was like a +sudden rift in the thunderclouds through which burst a cheering shaft +of sunlight. It was sacrilege even to think of those nine paper dollars +that I had thrust so anxiously into my hip-pocket. "Thank Heaven there +is at least one spot in the U.S.A. where the King's English is spoken +undefiled," I murmured to myself.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The road to Cumberland was good going. We had now to commence crossing +the Alleghany Mountains.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> This wonderful range, which also goes by +the name of the Appalachians, has, in my opinion, no rival in the +American Rockies as regards the loveliness of its scenery and the +infinite variations of colour of its slopes. "The best scenery in the +world, sir," an American would say, and he would not be so very far +wrong either. Perhaps its heights are not so majestic as those of the +Rockies; there may be no glaciers on its slopes nor crests of eternal +glistening white on its peaks, but there is an unparalleled wealth of +natural beauty in the blue and purple pine forests of its less aspiring +heights and the myriad glistening streams and rivers that find their +source in the thickly-wooded foothills clustering around its borders.</p> + +<p>"Cumberland" is a comparatively large town in the middle of the hills +and is well named. Undoubtedly the surrounding district reminded +the early settlers so forcibly of our own lake district that they +were inspired to perpetuate its memory, as they have done in so many +other districts, towns and rivers in the far-eastern or "New England" +States. Although the descent from the mountains was in places almost +precipitous, the road was excellent, and excepting the concrete +boulevards of California, afforded undoubtedly the best running that +I met in the whole country. Although I stopped several times for +considerable periods to allow the brakes to cool, there was nothing +left of the brake-linings when ultimately I arrived in Cumberland, +where I ministered adequate and well-earned refreshment to the inner +man of both Lizzie and myself.</p> + +<p>The road now lay clear of obstructions ahead and led over undulating +country for several hundred miles. Once more thoughts of Cincinnati +in the distance with a vague anticipation of something approaching +"England, Home<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> and Beauty"—and money as well—occupied the hours as +we sped along, leaving the mile-posts quickly behind us. In places +travelling was good. In places it was distinctly bad. Here and there +were stretches of several miles of brick road, and now and then would +reappear our old friend the "Natural Gravel," that so much conspired to +make life on two wheels not worth living. At times even that provided +quite a respectable surface. My firm intentions not to be baulked in my +aim to reach Cincinnati next day, however, kept up the pace even if to +our mutual discomfort, and made the going good.</p> + +<p>At Uniontown, about seventy-five miles past Cumberland, various trivial +little knocks and rattles in the engine disturbed my peace of mind. +The speedometer registered only about 800 miles, and I had hardly +expected to commence tightening things internally at that stage. A +little farther on and one cylinder, after a few peremptory misfires, +gave up the ghost altogether, and I proceeded a few miles on three +only. I changed the sparking plug, hoping for better results, but in +vain. After a few more miles I tried another plug and then another, +but always with the same result. After travelling a few dozen miles in +this unsatisfactory manner, I put Lizzie once again on her stand. This +time I examined closely and found the valves, tappets and clearances +all in good condition. There was apparently nothing wrong with the +ignition either, or the carburettor, and there seemed no reason at all +why such a trouble should arise—particularly, I reflected, as I was +anxious to lose no valuable time. On trying still another plug out of +one of the other cylinders and finding that No. 1 was still obstinate, +I got on again, determined to do the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> journey on three cylinders only. +I found I could touch well over forty-five even at that, so after all +there wasn't much to complain about. Every motorist, however, who has +a regard for his engine and can sense the "moral fitness" of even +running and good rhythm will understand that travelling under such +circumstances is decidedly unpleasant and monotonous.</p> + +<p>At Waynesburg I passed Pittsburg some miles to the right, the +"Birmingham" of America, the centre of a huge coal and iron industry +and, next to Philadelphia, the largest town in Pennsylvania. A few +miles farther on, and I crossed the borderline and entered West +Virginia once again. It was now quite dark and I had to pick out the +road as best I could by my headlight. I was getting tired and was +very hungry, not having had anything to eat for ten hours. After half +an hour the headlight flickered and went out, leaving me with only +a "dimmer," as the Americans call the small auxiliary light, with +which to keep on the road and find the way. The engine, which before +sounded pretty loose, now emitted noises signifying extreme agony of +mind. Then a thick ground mist settled over everything, making it +next to impossible to keep on the road at all, much less to keep on +the right one. Occasionally I dismounted in an endeavour to bring the +headlight back to life. Frequently I narrowly avoided being run down +by large cars with powerful searchlights that couldn't see me at all. +It generally meant pulling into the side of the road, getting off and +waving my arms frantically to signify my presence. Between time I got +more hungry and more tired, and kept asking myself the same question, +"Why, oh why did I leave England?" The answer always came: "Search me!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> + +<p>Shortly before midnight I reached the small town of "Moundsville," on +the Ohio River and on the borders of West Virginia and Ohio. Every +shop in the place was closed except that of a corpulent Italian +dealer in bananas, oranges and ice-cream sodas. I entered his door +with thanksgiving. The worthy proprietor scrutinized me open-mouthed. +Finally he gave it up. I could see he had been wondering to himself, +"What is this thing, and whence came it?" I sat on the counter in his +presence and consumed three ice-cream sodas, four bananas and two +oranges. After witnessing their consumption, he let drop his bottom jaw +and ventured, "Whare yer from?"</p> + +<p>"Doanchew worry your old think-box about where I'm from, brother, but +just tell me where I'm goin'. I wonna get to Cincinnati. Now for the +love of Mike don't tell me I'm not on the right road."</p> + +<p>His jaw dropped through a further angle of ten degrees. Finally he +volunteered the information that I was miles and miles from the road +to Cincinnati, and that he hadn't the "goldarnest notion" how I should +ever get back on it again. In disgust I filled my pockets with bananas +and oranges and presented one more ice-cream soda to the minister for +the interior and quitted his establishment.</p> + +<p>My next duty was to find somewhere to lay my weary head. I decided to +choose a spot where water was convenient, so that I could wash in the +morning. The river was quite inaccessible from the road and the only +places where there chanced to be a stream were infested with frogs +and mosquitoes. After a half-hour of weary searching and climbing of +long winding hills in the thick damp fog, I eventually gave it up in +disgust. I found an open space at the roadside sheltered by a few +trees, and here laid down my rainproof coat with the thick<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> blanket +doubled on top of it, and with my suit-case as a pillow, soon convinced +myself that I was comfortably settled down for sleep. In a few minutes +I was well in the land of dreams. I dreamed that I was journeying to +the North Pole on a twelve-cylinder Ford which went so fast that it +melted the ice as it passed and ultimately crashed into the Pole at +such a terrific velocity that the equilibrium of the earth was entirely +upset, as also my own. At this point a lusty mosquito inflicted a +tremendous bite on the very tip of my nose, and I woke up with a start. +Then I dreamed that I had undertaken a banana-eating tournament with +an army of Italians, and was just finishing off the ninety-ninth when +another bite in the middle of my left eyelid brought me again to normal +consciousness, and thus the night passed.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a><br /><br /> + +THE DIXIE HIGHWAY</h2> + + +<p>In the morning everything was wet with dew. The mist was disappearing +quickly, and I arose refreshed in body and mind. Specialists would have +prognosticated acute rheumatism. Doctors would have foretold death +within forty-eight hours. But I was never so free from rheumatism as +I am now; moreover, I live to tell the tale, with the probability +of continued existence for several years to come. Lizzie looked +disconsolate and rusty in every nut and bolt, but with a few kicks she +rattled into life once more. The driver of a passing Ford informed me +that I was twenty miles from the right road, which meant returning into +Moundsville and crossing over the broad, muddy Ohio River, spanned +by a lofty suspension bridge made almost entirely of wood. The Ohio +River, once seen, is never to be forgotten. It is verily a flowing mass +of dirty, yellow-brown mud. The natives of Ohio refer to it as the +"Golden" River, I believe, but when I first made its acquaintance, I +was in no mood to appreciate such poetic nomenclature. Instead I was +bent on reaching Wheeling and breakfast.</p> + +<p>Wheeling was reached in a couple of hours' riding along the banks of +the river. It need hardly be said that I did justice to a substantial +breakfast, which put an entirely new aspect on affairs in general. I +struck<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> the main "pike" through to Cincinnati, and continued hopefully +on three cylinders with the best of intentions of reaching it that +evening, although it meant a ride of over 300 miles.</p> + +<p>I did 150 in fairly good time and reckoned on having my +lunch-tea-dinner-supper meal at Columbus, the State capital, about +five in the afternoon. But about twenty miles from that city a most +distressing sound arose from the engine. I had previously slackened +down to a steady thirty miles an hour so as to give Lizzie the best +chance of holding out over the journey. But now a series of violent +thumps and bangs disturbed once and for all my hopeful frame of mind. +Undoubtedly there was a big breakage somewhere and it was evidently +quite impossible to continue another mile. With a final thud the engine +stopped and the machine came to a standstill near a little bridge where +a tiny streamlet trickled under the roadway. Near the bridge was, as +might be expected, the inevitable hoarding: "<span class="smcap">Sell it and buy a +Ford.</span>" Strange that Fate should at times be so ironical!</p> + +<p>I made myself comfortable on a grassy slope and proceeded to take the +engine down. This I soon discovered was no mean task. It took nearly +three hours to remove the cylinders. Woe be unto the man hereafter who +puts nuts where they cannot be loosened or places cylinders where they +cannot be removed save by an Indian sword-swallower! The result of my +investigations was that I found the front piston in fragments, mainly +in the bottom of the crank-case. The gudgeon pin was broken in half and +the connecting rod was waggling about merrily in the cylinder. All the +bearings were loose, and although there was plenty of oil in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> sump, +one was devoid of metal altogether. This was discovered at the bottom +in the form of powder. An encouraging outlook indeed!</p> + +<p>Although my motto where a refractory motor is concerned—"to get it +home somehow"—could have been ignored, I was not even in walking +distance of anywhere. There was no town or village for miles around, +and only a solitary farmhouse here and there. Further, an empty stomach +does not improve one's outlook on life under such circumstances, and +mine was very empty. I took stock of the whole situation. What should +it be? Walk to Columbus and take the train, or stick by Lizzie and get +along somehow? I counted out my money. It amounted to three dollars and +thirty-five cents, not even enough for the railway fare. "No, I've set +out to cross these infernal States on a motor-cycle, and I'll do it," I +resolved, and sat down again to patch Lizzie's engine together.</p> + +<p>The rumble of cart wheels on the brick road attracted my attention. The +cart was drawn by a weary horse in the charge of a more weary driver.</p> + +<p>"Hi, brother, got anything edible on board?" I shouted.</p> + +<p>"I gotta lot o' old boots here," he replied, evidently in ignorance of +the meaning of the word "edible."</p> + +<p>"No, thanks, I gotta good pair of my own to start on before I come to +that. Aincher got any oranges?"</p> + +<p>"Yep, I got one box left, four fer a quarter."</p> + +<p>Bang went seventy-five cents for a dozen, leaving me with two dollars +sixty. Now, thought I, I have enough provisions to last a couple of +days. Let Old Harry do his worst.</p> + +<p>The vendor of boots, furniture, and oranges went on his weary way.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> + +<p>From a bough of a willow tree I shaped a neat gudgeon pin that fitted +dead into the loose end of the connecting rod to guide it up and down +in the cylinder. I fished out all the big lumps of the broken piston +that remained in the crank-case and tightened up the bearings as well +as I could. By the time it was dark I had everything replaced ready to +start on the road once more.</p> + +<p>Before daybreak, I was up and on the road; my plan was to keep on all +day at a steady twenty miles an hour and reach Cincinnati about five +in the afternoon. The machine ran well considering its wooden gudgeon +pin, although it was not easy to avoid being reminded continually of +Lizzie's indisposition, and as time went on the rattles became worse, +the clanks became gradually louder, and I began to wonder where my next +stop would be.</p> + +<p>I passed through Columbus about breakfast-time, but did not stop for +breakfast. There was no money for breakfasts. Now, although I did not +stop at Columbus, I cannot with but a few words dismiss it entirely +from consideration. Although not by any means the largest town in Ohio, +it is the State capital. That feature, as I have pointed out before, +is not at all unique in the States. In fact, I do not think I could +name a single State capital that is the largest town of the State, +without referring to the authority of one Baedeker. Not only are there +over 125,000 people in Columbus, but it appeared to me to be a very +fine city. The streets are wider and are better paved than those of +most American cities, and in places are illuminated by large electric +arches. Although there are seven towns throughout America boasting this +title (each one in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> different State), I think Columbus, Ohio, must be +the <em class="italic">élite</em> of all the Columbuses.</p> + +<p>Outside Columbus I stopped, had lunch—three oranges—and continued. +There was really no necessity to stop, but I liked to feel that lunch +was just as important an occasion as when it wasn't oranges.</p> + +<p>The engine was by now getting rather noisy. People who passed in +cars, many of whom I had passed two days before, slowed down as they +approached and looked at me wonderingly, as if to ask if I knew +anything about it. They probably came to the conclusion that I was a +deaf-mute.</p> + +<p>Then we got to Springfield, and a noticeable feature at the side of +the road, on a special track of its own, was an electric train service +connecting up all the large towns in the district, even though the +distances amounted to thirty and forty miles, in some cases even +fifty, as is the case between Columbus and Springfield. Perhaps I am +complimenting them by referring to them as trains, as they are more +in the nature of single or double-coach trams, but I was surprised +not only by the speed at which they travelled, but also by the number +of passengers who availed themselves of the service. In a way, the +presence of that track was comforting, particularly when some new noise +or rattle emanated from my thrice-weary steed. On the other hand it is +distinctly humiliating to be astride a 10 h.p. motor-cycle de luxe, +jogging along side-saddle (to ease the growing soreness!) at fifteen or +twenty miles per hour on three crotchety cylinders, when a tram-load +of disinterested Americans flies past with a shriek at forty or fifty. +Generally the driver realized the position and sounded a piercing +whistle with a supercilious air, as if to say: "Make way for the fast +traffic, please!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + +<p>At Springfield the speedometer flicked off the 1,000th mile, and +I branched away from the "Pike's Peak" Ocean-to-Ocean Highway +(for such it appeared to be), and turned south-westward towards +Dayton, a flourishing manufacturing and business centre. "Detours" +and sub-detours were the order of the day and were conspicuous by +their presence, as also by the general looseness and rottenness of +their surface. In theory I was travelling upon the "Dixie Highway," +reputed (by advertisements thereon appearing) to be "the finest and +most luxurious highway in the States." As far as my experience was +concerned, I found it paved with good intentions and bad cobblestones. +Sometimes, when the paving blocks had been pulled up preparatory to new +ones being laid down, the surface was tolerably good, but then would +appear a "detour" heralded by an insolently-improvised notice-board +which led the unfortunate traveller miles and miles from his appointed +path and over the most disgusting road-surface imaginable.</p> + +<p>I was pleased with Dayton. As I left it behind me, I wished it +prosperity. It seemed to have the right kind of air about it. A +friendly policeman held up a bunch of traffic for two minutes for me +while he put me "wise" to the road to take. He noticed my New York +number-plate and finished his chat with "Well, good day, brother, and +the best of luck to you." I wouldn't even have killed a mosquito in +Dayton!</p> + +<p>It was now well after midday. Cincinnati was still about sixty miles +away. Would it be safe to have a meal in the next town? I had filled up +with "gas" and oil in Dayton and had about fifty cents (2<em class="italic">s.</em>) left. +With a three days' diet of oranges, I had cultivated an appetite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> of +great latent possibilities. I determined to be rash. Next stop, I told +myself, I would look around for a "bakeshop."</p> + +<p>An hour later I arrived at a little town called "Lebanon." It was +very small, very picturesque, and very unpretentious. But it boasted +an excellent "bakeshop." I leant Lizzie against the kerb outside and +pressed my nose against the window-pane. The sight of all those nice +cakes was almost as good as a feed—but not quite! I espied one, plain +and large but tasty-looking. I valued it at twenty-five cents. "Well, +it'll last a long time," I thought, and entered meekly to inquire the +price. "Five cents," replied the lady of the counter. "Done! It's mine, +<em class="italic">all of it</em>!"</p> + +<p>Long live Lebanon!</p> + +<p>A few miles out, I halted near a bridge under which ran a little stream +of crystal water. It was a treat to be out of the glare of the baking +sun, so I sat down on the bank underneath the bridge and settled down +in earnest to a sumptuous dinner. The bill of fare was as follows:—</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="menu"> +<tr><td align="left"><em class="italic">Hors d'œuvres</em></td><td align="left">Gâteau de Lebanon (varié).</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><em class="italic">Consommé</em></td><td align="left">Eau Naturelle.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><em class="italic">Entrée</em></td><td align="left">Gâteau de Lebanon.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><em class="italic">Plat du jour</em></td><td align="center">Ditto.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><em class="italic">Légumes</em></td><td align="center">Ditto.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><em class="italic">Dessert</em></td><td align="center">Ditto.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><em class="italic">Wines</em><br /> </td><td align="left">Vin blanc d'Adam<br /> (direct from the distillery).</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<p>And oh, what a meal was there, my countrymen! There was enough and to +spare. The cooking was excellent, the service irreproachable, and there +were no gratuities.</p> + +<p>After a leisurely half-hour I stuffed what little cake<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> I couldn't +contain into the tool-box, took one last, lingering draught from the +cool crystal stream, and again kicked Lizzie into a rattle.</p> + +<p>Once more towards Cincinnati! Two hours only, now, I reminded myself, +and all the trees and birds in hearing. Gradually those two hours +became shorter as mile after weary mile rattled past. Sure enough, in +about the time I had reckoned the pot-holes in the road grew larger and +the ruts deeper, a sure sign of approaching civilization. Then a huge +signboard appeared, "<span class="smcap">Cincinnati, the Queen City of the West</span>. +Make your home in Cincinnati."</p> + +<p>The Cincinnati Speedway was passed on the right, and after a couple of +miles or more I struck tram-lines. The reader can well imagine how glad +and relieved I felt when I spotted trams and tram-lines, those things +which in normal life I rightly detest and abhor. Whereas once upon +a time I considered them to be the motorist's greatest enemy, I now +smiled upon them with friendly gaze.</p> + +<p>By the time I was actually on the outskirts of the town, I was "baked +to a frizzle." And such a thirst! For three days I had been amassing a +good thirst. Ohio mud is not really a good beverage. It might perhaps +"put one over" the "near" beer that I have tasted in various American +towns, but that's not to be wondered at. The man who first called it +"near" beer wasn't much of a judge of distance! Never could I remember +having been so hot, so thirsty, and so fed up, all in one. I pulled up +at the first drug store and literally squandered twenty-five cents in +an orgy of ice-cream sodas. I took the precaution to retain ten cents, +however, "in case anything turned up."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>At about half-past four <span class="smcap">we arrived</span>. A wealth of meaning rests +in those two words. My friend Steve heard the noise as he sat reading +on the verandah of 3,450 Clifton Avenue. "That can't be Shep. That's +somebody wheeling a lawn-mower," he said to himself without looking-up, +and went on with his book. But when the lawn-mower had overrun itself +and turned round and came back and continued indefinitely to lawn-mow +outside the same 3,450, he looked up and saw that it was indeed a +motor-cycle or, at any rate, the unmistakable remnants of one. When he +saw the rider, he thought: "No, that can't be Shep after all; that's +the dustman."</p> + +<p>But fact will always triumph over fiction. In the same way soap, +thank Heaven, will always triumph over dirt. But what a relief to be +once again in a comfortable house, that could almost be considered +"home," and once more to know the joys of a good hot bath and feel the +luxurious embrace of clean clothes again!</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><br /><br /> + +CINCINNATI AND ONWARDS</h2> + + +<p>I spent in all twelve days in Cincinnati. They were twelve happy days; +days of leisure, days of interesting experiences, followed by days of +longing to be on the road again.</p> + +<p>The first of July, 1919, will live in the mind of every free-born +American citizen as the day when Prohibition became law throughout the +entire States. Not by design, but by coincidence, was it also the date +of my departure from my friends in Cincinnati to explore the "perils" +of the West. My sojourn there was brought to a sudden close by the +astounding discovery that Lizzie's overhaul was completed. I had a few +warm things to observe when I was presented with the repair bill. It +amounted to a mere seventy-five dollars, half of which represented the +alleged value of the somewhat indifferent labours of a more indifferent +mechanic and a small boy. On the various occasions when I had visited +the shop, the mechanic was generally conspicuous by his absence, and +were it not for the occasional activities of the small boy, who seemed +to delight in "salivating" at frequent intervals on every available +inch of the floor surrounding Lizzie's remains, I feel inclined to +think that I should even now be enjoying myself in Cincinnati. The +other half of the bill represented sundry replacements which, to my way +of thinking, should have been made free under<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> the firm's guarantee, +which had still three-fourths of its term to expire. After much +argument, the proprietor and myself agreed to differ on this point.</p> + +<p>The early afternoon witnessed my departure. The kindly attentions of +mine hostess had provided me with good things for the journey. Meat +sandwiches in boxes; fresh butter in tins; fruit and nuts galore. +Little packages were squeezed in here and big ones strapped on there. +Odd corners and crevices revealed an unsuspected orange or banana and +hard-boiled eggs or biscuits in twos and threes lurked amongst the +shirts and socks.</p> + +<p>With a light heart I spun down the beautiful, well-paved avenues +that set at defiance the rigid, straight-edge avenues of more modern +American cities. I hummed over the cobble-stones of the lesser streets +and swung past trams and over bridges and was soon speeding along the +road to Indianapolis, thinking like a true pessimist that Lizzie didn't +feel as well as I had hoped, and that I should be hung up again at a +not far-distant date.</p> + +<p>In America, in the east, it is the easiest thing in the world to take +the wrong road. Moreover it is generally the most difficult thing to +find out whether one is on the right road or not. I have no objection +to make when roads in towns and villages will run either north and +south or east and west, because for town life this arrangement spells +efficiency. In the country, however, the <em class="italic">raison d'être</em> of these +chess-board roads is somewhat obscure. When combined with old-time +roads that originally followed goat-paths or sheep-tracks, its effect +is confusing. But when taken to the extreme, and one finds the main +highways connecting large cities abound with sharp right-angle turns at +every few miles, sometimes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> going north to make up a little latitude, +then continuing west, then returning south to lose the latitude gained, +and afterwards continuing west again, the result is ridiculous and +sometimes exasperating; very often two, three, four, or more roads run +parallel and only a few yards distant, all leading to the same place. +Sometimes they lead to different places. Sometimes they lead nowhere at +all. Sign-posts are not popular anywhere in the United States. Instead +the roads are identified by painting every third or fourth or tenth +or <em class="italic">n</em>th telegraph pole with different colours. When properly carried +out, this principle is a very commendable one, and without it travel +would be absolutely impossible. But when followed only imperfectly, or +when the colours become faded and obliterated, so that one trail can be +easily mistaken for another, the traveller has many troubles and trials +ahead.</p> + +<p>I had ample moral consolation, therefore, for completely losing my way +only ten miles out of Cincinnati, and wasted a full hour in trying to +get on the right "pike" without going back.</p> + +<p>Incidentally the system of decorating telegraph poles in accordance +with the trail they follow has its humorous side. There are, all told, +over a hundred different trails or "National Highways" in different +parts of the States, and each one is supposed to have its distinctive +sign. Thus the "Pike's Peak Ocean-to-Ocean Highway" is identified by a +circle of scarlet above a circle of white, and the "Lincoln Highway" +by circles of red, white, and blue. Sometimes, as in the cases of the +"Blackhawk Trail" and "Mackinaw Indian Trail," the sign is of a more +or less complex nature, including the profile of an Indian's head, for +instance. The humour of the situation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> will be apparent when a single +stretch of road coincides with say four or five separate trails. Each +telegraph pole is truly a thing of beauty and a joy for ever, with its +inscriptions, circles, squares, profiles, bales of cotton, etc., etc., +painted on in various colours from top to bottom!</p> + +<p>In large towns and cities where several trails meet, it requires the +quintessence of alertness and deduction to find one's way by the +telegraph poles, which, save for a few exceptions, represent the only +means of identification. Strange, in a country using twenty times the +number of cars per head found in any other country in the world, that +facilities for using them should be so meagre as at times to be almost +prehistoric!</p> + +<p>It is strange also that some of the roads that were constructed even in +modern times were the achievement of personal enterprise and are even +now "boosted" and advertised by their "promotors." An outstanding case +is that of the "Pike's Peak Highway" just mentioned, which is one of +the three trails that cross the Continent from east to west. This road +boasts a President, three Vice-Presidents, and a Secretary-Treasurer! +Between them these worthy gentlemen are responsible for the proper +maintenance of the road (experience compels a sarcastic smile), and +for the furnishing of information to travellers thereon, etc. Where +the money comes from I wot not, unless it be from the various motoring +clubs in the country. In a booklet, published apparently by them, it is +described as "The Appian Way of America." Permit me to quote passages +from this remarkable publication:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"Increased attention is this year being focussed on the 'See America' +idea, and motorists planning a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> trans-continental trip will naturally +select the route of greatest scenic and historic interest. That is +why the discriminating tourist will travel over the Pike's Peak +Ocean-to-Ocean Highway, the improved central route from the Atlantic +to the Pacific coast. From New York it follows the National Old Trails +Road to Indianapolis; from that city to Salt Lake City, it has its +own <span class="smcap">Distinctive Organisation</span>; and west of Salt Lake City it +follows the line of the Lincoln Highway. History places the stamp of +approval on this as the <span class="smcap">Logical</span> trans-continental Highway. +Etc., etc. (pages of it).... The trip has no dreariness and no +monotony.... (More pages)."</p> +</div> + +<p>Never was such a grossly misleading impression of ease, comfort, and +luxury perpetrated upon an unsuspecting Englishman! It was well said +that the pen is mightier than the sword. If ever again I find myself +so utterly demented as to motor-cycle across the United States before +proper roads have been constructed, may Heaven preserve me from "The +Appian Way of America"!</p> + +<p>The reader may think that I am dwelling unduly on the subject of roads, +but I do so at this juncture because it was a subject which now became +of increasing magnitude. Practically the last sign of paved road of +any kind between this point and the Pacific Coast (some 2,500 miles +away) would be encountered at Indianapolis, and from there onwards +were universally the execrable "dirt" roads that so seriously threaten +not only the comfort but the safety of motor-cycling. I was not even +disappointed at the outlook, because I came to America without even +expecting any form of trail or route across its entirety to be at my +disposal. But I feel the natural resentment of the Englishman when I am +led to believe that there is a luxurious "highway" ahead, only to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> find +an aggravated series of dust-heaps, mud-pools, and cow-paths!</p> + +<p>The road, however, to Indianapolis was not of the "Appian Way" variety. +It was comparatively good in places, and ran for many miles along the +valley of the Miami River, amidst beautiful scenery of ever-changing +variety. After a few miles, the Ohio-Indiana boundary was crossed, and +here, as many times afterwards, I was struck by the apparently sudden +change of landscape, the same as the home tourist can almost always +discern by the "feel" of the country whether he is in England or Wales, +no matter if he be without his map for reference. I do not mean that +either Ohio or Indiana is particularly mountainous. On the other hand, +the latter is on the whole somewhat flat, as if in preparation for the +weary stretches of monotonous prairie that are to be encountered the +more one travels westward until the Rockies are reached.</p> + +<p>I made little headway that afternoon, and at 10.30 in the evening I +was still some distance from Indianapolis, the capital of the State. +I therefore looked around as best I could in the pitch-darkness, with +only my lights as a guide, for a likely spot for my night's abode. +Water is a <em class="italic">sine qua non</em> for the camping vagrant, and when I came +to a large steel bridge I decided that that was the place for me. It +evidently spanned a pretty big river, but it was so far below, or +seemed so far, I could not see the water. A lengthy reconnoitre from +the road led me to the edge of a field of corn whence I could hear the +river but could not see it for dense masses of vegetation.</p> + +<p>I propped Lizzie up on her stand and found to my dismay that when +the engine stopped the lights went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> out. Not feeling in the mood +for investigating the cause of the trouble, I was satisfied to keep +the engine running slowly as long as illumination was necessary in +unstrapping my baggage and "making" my bed. Then I set out to find the +river and enjoy the luxury of a wash.</p> + +<p>Easier said than done! I could find openings in the thick undergrowth +where I deemed the river should be, but could find no way of making +closer acquaintance with its waters. As I continued my search, the bank +suddenly gave way beneath me, and I was plunged up to the waist in the +river I had been so diligently seeking!</p> + +<p>My exit was more difficult to negotiate than my entrance. The bushes +and weeds on the banks were not strong enough to enable me to pull +myself out, but came away, roots and all, and left me sinking in the +muddy river-bed. I eventually extricated myself, however, and decided +to retire unwashed! Pulling off my soaking top-boots was a herculean +task, and this done, I hung my wet breeches on a tree to dry in the +warm summer night.</p> + +<p>I passed a splendid night and awoke with the dawn, only to find my +clothes wetter than they were the night before, thanks to a heavy dew. +Such conditions, I reflected, were of mere trifling importance in the +life of a bona fide tramp, and I was soon humming along once more +through the fresh, crisp morning air.</p> + +<p>We arrived in Indianapolis at breakfast time and with a hearty +appetite. I remember Indianapolis chiefly as a city with long wide +streets full of cobble-stones, tram-lines, and traffic policemen. My +first duty was to take Lizzie to see the vet. I didn't like the sound +of her at all, and she seemed but a rickety shadow of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> former self. +I was taking no chances now. As if by instinct we went "right there." +The Henderson agent took Lizzie under his protecting wing, and while I +settled down to consume a hefty breakfast of cantaloupe, puffed rice, +and coffee, he took her for a spin along the few miles of concrete road +that I had left behind with such regret.</p> + +<p>"Waal, I guess there ain't very much wrong with her, boy," was the +verdict, although he did not seem over-exuberant about it.</p> + +<p>"How far you goin'?" he added.</p> + +<p>"Just to the end of the road," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Hm, and a tidy ride too, I'll say so. I've done it, but not on one o' +them."</p> + +<p>Then, after meditation, he added, "But I think she'll take you there. +Give my love to 'Frisco, won't you, boy?"</p> + +<p>I promised, paid him a dollar, and left to track down the offices of +the local branch of the "3 A." Club, or Automobile Association of +America, whom, I was informed, I must see before going any further, to +inquire about the roads ahead. Dirt roads, it will be understood, vary +with the weather. Hardly ever does the English motorist hear of a road +being washed away with the rain, but the idea of its being borne away +on the wings of the wind would indeed appear strange to him!</p> + +<p>I found the "3 A." Club located at one of the large hotels, all alive +with "bell-boys" and commissionaires and elevators. I was greeted by +the hotel staff with haughty aloofness. "Put that gink outside," I +could imagine the desk clerk saying to the hall-porter. But I was being +whisked up the elevator to the umpteenth floor before he had the chance.</p> + +<p>At the "3 A." Club office I was greeted most cordially.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> The gentleman +at the desk was a human encyclopædia of roads and places. Beneath +the dirt and dust he believed he perceived some person of high rank, +a brigadier or something, and my brown tunic and field-boots must +have borne out this assumption. However, that may be, he certainly +did his best to give me every assistance. But when I told him I was +motor-cycling to the Pacific and wanted to know which was the best road +to take, his jaw dropped suddenly. There were two alternative routes to +Kansas City, the "Pike's Peak" through Springfield and the "National +Old Trails Highway" through St. Louis. Which should I take?</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, the National Old Trail is impossible just now. The rains +have been very heavy and there are several places where you couldn't +possibly get through. And as for the other—well, I shall have to +think."</p> + +<p>Which he did. He hummed and ha'd and stroked his chin and hummed and +ha'd again, as if struggling with some momentous problem. He spread out +maps in rows before him and followed the route with his finger. Then +silence.</p> + +<p>After a minute or two of this, in which the merits of "washouts" and +hold-ups and detours by the score were being weighed together in his +troubled brain, he spoke:</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I think you can get through"—and, more deliberately—"I +<em class="italic">think</em> you can get through. Yes, it's a good road," he added.</p> + +<p>I learnt then for the first time one outstanding principle in the +road-study of America. I confirmed it on innumerable occasions later. +There are two classes of roads and two only. They are good roads and +bad roads. Any road, <span class="smcap">anywhere</span>, in the whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> of the United +States of America (and, I presume, her Colonies as well) is a "good" +road if you can "get through." The remainder are bad.</p> + +<p>I thanked my benefactor and accepted sheaves of maps and guide-books +for which he would take no payment. He was indeed the quintessence of +obligation. I on my part was the quintessence of gratitude.</p> + +<p>"Now for the fun," I chuckled as I kicked Lizzie to a roar and set out +for the highway with red- and white-circled telegraph poles.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a><br /><br /> + +INDIANA AND ILLINOIS</h2> + + +<p>The first bit of fun was not far ahead. In places the road was passable +if one ignored the six-inch layer of loose sand and soil that covered +it. The country was flat and uninteresting. Diversion was occasionally +encountered in the form of side-slips and here and there an unexpected +spill. The quicker I went the easier I got through, as the soil did +not cling to the wheels so much and hinder steering. At thirty it was +almost impossible to maintain balance. At thirty-five it was tolerable, +and at forty it was comparatively simple.</p> + +<p>Now and then I would pass a kind of harrow the width of over half the +road and drawn along by a team of horses. The function of this was to +break up the big lumps of solid mud formed by the recent rains. After +this would follow a similar team of horses dragging a "grader"—a kind +of snow-plough arrangement which scraped the surface flat and shovelled +the surplus sand and mud-lumps into the side. In these districts the +farmers are held by law individually responsible for the condition of +the roads their farms adjoin, and the process of grading is expected +to be carried out within three or four days after the rain. When the +farmers are busy with their crops this doesn't get done, and when they +aren't, it sometimes does, according, I think, to whether the farmer +is a sheriff or a justice of the peace and has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> to set an example to +others. Fortunately all farmers are motorists as well; they have to be +able to get about, so when they wish to travel, they grade the roads +for their own use if for no more altruistic object.</p> + +<p>Once I was passing one of these road-ploughs drawn by a team of three +horses abreast, which took up most of the road and showed not the +slightest intention of drawing in to the side. In endeavouring to pass +it, I struck at too small an angle the huge ridge of solid mud-lumps +that it had formed. I was going fast, of course. The handlebar was +wrenched out of my hands and I was thrown with great force over it and +on to the bank at the side. Lizzie herself lay roaring on her side in +the dirt. The horses took fright and galloped off. The only damage done +showed itself in some nasty cuts and scratches, some small areas of +skin missing from different places, and a few bent levers and controls. +From past experience I had learnt that in all such cases the clips and +brackets and sharp corners of Lizzie's profile <span class="smcap">always</span> seemed +to be in the path of my flight over her handlebars.</p> + +<p>A handkerchief bound tightly round the cuts, a few adjustments made, +and on we go with smiling faces, only to overtake the wretched thing +again!</p> + +<p>After twenty or thirty miles of this, we came to mud in earnest—mud +measured not by the inch in depth, but by the yard. Never was it soft +and squishy and respectable, but always baked rock-hard into ugly +contorted shapes that simply defied progress on two wheels alone. +The diabolical effect had been heightened by the passing of numerous +cars through the roads when the surface was still plastic, and great +ruts and cracks and ridges were thrown up at every point between +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> road-boundaries, each one representing an eternal struggle to +"get through." When the fierce sun came out and poured down for days +unceasing upon such ugliness as this, the hideous surface was as if +petrified by its glare, and the efforts of a "grader" would be futile +to alter in the slightest degree its abominable condition.</p> + +<p>Riding was out of the question. It was haulage work that had to be +done, and many times when I got into a huge solidified "crevasse," +I had to leave the machine standing in it on the tubes of its +cradle-frame and proceed ahead to chip the edges down until the wheels +would reach to the bottom again.</p> + +<p>Anyone who has stood on the "Glacier des Bossons," looked upwards +towards the summit of Mont Blanc, and seen the contorted, fantastic +shapes that the ice assumes as it swells over the ridges in its path, +can perhaps imagine the same effect on a smaller scale applied to the +dirt roads of Indiana.</p> + +<p>Fortunately there were stretches of road, generally when there was a +slight gradient, where the surface was well-drained, hard, and flat, +and going was good. But invariably at the foot of every slope, or at +the dip between two hills, there was a stretch of excruciating "agony" +that would reduce the most defiant motor-cyclist to submission.</p> + +<p>Thus it was for eighty or ninety miles. The truth began to dawn on +me that a fellow has to be a "tough guy" to motor in these parts. +Sometimes I would stop and rest awhile to let an occasional car get by. +It was funny to see how they all went! The big heavy touring car would +roll along as if to devour all that came its way. It would meet a nasty +patch and with broken dignity would heave and sigh from side to side +as it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> slowly crawled on bottom gear over the ridges and furrows; and +then it would rear proudly into the air as it surmounted some huge lump +of solid mud and suddenly flop down with a dull thud on the bottom of +the springs as it plunged into the hollow beyond. One could hear every +joint groan under the strain and could sometimes see the bottom of the +engine scrape ridges in the chunks of earth and watch the little bits +knocked off an unfriendly obstruction as the back axle dragged its +weary way along.</p> + +<p>And then perchance would come some cheeky Ford, the essence of +impudence as opposed to the dignity of its wealthier brethren. With a +hop, skip, and a jump, it would scramble over the furrows, swinging +gaily from side to side, wagging its tail in the air and rattling in +every sinew as only a Ford knows how! But the "Flivvers" got through +easier than any.</p> + +<p>The worst patch I struck was near the small town of Hume. I have never +seen in the space of 200 yards a more apt imitation of a volcanic +lava-bed. The thick mud of two days before had been churned up into the +most fantastic shapes that ever a main highway has taken. Every square +inch of the ninety-foot-wide road bore signs of the passage of some +vehicle or other. Some of the ruts were so deep that the machine rested +on the engine and the frame and not on the wheels at all. Pushing it +anywhere but in one of the best ruts was impossible. When the rut got +too deep, I had to lift up the back of the machine bodily and wheel it +foot by foot, while the rut took the front wheel whither it listed. +Here and there were signs where car-drivers, in similar predicaments, +but a day or two before, when the mud was not yet baked quite hard, +had shovelled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> away large quantities of the road to allow the engine +and chassis to clear. Half-way through was a large hole, deep and +broad enough to allow a small car to be hidden therein from view. In +this hole the mud was still soft and plastic. A good Samaritan of the +road had procured a piece of old corrugated iron from somewhere and +propped it against two poles to warn any others who might follow of its +presence.</p> + +<p>Lifting four-cwt. Lizzie across this whole stretch took three-quarters +of an hour all told, and at the end I was faint with exhaustion. The +sun was never hotter and I never perspired more, not even in the middle +of the Mohave Desert in California, where the thermometer rises up to +140 degrees or more! I begged a glass of milk from a farmhouse a mile +farther on, and thanked God that He made cows and that I was still +alive to appreciate them!</p> + +<p>And thus we toiled and thus we spun for many miles until late in the +afternoon, when I came to parts where the sun had not yet had time to +do its work. Every inch of the road was thick, black, slimy mud; mud +that stinks with a smell peculiar to itself alone; mud that clings to +the tyres and wedges in the forks and fouls the chains and blocks the +wheels; mud indeed that sticketh closer than a brother. I stopped at +a ramshackle little village of a few dozen shops and houses, all made +of wood, and boasting the name of "Murdock," to partake of afternoon +tea. Outside an old rickety "store" (this term includes any conceivable +kind of retail shop in America), I saw a notice: "<span class="smcap">Henry T. Hodges, +Justice of the Peace; Dry Goods Store; General Merchandise; Post +Office; Real Estate; Refreshments</span>."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="awkward_stretch_road"></a> +<img src="images/i074a.jpg" width="600" height="395" alt="An awkward stretch of road in Indiana." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">An awkward stretch of road in Indiana.</span></div> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="midnight_couch"></a> +<img src="images/i074b.jpg" width="600" height="402" alt="Motorcycle under a tree." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Midnight Couch.</span></div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>Henry T. Hodges beamed on me benignly from behind a pile of preserved +fruit tins as I entered his gloomy establishment.</p> + +<p>"See here, dad, I want a good meal," I said; "money's no object. Get +me?"</p> + +<p>"Sure; an' have ye come far, brother?"</p> + +<p>"I should reckon about a thousand miles to-day. Dandy roads you've got +in these parts, dad."</p> + +<p>"Aye, but you'd 'a seen 'em when we 'ad the rains, brother; they wuz so +mighty slick the hottymobiles sunk right down in 'em and 'ad to be dug +out wi' a shovel and dragged along wi' a team of four 'osses."</p> + +<p>"Why, I shouldn't have thought there were four horses in Murdock," I +replied.</p> + +<p>"Aye, an' I know there is, brother, 'cause they're my 'osses."</p> + +<p>"Um! Guess you make a pretty good living out of them, don't you, dad?"</p> + +<p>"You've said it, brother. Ten dollars a time is my charge, and if a +chap don't pay I jest leave 'im there till 'e does!"</p> + +<p>"Well, what about this meal, dad? I'm mighty hungry—and, say, who's +the road commissioner about here?"</p> + +<p>He essayed no answer, but disappeared hurriedly to boil the tea. I had +no doubt now who the road commissioner was!</p> + +<p>After leaving the "Store" of Henry T. Hodges, J.P., I did another +twenty miles or so until dark, and sought out a comfortable secluded +spot near the road, but far enough from it to avoid the smell of +it, and settled down for the night. Mosquitoes were the only source +of worry now. Otherwise this roadside sleeping was getting quite a +commonplace event.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> + +<p>Up at dawn in the morning! On the road once again; labouring, pushing, +hauling, heaving, lifting, cleaning off the mud, speeding a mile or two +and then more labouring and more pushing.</p> + +<p>At breakfast-time I reached Decatur, a flourishing town of 20,000 or so +inhabitants, and had breakfast at a "get-fed-quick" eat-house where you +sit on a stool in front of the counter and the man at the range behind +fries you a mutton steak, bakes the "waffles," or poaches the eggs as +per your desire.</p> + +<p>Then on again towards Springfield, the capital of Illinois State. The +mud changes to sand and the sand to dust. More spills, more cuts, more +bruises. The country as flat and uninteresting as they make it. More +right-angle bends, more losing of the way and more frizzling in the +sun. Two villages are passed in forty miles. One has a population of +417 and the other 59.</p> + +<p>At 11 a.m. we draw into Springfield, hot, tired, dusty, and sore. +Springfield is a mass of roads, trams, telegraph poles, and people. I +leave Lizzie leaning against the kerb and go for an ice-cream soda; +when I return, Lizzie is no longer visible. Instead there is a large +crowd. They are all examining something. Those on the outside elbow +their way to the middle. Those in the middle try to keep them out. The +passers-by wonder what it's all about and stop to see. They in turn try +to make their way to the middle. Many are disappointed and pass on. The +traffic cop, seeing the crowd, strolls over to see what's wrong.</p> + +<p>When he had moved the crowd away, I got astride Lizzie's saddle and +rode away, amid murmurs of astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Come quite a ways, I reckon."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's the kind of bird to go travelling on."</p> + +<p>"Looks as though he's seen some mud somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Look, Bill, he's got 'igh boots on like they have in the movies!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's what 'e is, 'e's a dolgarn movie actor," etc., etc.</p> + +<p>All the trails in America seem to go through Springfield, Ill. +Consequently the telegraph poles and tram poles were a mass of +hieroglyphics. It took a few minutes to get into Springfield. But it +took the best part of two hours to get out of it satisfactorily. Once I +thought I was well away, but found that for ten miles I had followed a +trail that had white stripes on a red background instead of red stripes +on a white background, or something of the kind.</p> + +<p>Jacksonville was the next town, some forty miles away. There are six +smaller towns on the way. I don't remember passing six, but my map +vouches for this number. Their respective populations, taken from the +said map, are as follows:—Riddle Hill, 25; Berlin, 251; New Berlin, +690; Alexander, 200; Orleans, 38; and Arnold, 15. So America is not +full up yet. But fancy showing a village of fifteen inhabitants on +the map! If it were in Arizona instead of Illinois they would have +called it Arnold "City." Here are some more names, taken at random from +the map, to show the endless variety that the American cartographer +has drawn upon:—"Daisy," "Whitehall," "Quiver," "Cuba," "Golden," +"Siloam," "Time," "Pearl," "Summum," "Birmingham" (population 76), +"Illinois City" (population 80), "Bible Grove" (population 10), +"Enterprise" (population 7).</p> + +<p>After Jacksonville the road seemed to change its mind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> It refused to +be a road any longer. It turned instead into a sea-beach and dodged +in and out, here and there, to evade the approaching traveller. +Everywhere was to be seen white sand. It lay feet deep on the trail, +making progress almost impossible. It covered all the vegetation at +the roadside, and it filled the air as well. Here for the first time I +encountered the type of road that can disappear with the vagaries of +the wind. It was easy to imagine that in æons of time this self-same +road would help to form some great geological strata deposited in the +Gulf of Mexico or elsewhere. The country became hilly and thickly +wooded, and sometimes the trail would narrow down to just a few feet in +width and then just as quickly open out to fifty or sixty. The trees +grew thicker, the sand grew thinner, the trail dodged around boulders +and trees, shot up little sandy slopes, and then, all of a sudden, +without any warning whatever, stopped at the bank of a great wide +silent river.</p> + +<p>It was the Illinois River, a tributary of the great Mississippi, which +itself was only fifty miles away. About a couple of hundred yards wide, +it was navigated by a ferry-boat of unknown antiquity pulled across the +river by a cable wound round a drum. Every man, woman, and child, and +every vehicle that crosses America by the Pike's Peak Highway, swells +the funds of the man who owns that ferry-boat.</p> + +<p>"Which is the road now?" I asked him when we eventually reached the +other side. I could see no signs of any continuation of the trail. He +had better eyes than I, however.</p> + +<p>"Go straight ahead; you can't miss it."</p> + +<p>There was certainly visible a little pathway that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> scrambled up the +bank and then wound in and out among the trees, and as I could see +nothing else, I followed it. Sure enough it led to "Valley City" +(population 52), and thence onwards, through "New Salem" and "Barry" +towards "Hannibal" on the Mississippi River.</p> + +<p>The Mississippi! Long had I conjured up visions of this mighty river of +over 4,000 miles total length that cuts through the United States from +north to south, and drains nearly 1-1/2 million square miles of land! +I had imagined its vast breadth and followed in my fancy the great, +silent, moving river as it flowed from west to east and north to south +through ever-changing scenery and ever-widening banks. And here I was +within a few miles of it! The thought was almost absurd.</p> + +<p>Just when the sun was about to set the road made one more swerve to the +left. The trees and the surrounding country fell away as if by magic, +and there was nothing beyond, save a massive bridge of steel. Beneath +and from horizon to horizon flowed the majestic river.</p> + +<p>The other end of the bridge was probably some 3,000 feet away in the +town of Hannibal and the State of Missouri. Hannibal bristles with +statues, tablets, posters, placards, and picture-postcards. They all +have the same theme for a subject—"Mark Twain." The Hanniballians, if +such they are called, are just as bad. I believe it is not possible +for a stranger to be in Hannibal for five minutes without being told +that Mark Twain was born there. If the "clerk" at the refreshment +bar doesn't tell you, the man at the post office does. If the young +"fellar" who pumps a couple of gallons of "gas" into your tank forgets +to tell you, the old girl<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> at the fruit-shop doesn't. They must have a +secret code in Hannibal whereby they arrange these things. And I will +guarantee there aren't two out of every dozen picture-postcards on sale +in Hannibal that don't show Mark Twain's birthplace or his cave or his +statue or his ass or his ox or something that he either did or did not +"immortalize."</p> + +<p>Seeking a quiet little spot by the river where I could spend the night +and fulfil one of my long-cherished hopes—to bathe in the River +Mississippi, I turned down a little road that ran along the bank and +reconnoitred the country. To my dismay a railway ran between the road +and the river, almost at the very water's edge. Nothing daunted, and +hoping that it would sooner or later swerve away and leave me in peace +with my river, I continued for miles, long after it was dark, but with +no success. The road itself was on a ledge high above the railway, +and the railway was on a ledge built some six or eight feet above the +river. Eventually I left Lizzie at the roadside, camouflaged her with +leaves and branches, and scrambled down with my bags over the ledge on +to the bank below. I found a comfortable little spot about ten feet +from the rails and laid my bed. And oh, what a glorious bathe I had in +the river!</p> + +<p>It was the eve of July 4th, the American "Day of Independence." Sounds +of revellers from far away were wafted over the calm, silent waters. +Now and then would be heard the faint swish of a canoe as it glided +past in the darkness of the night, and soft music crept up the river +from time to time, now clear, now faint, as if from its dark and mystic +depths.</p> + +<p>I tucked myself under the blanket feeling like a good Christian that +night, with never a worry in the world—a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> world that was good and kind +and comfortable always.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless I should have liked to know when a train would be coming +past to disturb my slumbers.</p> + +<p>Just as I was dozing over, I heard footsteps along the rails. They came +closer and closer, but I could see nothing. The night was pitch-dark. +As the footsteps came opposite to me, I made out the form of a man +against the starlit sky. He did not see me.</p> + +<p>"Say, bo, can you tell me how many trains pass here to-night?" I asked.</p> + +<p>He jumped as if struck in the back.</p> + +<p>"Only a couple, brother," he replied to where the air had spoken, +"one of them in about half an hour and the other about one in the +morning;—but they won't worry you," he added.</p> + +<p>Sure enough in half an hour's time I heard the distant rumble of a +train. I began to wonder if I had not rolled any closer to the rails +than when I lay down. The earth shook and a red glare appeared in the +distance, and with a mighty roar the huge train came thundering through +an opening in the trees. Although I knew I was at a safe distance, the +feeling of impending annihilation swooped suddenly down upon me. "Don't +be an ass," said I, "what's the use of getting the wind up?" And the +next second it seemed that the rushing torrent of steel and fire was +but an inch from my head. Clatter bang-thump, clatter-bang-thump, for +twenty long seconds, and the intruder was gone. In another minute not a +sound broke the silence of the midsummer night.</p> + +<p>Thinking what an excellent test of self-control it would be to pitch +my bed between the rails, but disinclined to do so on account of the +possibility of a cow-catcher<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> being in front of the trains, I rolled +over into heavy slumber.</p> + +<p>In half an hour I was awake again and the same process was repeated. I +deemed then that I should be left in peace for the night. But my friend +had not reckoned on the freight trains. Only the passenger trains were +of account to him!</p> + +<p>Regularly every half-hour they thundered past. At dawn I had counted +thirteen in all. I resolved not to sleep on a railway embankment again, +even though it be in company with the Mississippi.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a><br /><br /> + +STORMY WEATHER IN MISSOURI</h2> + + +<p>Hannibal is a nice, clean, respectable place; were I an American +tourist I would call it a "cute little city."</p> + +<p>I found an eating-house with a tempting smell around it, and ordered a +hearty breakfast. After polishing off this meal, I mounted Lizzie and +started off once more.</p> + +<p>We were now in Missouri, the State of the small farmer. Not that the +farms are so very small, but they are not on so large a scale as +further on in the west, where the hundred-square-mile ranch is the +order of the day.</p> + +<p>Again the scenery experiences a quick change; the country becomes hilly +and rough; one sees maize growing almost everywhere and very often +pigs (or hogs as they are termed in the States) turned out to pasture. +Nevertheless there is much uncleared and uncultivated land to be seen; +the towns and villages are clean, modern, and well laid out, and all +give an air of prosperity and plenty. Every farmer has his car, and +it is generally a Ford; youngsters of twelve and fourteen can be seen +driving them, and generally with as much skill as their parents, if not +more.</p> + +<p>But for all its hills and vales and the luxuriance of its natural +beauty, Missouri has one great drawback. There is a very big fly in +the Missouri ointment—<span class="smcap">rain</span>. And when it rains in Missouri, +it rains properly, not in tantalizing little showers as it does in +England. It is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> as though the whole sky had burst its water-mains. It +falls not in inches but feet; not for hours but for days. Then suddenly +the sun breaks out and scorches everything with renewed vigour. If +a car is out far from home when the rain comes, it generally has to +"stay put." The rain sinks into the road and so does the car. Every +car carries a set of chains for its wheels, but although they improve +matters slightly, they are often futile in ploughing through the +thick slime. Then come the teams of horses at five and ten and twenty +dollars a time to drag the unfortunate automobile to some garage where +it "lays up" until the rain has gone and the sun has dried the roads +sufficiently for further progress.</p> + +<p>Sometimes enterprising individuals do not wait for rain to bring +in the shekels. I have often heard of perfectly authentic cases of +a farmer deliberately flooding likely patches of the road and then +waiting patiently with his horses to drag out some unfortunate victim. +This seems absurd, but care is always taken to select a spot where it +cannot be definitely proved that natural conditions are not entirely +responsible for the result!</p> + +<p>In the early afternoon, after a hard ride from Hannibal, punctuated at +every village with a stop for the consumption of ice-cream, I reached +a small town called "Bucklin." No sooner was I there than a huge black +cloud appeared suddenly in the sky and a terrific windstorm rose which +blew everything that was not fixed to something in all directions. For +half an hour it raged. The air was thick with dust, leaves and bits of +paper. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the wind subsided, and rain +commenced in torrents. So fast did it fall and so heavy were the drops +that the surface of the road was beaten into a froth which hovered +all the time a few inches above<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> the road itself. Even to walk across +it was a test of skill; so slimy was the mud that one's feet slid +aimlessly about in any direction but the one desired. For this reason +concrete pathways are invariably provided so that pedestrians can +move with comparative ease and can leave their homes and visit anyone +anywhere in the town without actually touching the mud at all. These +concrete pathways naturally have to cross the road in places, and when +the road surrounding them is washed away, as very often happens, the +result to a passing vehicle can be imagined.</p> + +<p>Further progress being out of the question that day, I hied me to the +only hotel in the place and prepared to while away the days that were +to follow in writing letters, studying an obsolete almanac, and eating +bad food.</p> + +<p>It rained in a continual deluge all that day, all night and all next +morning. At midday it stopped with a bump, the sun came out with +another, and the birds began to sing again. At three I ventured forth +with Lizzie. I had not gone a dozen yards when the back wheel slipped +sideways round to the front and left me reposing in the half-baked mud. +Back again for another hour's wait while the broiling sun did its work. +Next time I got as far as the outskirts of the town before I decided +to turn back. After another hour we started out to do or die, come +what might. During the remainder of the day until dark we covered ten +miles, going hard all the time. When I was not extricating myself from +a spicy bit of quagmire, I was poking semi-hard mud out of the wheels +and mudguards.</p> + +<p>On one occasion I came to a sudden dip in the road, followed by an +equally sudden rise. As usual there was an uninviting "slough of +despond" in the hollow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> After trying two or three different ruts in +an effort to "get through," giving up each one in turn as hopeless, +and pushing back again to where still another rut branched off from +the one I was in, I eventually worked my way through. The struggle up +the slope on the other side was a formidable one and was being slowly +accomplished by a combination of bottom-gear driving, pushing, lifting, +and "paddling." Just before the summit was reached I was thrown by a +steep furrow into the ditch at the roadside, breathless, exhausted, and +extremely bad-tempered.</p> + +<p>As I was extracting myself, a young man in shirt-sleeves strolled +leisurely over, hands in pockets, from a stationary car a little +further on. When I had safely extricated my right leg from under the +machine and hauled Lizzie on to her wheels again, the stranger spoke.</p> + +<p>"Say, fella, does that front cylinder get hot? I've heard say that's +the weak point about them four-cylinder motorsickles."</p> + +<p>Here follows a flow of language from self entirely unprintable. The +stranger opens his eyes, whistles softly, then adds, as if to turn the +subject:</p> + +<p>"Where you from?"</p> + +<p>He remained with his hands in his pockets staring at my diminishing +form. He was still there when I looked over my shoulder half a mile +further on. He is probably there now!</p> + +<p>As time went on, black clouds appeared in the sky; the sun went in; the +wind rose, and a repetition of the events of the day before commenced +just as I arrived in the small town of "Wheeling." The only thing to +do was to eat ices until the climatic conditions adjusted themselves. +This took the best part of two hours. Once again I sallied forth with +Lizzie. This<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> time in the short space of five yards I reposed gently +but thoroughly in the Missouri mud, much to the amusement of the +population, who had all turned out to witness my departure. Again I +tried and again I fell. The whole machine seemed to act as though it +were made of jelly. I gave it up on the third attempt.</p> + +<p>"Try the railway," jeered the village comedian, pointing to +a level-crossing in the distance. This amused the onlookers +"considerable." For myself, I discerned a glimmer of wisdom in the +suggestion.</p> + +<p>"Look here, you guys," I retorted, "what about giving me a hand to push +this as far as the depot" (I never made the fatal mistake of referring +to it as a "station") "instead of looking on and grinning like a lot of +schoolboys?"</p> + +<p>It had its effect. Three or four volunteered at once. We all pushed; we +slithered to right and left; we slipped over each other and ourselves. +But we got there.</p> + +<p>Riding on the sleepers was hardly humorous, but it was better than the +road. They were not filled in and were very irregular. Consequently +progress was slow and a trifle disjointed. The "depot" was not far +away. The "line-boss" looked at me curiously, as though I were a +strange offshoot from some wayward train.</p> + +<p>"Many trains coming along this way?" I queried, wishing to know what I +should have to meet, as there was only a single track, double tracks +being seldom, if ever, laid in the States, and if one was unprepared +it might prove embarrassing to meet a train coming in the opposite +direction just in the middle of a tunnel or a bridge. American railway +bridges are remarkable for their narrowness. Very often the sleepers +themselves project into space, and never is there any track beyond +them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You said it, brother," he replied, "dozens of 'em." "And what's more, +there's a couple of long tunnels just a mile away—look, you can see +the beginning—and beyond them there's a bridge pretty nigh half a mile +long—and trains is mighty funny things to play hide and seek with, y' +know!"</p> + +<p>I was of that opinion myself. As I looked, I saw a train emerge from +the tunnel ahead. I reflected that I should have been just about there +by now if I hadn't stopped. I went back to Wheeling.</p> + +<p>The next day I covered twenty miles in four hours and found myself back +in Wheeling again, but this time by another road. Nothing daunted, I +said nothing, clenched my teeth, and polished off another twenty until +dark.</p> + +<p>The day after I did better. The nett progress at the end of the +day's work was twenty-five miles instead of twenty. I arrived at the +conclusion that Missouri had one great advantage that I had hitherto +overlooked. It was an excellent place to get out of!</p> + +<p>On the next day I covered five miles in six hours, and although only +forty miles or so from Kansas City, which marks the commencement of the +historic Santa Fé Trail leading to the Pacific Coast, I made a solemn +vow that I would "ship" everything there by train at the next town. +The next town happened to be "Excelsior Springs," twenty miles further +on. The road improved considerably, and the comforting thought of +civilization at so short a distance urged me on and I broke that solemn +vow. I rode into Kansas City late that afternoon, a mass of bruises +from head to foot, just as the speedometer showed 1,919 miles from New +York. I ferreted out the Henderson agent and left Lizzie in his tender +keeping.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a><br /><br /> + +RESULTS OF A BREAKDOWN</h2> + + +<p>It took three days for me to find that the Kansas City I was in was not +the Kansas City I thought I was in. I took it for granted that Kansas +City would be in Kansas State. But it was not. <em class="italic">My</em> Kansas City was in +Missouri, but after searching diligently at the post office for mail +that wasn't there, I found there was another Kansas City on the other +bank of the river. All good citizens of Kansas City, Mo., turn up their +noses at the mention of Kansas City, Kan.,—"no connection with the +firm opposite" sort of thing.</p> + +<p>Of the two, Kansas City, Mo., is by far the more commendable town. It +hustles and bustles just as every good American city should do. It is +exactly "one hundred per cent American." The advertisements in the +papers said so. I believe it, because any city that boasts of being +four times larger than it really is must be 100 per cent. American! +But I must give Kansas City its due. It represents the essence of +keenness and enterprise in business and farming circles. It has that +"breezy" air that is so healthy in city life, compared with the dull, +gloomy inertness so characteristic of most manufacturing towns, +especially here in England. Kansas City has some excellent streets and +some magnificent buildings, and has undoubtedly grown at a remarkable +rate during the last ten years. Being the last city of really large<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +dimensions that one meets until the Pacific Coast is reached, it is +the connecting link between the East and the Far West. Grain and farm +produce from the vast States of the West flow unceasingly through its +warehouses and stockyards. A network of railways concentrates to a +focus at Kansas City, railways bringing in and taking out millions of +tons of produce annually.</p> + +<p>The next day, when I visited the motor-cycle agency, Lizzie was +standing disconsolately where I had left her the day before. I begged, +entreated, exhorted, and threatened that she be given immediate +attention. I lied abominably to the manager that I was putting up a +record between the coasts and every minute was important.</p> + +<p>How could I expect to beat all existing records if they kept my machine +in dock for a week? I was promised that it would be started on "right +now." That term "right now" has a significance unknown to Europeans. It +is subtle and evasive, intangible and incomprehensible. It conveys a +sense of such utter obligation on the part of the speaker that one has +not the heart to query its exact purport. As far as I can ascertain, or +at any rate as far as I have experienced its application, it is more +similar to the French "tout de suite" than any other expression I can +identify, in that it might imply anything between the immediate present +and the indefinite future.</p> + +<p>Lizzie required several replacements, including a new set of bearings, +a cylinder and two gudgeon pins, these latter being broken in half at +the middle. The agent told me that they always were liable to break. If +they were put in upside-down, as he always fitted them, so that the oil +hole was at the bottom instead of the top, they would not break at all. +Further he hinted that my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> particular machine was turned out while a +good fat strike was in progress at the factory.</p> + +<p>"Well, you can stick it together so that it will take me to the coast +all right?" I queried anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Well, yes, I guess I can," was his studied reply.</p> + +<p>"Go right ahead then, boss, but do it quick! I'm running short of money +and can't afford to stay in your metropolis right here for the benefit +of my health."</p> + +<p>Being destined then to remain in Kansas City for four or five days +more, I found myself with ample leisure in which to collect my thoughts +and prepare for the journey through the "wild west" ahead.</p> + +<p>One result of my leisure was that I paid a visit to the editor of the +<em class="italic">Kansas City Star</em>. This is one of the most progressive newspapers in +the United States, and circulates everywhere in the West. The extent of +its circulation and the results of its progressiveness I was, however, +still to learn.</p> + +<p>The editor was found as usual at his desk in the middle of a large +room, surrounded by his myrmidons in typical American style. He greeted +me with extreme cordiality. "No need to tell you I'm English, I +suppose?" I said.</p> + +<p>"See that door over there?" (pointing to the one in the far distance +through which I had entered). "Well, I spotted you were an Englishman +the minute you came in there."</p> + +<p>I explained with complete humiliation that I was travelling across the +United States of America on a motor-cycle and wondered whether his +readers would be interested in the point of view of such a despicable +object as an English motor-cyclist on this great and wonderful country. +"Not for the love of the thing, you know," I added, "I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> don't see why I +shouldn't earn a dollar or two on the wayside."</p> + +<p>He pointed to a typewriter standing idle at a desk. "Let's have the +story right now, and give us something about roads. There's a big +movement just started to get good roads, so you can just hand out the +straight dope to everybody on the subject. Get me? Something good and +snappy."</p> + +<p>I explained that while no one was more eminently capable of writing +about American roads than myself, I had never graduated as a typist in +the course of my business career. I should, therefore, have to retire +and push the modest pen.</p> + +<p>"What! a business man who can't use a typewriter? I didn't know there +was such a thing," was his rejoinder.</p> + +<p>I let them have it about roads. I referred also to their commendable +system of arresting road-hogs. This with a few pro-American +embellishments such as "wonderful country," "indescribable beauty," +"inexhaustible wealth," etc. etc., rounded off the theme.</p> + +<p>My friend the editor not only rewarded me at the noble rate of a dime +a line (5<em class="italic">d.</em>), thus assuring the hotel expenses for my stay in the +city, but also gave me about an hour of his valuable time in talking +about almost everything under the sun—mainly American. It is rather +surprising to an Englishman to find that practically any worthy +American business man, no matter how busy he may be or how valuable the +time lost thereby, will entertain a visitor for an incredible length of +time. If the visitor happens to be an Englishman, he is all the more +pleased to do so because then he can talk uninterruptedly about America +and what a wonderful country it is. All the noted men of Europe, I +learned, had been in the office and sat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> in that same chair. The editor +told me so. Lord Northcliffe spent all his leisure hours there while +in the States. So also did many other notorieties, some unknown to +me. Leastways, so the editor told me. I took his money and bade him +farewell.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a><br /><br /> + +THE SANTA FÉ TRAIL</h2> + + +<p>On the fifth day after my arrival in Kansas City all was in readiness +for my departure. There was another big bill to meet for Lizzie's +overhaul, but I had the satisfaction of knowing that the bearings had +all been replaced, as well as a few cylinders and pistons and things, +and that there was just a chance of getting to the coast before +something else went wrong. Once again I wrote polite letters to the +factory at Chicago, paid many dozen "green backs" over the counter, +and started off once more, this time with only thirty-five dollars in +pocket. Once again fate and the post office had been unkind. Not a +suggestion of anything was there at either of the post offices at any +of my calls thereon. Amid vague wonderings and oft repeated doubts +I promised myself a big cheque at Santa Fé, next stop. I was just +beginning to know the ins and outs of the postal service.</p> + +<p>The Santa Fé Trail is the oldest and most interesting highway in +America. Rather should it be said that the pioneers over what later +became known as the Santa Fé Trail were the first to leave permanent +marks on routes that have since become "highways" between the +Central-Western and the Far-Western States. In the days of the ox +team and prairie-schooner, the plains and mountains were crossed by +trails, usually along the lines of least resistance, keeping as close +as possible to bases of supplies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> and water. Travel over the Santa Fé +Trail began about 1822, starting from Little Rock, Arkansas (pronounced +Arkansaw), and following the Arkansas River west. A few years later, +this trail was superseded by a more permanent one going west from +Kansas City (then called Westport) to "Great Bend," a base situated, +as its name implies, on a great bend of the Arkansas River, and thence +to Santa Fé by a choice of two routes. An important trade with the +Spanish population of the south-west was early developed, reaching its +zenith in the '60s. This route, the one which I followed, has now been +marked a considerable part of the way by stone monuments erected by the +"Daughters of the American Revolution" and constituted the chief inroad +from the East to the Far West. Santa Fé itself, next to St. Augustine, +Florida, is the most ancient city in America, having been founded in +1605 by Spanish settlers on the site of a "pueblo" or Indian village of +far-distant origin. Naturally, therefore, it was the centre of trade +for years numbered by hundreds, and traders from afar brought their +goods and supplies in boats up the rivers as far as navigable and then +in teams across the dreary plains and over the steep Rockies to this +one destination.</p> + +<p>Later, in the gold-rush to California in 1849, emigrants reached San +Francisco, the "Golden Gate," via this same Santa Fé Trail, undergoing +indescribable hardships on the way, and at all times subjected to +frequent onslaughts by the hostile Indians.</p> + +<p>The first railroads were built across the plains alongside the old +trails. The first automobile trips (and I take off my hat to them!) +naturally followed the railroads, from the necessity of keeping near +to supplies. But the motor-car of to-day frequently makes either short +cuts or detours—leading<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> perhaps 100 or 200 miles away from the +railroad—in order to visit sections offering unusual attractions, or +places of historical interest, even when located in desert regions.</p> + +<p>Thus, with Kansas City behind me, the journey begins to be really +interesting from an historic, if not from a scenic point of view. The +hand of modern civilization at last is seen to relax its grasp. Now, +instead of the prosaic, the conventional and the luxurious, are we to +find the unique, the heterodox and the primitive. After the tainted +breath of huge cities and the seething, crushing, maddening turmoil of +wealth and modernism are to follow the pure unbounded atmosphere of the +giant plains, the mystic call of the great mountains, the vastness, the +fearfulness and the rapture of the scorching deserts. Which shall it be +for me?</p> + +<p>Before me lie 500 miles of perfectly flat and uninteresting country +before I leave the State of Kansas and enter Colorado. Then follow +another 200 equally flat, equally drear, to be crossed before the +Rockies loom into sight. Seven hundred miles of endless weary prairie, +stretching always, everywhere, as far as the eye can see, with never +a hill nor a dale nor hardly a tree in sight!—Nothing but boundless, +illimitable corn, wheat and prairie.</p> + +<p>That night, after an afternoon's run of 120 miles, I rested in a +cornfield. The road had ended abruptly. An old bridge had been +demolished and a new one was about to be erected. A heap of debris +in the middle attracted my attention, and I was fortunate. Here the +road ended; there was a little chasm some thirty feet across; beyond +was the road again. Nothing for it but to turn back. Turning back is +always objectionable. I deemed that it would be less so in the morning. +That is why I wrapped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> myself in my mosquito net behind a hedge in a +cornfield and offered up thanksgiving.</p> + +<p>The mosquito net—I have not mentioned it before! I purchased three +yards of it in a little store back in Missouri while waiting for the +road to dry up. I also bought a cap. Having worn no headgear since +leaving New York, I soon discarded the cap and later gave it away to a +little urchin who looked as though he needed one more than I. But the +mosquito net remained for a longer spell. Nightly was it unfolded and +wrapped around my unworthy self, and daily was it folded carefully up +again and packed into the bag once more.</p> + +<p>I shall never forget that mosquito net. It was white. Leastways it +was when I bought it. I tried countless ways of enveloping myself in +its folds, but never with any great measure of success. The <em class="italic">tout +ensemble</em> when struggles had subsided, with self in pyjamas surrounded +by wrappings of white chiffon on a black background (my waterproof +groundsheet) must have presented an extraordinary spectacle to the poor +birds above. No doubt they mistook me for some miscreant angel served +with an ejectment order without notice from the star-lit sky! At first +all went well. I breathed the calm midnight air unmolested. "It can't +be true," I told myself, "there is a catch in it somewhere." There +was. I discovered that whereas it was comparatively difficult for a +mosquito to get inside the net, once he did get inside it was an utter +impossibility to get him out again. One mosquito inside a mosquito net +is worth much more than two outside. He is worth at least forty!</p> + +<p>Then I tried various stunts because, when I did get properly wrapped +up, I invariably rolled out of it in my sleep. I rigged up poles and +sticks and cut little pegs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> from twigs to hold the net down like a +tent. I had it stitched up the sides like a bag and wriggled into it +nightly, only to find it wrapped around my feet in the morning and my +face and arms a mass of bites. Finally, in the heart of the Rockies I +think it was, I gave it up as a bad job and resorted to the Citronella +method once again. For aught I know that old mosquito-net is still +hanging to the fence of a cow-ranch at the foot of Pike's Peak, Colo.!</p> + +<p>Up at dawn in the morning and away. I found another road some three +miles back and continued on my way westward rejoicing. Sixty miles were +covered before breakfast. The towns and villages became very few and +far between, and Council Grove, where I enjoyed my morning repast, was +practically the first town to be encountered. I had set my mind on a +good day's run and prayed for good roads. On my map, which was said to +be the only road-map of the United States published, and was hopelessly +inaccurate and inadequate, there was a huge river, the Arkansas, a +couple of hundred miles ahead. I judged it to be about half a mile +wide. Verily, thought I, the Arkansas River shall be my resting place +to-night, and Great Bend my destination.</p> + +<p>After a long day's ride I toiled into Great Bend at sunset. The journey +had been monotonous and the road fatiguing. I longed to stretch +my weary bones on the banks of yon mighty river and bathe in its +refreshing waters. While I was devouring my evening meal, on a little +high stool in the one and only café of Great Bend, I was consoling +myself with this prospect.</p> + +<p>Outside, a little group of men were sitting on the pavement eyeing +Lizzie propped up against the kerb. It is the general thing to sit on +pavements in the Far West.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> They are much higher than those we are +accustomed to and afford adequate and comfortable accommodation for the +weary population. Often one can see a row of men sitting on the kerb +for the whole length of a "block" when the sun is in such a direction +that the sitters are sheltered by the buildings behind them. I made a +mental note: "Another good idea for importation to England." I pictured +tired Londoners sitting down in rows on the pavements of the Strand or +clustered leisurely around Piccadilly Circus chewing "shag"!</p> + +<p>My pockets bulged with bottles of "Buckeye," an imitation root beer +sold extensively in the States (since prohibition) and alleged to have +a "kick" in it. A suspicious swelling elsewhere on my person indicated +a tin of pineapple chunks (a delight of my youth).</p> + +<p>"Goin' far?" inquired one of my scrutineers.</p> + +<p>"Down to the river to-night. This the right road?"</p> + +<p>"Right slick in front of your nose half a mile away."</p> + +<p>I came to a long wooden bridge arrangement, but could find no river. +After going two or three miles and finding no Arkansas, I returned to +Great Bend to try another road. This time I inquired at the café.</p> + +<p>"Straight ahead, you can't miss the bridge."</p> + +<p>"Oh, is there a river there? I didn't see one."</p> + +<p>Back again to the bridge, but no signs of a river. Instead there was a +great stretch of white sand like a sea-beach, but with little trees and +shrubs and tufts of grass dotted here and there.</p> + +<p>"Well, this is no Arkansas River," said I to myself, "but I'm through. +This sand looks pretty comfortable, so here goes."</p> + +<p>In amongst the sand dunes I made my bed and never did traveller camp +in more delightful surroundings or rest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> in more peaceful conditions. +The stars shone out with unusual brilliancy in the heavens, and the +moon rose at the setting of the sun, enveloping all in a magic sheen +of silver. A soft cool breeze played gently over the plain and little +birds of unknown song and uncounted variety slowly sang themselves to +rest. This indeed was no night for sleep; more was it a time for quiet +contemplation of all the things that make life good and noble and +worthy of the living. How terrible, how awful it would be when I should +in the end return to the narrow beaten track of city life, and once +again be fettered to "the trivial round, the common task" that knows no +magic spell and thrills with no mystic breath. Could it ever be that +the duties that bind and numb, the needs that hamper and clog, the +tasks that chill and estrange, should once again enshroud me in their +toils? Such I suppose are the meditations of everyone who breaks away +from home to enjoy for a spell the bounties of nature and whose canopy +is the sky.</p> + +<p>In the morning I awoke as fresh as the merry sandpipers and +waterwagtails that ran and hopped about in dozens. There was no trace +of fatigue, no thought but of the glorious day that was opening, no +regret but that every day had not brought and would not bring this +rapturous dawn.</p> + +<p>I learned in the village that I had indeed slept in the middle of the +Arkansas River! The summer had been excessively dry and that part of +the river which, several hundred miles away, had risen boisterously in +the heart of the Rockies and had not been dried up with the heat, had +drained through the sandy bed, never to emerge again. This though was +one of many rivers that I was to meet with no water in them. Sometimes +even, I was to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> see fences and railways erected across would-be rivers +to prevent the cattle straying!</p> + +<p>The farther westward I travelled the fewer became the towns. +Nevertheless, albeit they were sometimes thirty and forty miles apart, +they were all prosperous, new and inviting. Of gasoline there was +always an abundant supply at 22 cents (11<em class="italic">d.</em>) per gallon. Of garages +there were enough and to spare. Indeed, it was surprising what palatial +garages were to be found everywhere. Outside each was the familiar +"Bowser" pump communicating with a 1,000-gallon tank below the pavement +from which anything from half a gallon to six gallons at a time could +be pumped up by the garage hand at one turn of the handle. A flexible +pipe with a cock at the end leads from the pump, and one's tank can be +filled in a few seconds without a drop being spilt. Not once in all my +travel through the States have I seen a petrol tin. I do not believe +they are used at all because nowhere in the States is it necessary to +travel by road with spare petrol on board, provided, of course, that +one is careful to fill up regularly at the different towns or stations +on the way. Even in the heart of New Mexico and Arizona, even in the +terrible "Death Valley" and Mohave Desert of California, stations are +found where "gas" and oil can be bought in plenty to carry one well +beyond the next to be reached.</p> + +<p>At Larned I made a hearty breakfast from canteloupe, coffee and "pie." +Now "pie" is one hundred per cent. symbolical of America. In the States +they have attained the absolute limit of perfection in the manufacture +of pies; indeed I think it must be a "key" industry. Not only can pies +of every conceivable kind of fruit (and many inconceivable ones) be +obtained, but the cooking thereof is perfection itself.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> + +<p>On the road again, ever westward, ever looking forward to the day when +from the dreadful monotony of the plains the Rocky Mountains would loom +high and faint upon the horizon.</p> + +<p>I passed a few small towns at long intervals, towns with picturesque +names such as "Cimarron," "Garden City," "Lamar," and "Las Animas." In +every case an approaching town was heralded by an unspeakable stretch +of road. With the passage of traffic of all kinds the road was ground +up into powder. Every inch of it was loose sand, sometimes a couple or +three feet deep, sand that would be impassable to any but horse-drawn +traffic. As a saving grace it was generally less deep at the edges of +the road than in the middle, and locomotion was just within the range +of possibility with frequent assistance by way of "leg-work" and with +occasional spills and crashes. The only use I had for these towns +lay in the unlimited scope for ice-cream consumption which they all +afforded. As time went on, Lizzie showed signs of further disrupture. +Gradually little noises and rattles developed and slowly her power fell +off by almost imperceptible degrees. Of course I had ample power even +at that to cover the country, which, with few exceptions, was level, +and the road, where dry, was good. I averaged no more than twenty-five, +and as there was hardly any stop to make or traffic to slow down +for, this did not mean travelling more than thirty at any time. A +good conscientious motorist, I told myself, would stop and examine +everything. I had got far beyond that stage. "Let the old crock go on +till she busts," I muttered inwardly and opened up to avoid an oncoming +thunderstorm.</p> + +<p>Thunderstorms travel quickly in U.S.A. They get a hustle on and don't +mess about generally. There's never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> any doubt about it when you +see one coming. It means business; there is none of that burbling, +gurgling, gloomy overture that hangs around for hours in England +and very often comes to nothing at all. No, no. In U.S.A. you see a +thundercloud on the horizon and before you've got "George Washington" +off your lips it's on you with a crack and a bump and a splash and woe +betide any innocent motor-cyclist who is riding in his shirt-sleeves +with his jacket strapped on the back.</p> + +<p>But that rain was good! Kansas can be hot when it likes and it's mostly +liking all the time, so that a shower-bath is a gift from the gods. +When it stopped, and fortunately before it had had time to do its foul +work on the surface of the dirt road, I arrived in Syracuse, a small +town with not much of a population to substantiate its artistic name, +and but twenty or thirty miles from the Colorado State Line. Net result +150 odd miles that day and to-morrow with luck I should behold the +Rockies. Oh, those Rockies! How I longed to see them!</p> + +<p>The rest of the evening I spent adjusting Lizzie's tappets (they had +all worked loose, hence the noise) and eating pies and ices at every +café in the place. The night was spent in a dirty inhospitable little +inn calling itself, I think, the Broadway Temperance Hotel. Heaven help +Broadway, and the Devil take all temperance hotels! I shivered as I +compared this with the night before.</p> + +<p>Westward once more. In an hour I crossed the State Line. Invariably +there is a large sign-board denoting this fact. "<span class="smcap">This is the State +of Colorado, the most Picturesque and Fertile State in the Union</span>," +it read on this occasion. This time there was not such a marked change +in the country. It was still flat, still dismally uninteresting. +Everything looked dried up.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> At times the trail, which hitherto had +followed the Arkansas "River," crossed and re-crossed it by long low +creaky wooden bridges. There was still no water flowing underneath +them. "Water? That was only meant to flow under bridges," says the +confirmed toper. The Arkansas River "puts him wise" on that point!</p> + +<p>Flagrant mistakes now appeared on the map. Roads and towns which +in reality lay on one side of the river were alleged to be on the +other. Distances became either grossly exaggerated or hopelessly +underestimated, so much so that I only expected to get to a place when +I found myself already there. If it turned out to be another place than +that I had expected—well, there, that made it all the more exciting.</p> + +<p>Later on the trail became very dishevelled and forlorn. Great waves of +sand were piled up in ridges and furrows defying all comers. Sometimes +a benevolent signpost advised all drivers of automobiles not to risk +travelling thereon, but to follow such and such a detour which would +lead back to the road ten or fifteen miles farther on. I saw many +such notices. At first I scorned them, but the sand grew so thick and +deep that it enveloped the frame of the machine and the projecting +footboards brought progress to a standstill. For several hours I pushed +and heaved and skidded and floundered about on highways and detours and +pathways that baffle description. If I averaged ten miles an hour I was +content with that. I got through many places that passing pedestrians +swore were impassable. In short I was beginning to reduce locomotion +over American roads to a science.</p> + +<p>At La Junta, the Santa Fé Trail swerves to the south-west towards New +Mexico, but another trail continues westward and northward towards +Pueblo, Colorado Springs,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> and Denver, the three "cities" of Colorado +State, and Pike's Peak, one of the highest points of the Rockies. +I decided to leave the trail for a day or two and go sightseeing +in famous Colorado. So I continued westward, scanning the horizon +all the time for a vision of a vast and rugged mountain range. The +sight of mountains would be as balm to a sore wound; as welcome as +a spring of water in the desert; or even as the sight of land to a +shipwrecked mariner, so heartily tired was I of the endless plains and +the inexhaustible flatness and monotony of the country for the past +thousand miles.</p> + +<p>Instead of mountains came a cloud. Soon the whole horizon was black. I +knew what that meant. It meant "laying up" for a day or two and looking +round for a good place to lay up at "right slick." But I was in the +midst of nowhere. Not a house or a shack could be seen anywhere. Even +as I scanned the country the rain came. The road was not sandy enough +for it to soak through. Instead it absorbed it greedily and changed to +mud. I rode as far as riding was practicable and then I pushed. In a +few miles I came to a little wooden shack at the side of the road near +a large dyke already swollen with rain. The shack looked as though it +had recently been thrown together with matchboarding and liberal use +had been made of tarpaulins as curtains instead of doors. I left Lizzie +in the road and went to explore.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a><br /><br /> + +THE ROYAL GORGE OF ARKANSAS</h2> + + +<p>There were two huts. I drew aside the tarpaulin and peered in one of +them. It was stuffy and dark and filled with beds, tables, cupboards +and piles of odd furniture and miscellaneous clothing, boots, blankets +and mattresses. In a clearing amongst the general debris sat a +middle-aged woman on the top of a trunk before a sewing machine.</p> + +<p>"Hope I'm not intruding, but is there anywhere I can get out of the +rain until it goes off?"</p> + +<p>From a heap of assorted oddments under my very nose came a voice, a +man's voice.</p> + +<p>"Sure; come right in, brother. You're welcome to any shelter we can +give you. Guess you've gotten a little wet out there? Jim, go you into +the kitchen and bring a chair for this gentleman."</p> + +<p>A pile of musty books rocked on its foundations in another corner and a +young lad of fifteen or sixteen rose as if from out of the earth.</p> + +<p>We talked for an hour, but the storm showed no signs of abating. The +wind whistled through the tarpaulin doorway and gloomy blobs of water +dropped from the ceiling from time to time on all and sundry.</p> + +<p>Strange to say I did not betray my nationality. I presume that by that +time I had unconsciously acquired in a small degree the language of the +race.</p> + +<p>"You're from the East, I suppose?" queried mine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> hostess after half an +hour, the first words I had heard her speak.</p> + +<p>"Oh, sure, I'm from the East, the far East—in fact, the <span class="smcap">very</span> +Far East!" I replied.</p> + +<p>"Boston?"</p> + +<p>"You've said it," was my rejoinder. "Ever been to Boston?" I added.</p> + +<p>"Yep, I was there I reckon fifteen fall. All I remember now was the +railway depot. What do they call it, the South Union?"</p> + +<p>"Sure, it's the South Union all right. Why, I was born only a couple of +blocks from the South Union depot."</p> + +<p>Miserable liar that I am, I have never been in Boston in my life.</p> + +<p>"Fine city, Boston," interjected the male voice from below.</p> + +<p>"The finest in the world, sir," I effused.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the rain continued, with not the slightest sign of abating.</p> + +<p>"You best bring your motor-sickle under shelter and stay the night +right here," suggested the man of the house when the shadows deepened +and still the rain went on.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure that's very good of you, sir, but I'm afraid I'd better not +trouble you any more."</p> + +<p>"No trouble at all; we're delighted to have you; we can soon make a bed +up with a few chairs and some of these blankets."</p> + +<p>I was only too pleased to avail myself of their hospitality and agreed.</p> + +<p>At supper I had a chance of studying the various members of the family. +Apart from the man and his wife, there were two boys, and quite a few +more people rolled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> in afterwards from a source unknown to me. Supper +consisted of stewed beans, with plenty of bread and water, and more +beans.</p> + +<p>That night I slept on four chairs in a row near the door. The two boys +were elsewhere in the gloomy darkness within. All through the night +I waged war upon mosquitoes and slapped myself vigorously for many +hours until the guerrilla warfare grew so tiring that sleep overcame +its anxiety. The mosquitoes then nibbled my face to their hearts' +content—if they have hearts, which is doubtful.</p> + +<p>In the morning breakfast consisted of stewed beans with plenty of bread +and water, and more beans.</p> + +<p>By lunch-time it was still raining, but slower. I stayed to lunch. It +consisted of stewed beans, with plenty of bread and water, and lots +more beans.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon the sky cleared, the sun opened his eyes with a snap +and began his work of drying up the roads. Throughout the day I had +employed my time with giving Lizzie an overhaul. I had the cylinders +off, examined the bearings, and tightened things generally. Meanwhile I +discovered that my friends were building a house on an adjoining field. +They were doing the work alone, with the help of a few friends, who +no doubt accounted for the other partakers of stewed beans. A pile of +timber lay in one corner of the field and the foundations had already +been laid and the uprights erected.</p> + +<p>It was well seen that the house was for themselves to live in. Never +have I seen a house grow so quickly or watched the progress of one so +keenly. Moreover the walls were not all out of the vertical or the +windows far from square as one generally gets in home-made houses (and +very often other kinds too!)</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You'd better stay and have something to eat, brother," said mine host +as I was strapping my bag on Lizzie's back in preparation to depart. +"We've only got stewed beans, but they're a mighty wholesome food."</p> + +<p>But I had visions of apricot pie in Pueblo, thirty miles ahead, and +urged my desire to be getting on the road "right now" while the weather +lasted.</p> + +<p>They were good folks, those house-builders of Nepesta. Not a cent would +they accept under any circumstances for their hospitality to me. They +worked hard and feared God, and every time they partook of their frugal +meals grace was said beforehand and afterwards as well, in thanksgiving +for the blessings that rewarded their toils. One could not refrain from +comparing the civilization of the West with the sordid life-scramble of +the East.</p> + +<p>Once on the road again the despondent sort of gloom that seemed to +surround everything became a thing of the past, as gradually the +Rockies loomed up on the horizon; at first faint and mysterious +they gradually deepened in colour and sharpened in outline. What a +refreshing and soul-inspiring sight after nearly 1,000 miles of travel +across the dusty, dreary, tiring plains!</p> + +<p>In the late afternoon a thin cloud of curling black smoke was seen +upon the horizon. This is invariably the forerunner of a western town. +Long before one actually draws near to one's destination, if that +destination be a town, it is discernible sometimes twenty and even +thirty miles away by the tufts and clouds of smoke that hang over it. +The sight is as that of a huge Atlantic liner no more than a fraction +above the horizon. One cannot discern its hidden size or form, but the +smoke from its funnels threads upwards into the heavens like a sentinel +in the engulfing vastness of the sea.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> + +<p>Thus does one approach a town set in the heart of a bewildering plain. +Gradually it is possible to discern here and there a chimney-stack and +sometimes the reflection of a solitary window in one of the tallest +buildings will scintillate on the distant horizon.</p> + +<p>The busy town of Pueblo drew nigh. With a rapidly increasing population +of over 50,000 and nearly 300 factories, some of which are among the +largest steel-manufacturing plants in the States, Pueblo is known as +the "Pittsburgh of the West." But let not the reader be misled by this +title into thinking that Pueblo is miserable and gloomy and odoriferous +as is the wont of most towns of its character. Its streets are wide, +clean and well-lit with electric lamps; its buildings also are clean +and of comely architecture; there are no slums or poverty-stricken +quarters, and with the giant mountains looming in the distance Pueblo +is an ideal manufacturing town in ideal surroundings, besides being the +centre of a rich mining district.</p> + +<p>From Pueblo, after ministering to the wants of the inner man, I turned +again westward towards Canyon City, some forty miles away in the heart +of the Colorado Rockies, in order to visit the famous Royal Gorge, +known also as the "Grand Canyon of the Arkansas," thence to return by +a large detour through Colorado Springs, another Western city like +Pueblo, and with perchance a side-trip up the automobile road that +has been cut to the summit of Pike's Peak (the highest highway in the +world), to return to the trail to the south into New Mexico.</p> + +<p>That rise from Pueblo into the Rockies will linger ever in my memory. +Surrounded in all directions but behind with glowering mountain +ranges, the road cut across vast rolling plains and prairies that +spoke of desolation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> immense and wonderful. As the sun set behind the +mountains they became tinged and fired with every shade of colour, +and darkness slowly crept through the valleys and filled the air with +vague wonder and glorious contentment. In front and slightly to the +right rose Pike's Peak high above its fellows, thrusting its massive +splendour 14,000 feet and more into the ruddy heavens. An eerie feeling +of intense loneliness crept through my veins as mile after mile was +passed through naked prairie in the midst of such awful surroundings, +with never a soul to be seen. I travelled thirty miles before the +chilly breezes and the growing darkness constrained me to stop. (The +headlight was <em class="italic">hors de combat</em>; only the "dimmer" would work.) In all +that distance I saw no living thing save the tufted grass and the black +pine-trees peppered over the sides of the foothills.</p> + +<p>When progress was no longer possible, I pulled Lizzie to the side of +the dusty road, propped up her stand, and unfolded my blanket on the +grass of the prairie at her side. Once again I should enjoy the sweet +luxury of Nature's bedchamber in the heart of Nature's best.</p> + +<p>But Dame Nature's bedchamber is oft a chilly and inhospitable one, and +despite the invitations she tenders to all who count themselves her +lovers. "Bring your own blankets" is the one stipulation. She will +provide the rest. She will bring the magic sleep, the fairy dreams, the +golden dawn and the thrills of ecstasy as one wakes again fresh and +strong into her lovely world of health and beauty.</p> + +<p>From rolling plains we passed to bounding foothills where the road +twisted and turned and crossed torrential streams, spanned by +picturesque stone bridges, until the delightful little town of Florence +was reached. Here<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> came a short stop for breakfast and thence on again +towards Canyon City.</p> + +<p>From Canyon City to the Royal Gorge has been built a wonderful piece +of road, winding and climbing into the very heart of Colorado's rugged +bosom. The gradient in places is terrific. Every ounce of power +was sometimes necessary to surmount certain stretches, and blind +<strong>S</strong>-bends carved from the solid face of the rocks made travelling +a danger as well as a test of skill. At every bend and every turn +some new panorama would spring to view and farther and farther away +would fade the distant horizon of the east. Whither the road led was +impossible to see. Frowning cliffs and wooded crags seemed to be the +only goal ahead. After half an hour of heavy toil we reach an opening. +There is a turn to the left, a flat plateau and a slight dip down; the +trail dies away to nothing and a sign "Royal Gorge" is announced from +a bungalow near its end. The gaunt pine-trees also end, there is a +huge gap in the earth and the plateau beyond is seen a clear half-mile +to the westward. We clamber over the rocks and boulders, carefully +and gently, where the ground has suddenly stopped, and peering down +from the brink we gaze upon a tremendous cleft in the crust of the +earth. Some 3,000 feet below we see a raging torrent like a huge white +snake lashing with a sullen roar along its tortuous path, hemmed in by +vertical walls of cold relentless granite. The rushing torrent is the +Arkansas, a mighty flood although but a few miles from its source, and +the same river whose bed 700 miles away towards its mouth had afforded +such excellent nocturnal accommodation a week before!</p> + +<p>It is as though one is peering into the very bowels of the earth. That +this gigantic chasm has been cut out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> by that river which now is over +half a mile below seems almost incredible. As we gaze there is another +surprise in store. Like a tiny plaything, a train emerges from a bend +in the cliffs and with little infantile puffs of smoke crawls along the +rails which one now sees running along the narrow river bank. Clinging +close to every twist and turn the train proceeds. There is scarcely +sufficient space between the rugged walls and the surging river for the +single track. At one point the width of the ledge is but 10 yards and +the track has been built out over the water. The river dashes madly +through; the engine sways from side to side as it drags its heavy load +onward. Down there, it is said that the sky above is but a thread of +light and the stars can be seen at midday as in a mine.</p> + +<p>One moves one's gaze and scans the rugged boulders that lie heaped and +stacked and strewn about as if but a push would suffice to send them +hurtling down into the chasm below. Here and there are stunted growths +of sage, cactus and prickly pear, or a giant fir-tree springs from a +grassy cleft in the rocks.</p> + +<p>Retracing the trail, we find ourselves soon descending the precipitous +winds and turns that lead back to Canyon City. On the left we pass +"The Famous Sky-line Drive," which announces itself by placards here +and there as "The greatest scenic highway wonder of the world." But +a little distance from here is also "the one-day trip that bankrupts +the English language" and such beauty spots as are suggested by the +names "Hell Gate," "The Frying Pan," "Roaring Fork," "The Devil's +Thousand-Foot Slide," "Cripple Creek," "The Garden of the Gods," and +other similarly euphonious and onomatopœic appellations.</p> + +<p>It would be tempting to explore all these places and to see more of +Colorado and the immense fund of natural<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> beauty which she displays +in endless variety. But impatience draws me again towards Pueblo, so +that I can once again strike the trail that leads to California. I am +already getting anxious to see the blue sea, though yet only half-way +between the oceans!</p> + +<p>That afternoon as I paused beneath a "bowser" in Pueblo while Lizzie +was filled to the brim, I inquired the condition of the road to +Trinidad, some 100 miles to the south on the Santa Fé Trail.</p> + +<p>"Trinidad? The worst road in America, sir!—ab-sol-oot-ly the worst +road in America, sir."</p> + +<p>The prospect was not pleasing. There was certainly an element of +interest about it because it would be fascinating almost to see for +oneself exactly what Americans did consider a bad road. My formula so +far had been that when an American said a road was good, it was bad. +When he said it was bad, it was damn bad! But what would the "worst" be +like?</p> + +<p>As I sped along, the sky deepened and a severe thundershower +threatened. Heavy black clouds glowered around the mountain-tops +and every moment I expected a sudden outburst from the heavens. On +my right the Rockies rose higher and higher. In the distance, but +gradually approaching, rose Blanca Peak, a dreadful, ponderous giant +amongst its brethren, its gloomy crest piercing the very vaults of the +sky and hardly visible in the sombre blackness that so often hangs +in the neighbourhood of these western mountain peaks. Now and again +a streak of lightning would flash through the heavens, and the dull +thud that followed, belated and awe-inspiring, would rumble backwards +and forwards along the valleys, reverberating from peak to peak until +finally it was lost in the depths of the firmament.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + +<p>On the left spread the rolling plains as far as the eye could reach, +like as the sea stretches up to the shores of Dover whence the cliffs +rise sheer and stubborn. In front lay the road, skirting the borderline +twixt plains and peaks.</p> + +<p>I soon came to the conclusion that that garage hand in Pueblo had +been "pulling one over me." The road was just splendid. Laid in +hard flat well-made macadam, its surface was excellent, passing all +understanding. As I sped on ever quicker to avoid the gathering storm, +the non-skid pads of the tyres hummed a merry tune. Could I be on the +right road? I asked myself once again. I must be, for in these parts +there is only one road to be taken. No others exist. There must be a +catch in it somewhere, I told myself.</p> + +<p>An hour went by and still the thunder rushed around Blanca Peak the +Mighty, now receding from view. An occasional shower just on the edge +of the storm would hasten me on my way. Still the road was perfection +itself, and still it fringed the chain of minor peaks that runs from +north to south, the boundary of the vast plateau of over 1,000,000 +square miles that includes, in those unassuming words, "The Rockies." +Another hour flew by.</p> + +<p>And then it came, like a thief in the night, sudden and unexpected. +The smooth grey macadam vanished, as though the magic wand had ceased +its power. Instead lay ahead a villainous track in the dark brown soil +of the prairie, a track beaten with sorrow and stricken with grief, +here battered into ugly patches, there heaped into fearful ridges and +seething masses of mud and rock. It had rained. Those words alone +express a world of sin and shame, when one speaks of a trail "out +West." Here<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> once more were the old agonies, the old discomforts, +the old tortures, the old haulings, heavings, pushings, joltings and +bruisings. The sky again became overcast. The rain began to fall +tormentingly. I had still twenty-five miles to go to the nearest town. +The sun sank lower behind the mountain ridge. The rain fell faster; if +I did not reach Walsenburg that night I should have to rest among the +prairie-dogs in the pelting rain. And what chance was there of reaching +Walsenburg before dark with no lights and at an average of six miles an +hour "all out," with only a paltry hour before dusk?</p> + +<p>I will not attempt to describe that ride. I feel it should not be +described. "The ride that bankrupts the English language," indeed, +thought I. Many times I left the road altogether and pursued my course +whither I listed over the rough prairie. Strewn with boulders, rocks +and ugly stones, carved here and there in fantastic shapes, with +mysterious hollows and quaint prairie-dog holes, it was just possible +to scramble along. From a distance the "road" I had left looked better +and I returned to it, only to find that the prairie still looked more +enticing. How I leapt over the smaller stones and skipped round the +larger ones always intent on nothing but the few yards that were to +follow, I shall never completely remember. Again and again I returned +to the road and endured its agony for a spell, and again I swerved away +from it, my every bone shaking in its joints and my teeth rocking in +their sockets with the vibration.</p> + +<p>Let me forget. These things are not good to gloat upon! I remember +but one amusing incident, which was but the forerunner of many more +to come. I had returned to the road for a spell. I came to a slight +dip. It was like a lake full of fluid mud where a wayward stream<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> had +swollen with the rains and encroached upon the sanctity of the road. +"Not negotiable" was the unspoken verdict. Strange to say, the prairie +was now fenced off from the road boundary, so there was no avoiding the +coming struggle. "It's got to be done, so here goes"; slowly I dived +into the yellow mass. Just half-way the back wheel turned to jelly and +seemed to crumple up to nothing. With one big splosh the whole five +hundred-weight of us flopped gaily over into the mire. Pinned down by +the weight of the machine, the mud had ample time to soak through all +my clothing, into my pockets and down my neck. Lizzie's submersion +would have been entire instead of partial had I not intervened.... +After a short struggle I ultimately succeeded in extricating my right +foot from between the brake-pedal and the engine, and heaved the bulky +mass from its repose. No sooner was this done than we slithered once +more and fell over <em class="italic">en bloc</em> on the opposite side.</p> + +<p>Oh, the joys of motor-cycling in Yankeeland!</p> + +<p>I did get to Walsenburg that night. As luck would have it, the two +hotels were full. At least the desk-clerks avowed by the bones of their +saintly grandmothers that there wasn't a room left. Probably they +were moved to anxiety lest their worthy name should be soiled by this +mud-covered intruder!</p> + +<p>I found a room after a long search at a fifth-rate "doss-house" devoid +of furniture, where the landlady demanded my money in advance before +giving me the key to my room.</p> + +<p>Thus passed another day.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a><br /><br /> + +IN SOUTHERN COLORADO</h2> + + +<p>There is only one road in the States as bad as that from Walsenburg to +Trinidad. I refer to the road from Trinidad to Walsenburg.</p> + +<p>In spite of that it was a good road; I got through. It took endless +patience, perseverance and a morning of time to do those fifty weary +miles. The scenery was strange, almost to the point of weirdness. From +the surrounding flatness would rise sudden plateaus, with dead vertical +sides and perfectly flat tops. Even the hills and mountains where they +occurred (save in the distant Rockies) were modelled on the same plan, +rising abruptly from the plain and ascending in two, three or more +sudden steps. The effect was just as though the land architecture had +been entrusted to some aspiring cubist or futurist instead of to the +well-disciplined laws of Nature.</p> + +<p>I do not profess to have attained much learning in the science of +geology, and speak, therefore, as one without authority. But it seemed +to me on many occasions that to study the geology of the Far West, the +English scientist would have to forget all he had ever learnt about +physical geography and start all over again in Southern Colorado.</p> + +<p>At first I was puzzled in the extreme to see how the mountains rose +suddenly out of the great plains, without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> any warning almost, and +without the customary foot-hills and valleys that one would expect to +see clustering around a mountain range of several thousands of feet +in height. Afterwards I became accustomed to this unusual formation, +when I found that mountains always grow that way in the Far West, and +particularly farther on in New Mexico and Arizona. All their ranges +seemed like elongated "Wrekins" set in a plain of gigantic dimensions.</p> + +<p>At Aguilar, half-way on the road to Trinidad, I met the first really +Mexican town. It will be remembered that all the south-western States +once belonged to Mexico and one by one they have been ceded or bought +or otherwise appropriated until Mexico now is only a shadow of its +former self. Nevertheless a large proportion of the population is +still Mexican, in spite of the continued influx of American settlers, +and consequently Mexican is spoken almost universally in addition to +English as the national tongue.</p> + +<p>Trinidad styles itself "The industrial and commercial centre of S. E. +Colorado." With a population of something in the region of 14,000, +it stands at the base of Fisher's Peak (10,000 feet), and it is an +admirable example of the inextricable mixtures of Old Mexico and New +America in the cities of the West. I took its picture and left its +shining well-paved streets to track down my old friend, the Santa Fé +Trail.</p> + +<p>I got one mile away from the town and then struck. The trail climbed +rapidly, skirting the Peak all the time in preparation for the Raton +Pass soon to follow, which cuts right over the Rocky Mountains into +New Mexico. That in itself was nothing. I am always game for a good +hill-climb. But I had thought better of the Santa<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> Fé Trail. After +climbing 1,000 feet in just over a mile, it changed into the most +absurd hotch-potch of ruts and mud-heaps that ever eye witnessed, and +this for as far as one could see. The condition of the road strained +my credulity to breaking point. Getting through the far-off mud-hole +at Hume in Indiana was a child's tea-party compared with this. In half +an hour I did just 100 yards and then, after resolutely determining to +return to Trinidad and take the train, I found that to go back was as +much out of the question as to go forward. It simply couldn't be done +single-handed. To turn Lizzie round would require nothing less than a +sky-hook and pulley-blocks.</p> + +<p>I left her standing in a huge rut in the middle of the road and +reconnoitred to see how far this appalling state of affairs continued.</p> + +<p>Fortunately a Flivver appeared round a bend in the road ahead, +coming in the opposite direction. It heaved and swayed and bumped +and side-slipped and hiccoughed its way along. I watched it until it +finally reached the spot where Lizzie blocked the way. Then something +had to be done. The car had two occupants, both hefty-looking men, whom +I enlisted to my aid. Together we lifted and pulled and heaved and +pushed until the worst was past, and then I struggled on alone.</p> + +<p>Farther into the mountains we travelled; higher and higher we climbed. +In places the trail was hewn out of the rugged mountain sides, and +except in a few places there was hardly room for more than one vehicle +to pass. Occasionally a "washout" would be encountered where a mountain +stream had encroached on the road and washed it away altogether. +Then would come a short<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> detour over a gap in the bank, with the +grassy slope strewn with branches and small tree-trunks to prevent +the unfortunate vehicle sinking in and thus permanently blocking all +progress that way.</p> + +<p>The ascent of the Raton Mountains by the Raton Pass is made amongst +some of the most beautiful scenery imaginable. The trail is only +visible a few yards ahead and is lost in sudden twists and turns as +gradually the mountain slopes are devoured. On the right, almost +behind, are still to be seen the famous Spanish Peaks towering like +twins in solitude above the rest of the Sangre de Cristo range, some +forty miles away. Soon we shall be leaving Colorado State behind +us—Colorado the Glorious, the Beautiful, the Great.</p> + +<p>It is said that "amongst all the mountain kingdoms, Colorado seems to +stand easily first in physical adornment: not even Switzerland and her +Alps offering more than a fair comparison." Mont Blanc, the highest +peak in the Alps, is 15,784 feet high, while Colorado has many peaks +lacking little of this height. The lowest depths of some of Colorado's +famous parks are higher than the average height of the Alpine Chain.</p> + +<p>Upward we climb, amid thickly-wooded mountain tops, round thrilling +bends and tortuous precipices and over the rockiest of roads. The end +is in sight. A depression in the sky-line ahead shows where the Raton +Pass (7,620 feet to be exact) reaches its highest point and gazes +forwards into the heart of New Mexico and behind into the vastnesses of +Colorado.</p> + +<p>A gradual bend, a sudden swerve, and then—the summit is reached. +Colorado is passed. Before us lies a great and thickly-wooded valley, +broad and deep and beautiful. Beyond lie the great plains of New +Mexico,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> plains so vast that in their utter defiance of limit and +dimension they beggar description. The eye could not follow the +great expanse. So immense were the distances that the earth merged +indefinitely into the sky at the horizon. Dotted and strewn here and +there were hills and mountain ranges that seemed to have sprung up so +suddenly out of the plateau to have really no connection with them.</p> + +<p>Here I stood at the gate of another world. Before me lay a land of +mystery and romance, a land of health for body and soul; a land of +desert and sage-bush, of cactus and strange vegetation; a land of +antiquity unparalleled by any other in the world. Here at my feet lay +New Mexico and beyond, Arizona, the two States that at the same time +are the oldest and the youngest in America. Although only admitted to +the Union in 1912, their history dates from remote ages when they were +peopled by a race unknown to-day but nevertheless well advanced on the +road to civilization, a race that built cities while Babylon was as yet +unknown, and laid down irrigation systems that puzzle the engineers of +the present day.</p> + +<p>Arizona and New Mexico, you are the pearls of great price that no human +being has ever yet valued at your true worth. When the day shall come +that man can say of you, "I have seen you in all your moods and have +discovered all your secrets," then this old earth will be a lifeless, +soulless, aimless globe, its purpose fulfilled, its course completed.</p> + +<p>A five mile descent through the scented pine-trees brought me to +Raton, another half-Mexican, half-American town, small but modern +and well-arranged. "No more 'rooming-houses' for me," I resolved and +turned my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> gaze to the far-distant plains where the darkness was slowly +gathering.</p> + +<p>Even in New Mexico, one need never go without a meal. The way to +an Englishman's heart is through his stomach (this applies also to +Americans and most human beings in general!). My heart was greatly +touched by Raton in this manner, and shortly before dusk I was speeding +on my way southwards towards Santa Fé.</p> + +<p>Ten miles out the trail crossed a river. It must have been the Canadian +River, a tributary of the Arkansas, which it joins several hundred +miles to the east. The surrounding country was desolation and solitude +itself. Half prairie, half waste, almost desert, it was a country of +new sensations. Just to the west, from horizon to horizon, stretched +the gaunt and rugged Sangre de Cristo range, dark and threatening +always in their aspect. Not a living thing was in sight, not even a +suggestion of life. I ran Lizzie off the road to the brink of the river +and laid down my bed in the silver rays of the rising moon.</p> + +<p>At 6.30 in the morning the sky was ruddy and the air pure with the +fresh breezes of the dawn. From minute to minute the myriad colours of +the mountains changed their tints as the sun rose higher in the Mexican +sky. I continued on my way.</p> + +<p>The road was broad and good, but a surprise was in store. After a few +miles there appeared a dilapidated signpost where a bedraggled pathway +joined the broad highway through a gap in the fence which now ran +alongside. It bore the legend "To Santa Fé" and pointed through the +fence to the left. My first impression was that some small boy had been +playing pranks. It was inconceivable that these two ruts but a few +inches<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> wide in the coarse green grass should lead to Santa Fé while +there, straight on, was a good broad highroad that led nowhere. It ran +clear ahead and was lost over the brow of a hill. I never found where +that road went. I have never seen it on any map and have made many +inquiries since. Some travellers, like myself, had seen that road and +wavered, but not one had gone that way and could enlighten me.</p> + +<p>New Mexico is not a nice country in which to lose oneself. Towns +are very few, and often one can go a hundred miles without seeing a +village or meeting a soul. So in spite of the temptation I swerved +to the left and entered the field that was without corn or pasture, +following those two ruts that cut deep into the prairie soil and were +not visible more than 50 or 100 yards ahead at the most. In places the +two ruts had become too deep for further use and another pair had been +started at the side, running parallel with the original ones. When +these had worn too far another pair had sprung up, and in many places +I counted eight distinct pairs of ruts running side by side across the +prairie, each representing a distinct phase in the evolution of the +Santa Fé Trail. At any point, if one looks far and long enough, one +can find the original tracks that centuries ago were formed by the old +prairie-schooners as they journeyed westward across the plains to Santa +Fé.</p> + +<p>The next town lay far across the plains beyond the horizon. I should +have to hurry if I were to get any breakfast, but the riding was rough. +Tufts of coarse grass and sharp stones covered the prairie and held +back the speed; here and there were the holes of prairie-dogs, who +respect no one in their choice of a site. If it pleases them to build +their front-door entrance where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> your favourite inter-rut strip happens +to be, well, they build it there. Their holes are generally about six +inches in diameter, the mouth being funnel-shaped. Passing vehicles +smash them in until the opening is sometimes two or three feet across. +Our friend the prairie-dog doesn't mind in the least. He continues to +live there in spite of the traffic and never a curse escapes his lips. +He is a dear little animal. One cannot help loving him. In stature +these animals have the characteristic of both a squirrel and a rabbit, +and are about a foot in length. They sit on their fat little haunches +like a squirrel, but have only a little bobbed tail like a rabbit. I +believe they are the most friendly rodents in existence, and have the +reputation of dwelling in friendship even with rattlesnakes, who never +harm them! If you surprise one when he is away from home, he watches +you, motionless, to see if he has been seen, if only a few feet from +the intruder. And when he sees that you have seen, away he runs with +his head well down and his little tail well up until he reaches his +burrow in the flat prairie. This done, he considers himself safe, turns +round, sits on his haunches and stares inquiringly at you. But if you +dare come too close he disappears in a second and is seen no more.</p> + +<p>One cannot help laughing at the antics of these amusing little animals +as they scamper off like month-old puppy dogs. Ofttimes I have chased +one to his hole in the road and watched the anxious look on his face as +for a brief moment he turns his head before flashing into the ground +below your front wheel. No true traveller could harm one of these +innocent little beasts; they are often his only companions for hundreds +of miles.</p> + +<p>Ten, twenty, thirty miles I travelled over the almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> trackless +prairie. Occasional mud-pools barred the way, but when the trail was +unfenced, these were easily avoided. Later on fences appeared, limiting +the road from some neighbouring ranch. I judged I was getting near to +Springer.</p> + +<p>An old shack of a two-seater car hove in sight, coming in the opposite +direction; I had an opportunity of studying it in detail as it came +close up. Naturally we both stopped. All travellers are friends in the +Far West, where distances are great and people are few.</p> + +<p>"Guess you'd better follow us if you want to get to Springer this +week," essayed the driver.</p> + +<p>"Why, is there any mud about?"</p> + +<p>"Mud? There's a hole down there outside the town that we've been trying +to get either in or out of these two-and-a-half hours. Had to get some +hosses to pull us backwards out of it in the end. Gosh, I've never +seen a mud-hole like it in all my days. We kin get around another way +though, I'm told. Where you headin' for, stranger?"</p> + +<p>"Santa Fé."</p> + +<p>"Oh, we was expectin' to get to Santa Fé this mornin'. We're bound for +El Paso, and must get there by to-morrow."</p> + +<p>I reflected that El Paso was in Texas on the Mexican border, some 500 +miles to the south! "Well, if you don't mind, I'll come along to Santa +Fé with you, so then we can each help dig each other out of any holes +that happen along."</p> + +<p>"Righto, glad to have your company, but we're not speed merchants like +I guess you are with that 'oss there."</p> + +<p>"Don't make any mistake, brother. I passed the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> speed craze a thousand +miles back. It doesn't pay."</p> + +<p>So we retraced our tracks, the car leading. It was shorn entirely +of mudwings and footboards to save the wheels becoming clogged or +the running boards fouling the road. On the back was strapped a +large trunk. This I found is the usual way of travel by "auto" in +the West. Seldom does one see wings on a car that is driven for any +distance from home. Running boards, if present, are generally of an +improvised variety made by planks suspended and fastened in place by +ropes around the body work. Thus the road clearance is increased and +the necessity for constant cleaning removed. By far the most popular +"machine" is the Ford. You can buy one cheap and sell it as scrap when +the journey, if a long one, is finished. Owners of large expensive +touring cars very often have a Ford as well for emergencies and for +long distance travelling. In New Mexico and Arizona I have seen scores +of huge touring cars stuck helplessly in the road and often abandoned +altogether until the seasons permit of their removal.</p> + +<p>I followed my friends from Texas along little pathways and rough +tracks strewn with boulders, through gaps in fences, across fields and +back gardens, all, to my mind, at an alarming pace. It was only with +difficulty that I kept up with them at all, owing to the many ruts and +rocks and other obstructions that are far more hindering to two wheels +than four.</p> + +<p>Arrived eventually in Springer, I resolved to postpone the promised +meal until later in the day.</p> + +<p>We passed many ranches and crossed many mud-holes, some of alarming +width across. In most I managed to fall off at least once and wallowed +in the mud. Sometimes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> the car got so far ahead as to be lost +altogether, but after each encounter with a mud-lake I managed to make +up the lost time.</p> + +<p>Thus passed nearly thirty miles in which I realized the utter absurdity +of two wheels compared with four. At one place I lost so much time that +I began to give up as hopeless the attempt to keep up with the car +ahead. After all, what was the use? Once out of the mire, however, the +trail became better and turned into loose sand for many miles.</p> + +<p>Over this sand I made good progress. It was now nearly midday, and I +had visions of a meal in Wagonmound, a small village some twenty miles +away. The appetite was there all right, and as I trimmed off mile after +mile at good speed I forgot all about mud-holes and the like.</p> + +<p>All at once the engine burst into a wild roar and Lizzie began to slow +down. What new trouble was this? A broken chain, or something worse? I +stopped as quickly as I could and proceeded to an examination of the +transmission. The chain was all right, but the engine sprocket had +almost come right off the driving shaft. The key and nut, where were +they?</p> + +<p>For an hour I searched up and down in the sand and in the grass at +the roadside for the missing parts, but without success. The sun was +almost vertically above and its rays poured down unmercifully from a +cloudless sky. There was not a sign of water or of any living thing in +any direction.</p> + +<p>I returned to another examination to discover whether I could remove a +nut from any other part of the machine to replace the defaulter. Not a +nut was there anywhere that at all approached either the size or the +thread<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> required. I searched once more, wondering in how many days' +time another vehicle would pass that way, and half resolved to walk the +next twenty miles.</p> + +<p>What! Leave Lizzie and walk! <span class="smcap">Never!</span></p> + +<p>Another hour elapsed. I had explored all the ruts and searched every +inch of the road for half a mile back. I stopped, and wondered where +I could find water to drink. Water would be even more acceptable than +the nut and key now. I scanned the sun-baked prairie in all directions. +From horizon to horizon there was nothing but the solitary distant +mountains, and here and there a lonely parched-up hill. Truly a nice +outlook! Henceforth I would carry a water-bag with me.</p> + +<p>I decided to return to Lizzie, push her off the road and try walking. +But just to think of coming 3,000 miles in her constant company, and +then having to forsake her! "Poor old Lizzie, she's a dear old crock," +I murmured to myself.</p> + +<p>What was that? I stooped down to see, and there hidden in a crack +in the hard mud was the missing key. That put a different aspect on +matters altogether. The nut would in all probability not be far away. +I set out to explore every stone and every rut and every crack. Sure +enough I found it not very far away.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes the midsummer air was whistling past my ears once +again.</p> + +<p>In ten minutes I found myself surveying the biggest thing in mud-lakes +that it has ever been my misfortune to negotiate. The road was fenced +in, naturally. There was a ranch on either side of it. The lake of mud +extended sideways to the very borders of the road, ninety feet wide. +The distance across was about fifty yards. I estimated that the mud and +water were waist-deep in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> the middle. Ridges and furrows of harder mud, +where passing cars had churned it up, in a desperate attempt to get +through, led into the sickly mass and then were lost.</p> + +<p>"This requires a scientist, not a motor-cyclist, to cross," I averred, +and, propping Lizzie upon her stand, went to reconnoitre.</p> + +<p>I then created a precedent in the art of crossing mud-holes by which +I benefited on all future occasions. I was wearing water-tight field +boots which came up to my knees. The <em class="italic">modus operandi</em> was this: I would +select a likely-looking rut and walk along it as far as I could without +the water coming over the top of my boots. If it came over I went back +and tried another one. This process was repeated until I had a good +idea how the land lay. If I could possibly get through without the mud +reaching my knees, I knew I could get Lizzie through all right. This +manner of prospecting in advance I found indispensable and at the same +time perfectly successful.</p> + +<p>I got through somehow, but prayed that I should never meet another like +<span class="smcap">that</span>.</p> + +<p>I rolled into Wagonmound about three in the afternoon a very weary +and mud-stained traveller. When I got there, it started to rain; it +naturally would.</p> + +<p>There is but one restaurant in Wagonmound, which enjoys a population +of 200 or so Mexican-Americans. Here I learnt that there had been a +"cloud-burst" near Santa Fé but a few days back; also that the oldest +inhabitants of New Mexico had never known so much rain to fall as this +summer; also that the roads ahead were almost impassable; also that +at one place on the other side of Santa Fé and at a distance of fifty +miles between two towns there were one hundred cars stranded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> in the +mud and abandoned! I was proof against it all, however. I considered +that by now I could get through anywhere. I was not to be daunted +by fancy yarns and sceptical reports. Time was when I cursed the +Americans for being optimistic about their roads. That stage had long +since been passed. Now I was proof against even their pessimisms and +discouragements.</p> + +<p>The rain stopped and I proceeded once more, determined to make a big +effort to reach Santa Fé that night, though still ninety miles away.</p> + +<p>At Wagonmound there was a station of the Santa Fé Railway, which for a +good distance ran close to the trail. I inquired at the "Depot" what +were the chances of travelling on the track. I did not want to try +conclusions with any trans-continental trains if avoidable.</p> + +<p>"What! Ride in the track!" ejaculated the line-master. "You can't do +that!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I guess I can if I'm careful," was my response.</p> + +<p>"Waal, I jest guess you <em class="italic">can't</em>, my friend," was his rejoinder. "I'll +have you arrested if you try to work that stunt."</p> + +<p>Argument was useless. "D'ye think I want to damage your bloomin' old +track?" I asked him heatedly after much discussion. We settled the +matter finally by my tendering the information that I would ride up +and down his track all day long if I wanted to (not much fear of such +a desire developing!) and if he liked he could "write to <em class="italic">John Bull</em> +about it"!</p> + +<p>The humour of the situation was lost upon him.</p> + +<p>"You'll get shot," was his reply, whereat we parted.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a><br /><br /> + +NEW MEXICO</h2> + + +<p>I set out from Wagonmound with a light heart and a heavy stomach.</p> + +<p>The road ran parallel with the rail for a mile, then crossed over by a +level crossing and continued parallel on the other side. I did not get +far. No doubt there had been unusual rain; great fields were now lakes +with the grass bottom not always visible; little streams, normally no +more than the size of a small spring, were now swollen rivers. These +crossed the road in places. The road was fenced in. And thereby hangs a +tale.</p> + +<p>After precisely half an hour I found myself just three miles advanced, +and in the midst of a hopeless chaos of sun-dried emaciated mud. I +had "explored every avenue" of the road, but found none possible +of negotiation. Bit by bit I dragged Lizzie back and returned to +the level-crossing. Come what may I would try the track. Even if +the sleepers shook my very bones to powder it would be better than +eternally forging through the mud of New Mexico.</p> + +<p>On each side of the road where it crossed the rails the track was +guarded by a satanic device in the form of spikes and knife-edges +skilfully arranged and extending to a distance of several yards. The +function of these was evidently to prevent cattle and other animals +straying on the line. Traversing these was no easy task. If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> one did +not ride on top of the spikes, one's tyres wedged in between the +knives. Once past, the rest seemed easy. But things are not what they +seem, especially on railroad tracks. The sleepers were not ballasted +and were anything but level. There was no room outside the track, for +it was steeply banked, and the sleepers projected beyond the rails into +space. At every few hundred yards the track ran over a brick bridge +spanning a bog or a stream. The bridge was just the width of the rails +apart. But when it came to riding—ugh! As every sleeper was passed, +the wheels fell momentarily into the intervening space between it and +the next, and a series of sudden, sharp shocks was hammered through +Lizzie's poor frame as each sleeper in turn was struck by the front +wheel. The faster I went the quicker and smaller were the shocks, and +above a certain speed it was quite tolerable running.</p> + +<p>I was just getting up a comfortable speed when I imagined I heard the +whistle of a locomotive behind. This was discouraging and certainly +unexpected. I stopped quickly and looked back. Sure enough there was +a train coming, but it was easily half a mile away. To go forward in +the hope of out-pacing it would be useless. There was not even room to +get off the track, for once I got down the steep bank, I knew it would +be next to impossible to get back again, or to get anywhere, for that +matter.</p> + +<p>Neither was there room to turn round and go back.</p> + +<p>More than ever before did it appear to me that discretion was better +than valour.</p> + +<p>So I commenced to push Lizzie backwards to the level crossing, prepared +to roll sideways over the bank if I found the train got there first.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> + +<p>I was just beginning to feel sure about winning the race, and judged +that I should get there with a good hundred yards to spare. I reached +the crossing, but as naturally as one would expect, the back wheel +wedged tight between the knives of the cow-guard.</p> + +<p>Would she budge? No.</p> + +<p>As I struggled and heaved (I could not look on and see Lizzie go west +in such an absurd fashion), the "California Limited" bore down upon me. +Fortunately American trains do not always go so fast as they might; at +any rate, not so fast as one thinks they should when one is travelling +in them.</p> + +<p>With a final desperate lunge, Lizzie yielded to my efforts and came +unstuck. No time was lost in getting out of the way. Fifteen seconds +afterwards the train rolled by at a modest thirty. She had evidently +not got properly under way since her stop at Wagonmound.</p> + +<p>I returned to the mud-hole like a smacked puppy with its tail between +its legs, and reflected on what might have been.</p> + +<p>But it was no use. I stuck again.</p> + +<p>This time I was well armed with refreshments. I had bought six bottles +of a ginger-pop concoction from the last village. I carried one in each +pocket and the other two as reserves, only to be used in case of great +emergency, enveloped in the blanket strapped on the carrier.</p> + +<p>I drank one bottle at the close of every engagement with the road. But +after an hour I was still no farther ahead. I reclined on the bank and +waited for something to turn up.</p> + +<p>Fact revealed itself stranger than fiction once more. Something turned +up very speedily. It came in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> form of a "Marmon" touring car, +bearing a Californian number-plate. I had taken the precaution, of +course, to leave Lizzie in the right spot, so that no disinclined +passer-by could get through if he wanted to. After all, one musn't +<span class="smcap">rely</span> on everyone playing the Good Samaritan.</p> + +<p>The two occupants of the car were courtesy itself. They not only +assisted me in lifting Lizzie over the <em class="italic">pièce de résistance</em>, but also +showed considerable interest in me. Out here, where friendship between +motorists is much more marked (almost as a matter of necessity), there +is seldom any need for anxiety, and it is remarkable how potent a +thing is this roadside courtesy. Practically every town I stopped at +afterwards had heard of the strange traveller who was coming along on a +10 h.p. motor-cycle, and awaited my arrival with interest.</p> + +<p>"Had a fella in here on his way to California told us about you," said +one garage hand, in the heart of Arizona. "Said you'd be here sooner or +later."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes? And how long ago was that?" I queried.</p> + +<p>"Um—guess well over a couple of weeks ago." (The word "fortnight" is +unknown in America.)</p> + +<p>Such little incidents happened many times, and these, coupled with the +amazing reports that had been circulated by the Western Press about +me since that inflammatory article on "Roads," etc., in the <em class="italic">Kansas +City Star</em>, had generally managed to achieve for me quite a notorious +reputation in most towns long before I ever rattled into their midst.</p> + +<p>It was now nearly fifty miles to the next town. I pushed ahead as fast +as I could to reach it before dark. Progress, however, was slow. In +places where the road<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> was not fenced, I rode upon the rocky prairie. +It was, for the most part, a considerable improvement, and one could +ride around the bogs and mud-holes instead of crossing them.</p> + +<p>Never had I been in such wild and barren country. It was quite beyond +hope of cultivation in most places, being strewn with rough stones, +rocks, and boulders, and only sparsely covered with meagre-looking +grass which, in its efforts to keep alive at all, had to arrange itself +in small tufts dotted here and there in order to derive the maximum +nutriment from the scanty, unfruitful soil. The country itself changed +from flat to hilly as the Sangre de Cristo range once more drew nearer. +When it became hilly, great rocks projected through the surface of the +trail, which seldom or never swerved to avoid them.</p> + +<p>The trail itself resolved itself later on into no more than a mere +medley of ruts and grass-bare strips of all widths, running and +crossing each other at all angles and in all directions. There was +no time to look around and enjoy the wild scenery or study the +ever-changing sky-line; it was "eyes on the road" all the time. It +was quite impossible to dodge more than a fraction of the rocks and +boulders, and one was always abruptly brought back to stern reality, +if for an instant one's thoughts diverged to other things, by a sudden +shock from one's front wheel, or a sickening crash on the bottom or +side of the crank-case.</p> + +<p>It was a slow job, and travelling was more in the line of a mountain +goat than a motor-cycle. I was ultimately satisfied if I could average +eight or ten miles an hour.</p> + +<p>After thirty miles of this, I was surprised to discern ahead something +which looked like a caravan. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> were two vehicles, apparently +joined together, but with no visible means of locomotion. Nevertheless +they moved slowly. I judged that some enthusiast of the "See America +first" order had converted a Ford into a travelling home, or maybe +a wandering tribe of gipsies had become sufficiently modernized to +appreciate the benefits of auto <em class="italic">v.</em> horse transport.</p> + +<p>I caught them up and stopped to have a chat. Both sides seemed curious +at the other's means of locomotion, and wanted to know the why and the +wherefore.</p> + +<p>The team, I found, consisted as I had surmised of a Ford chassis, on +which had been skilfully built a caravan body. Behind was a trailer, +on two wheels, and of construction similar to, but smaller than, the +other. Evidently one was the parlour, kitchen, and store-room, and the +other the bedroom.</p> + +<p>The driver stopped his engine and jumped down.</p> + +<p>"Good day, sir; how do?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"Very fit, thanks; you the same? How in Heavens'n earth d'you manage to +get along on <span class="smcap">that</span>?"</p> + +<p>"Mostly by plenty of bad language and good driving," I returned. +"And what in the world are you doing in this benighted place with +<span class="smcap">that</span>?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm goin' west...."</p> + +<p>"Shouldn't be at all surprised at that!"</p> + +<p>"I'm bound for somewhere in Arizona. Come from Chicago. Fed up with +the life there, so I'm out for a change. Looking for a likely spot to +settle down where there's plenty of fresh air."</p> + +<p>"What! You've come all the way from Chicago on <span class="smcap">that</span>?" I +inquired incredulously.</p> + +<p>"Sure enough."</p> + +<p>"How long has it taken you?" (I was already<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> becoming sufficiently +Americanized, the reader will observe.)</p> + +<p>"Best part of three months."</p> + +<p>"How many with you?"</p> + +<p>"Wife and two children. Here they are."</p> + +<p>"Well, I wish you luck, brother; but it doesn't strike me that the +roads are ideal from a furniture-removing point of view, so to speak."</p> + +<p>"Roads?" (Here he waxed furious: I had touched a sore spot.) "Don't +talk to me about roads. The gor-dem Government oughta a' bin shot that +provided roads like this. Just think that across a civilized country +like America there isn't a dem road fit to drive a cow on to!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, I've thought that way myself; but there's a fallacy in the +observation, old man."</p> + +<p>"What d'ya mean?"</p> + +<p>"Just this—who told you America was a civilized country?"</p> + +<p>Long pause.</p> + +<p>"Aye, you've said it," and he relapsed into a stony silence.</p> + +<p>I bade him farewell, and left him scrambling slowly over the rocks and +mounds, while the caravan rocked from side to side and jerked its weary +way along. I reflected also that, after all, <span class="smcap">that</span> was the way +to see the country.</p> + +<p>At dark I was but a few miles from Las Vegas. Once again heavy clouds +rolled over the sky. Rain began to fall. My spirits did likewise. I +wondered whether it was a habit. But what cared I for rain or mud? By +now surely I was proof against them. I struggled on. And ultimately I +got there.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> + +<p>Las Vegas is a fair-sized town. In order of merit it is the second +largest in New Mexico. The first is Albuquerque and the third is the +capital, Santa Fé. There are no more towns of any size in New Mexico. +Including native Indian villages there are, in addition, in the whole +of New Mexico, some seventy or eighty small towns and very small +villages, making the total population of the whole State about 50,000. +When it is understood that New Mexico is about four times the area of +England, the reader will be able to form an idea of the sparsity of its +people.</p> + +<p>Now most people would have predicted that immediately on my arrival in +Las Vegas I would have sought out the best hotel and consumed a big +square meal. I did no such thing. I went to the movies instead.</p> + +<p>Then I returned and went to bed, half wondering whether to standardize +the one-meal-per-day experiment for future requirements.</p> + +<p>In the morning it was not raining, but all the time until midday it +showed signs of just commencing.</p> + +<p>At midday I became impatient and started out for Santa Fé. I had just +left the outskirts of the town when it did finally and irrevocably +decide to rain after all. I continued for five miles, when a Ford car +hove in sight. "Here goes for a chat and some straight dope on the +subject of roads to come," said I to myself and stopped. The Ford +stopped also. It had two occupants, a man and his wife. They both +looked bored, so we made a merry party.</p> + +<p>"What's the road like back there?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"Mighty rough—mighty rough. They get better the further east we come."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you think I shall be able to get through to the coast?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it's mighty hard riding, but I guess you ought to be able to get +through. Oh, but stay a minute, there's a big wash-out before you get +to Santa Fé—big stone bridge washed clean away with the floods, not a +trace of it left. I don't know much about motor-cycles, but I guess you +could get across the river all right. You'll want to be careful though. +There was a whole cartload of people washed down the river last week, +so they say; all of 'em went west, horse and cart and all!"</p> + +<p>"Ah well, that'll add a bit of excitement to the trip. I'm good at +crossing rivers."</p> + +<p>"Ugh! Guess you'll not be looking out for any excitement time you've +gotten to Santa Fé!"</p> + +<p>I was particularly interested in these people's domestic arrangements. +Without a doubt I have never seen an ordinary touring car, much less a +Ford, equipped and arranged in such excellent style. They carried with +them a portable stove on which could be cooked any dish they required. +They carried ample supplies of vegetables, fruits, eggs, butter, bacon, +bread and tinned goods, and even tanks of fresh water for culinary and +drinking purposes. This is certainly a wise precaution, because it is +never safe to drink water from even the most tempting of rivers in the +West. Furthermore, they had two collapsible beds, which could be laid +upon the top of the seats from back to front, and which were fully +equipped with feather mattresses and blankets! One would think that +all this paraphernalia would have taken up an enormous amount of room. +Not so. Apart from the fact that the back part of the car was neatly +covered in, there was not the slightest sign that the car was anything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +but an ordinary Ford with a lot of luggage in the back.</p> + +<p>I bade them farewell only on the strict condition that if the rain +continued I should return and share their supper. They would not be far +away, they told me. The <em class="italic">plat du jour</em> was salmon and Mayonnaise sauce, +above all things!</p> + +<p>Still, it is a habit of mine never to go back, however tempting the +circumstances. At intervals I passed a few Mexicans driving teams of +horses, and once more I was alone with Lizzie. As a compensation for +the drizzling rain, the scenery was perfect. The trail had now swerved +into rugged, mountainous scenery, thickly wooded, wild and picturesque +in the extreme. It was almost ridiculous to watch how the narrow +trail dodged in and out of the trees, cutting across small forests of +cedar, aspen, and pine, curving to right and left round some awkward +prominence, now dipping down suddenly into a little valley, and then +darting up over hilly slopes all strewn with loose rocks and broken +with jutting crags.</p> + +<p>We were approaching the Pecos, the haunts of the bear and +mountain-lion, and the headquarters of numerous tourists and campers +attracted thither by the fine fishing, shooting, riding, and +mountain-climbing.</p> + +<p>Occasionally, as one took a sudden swerve around the face of a +projecting hill, one would see, away there in the valley beyond, +a Mexican village set back from the road, and would marvel at the +strange sight of the square mud buildings, congregated together in such +unique and regular formation. The brick-red hue of the houses was so +near to that of the surrounding country as almost to hide the village +altogether from view, even though it was right "under one's nose."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> + +<p>My first impression of a Mexican village was one of amazement. To think +that several hundred people can live together in those single-storied +mud huts in peace and comfort, with ne'er a sheet of glass in the +windows and seldom a door within the door-posts—well, it was absurd! +But my second impression absorbed the first entirely, and was one +of appreciation for the primitive beauty of these native dwellings. +It is a beauty that lingers in one's memory, a beauty that lies in +natural flowing forms, defying the unrelenting sharp corners of modern +architecture. And I have seen many "adobe" houses in New Mexico that +would be far more comfortable to live in than many that have sheltered +my bones in Europe!</p> + +<p>I was meditating thus when the sound of rushing waters reached my ears. +Sure enough, the road ended abruptly, like a cliff, and continued in +like fashion on the opposite side. Between, and several feet below, +swirled the River Pecos. It was still swollen with rain from the +mountains, although it had evidently been much higher recently.</p> + +<p>Not a soul was about. There was a solitary Mexican house on a hill +to one side. I contemplated the river in silence, save for the sound +of its waters as they swirled over the rocky bed and now and then +dislodged a weighty boulder.</p> + +<p>To the right two rickety planks had been erected, supported partly +by ropes and partly by vertical props from rocks in the river, for +pedestrians to cross. I wondered what pedestrian would find himself in +these parts!</p> + +<p>To the left, a detour had somehow been dug at an angle of about 20 +degrees to the water's edge. In the opposite bank a similar detour +had been dug, but at an angle of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> about 30 degrees. Evidently several +cars had already passed through the river that way. But a car is not +a motor-cycle. I meditated. A car on four wheels could not only hold +its own better in the middle of the torrent, but could also get up +the opposite bank easier. One thing was quite certain—even if I got +through the river all right, it would require a superhuman effort to +push the machine up the steep, greasy incline on the opposite side.</p> + +<p>I reconnoitred up and down the river bank in the hope of finding a +better place to cross, but the quest was in vain. The banks grew +steeper and higher and the river-bed wider and rougher than ever. I +returned to Lizzie and said a prayer for her. Then I took off my tunic +and removed the bag and blanket from the carrier.</p> + +<p>I judged that it would be expedient to rely upon momentum as far as +possible, as the engine would certainly not run for long under water, +so, starting the engine once more, I put in the bottom gear and charged +down the greasy slope into the river.</p> + +<p>There was a tremendous hiss, and a cloud of steam went heavenwards. +The engine stopped long before I reached the middle, and the smooth +nature of the loose rocks that formed the river-bed was treacherous +for two wheels. There was nothing for it when the engine stopped but +to dismount quickly and push. When I reached the middle, the water was +up to my waist, and it took most of my strength to keep the machine +upright and hold it against the force of the river, which swirled +around the cylinders and washed up against the tank. I managed to avoid +being washed away, however, thanks to the great weight of the machine, +and got her to the opposite bank.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was a relief to be out of the water, but the task still remained +of climbing up the bank. I exerted all my strength, but the slope was +so greasy that neither my feet nor the wheels would grip on anything. +Twice or thrice I got it half-way up, only to slither down to the river +again <em class="italic">tout ensemble</em>. Then I tried the expedient of wedging a huge +stone under the back wheel and pushing an inch or two at a time. But it +was no use. The grease was impossible. I laboured with it for a quarter +of an hour.</p> + +<p>I was just on the point of giving it up after we had all slid down to +the bottom once again, when a huge Mexican appeared on the scene. He +was evidently the owner of the house on the opposite bank, and looked +hefty enough to lift a tram.</p> + +<p>We pushed with our united effort. We slipped and slithered and wallowed +about, but we got to the top. I breathed a sigh of relief, rewarded the +Mexican liberally, and walked across the plank to bring my tunic and +luggage.</p> + +<p>Lizzie had never been so clean since the day she came out of the +crate. Every speck of mud and dirt had been washed clean away, and her +pristine beauty was revealed once again. It was an hour's task to dry +the carburettor and the magneto and get the engine running. It was +getting dark when I got going again. The rain had stopped, but the mud +was terrible. Every half-mile I had to stop and poke it out of the +mud-guards with a screwdriver.</p> + +<p>Eventually, just before dark, I reached the tiny Mexican village of +Pecos, called after the river in the locality. It consisted mainly +of a general store and "rooming-house" for the benefit of stranded +travellers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> A rooming-house, by the way, is a kind of boarding-house +but with no accommodation for meals.</p> + +<p>At Pecos I was surprised to see an Indian motor-cycle and side-car +"parked" on a strip of green, which in generations to come would be +the <em class="italic">plaza</em> or square. Examination revealed it to be a most remarkable +machine. It was equipped with tool-boxes galore at every available +place and, strange to remark, there was a small emery wheel mounted +skilfully on the top tube and driven by a round belt from a pulley +on the engine shaft. There was also a small hand-vice clipped to the +frame, and numerous other small tools and fitments, which, to say the +least, were not usually found in the equipment of a motor-cycle.</p> + +<p>"Well," I said to myself, "if all this paraphernalia is required to get +a motor-cycle across to the coast, I'm in for a rough time."</p> + +<p>But I was relieved to find that it was the property of a tinsmith +who, out for a holiday, combined business with pleasure, and repaired +people's tanks and pots and pans wherever he went! In this way he not +only defrayed his travelling expenses, but made a far better income +than he used to get in his home-town in Ohio.</p> + +<p>He was a tall, burly-looking chap, and greeted me with effusion. In +like manner did I welcome him. The sight of another motor-cyclist +removed my worst apprehensions.</p> + +<p>"Strike me pink!" quoth I, "I thought I was the only madman in this +part of the world!"</p> + +<p>He glanced at my number-plate.</p> + +<p>"Gee, brother, put it right there. I wuz beginnin' to think I'd never +see another motorsickle agin; you goin' to the coast?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's where I'm heading for, but of late I'm not so sure about +getting there as I was when I left New York."</p> + +<p>"Oh, boy, yew'll git there all right if yew've come this far—I said +it; but say, there's some smart bits o' travellin' to do ahead on yer!"</p> + +<p>"What? Is it worse than what I've passed?"</p> + +<p>"Waal, I've bin there an' got back—travellin' with the missus +here—an' I tell you, the road gets better the further east I come. +And what's more'n that, brother, yew've got some mighty warm times +ahead before you see California—like goin' through Hell, it is. Wait +till you find yourself in the middle o' the Mohave Desert with the +sun beatin' down at 130 in the shade, and no shade—no nothin' except +prickly pears and funny-lookin' cactuses and a bit of sage-bush here +and there. Say, boy, wait till you see piles o' bones and carcasses +by the score lyin' at the side o' the road, an' yew'll begin to think +it's warm, all right. Whatever you do, boy, take water with yer. Yew'll +drink <span class="smcap">gallons</span> of it!"</p> + +<p>"How long have you been here, then?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Nigh on a couple o' weeks, brother. We've bin waitin' fer the rain to +clear off."</p> + +<p>Truly a bright prospect.</p> + +<p>I slept well that night, in spite of the fact that my day's mileage was +only thirty, and awoke to find the sky clear and promising.</p> + +<p>I spent the morning in tuning Lizzie and making minor adjustments +and preparation. I commissioned my tinsmith friend to make me a new +accumulator box, my own having become entirely disintegrated with +the vibration. For 1,000 miles it had been held together with straps +fastened tightly round it to the frame.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> + +<p>The distance to Santa Fé was only twenty-five miles, so I judged I +should be able to reach it that day.</p> + +<p>Those twenty-five miles took four hours. I will not attempt to +describe those four hours. They were filled to the brim with mud, +rain, wash-outs, and bridgeless rivers. In many places there were +great "washes" of sand brought down from the hill-sides that nearly +completely obliterated the trail as it struggled across the mountains.</p> + +<p>It was a very weary motor-cyclist indeed who rattled into Santa Fé at +5.30 that afternoon. And that motor-cyclist had quite made up his mind +to have a few days' rest before anything else happened his way.</p> + +<p>With a deep sigh of relief I leant Lizzie up against the pavement +opposite the "Montezuma Hotel." With heavy, aching limbs and sodden, +mud-stained clothes, I walked towards the door.</p> + +<p>It opened ahead of me.</p> + +<p>"Ah! how do you do, Captain Shepherd? We've been expecting you for over +a week. Come right in. We know <span class="smcap">all</span> about you. Here, James, +take Captain Shepherd up to his room at once. No, don't bother to say +anything. Just go and have a good hot bath."</p> + +<p>It was the voice of an angel that spoke!</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a><br /><br /> + +SANTA FÉ</h2> + +<p>Santa Fé is the most delightful of places. It has a charm all its +own. It is small, quaint, and intensely old. It is far removed from +other American towns—just as far as west is from east. It represents +the quintessence of New Mexico, and at the same time—so it is +alleged—sets the standard of art in America.</p> + +<p>The first words of a mediocre Easterner when he enters the <em class="italic">plaza</em> of +Santa Fé are "Heavens'n earth! what kind of a hole have I struck now?" +But if he has a soul underlying that eastern veneer of his, if he +has an appreciation for art and beauty in architecture unimpaired by +familiarity with gigantic skyscrapers, he will repent those words. His +disdainful grin as he first catches sight of the Art Museum and sees +an edifice of mud with ne'er a corner that could be called sharp, will +fade slowly from his face, and once he has recovered from the shock of +the "sudden uniqueness" of everything, his look will turn to one of +wonder and admiration.</p> + +<p>Santa Fé is small. It contains no more than 6,000 inhabitants—a +curious mixture of Mexicans, Indians, and Americans. Its population, +moreover, is at a standstill. As the capital of a State of 160,000 +square miles, it seems ludicrous, until one reflects that there are but +50,000 people in the whole country. Of Spanish origin, it is laid out +in Spanish style, with the <em class="italic">plaza</em><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> or public square in the centre. +Around the <em class="italic">plaza</em> are arranged most of the more important buildings. +These, with few exceptions, follow closely the "adobe" architecture +of the "Pueblo" Indians, combined with the architecture of the later +"Franciscan" Missions that were instituted by the Spanish Friars, who +in the early days of colonization penetrated far into the continent.</p> + +<p>In the forefront of every march and every exploration there was always +the brown-robed Franciscan, bearing along with his crucifix the trowel +and the book. To convert, to build, and to teach—these were the +self-imposed tasks to which he consecrated his life. Especially do we +honour him as a builder. Living among a passionate people, who resented +the intrusion of strange gods among their own, often surrounded by +cruel and relentless foes, the type of his structures was determined +by the conditions of his existence. There must be a church in which to +preach the new religion, a convent in which to live, and along with +these, a school in which he might give instruction. These must be +connected and compactly placed to serve as a fortress against present +enemies; and they must be massive, to withstand the ravages of time. +There were eleven such churches in New Mexico alone prior to the +landing of the <em class="italic">Mayflower</em>—and more than fifty others were established +during the century which followed.</p> + +<p>This is the only type of architecture that can be referred to as truly +"American," saving perhaps the unenvied skyscraper of the East. This +latter, however, belongs to no school and knows no creed; it is not +indigenous to the soil or produced by environment, native material, or +climate. Instead, it defiles the heavens and cuts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> the landscape into +futuristic nightmares of edge and angle.</p> + +<p>By far the choicest flower of this renaissance style is the New +Art Museum at Santa Fé. Recently completed, it is admired by all, +architects and laymen alike. It embodies the designs of six of the +ancient Spanish Missions, three centuries old, some of which have now +disappeared. The others are fast decaying with the ravages of time. +The outlines of the Museum are plastic, smooth, and flowing, rising +in curves and terraces, without stiffness, sharpness, or repetition. +There is a noticeable lack of symmetry, contrasting so much with the +style of the Californian Missions. Consequently, there is a different +composition and an added charm with every new position or change +of aspect. Inside are paintings and sketches of Indian, Mexican, +and desert life and scenes, specimens of native handiwork, and an +exhaustive library.</p> + +<p>Across the road, on the opposite corner, is the Governor's Palace, the +oldest governmental building in the States. Its appearance would in +modern eyes hardly justify the term "Palace." It is a very unimposing +building of native architecture but contains relics, trophies, and +works of art brought from all corners of the Western world. Within its +adobe walls are housed prehistoric remains of the extinct civilization +that thousands of years ago thrived in Western America.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="art_museum"></a> +<img src="images/i150a.jpg" width="600" height="369" alt="The Art Museum at Santa Fé." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Art Museum at Santa Fé.</span></div> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="oldest_house"></a> +<img src="images/i150b.jpg" width="600" height="405" alt="The Oldest House in America, at Santa Fé." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Oldest House in America, at Santa Fé.</span></div> +</div> + +<p>But not only the public buildings of Santa Fé are of Pueblo +construction. Many of the latest private edifices, both residential and +commercial, are of this strange architecture. The offices and works of +the "Santa Fé Water and Light Company" give one the impression of its +unique application to business buildings. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> for sheer delight give +me the private dwellings. It is beyond my power to convey an adequate +impression of the soft beauty of one of these exquisitely-designed +houses, with its smooth-flowing profiles, its shady "patio," open-air +bathing pools and well-planned garden. One must go and see to +understand and feel the charm of it all.</p> + +<p>But from the Mexican houses as residences Heaven preserve me! Seldom do +they boast more than one story; the roof is flat, and very often grass +and weeds are found thriving thereon. The "adobe" walls are recovered +from year to year throughout the ages as the hand of Time and the +ravages of weather work their destructive way. It can almost be said +that a Mexican house never grows old. The sun-baked mud that forms +its walls withstands the weather to an extraordinary extent. There is +a little house in a little street in the outskirts of Santa Fé, now +uninhabited, from whose roof rises a notice-board: "This is the oldest +house in America," it reads. It was supposed to have been built over +250 years ago.</p> + +<p>The citizens of Santa Fé are not progressive. The climate is against +them. They do not run any risk of over-exertion; a considerable time +is spent in eating ices, drinking cold concoctions, and lounging about +the <em class="italic">plaza</em> in the early hours of the afternoon. Here it was that I +developed this Western habit. In almost every Western town there is a +central square shaded with many trees, or palms in the hottest places. +The good citizen and the weary traveller alike are welcome here. They +lie about on the grass, or sit on their toes as only a Westerner knows +how. Thus pass the blazing hours. It is a treat to find oneself away +from the eternal hustle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> and bustle of city life and in the midst of +languid, easy-going freedom. I had several photographs that I took to +the drug-store to be developed and printed.</p> + +<p>"Shall I call in to-night for them?" I said.</p> + +<p>"To-night? Why, We won't be able to get them through for four days," he +replied, amazed at my ridiculous presumption.</p> + +<p>"But in New York they develop and print in one day only. Surely you're +not behind New York?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we don't do things like that in this part of the country, friend; +you've made a big mistake. Nobody hurries in New Mexico!"</p> + +<p>By dint of special pleadings, I got the photographs in three days. They +were nearly all ruined with having been hurried!</p> + +<p>For three days I created quite a furore in Santa Fé. The news of +my doings and misdoings was published daily in the <em class="italic">Santa Fé New +Mexican</em> during my stay. I evidently afforded just the right kind of +newspaper fodder that New Mexico wanted. My fame had spread all the +way from Kansas City long before I actually fell upon the anxious +population. My article on Roads, etc., was reproduced immediately after +its publication in Kansas, together with several caustic editorial +comments. Here is one example:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>"SEES AMERICA BY COW-PATH."</p> + +<p>English Warrior gets little rest touring America by Motor-cycle.</p> + +<p>"Roads? What roads? I haven't seen any roads. I have been +following a place where cows had been walking...."</p></div> + +<p>Here is another heading to a two-column "article":—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>"COW-PATHS"—and not roads in America:—Verdict of British Royal +Airman here on Motor-cycle.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p></div> + +<p>And again (this headed a quarter-page "Report").</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>"BALLOON"—Only way to get over New Mexico roads, declares British +Aviator.</p></div> + +<p>I was pounced upon immediately after my arrival. No sooner was I +settled down in a good steaming hot bath (oh, joy untold!) than the +telephone bell in my room rang. I let it go on ringing for two or three +minutes. It would not stop. I jumped out and lifted the receiver.</p> + +<p>"A reporter is here to see you, sir."</p> + +<p>"Och, Hell! Tell him I'm having a bath," and I banged the receiver down +and plunged again into the tub.</p> + +<p>In a minute there was a knock at the door. "No use trying to shake off +an American reporter," I told myself.... "Come in!"</p> + +<p>The result appeared in next morning's paper—not the result of +<span class="smcap">my</span> observations, be it noted, however. Amongst other +statements the following was laid to my charge:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>"In my opinion the old Prairie-Schooner is far superior to a +motor-car (for travelling in New Mexico). If you can't get a +schooner, try horse-back travel. I really believe some horses +could get through the mud and dodge the boulders. (It was almost +funny there!)... But the ideal form of transportation over these +United States is a big dirigible, say 700 ft. in length, modelled +on Great Britain's R.34. (It had just recently crossed the +Atlantic, hence the introduction.)... I might have suggested the +use of an aeroplane, but I have been told two aviators got stuck +in Santa Fé last winter owing to the deep snow in the environs. So +then, after seeing your roads, I should recommend the R.34 type of +machine in which to travel...."</p></div> + +<p>Suffice it to say that I never mentioned Prairie-Schooners, dirigibles, +or aeroplanes! We talked (or rather our friend the reporter did) about +the many notorieties that had passed through Santa Fé of recent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> years, +and the Lowell Observatory at Flagstaff some 500 miles away.</p> + +<p>Every day during my stay our friend the reporter called in at my +hotel. Every day appeared in the press a lengthy report of an alleged +interview.</p> + +<p>What an interminable worry it must be to newspaper editors of the West +to provide adequate copy for their hungering readers!</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a><br /><br /> + +THE RIO GRANDE VALLEY</h2> + + +<p>My stay in Santa Fé was a pleasant one. At the Post Office I found +a few letters and some money, the former forwarded from Cincinnati, +and the latter from Washington (it had been cabled there two months +before). On the morning of the fourth day my weary frame was +sufficiently rested to warrant my continuing once more. I bought a +two-gallon water-bag in preparation for the 700-mile desert journey +ahead, and once more set out westward. A crowd of interested citizens +witnessed my preparations outside the hotel, plied me with questions +as to how far I was going, how long it would take, and how old I was, +and finally bade me farewell as Lizzie burst into a roar, and we moved +sadly, if noisily, away.</p> + +<p>The next town was Albuquerque, some sixty or seventy miles ahead. The +road in between lay over a barren wilderness of sand and prairie. The +blazing sun poured down upon it fierce and unrelenting; nowhere was +there a sign of any living thing. Hardly a hill or a swelling relieved +the monotonous flatness of the trail. In the distance, on my right, +rose rugged mountain ranges suddenly out of the trackless plains.</p> + +<p>After twenty miles appeared La Bajada Hill, crossing the trail at +right angles. There was not much climbing to be done, but going down +the other side was a different matter. It seemed that a great "fault" +or outcrop had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> appeared in the plain, making it much lower on the +one side than the other. No less than thirty-two acute hairpin bends +conducted the trail down the precipitous slope. The gradient in places +was terrific. At the bottom was a cemetery!</p> + +<p>Here and there we crossed the sandy wash of a one-time river, leaping +over bumps and boulders and picking the road as well as possible. +Occasionally a wooden shack was passed, with a few dirty-looking +Indians hanging around: Indians dressed not in native garb but in +pseudo-modern style. The only things that betrayed them were their +faces and lank dark hair. He that goes to the West and expects to see +the landscape decorated with Indians dressed in multicoloured garbs of +picturesque pattern, is doomed to disappointment. The first impression +of a modernized native is disheartening if one has lingering thoughts +in one's mind left from childhood's days when one read with ceaseless +delight of stalwart Indians with huge muscles and painted bodies +galloping along, bow and arrow in hand, on a fiery white mustang in +pursuit of an unfortunate "pale-face."</p> + +<p>Ah, no!—<em class="italic">Nous avons changé tout cela!</em> The Indian as a rule is +not stalwart, and decidedly not picturesque. Having had the gentle +arts of civilization thrust upon him, and being naturally of a lazy +disposition, he is content to loaf around chewing shag and disfiguring +the landscape generally with his presence.</p> + +<p>As Albuquerque was approached, things looked more flourishing. The land +was cultivated where possible, and in places corn and wheat appeared.</p> + +<p>It is very strange to find a prospering city in the midst of such +desolate surroundings as Albuquerque has. It came as a pleasant +surprise to me to see the electric trams,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> the wide streets and the +clean modern buildings. I was puzzled to know just what it was that +kept the place going. Albuquerque, however, although the largest town +in the State, has only 10,000 or so inhabitants, and is the nucleus +of a very extensive ranching district which undoubtedly largely +constitutes its <em class="italic">raison d'être</em>. I left it rather sadly, because, with +the exception of Flagstaff some 500 miles away, I should not meet +another town of anywhere near its size until I reached the Pacific +Coast.</p> + +<p>Shortly after leaving Albuquerque the trail crossed a very wide shallow +muddy river—the famous Rio Grande. It was spanned by a low wooden +bridge which creaked and rattled in its planks as we rumbled across +it. We saw quite a lot of the Rio Grande and got to look upon it as +a friendly sort of river. That is not to be wondered at, because in +a wilderness that is next to being called a desert one can become +attached to anything that has life or movement, even if it be a muddy +stream! Probably in consideration of the feelings of weary travellers, +but for no other apparent purpose, the trail from time to time crossed +and re-crossed the same old river with the same old friendly wooden +bridges until finally, eighty miles farther on, it was left to wander +southward unmolested through the plains and deserts of New Mexico and +Texas into the Gulf of Mexico.</p> + +<p>At Isleta there was a surprise in store. Isleta is a charming Indian +pueblo, built wholly of "adobe" mud and populated entirely by native +Indians. So unique, so bewitchingly attractive are these pueblos, that +I must digress awhile to describe their nature and origin.</p> + +<p>The history of the American Indians since the advent of the White Man +is an unsatisfactory one from all points of view. Different authorities +on the subject have widely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> different opinions as to the eventual +outcome of the American domination, which from generation to generation +has vacillated in its policy and, sometimes with bloodshed, sometimes +with bribery, has gradually reduced the red man to subjection, occupied +his country and enforced an unwilling civilization upon him. But +all are agreed that the Indian of to-day is in a far lower stage of +civilization than when the early settlers first drove him from his +rightful property.</p> + +<p>There are, however, a few tribes which advanced much farther along +the road to civilization than the others. Moreover theirs was a +civilization quite their own, not acquired through contact with the +whites. Chief among them are the Pueblo (pueblo-building) Indians, and +the Moqui Indians, the town-building natives of New Mexico and Arizona.</p> + +<p>The "Pueblo" Indians include several different tribes, each speaking +a different language. Each tribe, with only one exception, comprises +a number of separate "pueblos" or villages, generally built on the +"community dwelling" basis, that is, the houses are in a large and +solid mass, several stories in height, each one receding from the one +below and approached by ladders. In these houses, which look like great +pyramids, live a number of families. In some pueblos most of the houses +are on this plan and as many as 1,600 people have been known to live +in one house. The houses are built of adobe, and sometimes of stones +cemented together with adobe.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="pueblo_taos"></a> +<img src="images/i158.jpg" width="600" height="340" alt="Pueblo of Taos." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">Pueblo of Taos.</span><br /> +<em class="italic"><small>By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler.</small></em></div> +</div> + +<p>Several of these Indian villages are clustered together in the vicinity +of Santa Fé, often on the banks of the Rio Grande. Each has its own +customs and makes its own laws. All are centres of interest. Artists +flock to them from all parts of the Continent to paint and sketch +them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> Travellers tramp for miles to see the Indians in their native +costumes and conditions. Some make jewels; some make vases, ornaments, +idols, and all manner of earthenware goods; some work in silver, while +others make blankets and rugs. With hardly an exception they all make +an excellent living out of the things they make and sell.</p> + +<p>Each of the pueblos has its own feast-days, or "fiestas," when, for a +time varying from a day to over a week, the whole population devotes +its time to feasting, dancing and games. The religious rites that are +performed and the strange customs that prevail at these feasts and +dances form in themselves a vast and interesting study.</p> + +<p>At Isleta the road again crossed the Rio Grande. This done, it found +itself in a dry sandy wilderness, with the Manzano Range running from +north to south in the distance. In patches the ground was white with +sandhills, and the trail became two straggling white lines, where +the wheels of passing vehicles had left their imprint in the soft +white sand. These two white ruts were my only guides. All around was +desolation. Nothing was to be seen anywhere, save those two thin +white lines straggling aimlessly ahead, the sun-scorched desert with +its ragged stones and evil, scanty, tenacious vegetation, and on +the horizon that fiery stretch of mountain range, whose peaks rose +rugged and defiant and glistened with red as if roused to anger by +the eternally raging sun. I had never before realized the great depth +of feeling that a mountain range is capable of evoking. The Alps are +majestic beyond description. They awe the observer to a sense of his +own utter insignificance as he gazes upon that glistening majestic +sky-line, and feels the overwhelming influence of those mighty +mountains upon him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> But if it is an overwhelming influence, it is +a friendly one—at least I have found it so. Although there is an +instinct in me, as in most people, impelling me to guard and protect +myself against anything that is tremendous—a relic, I suppose, of +prehistoric days—I feel towards the Alps always like a little boy +feels towards his "big brother." The same feeling is seen reflected in +the "Sierra Madre" (Mother Mountains) of California.</p> + +<p>But in New Mexico I have seen huge ranges that one could truthfully +call nothing else but "wicked." They seem to gaze and glower with a +cruel, terrifying gleam upon the wanderer who defies their hateful +solitude. The hours of travel that followed were hours of weary +monotony. A brief lapse every thirty miles or so when a tiny Mexican +village on the Rio Grande was passed, and once more the two white ruts +came into view, the stones and cactus, and again the evil mountains.</p> + +<p>Later, the sand turned to rocks. The trail began to climb the +mountains, and the sun sank low in the sky. If ever there was a place +to starve to death, thought I, it is here. I reflected upon what the +consequences would be if I ran out of petrol or had a bad smash.</p> + +<p>I didn't run out of petrol and I didn't have a smash. Instead of that, +after about eighty miles from Isleta, the trail descended the mountain +pass, re-crossed the Rio Grande for the last time, and swerved at +right angles, to continue its course westward. Shortly before sunset +I arrived at a little Mexican town called Socorro, where both man and +machine were rested, while the man that kept the "C'fay" in the <em class="italic">plaza</em> +got busy with some "eats" for weary me.</p> + +<p>After dinner away once again we go. The sun is setting. We must find a +resting-place before dark sets in, for in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> these countries where the +air is clear and mountain ranges hem in every horizon the darkness +comes quickly and the sinking of the sun below the sky-line means +almost the final close of day.</p> + +<p>There is another range to climb: it lies right ahead of us. As we +approach, it looms its massive bulk like a wall before us. The trail +bends and turns as if hesitating before it tackles this difficult feat; +up there in front is a great gap. The road cuts through it, and is seen +no more. Beyond are much greater heights to climb. Shall we attempt it +now or leave it till the morrow?</p> + +<p>The smell of petrol, which the last few minutes was a suggestion, +became a reality. I look down in the fading light and find the precious +fluid spurting out from the carburettor union. Evidently the pipe has +broken away with the vibration. So I swerve off the road (almost easier +done than said) and stop at the flattest patch of earth that I reach.</p> + +<p>Oh, the joys of the open life once again! Never shall I forget that +night in the desert past Socorro. The sun as it set behind the range +that I had commenced to climb plunged everything around into gloomy +blackness. Across the valley, from north to south, stretched the +Manzano Range that I had already crossed. It shone like fire throughout +the whole of its length. Gradually the rugged shadow of the range +behind me crept farther and farther away, crossing the river and +mounting up the opposite side of the valley. Slowly, slowly it mounted +up, higher and higher as if a great black cloak were being drawn +by an unseen hand over that fiery ridge that glistened in its evil +splendour. In five short minutes there were but a few of the highest +peaks remaining above the inky shadow. They enjoyed their splendour for +a few brief<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> moments and then were gone, as though wiped suddenly out +of existence. All was blackness: silent, heavy blackness. The stars +appeared, one by one.</p> + +<p>I prepared my bed for the night.</p> + +<p>What was that? A faint tinkle reached my ears. It sounded like the +noise of a cow-bell, such as one hears in the Swiss valleys. Yes, there +it was again. It must be a cow! But what was a cow to live on here? No +doubt there was a well near by. I felt then that nothing in the world +would taste better than a drink of pure fresh milk. The heat of the day +had been intense, and one can always drink in New Mexico.</p> + +<p>I slipped into my field-boots, took a collapsible cup from my bag and +set out in search of the cow. I was quite determined to milk that cow, +come what may.</p> + +<p>I stumbled over the rough stones, picked my way between the cactus +plants and sage-brush. I arrived at a fence. The tinkle, tinkle seemed +to come from just the other side. Cup in hand, I climbed over, very +gingerly so as not to tear my pyjamas. Pyjamas in a desert, think of it!</p> + +<p>"Now, where are you?" Ahead I saw dimly a large black form.</p> + +<p>"Come along, girlie, come and be milked," quoth I in my most bewitching +manner. She moved not. I advanced slowly, trying to discern which was +the business end. Meanwhile I pictured the cow asking herself, "Wot's +the big idea milking me in py's at this time o' night?"</p> + +<p>I drew closer and looked....</p> + +<p>It was a bull!</p> + +<p>I returned hurriedly to my bed, and cursed when a prickly pear caught +me on the left shin!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="rio_grande"></a> +<img src="images/i162.jpg" width="600" height="339" alt="The Rio Grande, New Mexico." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Rio Grande, New Mexico.</span><br /> +<em class="italic"><small>By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler.</small></em></div> +</div> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a><br /><br /> + +THE PETRIFIED FOREST OF ARIZONA</h2> + + +<p>In the morning I patched up the broken petrol pipe as well as I could +with insulation tape, and started again on my way. I had to do forty +miles before I should see a soul—forty miles before breakfast could be +thought of.</p> + +<p>It was as well that I had stopped where I did the night before. The +road twisted around precipitous bends and climbed up rough rocky slopes +into the mountains. Down on the other side we found ourselves in a +great sandy plain, stretching due west and bounded by parallel ranges +of rugged mountains. There were frequent washouts and frequent spills. +In places the little streamlets that flowed from the mountain sides cut +great chasms across the road, sufficient to crush one's wheels if one +leapt into them at too great a speed.</p> + +<p>Magdalena is a typical cow-boy town. In the heart of ranching country +and hundreds of miles from anything but a few similar towns, it was in +the early days (before prohibition) one of the "warmest" places in the +West. Cow-boy outfits are seen advertised at all of the few "Stores," +but there has been one big change—the notorious saloons are no longer. +New Mexico adopted prohibition several years before its universal +approval. Consequently Magdalena had had ample time to settle down by +the time of my arrival.</p> + +<p>I was directed to a "C'fay" that had the reputation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> of providing the +best meal in the town. I pushed open its swing doors and beheld a +picture of cleanliness and tidiness. The tables were all spick and span +in their clean white tablecloths and not a vestige of dirt was visible +anywhere.</p> + +<p>The small boys of the town displayed a lively interest in me as +I disported myself with my camera at the expense of their public +buildings (to be exact, one wooden church). "Look at 'is boots, Jem," +said one. "Looks like as though he's a gor-dem buck-jumper." "Aye, but +'is pants don't look ter be the right stuff, Joe."</p> + +<p>I left them wondering and fell upon the trail once more. A few miles +out I came to a "round-up" of steers. There were ten or twelve cow-boys +on horseback, and some 5,000 or 6,000 steers grouped together in a +large dense mass, blocking the road altogether. "Tough guys, those +cow-boys," I remarked to myself and pretended to ignore them. But I +couldn't help thinking what MIGHT happen if I barged into one of their +animals or if for any reason they didn't like the look of my face!</p> + +<p>Slowly, very slowly, the great mass of cattle moved, like a tide +sweeping over the plain. Carefully I picked my way along and felt +relieved when I left them right behind. I opened out and prepared for a +long weary jaunt. The next town of any kind was ninety miles away.</p> + +<p>The first thirty were dead flat but hard going. There had evidently +been considerable rain recently. Emaciated mud-holes were now rock-hard +contortions in the road. Often I rode on the prairie in preference.</p> + +<p>Another thing was evident. There had been a great drought the previous +year. Ranching is impossible without water, and even now, in spite +of the recent rains, could be seen here and there a great lake-bed +completely dried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> up. Nothing remained but a great mass of sun-baked +hoof-marked mud, and here and there a skeleton lying upon it. The +ranches of New Mexico are of huge size and cover enormous areas. True, +a few good years mean a fortune to the rancher, but one bad one means +ruin. Hundreds of ranches had been ruined the previous year, I found, +and several thousand head of cattle had died from the drought. As I +passed along, their skeletons lay strewn at the roadside, sometimes +singly, sometimes in groups of a dozen or more. Hardly a refreshing +sight for a poor innocent motor-cyclist!</p> + +<p>At the end of the thirty mile stretch we entered hilly, thickly-wooded +country. The scenery was wild and rough. I met no one and saw no one. +After another fifteen miles was a shack at the side of the road. +The occupation of the owner was selling petrol and oil to passing +travellers. I opined that this was probably not an enviable vocation +from a financial point of view. I filled up, and found to my dismay +that the price, instead of being twenty-five cents per gallon, was +seventy-five. It was 100 miles from the railway, and all supplies had +to be brought by road, hence the trebled cost.</p> + +<p>I have never been through wilder country than that which followed for +100 miles. Hilly, densely-wooded, and fertile, it was most difficult +to believe that it was so thinly populated. Strange rock-formations +appeared. Grotesque boulders of leviathan size lay strewn and standing +in grass-covered openings. Wild pigeons by the score darted in and out +amongst the trees. Merry squirrels scampered up the pine trees and eyed +me from above. Huge "Jack Rabbits" and young antelopes bounded here +and there, and, seeing the intruder, disappeared. It all seemed such a +change from the desert journey of the day before.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + +<p>At Quemado, about ninety miles from Magdalena, I felt hungry. Quemado +consists of a wooden shack of an "hotel," and one "general merchandise" +store. I stopped at the "hotel" and fed. Meanwhile it commenced to +rain. My spirits sank with the barometer.</p> + +<p>The rain stopped three hours afterwards.</p> + +<p>I set out full of energy and perseverance an hour after that. We +slipped and slithered and slid in the miry road. Ten miles was enough. +All the energy and perseverance had flown to the winds. I rode up +on to a hill-side to a spot on the fringe of a forest of cedar and +yew. Propping Lizzie up on her stand, I went in search of fuel. I had +decided on the luxury of a camp fire.</p> + +<p>Fuel there was in abundance. Withered trunks and broken boughs lay +strewn about the hill-side. I soon had a roaring fire and passed away +an hour or two before dark in writing letters and ruminating on the +delights of a camp fire.</p> + +<p>As the sun sank down in the valley, I slipped under the old blanket +and watched the flames as they leapt from the burning embers. Just +ahead, almost in sight from where I lay, was the western borderline of +New Mexico. Just beyond there, where the golden sun was slowly sinking +in the valley, was Arizona; the Arizona that I longed so much to see. +I had heard much of Arizona; its wonderful climate, its ancient, +unknown ruins, its extinct volcanoes, its stupendous gorges, its great +thirsty deserts. What would Arizona have in store for me? I wondered. +And the fragrant smell of the burning cedarwood wove a magic charm +about my thoughts as they slowly drifted into the mystic realm of the +unconscious world.</p> + +<p>Morning brought a smiling dawn. I rose early and returned to the trail.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + +<p>In ten minutes I was in Arizona. A large signboard indicated the fact. +The road grew wider and better. Even the scenery seemed to change +perceptibly. I somehow felt at home in Arizona.</p> + +<p>At Springerville I breakfasted and bought picture post-cards. When +travelling the latter operation is equally as important as the former.</p> + +<p>Here the road makes a sudden turn to the north, bearing afterwards +to the north-west. After twenty miles of riding, the country became +flatter; it seemed as though it were now an immense plateau. After +another twenty, I reached a little town known as St. John. Here I +filled a half-hour in the commendable process of consuming ices. I had +now to traverse some difficult country, as the great desert of Arizona +was approached. There were more mountains to climb, but when the summit +was reached there was little or no decline on the opposite side, the +altitude grew higher and higher, and as it did so, strange as it may +seem, the earth grew flatter and flatter.</p> + +<p>There is but one ridge ahead to climb. The rocky trail bends and twists +as it slowly swallows up the gradient that connects us to the horizon. +A final swerve, and we commence a slight descent. There is a gap in the +hills; the trail skirts around one side, and behold, a vast, unbounded +plain lies before us, stretching to left and right as far as the eye +can see.</p> + +<p>But what is this strange sight? On our right, barely a half of a mile +from the road, is a gigantic mound. Its presence there, rising abruptly +out of the mathematical flatness of the plain, seems ridiculous, +absurd, uncanny. It gives the impression of having been just dropped +from the sky. It is a mud volcano—an uncommon sight, and formed by +the ejection of sand under pressure from below<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> the surface of the +earth. All around, the plain is of distinctly volcanic formation. +Indeed, we have now entered a vast volcanic region, extending for +several thousands of square miles. Many of the mountains that we shall +see, some of them giant peaks, and some only little hills, are extinct +volcanoes of other ages. They were young and active while man was in +his barbaric infancy on this weary globe, perhaps even before that.</p> + +<p>But soon is to appear a far more wondrous sight. In a few miles we +enter a country of strange shapes and magic colours—the Petrified +Forest of Arizona. The first signs of approach are chains of little +lava hills of grey and white. They also have an air of abruptness. One +wonders how they came to be there at all. Flowing down to the flat +plain in graceful, mathematical curves, they look like mounds of chalk, +although they are softer still. Composed of soft, fine lava-dust, +they weather rapidly away. Now all the plain is lava-dust and a tuft +of lean grass here and there has found a spot wherein to make a home. +Further on one notices great blocks of stone, like pillars of marble, +lying strewn about the plain, some half buried, some barely projecting, +and some perfectly naked. Here is one, there is another—they are +everywhere, in every direction, of all shades of colour and varying in +size from fragments an inch in diameter to pillars twenty or thirty +feet in girth and over 100 feet in length. Every fragment, every +massive block of marble once formed part of a great forest that spread +for hundreds of square miles. The trees of this great forest were huge +leviathans, unlike anything we know of in the Old World and similar +only to the giant Sequoias of California (but a few hundred miles +away), that send their mighty trunks hundreds of feet into the air—the +relics of a bygone race.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> + +<p>This great forest of Arizona was at its prime. The stately pine trees +rose towering into the sky. Birds of wonderful plumage lived in those +mighty branches, and wild animals roamed amongst its undergrowth. Then +something happened; no one knows exactly what—this great forest was +enveloped in volcanic dust that in time buried it completely. To the +eye, if eye there was to witness the scene, the forest was no longer +visible; it lay buried in the bowels of the earth; it had passed away; +as a mighty, living forest it would exist no more. But those monster +trees remained awhile, preserved by the all-surrounding lava. What +happened then took thousands of years to achieve, though it can be +recited in a few brief words. The trees in substance disappeared, but +their forms remained in the hardened lava, like huge moulds waiting +to be cast, their every crack and wrinkle preserved with inexorable +accuracy. In time, it may have been æons, the moulds were cast, by +some inexplicable phenomenon, and where once were timber and vegetable +tissues came fluid marble rock that filled the hollows and cracks +and wrinkles and reproduced the forms that ages before had been so +suddenly arrested in their growth. Further ages passed, and gradually +the soft lava was removed by the action of wind and rain and other +causes. Gradually the harder material was laid bare, and the giant +trees once more saw the light of day, but this time they were trunks of +solid marble instead of pine wood. The work of denudation continued. +The marble pillars, unsupported, fell to earth. Some broke into huge +blocks, while others remained more or less intact through the whole of +their length, and unless one examined them at close quarters and saw +the nature of their texture, they could not be distinguished from a +tree that had been recently felled.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> + +<p>There are hundreds of these marble pine and spruce tree trunks, whose +cross-sections, revealed where they have broken, glisten with every +colour of the rainbow. In places, where they lie tumbled and heaped +together, it is as though a whole quarry of onyx had been dynamited +out. In one place a fallen trunk of marble, nearly 200 feet in length, +has spanned a gorge and formed a natural log bridge that all who dare +can walk across.</p> + +<p>Such is the fairy tale that scientists tell. The traveller whose +privilege it is to journey across the Petrified Forest of Arizona will +be lost in amazement at this fact which is so much stranger than any +fiction.</p> + +<p>I left the wonderful scene behind me with a feeling that I was bidding +farewell to one of the prime mysteries of the world. Trunks and +fragments of trunks could be seen projecting even from the surface of +the road over which I passed, and a few blades of fine grass, with +here and there a stunted cactus plant, were the only sign of life in +any direction. I passed out as suddenly as I had entered. A double +<strong>S</strong>-bend, where strange contorted rocks lay piled up in confusion +on either side—and the Petrified Forest was left behind.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="petrified_leviathan"></a> +<img src="images/i170a.jpg" width="600" height="396" alt="Giant petrified log." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">A Petrified Leviathan.</span></div> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="lizzie_pet_forest"></a> +<img src="images/i170b.jpg" width="600" height="411" alt="Motorcycle." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">"Lizzie" in the Petrified Forest, Arizona.</span></div> +</div> + +<p>The sun was nearly setting when a couple of hours later I set out from +Holbrook, well fed and well refreshed. From my map I judged I should be +able to reach the Little Colorado River, on whose banks I could spend +the night. But in Arizona the sun sets quickly. It can almost be said +to get dark with a bump. The result was that in half an hour I was +completely lost in the outskirts of the Great Arizona Desert. The trail +had somehow disappeared, I knew not where, and but for my headlight, I +should undoubtedly have ended in difficulties amid the inky blackness. +Loth to turn back, I continued over the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> almost trackless waste +of rock, sand, and prairie. I arrived at the rocky bed of a small +stream. There were a few inches of water here and there, but it was not +perceptibly moving. It could not possibly be the Little Colorado. I +walked across to the other side. There I found a large ditch, more like +an artificial dyke, that I knew I could never get Lizzie across. There +was grass growing near, however, so I laid down my bed for the night, +resolving to leave further investigations till daylight.</p> + +<p>I should have known better than to camp by an almost stagnant stream, +but I was so utterly tired that I defied the counsel of my own +experience. Mosquitoes literally filled the air. Never have I known +them so thick and so tenacious. The vibration of millions of wings kept +the air in a constant shriek—a wild yell that never abated. I could +only obtain relief from their attacks by enveloping my face completely +with the thick blanket, and breathing through it. Then everything +became so hot—the night itself was very sultry—that sleep was next to +impossible. I snatched an hour or two of rest, but was a mass of bites +and itching lumps next day.</p> + +<p>In the morning, I returned to Holbrook, had breakfast, and searched for +information about the road. It appeared that a bridge had collapsed +somewhere, so a new trail had been formed to circumvent it. I had +missed the turning the night before. At the garage where I made +these inquiries, I took the opportunity of removing Lizzie's wheels, +and of cleaning and adjusting the spindles. I packed them with new +grease in preparation for the sandy journey to come, and removed and +re-aligned the chain sprockets; I wanted no breakdowns or searches for +missing parts in the baking, sandy desert. It was as well that I had +taken precautions. I found the lock ring of one chain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> wheel missing +altogether, and the sprocket half-way unscrewed from its shaft. The +only item for regret was the charge of one dollar for the use of the +garage! Having already had experience of American garage mechanics, I +resolved not to allow any more to learn their trade at Lizzie's expense.</p> + +<p>I had no difficulty in picking up the trail in the full light of +day. Once again I set out to cross the great Desert of Arizona. The +next town, a kind of oasis, was Winslow, about forty miles away. The +barren prairie soon gave way to bare limestone rocks and shifting +sand; vegetation disappeared altogether, save for occasional clumps +of greeny-grey sage brush dotted here and there over the rocky waste +that ever met the eye. The air was hot but clear. On an elevation one +could see for tremendous distances. The little tuft of black smoke that +hung over Winslow looked clear enough to be a mile or two away. It was +thirty; in the distance was a great silver line, threading its way +intermittently across the plain. I knew it to be the Little Colorado, +which, like its mother, the Great Colorado, flows nearly the whole of +its length in a canyon and seems deliberately to choose the path of +greatest resistance, cutting through rocks and gorges of limestone and +granite with ne'er a murmur.</p> + +<p>As Winslow drew near, the narrow sandy track gave way to a broad +concrete highway. I had not seen a made road of any description for +many days. The appearance of concrete here in the middle of a desert +seemed ridiculous. I would enjoy it to the full. Lizzie's throttle +jumped open unexpectedly and away we sailed through the breeze. +"There's a catch in this somewhere," I told myself. There was! It +nearly meant grief. The city architect had foreseen the goading lure of +that cold flat stretch of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> concrete and made up his mind that speeding +should not exist thereon. So he made several dips therein at intervals, +each dip about five or ten feet below the normal level of the road. Any +attempt to travel at more than twenty would mean damage to the vehicle +when it hit the opposite side. Unfortunately these obstructions were +absolutely invisible until but a few feet ahead. Sometimes there was a +warning. More often there was not. The first I came to quite unawares +and at a high speed. The machine with its momentum nearly leapt clean +across the space, and had I been going much slower it would have struck +the opposite side lower down and inevitably have caused a serious +crash. I went warily after that and wondered what ingeniously contrived +anti-speeding devices I should meet next.</p> + +<p>Arrived at Winslow, I ate heartily of ices. The busy modern town seemed +a most remarkable contrast to the sandy wastes that surrounded it.</p> + +<p>I now had a long journey ahead. Flagstaff, the next town, was over +eighty miles away, and the trail ran across some of the most arid +country of Arizona. For mile upon mile there was nothing to be seen +but yellow sand and, on the horizon, a rugged range of hills. Ahead, +nearly a hundred miles away, loomed up the San Francisco Peaks, dark +and threatening. Overhead the sun beat down with unrelenting fury. +One could see the shimmer of the air above the baking sand as the +tremendous heat oozed out of it into the atmosphere. Here and there, +one could see spirals of sand hundreds of feet high whisked up by some +strange whirling motion of the air, and carried for hundreds of yards +across the wilderness, gathering in volume and height as they moved, +only to collapse again and give birth to others. Not a sign of life +or vegetation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> was visible anywhere. What a place to be stranded in +without water! But I had plenty with me. I stopped to drink from the +bag on my handlebar every few miles. The heat and the glare were awful.</p> + +<p>A few miles out of Winslow one cylinder ceased to fire. I had been +wondering when the next instalment of misfortune was to arrive. Like a +true pessimist, I expected it would come in a place like this. So I was +not disheartened.</p> + +<p>I stopped two or three times to change plugs and examine the engine. +It was of no avail, and the heat grew so intense when I was not moving +that it was impossible to stop for longer than a few minutes at a time. +There was no shade, not even a rock to hide me from the fiery sun. The +frame of the machine seemed red-hot, and even the tools in the tool-box +were too hot to handle unprotected.</p> + +<p>"Another overhaul at Flagstaff," I told myself, and continued again +on three cylinders. Ploughing through the loose sand absorbed much of +the power of the engine, but I was content, so long as we kept moving. +Slowly the metal sign-posts of the "Touring Club of California" that +marked the miles were passed. They were the only items of interest in +this barren country. Many times they were missing altogether. Often +they lay prone upon the ground, the strong, eight-feet-long steel +tubing of the post bent in strange forms. They had been uprooted by +some unfortunate traveller and used as levers or crowbars to extricate +a car that had left the beaten track and sunk in the loose sand of the +desert. Some even bore conflicting particulars, and it was quite usual +to notice the distances increase instead of decrease the nearer one +drew to one's destination! Often the signs themselves had been riddled +with bullet-holes "just for fun" by some blasé traveller with a taste +for shooting. Splendid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> amusement, to shoot at a sign-post put there at +enormous expense by a private club for the benefit of all!</p> + +<p>Slowly the hours went by and, as they did, a huge thunder-storm could +be seen brewing over the San Francisco Peaks, now only forty miles +away. The whole sky became dull and overcast. The loose yellow sand +gave place to rocks and shingle, and gradually the desert was left +behind. As the altitude increased—we were climbing slowly all the +time—signs of life appeared. Lean grass, parched with thirst and brown +with the heat, was seen once more, and later a few sheep were noticed +sheltering behind rocks and boulders.</p> + +<p>I pushed forward with all haste. Flagstaff was at the foot of the San +Francisco Peaks and there would certainly be a deluge very shortly. The +road was abominable. In most places it was so rocky and the gradient +so steep that it was like riding up great flights of rugged steps. The +sharp rocks dug in the tyres down to the rims, and the vibration shook +the very sockets of one's bones.</p> + +<p>On the left, barely a mile from the trail, we passed the "Meteor +Mountain." This is a most remarkable sight. Situated in the midst of +comparatively flat or rolling country, it looks at first sight like the +crater of a great volcano. But its origin is not volcanic. It gives +the impression of having been formed by artificial and not by natural +means. The crater is half a mile across and the interior of the crater +is saucer-shaped. An air of mystery envelops its origin, and many +theories have been put forward to explain it. But the theories have +either been disproved or have never been definitely accepted.</p> + +<p>"Meteor Mountain" remains to this day a mystery of geology. In its +crater is a ranch-house and hundreds of sheep graze in its vicinity.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> + +<p>A dozen miles farther on the trail led on to a magnificent steel bridge +spanning the "Diablo Canyon"—a wonderful gorge in the limestone rocks. +Far, far below ran a little stream of clear water.</p> + +<p>The sky grew blacker still. We continued climbing over the sharp, rocky +trail. The mighty peaks ahead were almost lost in a sea of blackness. +Distant thunder rumbled and groaned across the desolate waste. Sharp +flashes of lightning lit up the heavens for a moment and revealed the +sharp, lurid outlines of the three giants around whose peaks centred +the fury of the skies. Slowly the storm abated. I thanked Heaven for +that.</p> + +<p>Then we came to the fringe of a wonderful forest that covers the +plateau and clothes the mountain sides almost to the summit of their +peaks. The sight of the trees, the sound of the breezes as they rustled +through the branches bearing with them the magic scent of the pines, +was like passing from death to life. It was a new world, a world of +new sensations and pleasant forms. The broiling wastes, the dazzling +yellow sand, the strange and sometimes ugly shapes, the grotesque, the +mysterious, the incredible: these were left behind—for a while.</p> + +<p>The storm had almost passed. Much rain had fallen, but fortunately the +trail lay through a stretch of volcanic dust. The rain when it fell did +not dissolve it, but soaked through as quickly as it fell, leaving the +surface almost as hard and dry as it was before. I thanked Heaven again +for that. Closer, closer, ever we climbed, until often the mountains +were hardly to be seen; we were amongst them, climbing them, in them. +Here and there the clustering trees grew thinner and fields of wild +flowers, mauve and purple-coloured, would burst into view, clothing +the valleys and the slopes like a great carpet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> Then a glade would +appear of fresh green grass—grass so fresh and so green that it would +seem to have been meant more for a child's fairy-book than for a real +live world. Then a beautiful mountain would appear through the trees, +its sides and its angles glistening with every colour of the rainbow +and changing with every new aspect. This would be an extinct volcanic +cone and the colours would be reflected from the loose cinders that +formed its whole. Then amongst the lofty pine trees the traveller would +see—as a last remnant of the grotesque—vast fields of lava, great +beds of solid cinder, thrown up into monstrous shapes with strange, +sinister outlines. And onwards, ever onwards, ever nearer to Flagstaff +we went, the wheels gliding noiselessly over the smooth lava-track +that wound its way in and out of the pine trees and up and over the +foothills and valleys towards the West. We enter a large valley, +from which a wonderful view of the San Francisco Peaks delights the +traveller. They are barely a half-dozen miles away now; their great +volcanic cones, over a couple of miles in height above the sea, can be +seen as sharply and as clearly as though they were but 100 yards away. +So mighty are they, and so pure is the air of Arizona, that on a clear +day they can be seen for 200 miles in any direction.</p> + +<p>At last the small town of Flagstaff is reached. It is clean, modern, +and laid out in pretentious square blocks, some with only a few +bungalows built thereon. Evening was drawing on. Not having had a +meal for over twelve hours, I hied me to a restaurant where puffed +cereals and apricot pies and mugs of good coffee effected a miraculous +disappearance. Thereafter I followed the scent of a comfortable hotel, +where once more I slept the sleep of the righteous.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a><br /><br /> + +THE GRAND CANYON</h2> + + +<p>I woke up next morning feeling very groggy, for no reason accountable +to myself. It was Sunday. My first endeavour would be to fulfil one of +the desires of my boyhood. It lay at my very door.</p> + +<p>The Lowell Observatory at Flagstaff is known throughout the whole of +the civilized world. Years ago, hundreds and thousands of people read +with unabated interest of the theories and discoveries of Professor +Lowell concerning the planet Mars. In his book, <em class="italic">Mars and its Canals</em>, +he recorded the researches of a lifetime on this most interesting of +planets. He announced his conviction that civilized life of a very high +order was present and flourishing on Mars, and supported his theory +with exhaustive data and series of beautiful photographs of the planet +at different times and under different aspects—the result of the work +carried out at the Lowell Observatory which he himself had founded, +built, and maintained at his own expense.</p> + +<p>In my boyhood's days that book read like a wonderful fairy story, +illustrated with photographs that were far more wonderful and far more +strange than the merely pretty pictures of fancy. Some day, I promised +myself, I would see the Lowell Observatory, and look through the giant +telescope that revealed to the human eye, millions of miles away, so +much of the mysterious and the unknown.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="san_fran_peaks"></a> +<img src="images/i178a.jpg" width="600" height="280" alt="San Francisco Peaks from Flagstaff." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">San Francisco Peaks from Flagstaff.</span></div> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="lowell_obs"></a> +<img src="images/i178b.jpg" width="600" height="368" alt="The Lowell Observatory, Flagstaff." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Lowell Observatory, Flagstaff.</span></div> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="trail_grand_canyon"></a> +<img src="images/i178c.jpg" width="600" height="316" alt="The Trail to the Grand Canyon." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Trail to the Grand Canyon.</span></div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> +<p>And here I stood, at the door of the hotel, but a few hundred yards +from that same Observatory. Looking up the main street I could plainly +see the white dome, perched on the summit of a hill overlooking the +town, surrounded, but unobscured, by the tall pine trees that clustered +thickly on its slopes.</p> + +<p>An hour later I was standing inside the great dome. The dream had come +true.</p> + +<p>The astronomers of "Mars Hill" treated me, like all visitors, with the +utmost hospitality. My wishes to see this and that and the other thing +had only to be expressed, and they were granted. I was shown the result +of years upon years of tireless, ceaseless research. In the library, +a magnificently designed and equipped building, I found myself in a +veritable Monte Cristo's cave. Arranged around the walls, and lit from +behind by a wonderful system of electric lights, were treasures of far +more value than would appear to the casual, disinterested sightseer. +There were transparent photographs of planets, star clusters, nebulæ, +and comets by the hundred, some but a fraction of an inch in diameter, +and others several feet across. There were volumes of records and +reports of every Observatory, besides astronomical and other scientific +works of all classes, sizes, and tongues.</p> + +<p>Hours afterwards I slowly descended the path that wound down the +hill-side through the pine trees, wrapped in thought and proudly +conscious of having at last achieved something that for so long had +been but a vague vision of the imagination.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately my indisposition of the morning did not disappear. It +increased. I surmised that somewhere or other I had drunk some poisoned +water—an easy thing to do—and must suffer the consequences.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + +<p>The consequences I suffered were those of ptomaine poisoning. The +next day was spent in the throes of it. I crept out of bed for an +hour or two, with just enough courage to visit the garage to whose +charge I had confined Lizzie for an overhaul. Finding her once again +in pieces, but with no parts broken, I returned, with a sigh of relief +and a body full of pains, to bed. I had discovered that many patrons +of a certain restaurant—the one which I had so heartily greeted upon +my arrival—had also suffered from ptomaine poisoning. I reflected +that this was an ailment that often proved fatal. But I determined +that it would not be so in my case, at any rate not until Lizzie and +I had gazed down on the deep blue waters of the Pacific Ocean. That +accomplished, anything could happen!</p> + +<p>The next day found things much brighter. The sickness was fast +disappearing, and I was consoled towards midday by the sight of +Lizzie erected, tested, and passed O.K. I was, however, sceptical of +the youth to whom, in my indisposition, I had entrusted her delicate +body. He had sworn that he had overhauled Hendersons until he could +do them blindfold. With characteristic American modesty he claimed to +be the only man between Kansas City and Los Angeles who knew anything +at all about the breed. That made me a trifle suspicious at the +outset. Furthermore, he had agreed to turn in on Sunday and commence +operations, but when Sunday came he was hardly conspicuous by his +presence—the garage door was locked.</p> + +<p>However, I paid over the required quota of dollars with Spartan +stoicism and took Lizzie once more unto my bosom. Being naturally of +a lazy disposition and a firm believer in the futility of walking +whenever there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> is the remotest opportunity of some form of mechanical +transit being available, I had deferred an extensive survey of the town +until I could execute it in comfort.</p> + +<p>Originally a stores depot on the early trail through the West, +Flagstaff soon became a ranching centre and a kind of "Mecca" for +cow-boys, globe-trotters, wasters, drifters, Indians, Mexicans, and, +of late years, speculators and East-weary business men. Although +boasting only a few thousand inhabitants, the town is growing fast, +and naturally where towns grow fast—a thing known only in the west of +America and the Colonies—the "real estate" agents flourish in their +legions. The people of Flagstaff are "boosters," and so do all they can +to encourage and quicken the growth of their neat little town. Many +come there, buy a plot of land in one of the outlying blocks, build +a bungalow and settle down for good, charmed with the climate, the +atmosphere, the surroundings, the great pine forests, and the view to +the north of the mighty Peaks that are almost always capped with snow +and seem to look down and protect the little town that lies scattered +at their feet.</p> + +<p>Next morning I had concluded all preparations for the fulfilment +of another life-long desire. My next ambition was to see the Grand +Canyon of the Colorado, of which I had read much in school-books in my +childhood.</p> + +<p>In and out through the pine trees we swung once again, darting down +sudden dips in the road and skipping up little hills all fresh with +grass and thick wild flowers. In ten or fifteen miles of exquisite +woodland scenery we had come once more to the fringe of the forest. +Ahead lay plain, prairie, and desert, with never a town or a village or +a house to be seen until the Canyon was reached<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> seventy odd miles to +the north. On the left rose the great San Francisco Peaks, clothed in +green and white. On the right lay Sunset Mountain, a volcanic cinder +cone of ruddy-brown hue, that glistened in the morning sunlight.</p> + +<p>Slowly they were left behind as we hopped, skipped, and jumped over the +rough trail that swerved and twisted untiringly through the strangest +country imaginable. Here it would be broad and sandy; there it would +narrow down almost to nothing; further on, it would make a sudden bend +and dip across a "wash" or some waterless river that had never known a +bridge; then it would enter a beautiful valley all aglow with golden +flowers that crowded thickly up its sides—there were yellow flowers +everywhere, in each direction as far as the eye could see, and at +the same time so close that they were swept aside by the machine as +it passed. Then that picture passed away and there remained just two +deep undulating ruts that struggled persistently across a wilderness +of sand, rock, and boulder. We passed on either side the remains of +ancient volcanoes, now but solitary hills rising abruptly from the +desert around. Then appeared giant heaps of stone clustered strangely +together, the ruins of ancient towns for many a thousand years +deserted. Then for miles and miles was nothing but barren, arid waste +that tired one's patience and cut one's tyres and shook one's limbs, +while thousands upon thousands of prairie-dogs were ever running, +hurrying, scurrying away from the intruder upon their solitude. Their +holes were everywhere, even in the ruts of the trail that stretched +always like a forgotten, lifeless thing through this land of scorching +loneliness.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> + +<p>Four hours and a half we had now been travelling, and not a soul, not +even a sign of a living being had we seen, save the merry little vermin +that scurried off at the sound and the sight of us. For the first time +in the whole of the trip I felt a great sense of loneliness creeping +over me. The solitude, the peace of the great barren distances at last +made itself known—it was a solitude and a peace that I had never felt +before. It took time for me to appreciate its worth. I amused myself by +bursting suddenly into song. All the old familiar refrains came to my +aid, were they hymn tunes or ridiculous rag-time airs.</p> + +<p>Feeling absurd—even positively ridiculous—in my efforts to remain +cheerful at all costs, but comforted by the thought that there was no +one to witness my insanity, I continued thus until my voice rebelled +and I relapsed once again into stony—very stony—silence!</p> + +<p>Once again the trail entered a great forest; huge pine trees and cedar +trees closed densely around and the trail branched and split here and +there to avoid them. The vegetation grew thicker. It seemed wonderful +how it could possibly thrive in such a country. Not a drop of water +had I seen for eighty miles, when suddenly a most beautiful vista +appeared directly ahead of me. There was a wonderful lake bordered with +giant pine trees, its waters still and flat like a great jewel. At its +edge a few horses were drinking. It was such a magnificent sight that +I was forced to stop to admire it to the full. I breathed a prayer +that my little pocket camera would do it justice, and convey, if only +a fraction, some of that entrancing charm that hung over its glassy +waters.</p> + +<p>On once again we rode, through avenues of pine and cedar; the further +we went, the thicker the forest grew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> and the greater the stately +trees became. It was possible only to see a few yards ahead in some +places.... "But say, we must be getting near the Canyon soon! How can +all this be?" I asked myself.</p> + +<p>Swerving now to the right, now to the left, to avoid some obstacle, now +leaving the trail altogether to ride on the soft green grass at the +side, when a boulder or a fallen branch blocked the way, it was like +exploring one of those magic forests where fairies....</p> + +<p>The thought was never finished.</p> + +<p>It seemed as if the whole earth had suddenly stopped dead. There, in +front, the great tree trunks stood silhouetted against space itself. It +was as though something dreadful had happened. Beyond was tremendous, +awful nothingness that made the observer catch his breath and sent a +shiver throughout his frame. But see, there, on the distant horizon, +like a dimly-coloured shadow, lies the opposite side of the gigantic +rift, ten, twenty—aye, in places thirty miles away. It is a sight to +enjoy in silence, with reverence and with fear. Once seen, it is never +to be forgotten, that first glimpse of the greatest of all natural +wonders—the Grand Canyon of the Colorado.</p> + +<p>The trail made a sudden swerve to the left and followed close to its +brink. There were some wooden railings; beyond, a varying strip of +broken, rocky moorland; and then, space. Leaving Lizzie, I clambered +down a narrow pathway carved in the rocks that led to a jutting +prominence known as "Grand View Point." Seated on a huge lump of +limestone that reared like a lofty pinnacle thousands of feet above +the chasm below, I surveyed in mute bewilderment the overpowering, +awe-inspiring sight.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Grand Canyon has never been described. It is too immense, too +sublime, too unearthly for mere words to convey one iota of its might +and majesty. One struggles with the futility of mere expression +by words where such a spectacle is concerned and finds that all +the known phrases and well-used artifices of speech are useless to +convey to another the sense of infinite grandeur that only sight can +appreciate—and that so feebly!</p> + +<p>The Canyon is a titanic rift in the earth, over 200 miles in length. +The Colorado River, hardly ever seen from its brinks, lies 6,000 feet +below the surface of the plain through which it has cut. Æons of +time have been taken in the making of it, and it is yet but young, +its progress still continuing. That sinister river, to reach which +takes a seven-mile walk down the trail that leads to its waters, has +cut down through strata of rock that took untold millions of years +to be deposited, has cut lower and lower until it has come to the +very beginning, the foundation of the earth, and then it has carved +its way even through the granite, the very crust of the earth, to a +depth of almost 1,000 feet. Eternal erosion by water, winds, and frost +has helped it to play its part, and now nigh on 2,000 cubic miles +of limestone, sandstone, and granite have disappeared entirely—all +carried as sediment into the Pacific Ocean by the river that for ever +swirls and rages in its bosom.</p> + +<p>The actual settlement that goes by the name of the Grand Canyon is +twenty miles further on. The trail follows closely the rim of the +Canyon, cutting through the fringe of the "Coconino National Forest," +with its stately pine trees that crowd up to the very edge of the +plateau.</p> + +<p>When the end of the trail is reached, it is as though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> the traveller +had arrived at the edge of the world. On the right is a luxurious, +low-built hotel all but toppling over the edge; on the left is a +railway station; and that is all. The road almost doubles back on +itself, swerving due south towards the Continental Trail eighty miles +away. I do not mean to imply that at the end of this world there will +be either a luxurious hotel or a railway station at the service of +the weary traveller, but the appearance of finality of all things is +complete when one is faced with that terrible chasm ahead.</p> + +<p>For three days and three nights I sojourned at the Canyon, content +to gaze upon its ever-changing colours, and to marvel at the wealth +of beauty and variation of spectacle that lay in its mighty bosom, +always changing, always fresh, always more wonderful than before. +One day after breakfast I began strolling down the narrow "Bright +Angel Trail" that leads from the summit to the river. Between two +and three feet wide in most places, it is wonderfully built and kept +in excellent repair for the mule-back parties of tourists that daily +descend its seven tortuous miles in the morning and ascend them again +in the evening. In places it is like a spiral pathway down an almost +perpendicular wall. One looks over and sees it doubling and folding and +twisting on itself like a thin white line until it is lost behind some +prominence thousands of feet below.</p> + +<p>I did not mean to walk down. Walking is not my forte; I only set out +to take a few photographs. I have the best of reasons for believing +that people never walk down the Canyon. Instead they bulge upon +diminutive mules in strings of twenty or thirty or more and make the +descent slowly, nervously, solemnly, and more or less in comfort. True, +there are places where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> the trail is so precipitous that they have to +dismount for safety's sake, but to walk the whole way would be absurd.</p> + +<p>Perhaps that was the reason I found myself tramping down the long, +steep trail. The more photographs I took, the further down I went to +take another. One view followed another with endless change. At every +turn there was some new sensation, some fresh vista that just cried out +for remembrance. In this way I gradually found myself descending into +the depths of the Canyon. Truly it is the most wonderful walk I have +ever had.</p> + +<p>It was as though the traveller were entering a new world of a new +climate, new scenery, and new sensations. Up on the plateau at the top +the altitude was 8,000 feet above sea level, and the heat there had +been intense. But as I descended thousand after thousand of feet into +the bowels of the earth, the air became more dense and the heat more +intense until at the bottom, over 6,000 feet below, the climate was +almost tropical. Further, the great "temples"—the fragments of the +plateau where the erosion had left isolated mountains remaining within +the gorge—took on a far different aspect when viewed from below. +From above one saw them as one would see hills and valleys from an +aeroplane—with hardly any relief. But from below they loomed up sharp +against the sky, each one a mighty mountain in itself. What seemed +from the brink to be a mere blotch of green mould on the bare rocks +below proved on closer acquaintance to be a luxurious coppice, dense +with trees and shrubs and tall, thick grass. Minute specks of black +scattered broadcast on the slope turned out to be trees that eked out +a scanty but sufficient livelihood on the crevices and the crags. A +brown, inconspicuous carpet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> from above developed into a huge tropical +plateau several miles across. So clear is the atmosphere and so great +are the distances that magnitudes are ridiculed and illusions raised to +the point of absurdity.</p> + +<p>It was well after midday when I reached the bottom and watched the +roaring, rushing Colorado, like a great yellow flood, lashing its angry +way between the steep walls of the granite gorge. Above, it had been +invisible, unknown, and whisperless.</p> + +<p>The walk back developed into a tiring, eternal struggle up an +interminable staircase that had no stairs. Sometimes I half decided +to rest until next day. At intervals I grasped my knees in my hands +and helped to lift the heavy, tired feet one above the other. I +abused myself heartily for not having furnished myself with reserve +refreshments before starting, and then remembered that I had only set +out to take a few pictures; I had quenched my thirst at a little creek +six hours before, but felt that a meal of some kind would be acceptable.</p> + +<p>I arrived at the top about 5.30. The mule-party had overtaken me a +quarter of an hour before. They had only stopped half an hour at the +bottom for lunch.</p> + +<p>"Waal, I've done some walkin' in my time, boss, but I guess you've +gotten the best pair o' legs that ever MY optics did see," was the +remark of one heavily-spectacled American who beamed from his mule upon +me as he passed.</p> + +<p>"Aye, that's so," echoed others in the long file with undisguised +approbation.</p> + +<p>So the reader will observe that I am already becoming Americanized, +even in true modesty!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="bottom_grand_canyon"></a> +<img src="images/i188.jpg" width="600" height="381" alt="The Bottom of the Grand Canyon." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Bottom of the Grand Canyon.</span><br /> +<em class="italic"><small>By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler.</small></em></div> +</div> + +<p>My stay at the Canyon was longer than I had anticipated. Considerable +rain had fallen on the second day,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> and a report came through that +the road in places had been washed clean away. Just what that meant I +did not know, but I did not fear it in the slightest. My experience of +the roads in Arizona was that they were much better away than present. +But I had no taste for mud, so I waited for the sun to do its work +before starting back again.</p> + +<p>I left the Grand Canyon with regret. Everything was so wonderful +and I just seemed to have begun to make friends with it. At first +it all seemed so great, so awful, so grotesque as to give one the +impression of anything but friendliness. I had begun to overcome that +feeling, as everyone does in time. The truth is that it takes a long +acquaintanceship with the giant wonders of the world to form anything +approaching a true idea of them.</p> + +<p>Mud there was in plenty on the way back. In the forest going was bad +and slow, for the sun had not had its due quota of time to play upon +the damp earth. But in the open there was a marked improvement. The +only evidence of the heavy rains was an occasional pool of water +between the tracks of the road that had not yet been completely dried +up, and this remained as a pool of muddy water within a ring of soft, +dark-brown mud.</p> + +<p>I was glad that progress was not so bad as I had expected. I was tired +of making slow progress, low averages, and big delays, so whenever I +had the chance I gave Lizzie her reins and with many bursts of speed +where the condition of the road permitted, and occasional hold-ups +where it did not, we made pretty good progress for a couple of hours.</p> + +<p>Until....</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> + +<p>We were about half-way between the Canyon and Flagstaff. The country +was bare and rocky—almost on the fringe of the "Painted Desert." I was +riding on the narrow but level track between the two large ruts that +formed the road. I was furthermore enjoying a little burst of speed, my +eyes glued on the little strip below me, for if I but once missed it +and allowed Lizzie to slip into either of those deep, treacherous ruts +that bordered it, there would be a nasty smash.</p> + +<p>I must have been too careful, for I had not noticed a fairly large and +deep mud-pool dead in the centre of the track and only a few yards +ahead of me. There were just about three or four inches between either +side of it and those terrible ruts. If I banged into it, it would mean +a nasty jar to the machine and possible damage. I judged I could steer +round all right without fouling the rut.</p> + +<p>The front wheel went through splendidly. The back one, approaching at +an angle as I swerved, did not. It just skimmed the greasy edge of the +pool and commenced momentarily to side-slip down into the hollow. That +was the beginning of the end. I was going fast, and the equilibrium +of the machine had been suddenly upset. The nightmare known as a +"speed-wobble" ensued.</p> + +<p>I did my utmost to check it, but it got worse and worse. From one side +to the other the machine swayed, like a great pendulum, swinging faster +and faster and each time through a greater distance. For some time I +managed to keep the swerves within the limits of the track without +fouling the ruts and the rocks at the side, but it was no use; I saw a +fearful crash coming.</p> + +<p>The wobble developed at an alarming speed; no doubt the heavy baggage +on the carrier helped. At the end<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> of each oscillation the machine was +at a still greater, a still more ridiculous angle to the ground. The +front wheel caught something. It had to come sooner or later. With +a wild lurch we crashed down on the loose rocks and boulders that +bordered the trail. Our momentum was soon absorbed owing to the rough +nature of the rocks and boulders aforesaid.</p> + +<p>"Here endeth the trip to the coast. Farewell, Lizzie; it might have +happened sooner, you know, old girl." That's what I was saying to +myself as I struggled from underneath her remains!</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a><br /><br /> + +THE MOHAVE DESERT</h2> + + +<p>I have often thought there must be a guardian angel watching over +mad motor-cyclists. Certainly in my case some theory of that sort is +necessary to account for the almost entire immunity from personal +damage that I have always experienced when fate has led me into crashes +of all kinds. At one time and another I have performed wonderful +acrobatic feats after a bad skid or a sudden encounter in the dark with +a stray horse or a flock of sheep. By all the laws of nature and common +sense, I should long since have ceased to labour on this earthly plane. +Instead of that, I continue to flourish like the green bay tree, the +terror of the country I inhabit, and the bane of the Company that has +the misfortune to insure my machines!</p> + +<p>Thus it happened that when I extricated myself from the debris, I found +myself still sound in wind and limb. Apart from one finger having been +crushed between the handle and the final boulder, and the absence +of one or two square inches of good epidermis here and there, I had +nothing whatever to complain of.</p> + +<p>Lizzie, however, wore a forlorn look. Her left handlebar was badly bent +and most of the controls and projections on her starboard side were +either bent backwards or swept clean away. The stand, a heavy steel +structure strong enough to make a suspension bridge, had broken<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> away +altogether, and had not the footboard been of the collapsing type, it +would undoubtedly have shared the same fate.</p> + +<p>An hour of doctoring, with frequent applications of wire and insulation +tape, and Lizzie was going again. I was relieved in the extreme to find +that after all there was a chance of continuing to the coast under her +own power. My forefinger pained a trifle, and I could not bear to bend +it. I believe always in leaving Nature to carry out her own repairs—it +saves a lot of time and bother and generally gets the job finished much +quicker in the end, so I spent no time in doctoring it.</p> + +<p>We got back to Flagstaff all right that evening and, accepting the +hospitality of one of the astronomers at Mars Hill, I spent the night +at his bungalow up amongst the pine trees. It was nearly a month before +I regained the use of my finger and over three months before the sense +of feeling came back to it. Evidently it had been broken at or near the +joint.</p> + +<p>Two days afterwards I made an unwilling exit from Flagstaff. I was so +enamoured with the spirit of the West and the cordiality of its people, +as well as the scenery and the climate, that it seemed a shame to move +away. But how could I do otherwise when in three days' good running +I should be enjoying the reality of the deep blue Pacific washing up +against the fringe of some golden Californian valley?</p> + +<p>From Flagstaff to Williams, a thirty-mile jaunt, the road traversed +the edges of the Coconino Forest. In places it was almost impassable. +Stretches of rock-hard mud, that had been cut up into fantastic shapes, +hindered progress for hundreds of yards at a stretch. I had often to +resort to the old expedient of chipping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> the edges of the ruts away in +advance to enable Lizzie's cradle frame to get through. Then for miles +there were stretches of incredible roughness where often I left the +road and scrambled over the rough prairie at the side, leaping over +gullies, mounds, cracks, and rocks in preference to the treacherous +trail. But the wild scenery compensated for everything. It was +exquisite.</p> + +<p>Town after town slowly but surely went by, and as they did so, the +country grew wilder and the climate hotter. The trail wound through +great gorges with towering cliffs that obscured most of the sky. +Mad rivers would come rushing down from mountain sides and seldom +were there bridges with which to cross them. Vegetation became less +plentiful and here and there were stretches of barren prairie land with +great boulders and masses of rock spread indiscriminately about them.</p> + +<p>Past Ashforks, some sixty miles from Flagstaff, I came upon a Ford car +by a wide, rough-bedded, unbridged river. The owner, dressed in blue +combination overalls (the standard garment of the West) was playing +round it with a "monkey-wrench."</p> + +<p>"Want anything, brother?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"No thanks, nothing wrong," he replied, eyeing Lizzie and me +curiously up and down. "Gee! What the ..." (his eye caught the number +plate)—"Well, I'll be goldarned!"</p> + +<p>"How's the road ahead?" I asked, ignoring his evident amazement at one +so young having come so far!</p> + +<p>"Pretty tough in places. You've got a fairly good run for a hundred +miles, but you've got to keep your eyes skinned for washouts. There's a +big one about ten miles further on, just before you come to Pineveta. +You can't miss it. It's just beyond a big cliff on the left side<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> where +it says '<span class="smcap">Repent Your Sins, the End is at Hand</span>.' And by G—, +you'd better repent 'em quick in case anything does happen!"</p> + +<p>Washouts there were, good and plentiful. Great gullies had been cut +across the roads by the rains. Many were not visible much before they +were felt. On the whole it was exciting running.</p> + +<p>Pineveta was a most "movie-looking" town. I could easily have imagined +myself a Gaumont operator on several occasions. Every building, whether +a house, the village church or the town hall, was of wood and of the +simplest construction possible. Everything seemed loose, ramshackle +and toppling. It was a good home for the tough guys of the West, +where towns spring up in a night, prosper awhile and then fade into +insignificance.</p> + +<p>After Seligman, another twenty miles further on, the trail showed signs +of nervous prostration. It led into a great canyon whose grey walls +towered high on either side. Then it seemed to say to the traveller, +"See here, Boss, you can go on if you like, I'm staying right here; +had enough of this." It had already dwindled down to a couple of ruts +in the sandy bed of the canyon and now it was besieged on all sides +with dense growths of grey scrub, like sage-brush. Even the ruts were +barely visible and now appeared only in white patchy blotches through +the scrub that grew a foot or a couple of feet high in dense, clustered +tufts. It seemed as though something would have to be done about it +soon.</p> + +<p>Finally we came to a wooden fence, rudely but effectively constructed +and barring the way entirely. Behind the fence was a railway track. +Evidently it was necessary to cross the track somewhere but not the +slightest opportunity did there appear of doing so. I explored awhile.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> + +<p>On the left, where the trail had ended, the fence showed signs of +having been pulled down and ruts in the ground bore witness to traffic +having gone that way at some time or another more or less remote. But +stay, what is this? A large post had been torn down from the fence and +laid right across the track of the apparent detour. In the middle of +it, and fastened on by a piece of wire, was a scrap of paper bearing +the following anonymous inscription in scrawled handwriting—"<span class="smcap">Doant +go this rode cant get thru.</span>"</p> + +<p>Now wasn't this kind of some one? I began to wonder if I would have +gone to the same trouble if I had struggled through a fence on an old +Ford car (I was sure from the writing that it was a Ford) and after +proceeding half a mile or so over interminable boulders and gullies had +found it necessary to come back again. I came to the conclusion that I +<span class="smcap">would</span>, at any rate, if I was in the West, and thus consoled, I +proceeded to search for another outlet.</p> + +<p>Yes, here were a pair of ruts leading off backwards at a tangent. Where +they went was not possible to see, for they were overgrown with scrub. +I started Lizzie once again, put her front wheel into the deeper of +the ruts and set off whither it should take me. It was faithful and +true. Brushing the bushes sideways with the machine as we passed, we +arrived in half a mile at a gate where a good wide road appeared. It +was the entrance to the "city" of Nelson, consisting of a few shacks, +a ranch-house and a railway station. After opening a few more gates we +crossed the rails at a level crossing and were going once again swiftly +westwards.</p> + +<p>"Dinner in Peach Springs," I told myself. Peach Springs on my AAA Map +was a fair-sized town fifteen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> miles ahead. Evening was drawing on and +there would not be much light left for travelling, but where dinner was +concerned it was another matter. Proceed we must, until fodder hove in +sight.</p> + +<p>Slowly the canyon was left behind. The country opened out and became +flatter. Vast rolling plains appeared, with cedar woods creeping down +their slopes. The air was sultry, hardly a breeze stirred in the trees; +wild pigeons in hundreds flew hither and thither; occasionally a young +antelope or a great jack rabbit leaped across the plains. I hardly gave +them a thought. My mind dwelt upon an imaginary tin of pineapple chunks +somewhere in the distance!</p> + +<p>Peach Springs showed no trace of materializing when required. There was +no sign of it anywhere where it should have been. I stopped at a wooden +shack near the roadside. There was a Bowser pump outside the door.</p> + +<p>An old man with a goat's beard appeared at the door.</p> + +<p>"A couple of gallons of gas, please," I shouted, and while he pumped +it in I surveyed the surroundings; there was another little shack not +far away and two dirty-looking Mexican women were sitting down outside. +Here and there, round about, lay rubbish, pieces of timber, tin cans +and other débris.</p> + +<p>"Guess you get mighty lonesome here, dad?"</p> + +<p>"Aw, dunno," he replied. "Bin here nigh on forty years. Guess I got +purty well accustomed to it now."</p> + +<p>"Forty years! I should say so!... Thanks. Say, how far's Peach Springs +from here?"</p> + +<p>"Peach Springs? This is Peach Springs. You're in it right here," and he +pointed to his shack.</p> + +<p>"<em class="italic">This</em> Peach Springs? I thought it was a big town with umpteen +thousand people in it."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And so it was, till they moved it."</p> + +<p>"Moved it?" I stood aghast at the thought of such a horrible thing.</p> + +<p>"Aye, I mind the time when there was over 40,000 people in Peach +Springs. They'd all come in a heluva sweat lookin' for gold, and what's +more, they found it. Then the gold begun to give out until in the end +there warn't none at all, an' when the gold went the people went with +it. I'm the only one as didn't go and I guess I'm not much concerned +about it neither. Provisions and gas and oil are better'n grubbin' +after gold all yer life."</p> + +<p>"Provisions?" I queried. "Got any pineapple chunks?"</p> + +<p>"Sure thing. Got everything."</p> + +<p>Overcome with emotion, I filled my pockets with tinned fruit and +biscuits.</p> + +<p>That night my camp fire burned in a glorious spot sheltered by high +cliffs. Fuel was scarce, there were just a few dried-up bushes to burn, +but it was splendid, camping there with the beautiful clear sky above, +the stars shining as I had never known them shine before.</p> + +<p>On again we went at dawn. This time it was to leave behind the cedar +forests and the towering canyons. We were getting near the fringe +of the great arid desert that stretches for nearly 300 miles to the +heart of California. Gradually the ground became flat, almost as flat +as the proverbial pancake. On it grew no vegetation at all, save the +scanty sage-brush that can flourish where all other things die. Miles +away, but clear enough to be only a few hundred yards, rose ranges of +saw-toothed, evil-looking mountains, as barren as barrenness could be. +Ahead lies the trail stretching beyond the traveller's vision<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> to the +horizon. On the left runs a fence. Beyond the fence is the Santa Fé +Railway. The telegraph poles and the distant mountains are the only +objects that break the interminable flatness. The sky is cloudless and +the heat of the sun intense. At every five or ten miles a stop is made +to drink water from the bag on the handlebar. One has a glorious thirst +in these parts.</p> + +<p>Mile after mile goes by, and hour after hour. The sun grows higher in +the heavens, its rays pour down upon my back with unrelenting fury. +When shall we get to anywhere? The inner man grows weary of fasting in +this infernal heat. A massive rock, lying all alone in the vast plain +on the right, asks: "Why will ye not repent?" Oh, the irony of it! The +man who painted that rock was a fanatic, but he knew what he was about.</p> + +<p>Kingman at last! Kingman meant breakfast. Breakfast meant water melons +and coffee and pies and other good—nay, beautiful—things. Kingman +meant drinks and ices and sundries to one's heart's content, and one's +pocket's contents.</p> + +<p>On again I pursue my way, feeling like a new man. Next stop Yucca, +thirty miles. Gee! the sun is hot. Nearly eleven. My stars, what +will it be like at one? Everything is sand now—underneath, around, +everywhere. The wheels tear it up in clouds as they skim through. +Sometimes they slip sideways in it and flounder about, trying to grip +on to something firm. Sometimes we slither over altogether but the sand +is soft and spills do not disturb one much. But the sun—I wish it +would stop working a bit!</p> + +<p>Vegetation appears once again, but of a very strange kind. It is a +vegetation that is different from any we know in Europe. It is at the +same time grotesque, mysterious,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> ridiculous, wonderful and luxurious. +It is desert vegetation. You have always thought of deserts as devoid +of every sign of vegetation? It is not so in the great deserts of +America. Life abounds but, as if in recompense for the privilege of +living, it has to take strange forms. Yet, if they are strange, it is +only in comparison with the vegetation to which in temperate climes we +are accustomed. The unnumbered varieties of cactus plants and trees are +in reality beautiful and strange beyond description. They are always +green, always fresh and always beautiful. It is a kind of "Futurist" +beauty that adorns them. The cactus trees, for instance, have their +leafless branches projecting almost at right angles to the trunk, and +they in turn branch out in a similar manner, presenting a grotesque +appearance. The tall and beautiful Ocatilla—one can almost refer to +it as a desert "shrub"—springs directly from the ground like several +long waving feelers bunched together below and spread apart above. The +prickly-pear, with its needle-covered fleshy leaves, each one joined +on to another without stem or stalk, presents a most weird aspect. +Even the modest and unassuming sage-brush, the poor down-trodden "John +Citizen" of every desert, seems to have been arranged on the barren +plain in regular rectangles and rows, spaced at mathematical distances +apart.</p> + +<p>The secret is that each one has to think of only one thing—water. Each +cactus plant or tree is provided in itself with the means of storing +a reserve of water. Moisture is the one great thing that dominates +them all. That being so, the constitution of desert vegetation has +to be altogether different from that of humid climates just as our +constitutions would have to be entirely different if we lived on Mars, +where there is hardly any water at all.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<p>This was truly a world of wild fancy. It would be ridiculous—I +thought—to try to explain a scene like this to people who had +never seen anything but ordinary trees and plants and flowers. They +would laugh in scorn when I tried to describe to them that strange +conglomeration of fanciful shapes, those mad-looking cactus trees with +every joint dislocated, those weird Ocatilla waving their long slender +arms twenty and thirty feet above the ground. And look at that great +organ-pipe cactus over there, nothing but a huge light-green fleshy +trunk, with two or three other trunks all perfectly straight and +perfectly vertical on top of it! How could one possibly describe things +like that?</p> + +<p>"With a Watch-Pocket 'Carbine,' of course. What else?" I mused and +stopped to take out my camera from the toolbox. It was not so easily +done as said. The toolbox lid seemed red-hot to my fingers. I could not +bear my hand on the top of the tank even.</p> + +<p>Oh, water, water: how beautiful thou art! Even when imbibed under +hand-pressure from a smelly canvas water-bag!</p> + +<p>Could it <span class="smcap">ever</span> get any hotter than this? The only way was to +keep going, the faster the better. Then the heat, with frequent drinks, +was just tolerable. When I stopped, it was like being plunged suddenly +into a great furnace. Never mind; there would be ice-creams at Yucca. +On again, as fast as we can, leaping over gullies, ploughing through +the loose white sand. Lower and lower we get as we travel. The gradient +is not noticeable, for there are ups and downs all the way, and ridges +of hills here and there. All the same, we are making a steady descent. +In a couple of dozen miles we shall cross the River Colorado. That +morning we were over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> a mile high above it. Now we are at its level. +That explains the increasing heat the further we go, and further on for +hundreds of miles the road lies but a few feet above the level of the +sea; in places it is actually below it.</p> + +<p>In the distance appear trees—poplars, eucalyptus and cedars. They +denote the small ramshackle town of Yucca, like an island in the plain. +The trail widens into a road. Living beings are seen, horses, carts +and motor-cars. It is the civilized world once again. What Yucca does +for a living I am at a loss to know. It cannot certainly be a ranching +town. Probably there is a little gold in the vicinity and it is a small +trading centre. Probably it is more important as a thirst-quenching +centre!</p> + +<p>A short stop and on we went again into the desert, leaving behind +us the little oasis, and plunging ahead into a still hotter region. +The strange cactus trees and desert plants gathered round once more. +Rougher and rougher the road became. The sand gave place to sharp +loose grit interspersed with rocks and jutting boulders. As it did so, +gradually the luxurious vegetation of the desert grew thinner and the +dull miserable sage-brush took its place. The trail divided up into two +deep and solitary ruts and in between them lay loose shale and grit +that absolutely defied progress. The wheels would sink in freely and +churn the road up aimlessly. It was necessary then to ride in one of +the ruts. Where they were broad this was not difficult, but when they +narrowed and deepened a spill was almost bound to occur if one wobbled +but a fraction of an inch from the dead centre of the rut. Negotiating +a road of this nature was something new in the sport of motor-cycling, +but it was exasperating. I was to find later that riding continuously +in a rut was like riding on a greasy road, in that the more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> carefully +one went and the more timid one grew, the more dangerous did the riding +become. Time and time again I was thrown off by fouling the side +of the rut and plunged headlong over the handlebars into the road. +The slower I went the more often was I thrown. If I travelled about +ten or twelve miles an hour I could maintain my balance by using my +feet where necessary. Riding at that speed, however, was out of the +question. It was better to go faster and risk the frequent spills than +to be roasted alive. So I went faster. The faster I went the easier +was it to maintain balance naturally, because the steering became more +sensitive and only a very small movement of the handlebars within the +limits of the rut would suffice to correct any deviation from perfect +balance. I found that at between thirty-five and forty miles an hour +it was moderately easy to follow the rut through the swerves in its +course. But even then, occasionally there would be a nasty spill, a +few bent levers and some scratches. (I learned a week or so later from +"Cannonball Baker," the famous American racer, that he travels in these +same ruts at between fifty and sixty!)</p> + +<p>Here and there the trail would cross a "wash" or a dried-up lake bed +and then the sand régime would reappear. And ever did death speak from +all around—desolation in bewildering intensity almost cried aloud +from the fire-swept waste that lay all about me. Often I passed the +remains of derelict cars left at the side of the road; sometimes it +was a mudguard or a spring, a tyre or a broken wheel; sometimes it was +a complete chassis, stripped of everything that could be taken away. +For what could be done in a region like this if the breakdown were too +large? Nothing but to push the car off the road and leave it to its +fate. Almost without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> exception the remains were of Ford cars. That +shows the wisdom of travelling in a machine that bears no great loss if +it is damaged or forsaken!</p> + +<p>Occasionally I passed a gigantic heap of small tins all rusty and +forlorn. I was puzzled at first. How did they get there? And why had +they been heaped up if they were the discarded food-tins of passing +travellers? But no. They are the sole remains of a "mushroom" town of +the West. In them one can picture the sudden growth and the almost +equally sudden decay of a settlement that thrived while there was gold +to be found in the vicinity.</p> + +<p>Here and there, too, were little heaps of bones, bleached white as +snow—the remains of a horse or a cow that had strayed. To lose +oneself, be it man or animal, is sure death in the Mohave Desert.</p> + +<p>It is just midday. The sun is vertically above. It beats down on my +shoulders and dries up the skin of my hands. My hair, over which I had +never worn a hat since I left New York, is bleached to a light yellow +colour and stands erect, stiff and brittle. The alkali sand and dust +have absorbed all the moisture from my fingers and gradually cracks +and cuts are developing in my finger tips and at the joints. I find +it easier to grasp the handlebars with the palms of my hands alone. +My clothes are saturated with dust and my trench boots are cut and +scratched, with the seams broken away; the right sole has pulled away +and threatens to come off altogether unless carefully used. I feel that +the sooner I get out of the Mohave Desert the better it will be for me.</p> + +<p>But the heat! It seems to know no shame, no pity. It is terrific. Every +five miles I stop and drink from the water bag. There is just enough +to carry me to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> next stop. For the first time I begin to long for +shelter from the burning rays. There is none around anywhere—not as +far as the horizon. I must push on quickly.... The rut suddenly breaks +and swerves away.... <span class="smcap">Crash!</span>... Up again, lose no time. On once +more; what matter if the footbrake doesn't work? A motor-cycle is made +to go, not to stop!</p> + +<p>In front, to the left, rise pinnacles of purple granite. They stick up +sharply into the sky like the teeth of a great monster grinning over +its prey. They are the "Needles," and they fringe the Colorado River. +What a glorious sight it will be to see a river again, with water +flowing in it.</p> + +<p>Now on the horizon appears a blotch of green. Its beauty in that yellow +wilderness is beyond description. It is the green of the stately poplar +trees that surround the railway station of Topock. That is where the +road and the railway and the river all meet, and where we leave Arizona +and enter the State of California. Thank Heaven it is not far away. The +pinnacles rise higher and higher, the little oasis grows bigger and +bigger, and the trees greener and taller.</p> + +<p>At last! Lizzie's rattle is silent. We come to rest under a great +shelter thatched with straw that has been erected by the roadside +opposite the restaurant—the only building in the town beside the +railway station. A few yards further on was a massive steel bridge 400 +yards long that spanned the Colorado. Beyond lay California, but I was +satisfied with Arizona and the straw-thatched shelter for an hour or +two.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>At two we crossed the great bridge. What good fortune<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> would California +bring, I wondered. It brought even worse roads than I had seen in +Arizona. There still remained over 200 miles of desert to be crossed. +The trail was very rough, like a mountain track at the start, full +of ups and downs and swerves and washes. Twelve miles further on I +arrived at the town of Needles, so tired and hot that I decided to +abandon travel until the evening. Then I would ride out into the desert +and make my bed under the steel-blue sky. I was too enamoured of the +wonderful sunsets and the glorious sunrises of the open plain to allow +them to pass unseen in a musty, stuffy hotel bedroom.</p> + +<p>Needles, I was surprised to find, was very much bigger than I had +expected. It is now a good-sized town and its main street a bustle of +activity. After disposing of a steak at a Chinese restaurant, I bought +a book and retired to the square. There I took off my tunic, rolled +up my shirt sleeves and lay on the grass beneath the tall, thick palm +trees and whiled away the hot afternoon hours.</p> + +<p>At evening as the setting sun was drawing a magic cloak over the +tropical sky, I stole out of Needles along the lonesome trail that I +had learnt to love. Except for low-lying mountains all around, there +was nothing but the everlasting sand and sage-brush. Behind lay the +gigantic plain and across it, like a silver snake, crept the great +silent river. It was the most impressive scene that I have ever beheld +from my bedroom window. My mattress was the sand with a waterproof +sheet laid upon it. Never did Monte Cristo with all his wealth sleep in +such luxury as that.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="mohave"></a> +<img src="images/i206a.jpg" width="600" height="372" alt="In the Mohave Desert." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">In the Mohave Desert.</span></div> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="cactus_trees"></a> +<img src="images/i206b.jpg" width="600" height="395" alt="Cactus Trees near San Bernardino, California." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">Cactus Trees near San Bernardino, California.</span></div> +</div> + +<p>He who all his life has associated the dawn with the soft greetings +of birds and the mellow noises of awakening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> nature, is struck at +once with the vast difference of desert countries. I have read that in +unexplored Africa and South America, the dawn is heralded by a mighty +tumult of millions of voices, a great chorus of every soul in the +great populace that lives in forest and jungle. In the Mohave Desert +the majesty of the dawn unfolds itself in deathly silence. The entire +absence of sound of any kind is awe-inspiring, almost weird, and the +observer can but watch and wonder at it as he sees the whole firmament +set ablaze with colours and shades that he never imagined existed, and +gradually the silent grandeur of the spectacle is revealed.</p> + +<p>It was with just such feelings that from my bed I watched the unfolding +of another day from the depths of the great silent plain which lay +beyond that thread of silver in the distance.</p> + +<p>And then, on again. There was a low range of mountains ahead to be +crossed. It was slow work and very tiring. The constant looseness of +the surface, the need for everlastingly keeping one's eyes glued to the +trail, and the terrible monotony of it all for mile after mile, made +me long all the more for a sight of the orange groves and the blue sea +beyond that to-morrow I might, if nothing unforeseen happened, enjoy. +Thus went fifteen, twenty, thirty miles. The first halt was reached. +It was only a railway station, a "hotel," a garage and two or three +houses, but it meant breakfast, and a good one at that, for the journey +that was ahead. Feeding over, out we went once more to brave the ruts +and the rocks and the sand, for miles and miles unending. The morning +sun grows slowly into a midday sun.</p> + +<p>We have been climbing a little. Low-lying ranges of absolutely bare, +purple-brown jagged hills seem to hem<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> us in. Soon we shall be across +them. Beyond there will be—what? More, perhaps. The road here has been +"oiled," that is, the sand has been levelled and then crude mineral oil +poured on. This hardens the crust and prevents the road from blowing +away, giving to the uninitiated the impression of well-laid macadam. It +is a relief after the loose sand, and it looks so strange for a black, +broad highway to be going across a desert! It does not last long, but +comes and goes in patches. Where it does appear it is often lumpy and +cut into grooves and slices. Nevertheless it is welcome.... The road +turns when it reaches the crest, continues for a few yards, and then....</p> + +<p>A marvellous sight has suddenly appeared, viewed from the meagre height +at which we stand. A great plain lies beneath and before us, greater +and flatter and more desolate than my imagination could ever have +conceived. All around it are mighty saw-toothed ranges of mountains +pressing close upon the horizon and fading away into nothingness. In +it is nothing, not a prominence of any kind, save the omnipresent +sage-brush that seems to stretch in streaky uniformity like a great +purple-brown veil above the cream-white sand. It is impossible to go +on—to do anything but stop and wonder that over so great an area +nature can be so desolate. It is wonderful, mystifying in its intensity.</p> + +<p>Did I say there was no prominence? What are those two minute specks +away over there in the heart of the plain? They must be a tremendous +distance away, but in their very minuteness they are conspicuous. It is +obvious that they are not there by the design of Nature.... As I look, +a tiny white speck appears further still to the left, as though it +emerged from behind the range<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> of mountains that I have just crossed. +Look! There is a short black tail behind it. It is a train!</p> + +<p>Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it moves across the great wilderness. The +black specks then are stations, small man-made oases where water has +been brought to the surface. Yes, it is true. Ten minutes elapse, and +the little white speck merges into the little black speck. Thus are +sizes and speeds dwarfed into insignificance when Nature has the mood +to show her magnitude!</p> + +<p>On again we go, spinning smoothly awhile over the smooth, oiled road. +It stops in a mile or two and leaves nothing but the old heart-rending, +twisting, wayward ruts and sand to guide us. Hours go by. They are +hours of wild effort, maddening heat, and interminable boredom. +Generally, every fifteen or twenty miles, there was a railway station +and a restaurant where one could stop for drinks, ices, and petrol.</p> + +<p>Four o'clock saw me in Ludlow, a small town, larger than the other +stops. I was dead tired. Come what may, I was not going to work myself +to death. I had done 200 miles since daybreak. That was enough for +anyone in a country like this.</p> + +<p>At eight o'clock I set out with Lizzie in the deepening twilight to +find a resting-place for the night. The road was oiled, but in most +places the sand of the desert had blown over it, covering it for +several inches in depth, and sometimes obliterating it from view for +many hundred yards.</p> + +<p>"I will sleep at the foot of yonder hill," quoth I, and saw visions of +concrete roads and orange groves beyond the horizon.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a><br /><br /> + +I REACH THE PACIFIC COAST</h2> + + +<p>I saw something else on the horizon too. It started as a little black +speck on the road, seeming to swerve now and then from one side to +another. It emitted a strange noise that at first was scarcely to be +heard, but increased until it reverberated indefinitely from the bare +angular mountain ranges.</p> + +<p>It was a motor-cycle!</p> + +<p>An inexpressible feeling of sympathy and comradeship surged through me, +as I realized that here was another fool starting to do what one fool +had already almost done. I wondered vaguely whether he knew what he was +doing.</p> + +<p>We both stopped, dismounted, and looked at each other for a few moments +before either spoke. The sight of another motor-cycle seemed to take +both of us by surprise. The stranger, a young man of twenty-four or so, +had an old twin-cylinder Excelsior that looked very much as if it had +seen better days. I led off the conversation.</p> + +<p>"Where do you reckon you're going on that?"</p> + +<p>"New York."</p> + +<p>"Ever done it before?"</p> + +<p>"Nope."</p> + +<p>"Insured?"</p> + +<p>"Nope."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Pleasure or business?"</p> + +<p>"Both." Here he fumbled around a huge bruise on his forehead. +"Leastways, that was the idea. I'm writing it up for the <em class="italic">Adventure +Magazine</em> when I'm through"—and he added guardedly, "That is, if I +don't kill meself with a few more headers like this."</p> + +<p>"How'd you get that?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Boy, I came such a crash on a bit of oiled roadway back there by +that salt-lake bed. Don't remember anything of it except being chucked +clean over the grips about fifty. My Gad, it was some crash! I came +round about half an hour after. Say, Boy, you look out for them ruts; +ride plumb in the middle of the road, and you may miss 'em, 'cause +they're filled in and blown over with sand. Jest the right width of +your wheel, they are."</p> + +<p>"Sure, I've made their acquaintance already; kind of keep a man fit, +don't they? But, say, you've got many more like that coming between +here and New York. Take my tip, old man. If you've got anyone depending +on you for a living and you don't want to knock the 'X' and yourself to +little pieces, you had better go back home right now and tootle up and +down the Californian coast for a holiday. And if you still want to get +to New York—well, all I can say is, there's a dem fine train service, +and you'll find a depot right there in Ludlow."</p> + +<p>"Don't you worry, Boy; I've done a heap of motor-cycling in my days +and I guess I don't get scared at a header or two, and s'long as I can +fix anything that happens along, I guess I'll git to Lil Ole Noo York +before a couple of weeks is gone."</p> + +<p>"Young man," said I in a fatherly tone, "you don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> know what you're +saying. You're talking blasphemy—sheer heresy. Your crash has turned +your wits a little."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, but I've made up my mind to go by road, and go by road I will."</p> + +<p>"That's the spirit, but just a few more words of advice. Sell it and +buy a Ford. Then you'll be able to take some one with you."</p> + +<p>"I'm taking some one already, Boy. He's back at Ludlow. Shipped him on +from Barstow, the road was so dog-gone bad and he got scared at the +desert."</p> + +<p>"What! You're taking him on the carrier?" I cried aghast.</p> + +<p>"Sure enough. What's against it?"</p> + +<p>I was speechless. His youth and innocence held me spellbound for a +moment. Then I burst forth:</p> + +<p>"Man, you're mad! <span class="smcap">Absolutely Mad!</span> Here, c'mon, Lizzie, before +it gets too dark and before this lunatic gets unsafe." I kicked her +into a roar. "Cheerio, old man! Give my love to the Angels to-morrow!"</p> + +<p>Then his open exhaust burst into a clatter and I saw him no more. I +often thought about him, though, and wondered how, when, and where he +ended up.</p> + +<p>Next morning I shook the desert sand from my blanket for the last +time. By hook or by crook I should be sailing through the streets of +Los Angeles before nightfall. I judged I looked pretty fierce on the +whole. I had no looking-glass, having left my suit-case to be shipped +on back at Santa Fé, but I had the best part of a week's growth on my +chin and I had not known the joy of a wash for four days. My hair, my +boots, my clothes, my everything, were saturated with sand and dust. My +tunic, which in its earlier days had been a green tweed, was now white +at the back, bleached almost colourless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> with the sun and then soaked +with alkali dust. In the front and below the sleeves it maintained +something approaching its original colour. My boots? Well, they had not +been off for four days, and the right sole, which had been threatening +revolution, had so many times nearly tripped me up by doubling +underfoot, that I had removed it near the instep with my pen-knife!</p> + +<p>And Lizzie was in no better condition. Externally she was a mass of +string, wire, insulation-tape, mud, oil, and sand. Internally she +was a bundle of rattles and strange noises. Everything was loose and +worn; the sand had invaded her at every point and had multiplied wear +a thousandfold. Latterly the tappet rods had had to be cleaned and +adjusted over a sixteenth of an inch every day until there was no more +adjustment possible. The valve rockers were worn half-way through, some +more than that. One had worn right through until it had broken in the +middle. I began to be afraid that the engine would not hold out even +for the 200 odd miles to come. By handling her carefully and giving her +ample oil, I hoped to "deliver the goods" and get across the remaining +half of the great desert tract that borders on the Sierra Madre Range +running parallel with the coast from north to south. Once across that +range, everything, I told myself, would change abruptly, the roads, the +scenery, and the climate.</p> + +<p>Mile after mile of rock and sand went by with the sweating hours. +Often little patches of oiled road appeared, stayed awhile, and then +miraculously disappeared below the white, loose surface. Nearly always +there were two ruts, beautifully sharp and well cut, sunk three or four +inches below the rest of the surface, caused by the fierce rays of +the midday sun converting the oiled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> surface into a plastic condition +easily moulded by passing cars which, once given the lead, follow +blindly in the others' "footsteps." Many a bad swerve and an occasional +spill did I have when my front wheel found such as this. But the major +portion of the road was just the bare, loose sand and gravel of the +desert.</p> + +<p>I had by now become so used to my own company that the sense of +loneliness almost disappeared, and I felt as perfectly at ease here as +anywhere else. I felt that the great wastes had a charm, nay, even a +lure, that eclipsed all past sensations and gave a mental satisfaction +that no other phase of Nature could ever reveal. I cannot describe +the ineffable something which made me love the great solitude and the +mighty spaces, but it is there nevertheless, and, like the greatest +of passions, it gives extremes. After one has lived but a few days in +the desert, either he loves it passionately or he loathes it. There is +nothing in between.</p> + +<p>On the right there lies the great "Death Valley" that stretches a +hundred miles to the north between the Armagosa and the Paramint +Mountains. Its name is suggestive of the many people who have miserably +perished of thirst in its clutches. It is the remains of a long-since +dried-up inland lake and parts of it are 150 feet below the level of +the sea. There is nothing in it save bare rock and shifting alkali +sand, with here and there a cactus or a little sage. The heat is +tremendous and the thermometer sometimes rises to 140°. In all, not a +pleasant place either to live in or to die. But there are those who in +the search for gold live here for months at a stretch.</p> + +<p>Confound it! There goes No. 1 cylinder again. Why doesn't she fire? Am +I to start overhauling the engine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> in this terrible place? I stop to +change a plug.... Nothing doing.... Try another.... Still no result. +For ten minutes I tinker with red-hot tools. Gee! the blessed machine +will be melting soon if we don't move quick. In disgust I go on again +with only three cylinders working. Past memories crowd into my mind, +but the eternal battle with the loose sand suffices to keep them out.</p> + +<p>It was too bad, to start playing pranks like this within a few hours of +the coast. The sand of the road absorbed most of the power I now had +left and often I had to change down to bottom gear to get along at all. +It was wonderful what a difference just that one cylinder made, and it +was most annoying that it should happen just here, where the earth was +nothing more than a confused mass of rocks and sand, and the sun stood +vertically above in the sky. "Thank Heaven, I've some water left, if +anything happens," thought I.</p> + +<p>"What in the world is that thing?" I asked myself. Closer acquaintance +proved it to be a motor lorry, dressed up as a caravan and minus a back +axle—a most remarkable sight in most remarkable surroundings. From the +numerous loop-tracks that swerved around it, it had evidently stood +there many days. Its owner was lying underneath on his back.</p> + +<p>"Pretty place to change a back axle, old man," I remarked intelligently.</p> + +<p>"Yep. Not the kind o' thing a feller does for the fun of it, either," +he retorted, scrambling out from his resting-place in the sand.</p> + +<p>"Well, is there anything I can do for you, anyway? I don't quite +like to see a chap stranded in a blankety-blank country like this on +blankety-blank roads like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> these." I forget just the adjectives I used, +but I know they were hardly of the drawing-room variety. Imagine my +surprise when a feminine voice from inside chirped out:</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's just about got 'em sized up! I've never heard such a +mighty cute description of 'em."</p> + +<p>Five days they had been there. The back axle had broken under the huge +strain of dragging the load through the deep, loose sand. A passing car +had taken it to San Bernardino to be repaired, and other passing cars +had kept them well supplied with water. They expected to have the axle +back the next day and then had nothing to fear. As I could do nothing +for them, I propped Lizzie up against the side of the lorry and tried +once more to persuade No. 1 cylinder to join hands with the rest.</p> + +<p>After half an hour of useless toil, I bade farewell to the caravan and +its occupants.</p> + +<p>"Quite sure I can't do anything?"</p> + +<p>"Plumb sure, thanks. Mebbe we shall be there before you, y'know,"—with +a wicked twinkle in his eye.</p> + +<p>Then followed hours and hours of ceaseless toil. We climbed hills and +crossed great lake-beds that glistened white with a dazzling glare. +In some of these there was nothing to be seen in the vast stretch of +alkali deposit where once, thousands of years ago, rested the briny +waters of lakes and inland seas—nothing, not even a plucky bush of +sage-brush, clinging valiantly to its life-hold.</p> + +<p>We came to Barstow, a growing settlement, a railway centre and with +great alkali factories. Here, after nearly 100 miles' running, I had a +substantial breakfast-lunch-dinner meal and filled my water-bag for the +last time. We were nearing the end of the Mohave Desert.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> + +<p>Here the trail turns sharply to the south to "San Berdoo," the +colloquial abbreviation of San Bernardino. At one time the trail had +crossed the desert by a different route altogether, in places almost +100 miles from the railway line. So many souls had perished with the +heat and lack of water—perchance through some breakdown or through +losing their way—that later a new road was "constructed" following +closely the track of the railway so that travellers by road need never +be in difficulties for long. It is an unwritten law in any of the +American deserts that anyone can hold up a train anywhere if he needs +water or supplies or other help. It is willingly given, whether it be a +freight train or the "California Limited" express from New York to San +Francisco!</p> + +<p>The San Gabriel Mountains now rose high on the horizon. They had but to +be crossed, and then all our troubles would be over.</p> + +<p>So I thought.</p> + +<p>At Victorville, a growing town at the north base of the range, the +desert had almost disappeared. Eucalyptus trees became strangely +intermixed with cactus trees, and the aroma of their long, grey-green +leaves filled the air with a new sensation. It was the approach of +civilization once again.</p> + +<p>And then followed the long, winding climb up to the Cajon Pass. In the +thick sand and with only three cylinders, it was hard work and slow +work. I thought we should never get to the top. Looking back, I beheld +a wonderful panorama of desert plain, and a glistening sea of sand; +looking forward, I saw just a gap in the great black wall and a rocky +pathway winding through it.</p> + +<p>Are we <span class="smcap">never</span> going to reach the summit? We must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> have climbed +nearly a mile high already, I argued with myself, when, of a sudden, +the twisting, rocky trail ceased to exist. It vanished like magic, and +instead there was before us a magnificent, broad highway of smooth, +flat concrete that made me yell with delight. It was wonderful. I +laughed and sang with childish glee to think that after 4,000 miles +of mud and sand and soil and rock and rut and unspeakable goat-track, +I was at last on a concrete road once again, with a surface like a +billiard table. I swerved madly from side to side to make sure those +two haunting ruts had really disappeared, and laughed again when I +found I was not thrown off. It was just glorious.</p> + +<p>One more turn, and a great valley lay at my feet. It was green with +grass and the mountain sides were clothed in pine trees. Pine trees! +How beautiful they looked! It was surely a dream, a vision, a trick +of the imagination. There was a long, winding gradient down into the +valley. I shut the engine off and we coasted down the smooth concrete +without even a whisper or a jar of any kind. It was like a sudden entry +into heaven—and almost as silent.</p> + +<p>There were now seventy miles of concrete leading between avenues of +eucalyptus and groves of orange trees into Los Angeles. Further, the +road was almost perfectly flat, although bordered by the San Gabriel +range, and, with a few right-angle bends here and there, cut straight +across from east to west, with hardly a swerve from the straight line.</p> + +<p>Truly it was like a new world, this fruit garden of California. For +miles unbroken save by little avenues, one passed row upon row of +orange trees laid out in perfect symmetry and exactitude in the rich +flat soil. A narrow ditch, dug parallel with each row and having<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> small +branches to each individual tree, communicated with larger ditches +along which flowed a constant stream of fresh water led from the +mountain sides.</p> + +<p>Interspersed would be groves of prunes, peaches, and apples, then a +plantation of water-melons and cantaloupes of all shapes and sizes.</p> + +<p>And then, as if to snatch away the enjoyment of all these pleasant +things, a great clatter arose from the engine. Something had broken at +last, and it seemed that the whole was a revolving mass of loose pieces +all knocking up against each other. Then, before I had been able to +slow down—it all happened in a few seconds—there was a metallic thud, +the back wheel locked dead, and the machine dry-skidded itself to rest. +Once again Fate had decreed against me, angry that I should have got so +far in spite of all her efforts.</p> + +<p>Well, well! There was plenty of time to spare now; no need to hurry. +I sat down on the grass at the roadside in the shade of an orange +tree, ate two oranges—from the tool-box—and smoked a pipe. Feeling +refreshed in every sense, I then proceeded to take the engine to pieces.</p> + +<p>No. 1 piston had broken in fragments and a large piece had jammed +between the big end of one of the connecting rods and the crank-case. +It was strange that it had not punched a hole through it.</p> + +<p>It was far too long a job to take off the sump at the roadside—it +would have meant taking the whole engine out of the frame—nearly a +day's work—so I removed as many of the pieces of piston as I could get +at through the inspection window. The piston-head was floating loose +like a flat disc above the small end. This I removed and packed the two +halves of the broken gudgeon pin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> apart, so as to guide the small end +up and down in the cylinder. It was impossible to remove the connecting +rod entirely, even with the cylinder off, without removing the whole +engine from the frame and taking off the sump.</p> + +<p>In a couple of hours I was going again, but very very gingerly, lest +another piece of piston should be caught up and cause another jamb. +The noise of the rattle too was terrific, and I could hear the warning +of passing cars (of which there were now several) only when they were +right behind me. Sometimes it would get suddenly worse and a further +disrupture would appear imminent, and then it would go suddenly back +again to its normal. Thus we toiled for thirty miles, at an average +speed of twelve miles an hour.</p> + +<p>At Ontario—the towns were as numerous as they were prosperous—I +feared another and final episode. A Ford car that was passing slowed +down to offer me assistance, and putting Lizzie in "free engine" I +hung on to his hoodstays with my right arm as a tow-rope. This lasted +for ten miles, but I could stand it no longer; my arms were stiff and +aching with the uneven strain. I thanked my benefactor and let go.</p> + +<p>The remaining twenty miles into Los Angeles were endured and +accomplished under our own power at about eight miles an hour. The +attention I attracted was considerable. Hundreds upon hundreds of cars, +buses, and motor-cycles passed, hurrying here and there, their tyres +making a continuous low hum on the concrete road. Luxury, wealth, and +happiness abounded on every hand. No greater antithesis to the aching +void of the desert back behind the mountains could be imagined.</p> + +<p>Every house was a picture, a model of cleanliness and homeliness. The +art of building bungalows is reduced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> in California to the irreducible. +It is amazing to see the variety of design and the characteristic +beauty of them all. They made the modern English bungalows of my memory +seem like enlarged dog-kennels by comparison.</p> + +<p>At five o'clock in the afternoon we rattled into Los Angeles, the New +York of the Far West. Lizzie's clatter rose above the noise of the +trolley cars that thronged the busy streets. Here at last was the +long-sought-for goal—the goal that for nearly three months had urged +me westward! And my steed? Poor Lizzie, she cried aloud for a respite +from the long, weary journey!</p> + +<p>Had I known where the Henderson Agency was I could not have found my +way there quicker. It seemed as if Lizzie's instincts had taken her +there just as a lost cat, transported hundreds of miles from home, +slowly, painfully and perseveringly drags its tired body back again.</p> + +<p>A quarter of an hour later I was sailing in a side-car towards the +"Clark Hotel." That was where my hotel at Santa Fé had recommended me +to go and had forwarded my baggage.</p> + +<p>We drew up at the door of a palatial establishment—the "posh" hotel +of Los Angeles. Once again, after many a long day, my knees began +to quake. Brushing by the magnificent door-porter, I swung into the +luxurious lounge. Afternoon tea was just finishing. I strolled across +to the reception desk, trying hard to maintain an air of complete +innocence as regards my personal appearance. I endeavoured to assume an +attitude of perfect congruity with my surroundings.</p> + +<p>To say the least, I was lamentably unsuccessful! Little groups of +people chatting together stopped and gazed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> at the dishevelled +intruder. Imperfectly disguised smirks were evident on all sides. +Pages, bell-boys, and porters quickly brought their grinning faces to +attention as I glowered upon them in turn. At last I reached the desk.</p> + +<p>"You've got some baggage for me, I believe—a couple of grips—sent +from the 'Montezuma' at Santa Fé. Shepherd is my name."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the manager appeared on the scene. Resting himself with both +hands on the desk as if to steady himself against any possible shock +that he might receive from the contemplation of so strange a spectacle, +he gazed at me in silence. Then, below his breath, he found words to +convey his astonishment:</p> + +<p>"My Gad!" he said, and paused deliberately. Then he continued +explosively, "I've seen some sunburnt faces in my time, but never, +<span class="smcap">never</span>, <span class="smcap">never</span> have I seen a man anywhere with a face +like yours!"</p> + +<p>"It's nice of you to say so," I retorted.</p> + +<p>"Heavens, man!" he continued, ignoring the interruption, "your hair's +nearly white and your chest is nearly black. Where in hell have you +been?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I didn't stay there long," I replied, "no longer than was +necessary to get here from New York."</p> + +<p>"New York!" (I was quite expecting him to say "Whar's that?" but +evidently its existence was known in well-informed circles in Los +Angeles). "Have you walked it or swum it or what?"</p> + +<p>"Only motor-cycled it, Old Bean!"</p> + +<p>"Well, now, if that's not.... Here; I'll give you your key. Go and have +a good bath <span class="smcap">right now</span>."</p> + +<p>I thanked him. A porter had got my bags and stood waiting. His face was +the essence of staid immobility when I looked at him. Together we went +in the elevator<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> to the <em class="italic">n</em>th floor. Eager to see what I really did +look like, my first indulgence was to look at myself in the glass, a +thing I had not done for many a day.</p> + +<p>It certainly was a shock. I could barely recognize myself. I really +was the most remarkable creature I had ever seen. I could not refrain +from bursting into uncontrollable laughter. The hitherto straight-faced +porter did likewise, and we both felt the better for it.</p> + +<p>A hot bath! Wonder of wonders! I tumbled into it and the past was +forgotten in the inexpressible ecstasy of the present.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a><br /><br /> + +LOS ANGELES TO SAN FRANCISCO</h2> + + +<p>In full, the real name of Los Angeles is "La Puebla de Nuestra Señora +la Reina de los Angeles"—"The City of our Lady the Queen of the +Angels." Founded by Spanish settlers about 1780, it is built upon the +plains that roll from the foothills of the Sierra Madre down to the +sea. It represents the very last word in the civilization of the Far +West.</p> + +<p>Los Angeles is a city of which to be proud. It is a hustling +metropolis, but not too hustling. Its streets are wide and well-laid, +its buildings clean, and its residences are just too wonderful for any +words of mine. It is moreover the "movie centre" <em class="italic">par excellence</em> of +the world. "Duggie" and "Mary" and "Charlie" are not merely familiar +characters on the screen. They are your neighbours. You see them pass +in the streets and go shopping with them in the stores, like ordinary +human beings. Undoubtedly the development of Los Angeles in recent +years is due largely to this industry. So also is the amazing beauty +of its feminine population. Going deeper still, we find that the +secret of its success lies in the wonderful climate. There is but one +rainy season in Los Angeles during the year, and that is the month of +December.</p> + +<p>Strange to say, Los Angeles is not on the sea-coast. It is twelve miles +to the nearest part of the beach. This<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> seemed rather extraordinary +to me, particularly as San Francisco, with whom they are so eagerly +competing, stands on one of the finest and largest harbours in the +world. I remarked so to the <em class="italic">Times</em> reporter one day. "But why," I +asked, "did they build Los Angeles so far from the sea?" "Oh well, you +see," he replied in all seriousness, "they had a mighty good idea about +things. They reckoned that by the time Los Angeles had really started +growing she'd be right on top of the Pacific, so they gave her a chance +and laid the place out twelve miles away." "Oh, was that it? I see," +was my innocent retort.</p> + +<p>Be that as it may, there is a network of beautiful, straight, concrete +roads leading from the city down to the coast in all directions. +Dozens of small residential towns are springing up amid this network +of roads—towns that some day will be suburbs of Los Angeles. At least +that is the way to think of them. And the roads themselves? On Saturday +afternoons and Sundays they are like great living arteries along which +flows an endless stream of motor-cars. The Californians know how to +enjoy themselves. There is not one fragment of the art of exterminating +boredom that they have not studied. They frivol <em class="italic">en masse</em>, and to do +it they naturally choose the sea-beach as a habitat. Consequently the +coast is strung with dozens of seaside resorts of every type and shade +of description, and with only a mile or two between them.</p> + +<p>A trip to one of these "Los Angeles Beaches" is essential to the +education of the true student of Southern Californian civilization. +Never at any time have I seen public highways so completely covered +with motor-cars. The number seen approaches the incredible, in the eyes +of the astonished European. Frequently there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> were two almost endless +rows of cars with but a few feet between them, moving slowly along like +a gigantic procession several miles in length. Occasionally there would +be a hold-up, and the whole string of cars, one after the other, would +pull up, each car close upon its forerunner. Without exception, all +American cars are provided with buffers at front and rear so that the +car does not suffer any damage when one touches another even with quite +a severe impact. The obstruction is removed, and on the procession goes +again. Perhaps some unfortunate is changing a wheel at the roadside. +Then there is a big curve in the long, straight line where the more +fortunate Fords and Maxwells and Buicks and Overlands, etc., etc., +swerve round him. And thus we carry on until the coast is reached.</p> + +<p>Naturally the first glimpse I had of the Pacific Ocean gave me feelings +of unbounded joy. I even confess to having obeyed the childish instinct +to pick up shells and seaweed on the beach. It was a sight to look upon +until the majesty of the breakers and the infinite expanse of the deep +blue ocean eclipsed one's sense of magnitude altogether and one became +lost in a world of vision and fantasy.</p> + +<p>I spent over a week in Los Angeles. During that time I was almost +overwhelmed with hospitality. The Californians I found easily the most +hospitable people in America. At every hand I found people, whom I had +neither seen nor heard of before, inviting me to dinner, and taking me +rides in their cars. Further, I found I was friends with the police, +and that without any difficulty either! In fact, the very air of +California is charged with friendliness. Consequently, I was sorry when +the day came when I should leave it behind.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lizzie was finished. She had had a complete overhaul and several parts +of the engine replaced. Numerous telegrams and letters had been flashed +across the States to the works at Chicago. They were in vain. Although +still under the makers' guarantee, they would accept no responsibility. +I paid the last bill that made Lizzie's repair account just exceed the +amount I originally paid for her three months before and started out +to complete the journey to San Francisco. I cannot, however, omit to +mention the extreme courtesy and hospitality with which I was met at +the Henderson Agency itself. I could never at any time wish for better +attention or hope to make better friends in foreign countries than I +was fortunate enough to do in the "City of Angels." I left it with a +pang of regret.</p> + +<p>It was late in the evening when I started. I found to my annoyance that +the lights were defective. The headlight was <em class="italic">hors de combat</em>. Only the +"dimmer" remained to light me on my way. I had about sixty dollars in +my pocket, though, so I was the perfection of happiness withal.</p> + +<p>I am afraid those sixty dollars need some explanation. I arrived in +Los Angeles a week before with about twenty. The Post Office, as ever, +maintained an inexplicable silence. Having now quite reconciled myself +to being mailless wherever I went, save for a letter or two forwarded +through my friends in Cincinnati, I decided to direct my energies to a +profitable purpose while waiting for Lizzie's return from hospital.</p> + +<p>I scanned the newspapers night and day. Had I been a tram-driver or +a page-boy I could have made a hit at once without any difficulty. +There was also a big demand for boot-blacks, but for anything that +suited my tastes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> and inclinations there was nothing. My small stock +of "greenbacks" (paper dollars) was slowly diminishing the while. +Something had to be done.</p> + +<p>So I started in on journalism. Strange to say, I made money at it. With +the one exception of Kansas City, it is the only time I ever have. +Americans seemed interested in the impressions of stray Englishmen +through "God's own country." Better still, Californians seemed +interested to learn what one stray Englishman in particular had to say +about California on the one hand, and all the other States on the other!</p> + +<p>I have the best of reasons for believing that they were perfectly +satisfied with my report. So that is how, after paying for Lizzie's +operation, I still had sixty odd dollars left to my credit.</p> + +<p>The broad, well-lighted city streets with their trolley-cars soon were +left behind, and we rode for miles along boulevards of wondrous surface +through the residential quarters of Los Angeles. There were magnificent +bungalows of countless variety, the homes of both poor and rich. +Further on, we passed through Hollywood, the home of the homes of the +"movie" people. Occasionally would be seen a great block of buildings, +unpretentious in architecture but palatial in extent. These were the +"studios" where the films are made that instruct, amuse, and annoy the +world's population.</p> + +<p>Finally, the last bungalow receded into the background and ahead was +inky blackness, a beautiful concrete highway, and the faint forms of +mountain ranges. In the darkness, dispelled only within a radius of a +few feet by the small pea-lamp that remained in service, everything +looked mystic, shadowy, and strange. It seemed just the night, just the +surroundings for adventure, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> kind of environment that makes the +vagrant life so much worth living.</p> + +<p>The road ran parallel with the coastline, some ten or more miles away, +but in between lay the Santa Monica Mountains, whose feet the highway +skirted. Sometimes the hill-sides were barren and rocky; other times +they were clothed in gloomy cedar forests. I wondered what strange +animals lurked in them and whether I should make the acquaintance of +any mountain lions, bears, wolves, wild cats and other animals that +still are plentiful in the mountain regions of California. Occasionally +a car passed, the glare of its headlights transforming the sombre +surroundings into a still stranger world of silver and gold. The road +for a few moments changed to a path of glistening white leading to +the unknown. And then, when the car dashed by, everything plunged +instantaneously into a sea of blackness so intense that it could almost +be felt.</p> + +<p>I had intended to polish off a couple of hundred miles before morning. +I love nothing better than a long night ride on a good road. But lack +of illumination defied my intentions. After thirty miles I pulled in to +the side of the road where a great beech tree overhung its branches, +and laid down my ground-sheet upon the soft bed of dead leaves and nuts +that lay beneath.</p> + +<p>It was the softest mattress that I have ever lain upon in the open. In +a few minutes I was fast asleep.</p> + +<p>In the early hours of the morning I began to dream. I dreamt that some +great animal was walking slowly around me as I lay. It snuffled about, +grunting at intervals in a most dissatisfied manner. It is not a habit +of mine to dream about anything. I remember reflecting subconsciously +that I had ceased to dream of bears and such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> like when I reached the +age of four. Why then should I dream about them now? Oh, hang the +fellow! What is he making that confounded noise for?</p> + +<p>A few minutes later I discovered that I was not dreaming at all. I +was wide awake. Without moving anything but my eyes I peered into the +darkness that still enshrouded everything. Sure enough I could make out +a huge black mass somewhere near my feet, but could not discern its +actual form.... Slowly, gently, I slipped my hand underneath my pillow. +At last, I thought, I shall have a chance of shooting at something +bigger than prairie-dogs! And then the thought struck me, how strange +it was that in all these thousands of miles of travelling through +plains and deserts and forests, my slumbers had never been interrupted +by any nocturnal visitor—I had not even <span class="smcap">seen</span> anything that +could possibly annoy the most domesticated young person who loves his +feather-bed.</p> + +<p>The big black thing became more distinct as I looked. His head was down +and he was engaged in wondering just exactly what my feet were and who +put them there; whether they'd be nice to eat if vegetable, and if not, +whether they were animal or mineral, and if so, why? I waited my time. +He put his head closer to smell the offending object. With a sudden +kick I landed out straight for his nose with my right foot. A yell rent +the air and the big black thing leapt away squealing into the darkness. +A 33 bullet followed him there just for luck.</p> + +<p>His squeaks gradually died down as he scampered helter-skelter down the +road. It was only a poor harmless pig looking for nuts—but he had no +right to disturb my slumbers!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> + +<p>In the morning we continued towards the west. The end of the Santa +Monica Range came in sight and soon the road descended in long winding +"grades" towards the sea-coast. For the first time by daylight I saw +California in its true colours. Here I should mention that the height +of summer is not the best time to explore California. It is in the +winter and the spring that the country is arrayed in its greatest +glory. The lack of rain, even near the sea-coast, is so marked that +by the time summer is reaching its zenith, there is not a green +blade of grass to be seen. The face of the country, where it remains +uncultivated and unirrigated, is an eternal brown. At first this +brings a sense of disappointment to the traveller who has heard so +much of California's meadows of wonderful green mingled with the hues +of countless kinds of wild flowers. In summer-time there are none. +But in spring-time, when the sun has not started to blaze and the +rain has worked its miracles, the charm of the country must be beyond +description.</p> + +<p>At Ventura, a pretty town on the sea-coast, Lizzie's speedometer ticked +off the 4,500th mile. There remained another 450 to be done, and the +journey would be at an end. I had little doubt now of getting there. +The roads were so good that motor-cycling was child's play. Indeed it +often became monotonous. At most times one could travel at almost any +speed of which one's machine was capable, and still the straight, flat +roads would be tiring to the point of boredom.</p> + +<p>The towns and villages one passed, however, were full of charm. The +most famous road through California, El Camino Real—which means +"The Highway of the King"—was one which I was following and had its +origin in the old trail which the historic padres followed in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +romantic days of the Spanish occupation two and three hundred years +ago. This trail, blazed by the padres "by God's will for the reigning +monarch of Spain," stretches for 900 miles from Mexico to Oregon, +and along it there still stand the old Mission Houses that are so +prominent a feature of Californian history. There are nineteen of them, +each "a day's journey apart," and each of an entirely distinct and +characteristic type of architecture.</p> + +<p>These Missions stand to-day, having with few exceptions been maintained +intact in their original form, and they serve as beautiful testimonies +to the genius of their builders. So admired is their style of +architecture that they are religiously copied, more so now than ever +before, in public buildings and sometimes private dwellings in all +parts of the West. One even sees railway stations and tramway termini +modelled in the form of one of these ancient Franciscan Missions!</p> + +<p>If I was charmed with Ventura, I was thrice charmed with Santa Barbara, +another wonderful coast town of modern style built on an ancient site. +The old Santa Barbara Mission stands away up on the hill-sides of the +Santa Ynez Range above the town and looks over the blue waters of the +Pacific towards the craggy islands of Santa Cruz that lie beyond. For +sheer delight of climate, scenery, and surroundings I would forsake any +home in any town in any country that I have yet seen to live in Santa +Barbara, had I the wherewithal to do so.</p> + +<p>Following the coastline, and in many places separated from it only +by a ridge of stones or a strip of vegetation, the road continues on +its happy way for many miles. On the left splash the deep blue waters +of the Pacific. On the right rise steeply the Santa Ynez Mountains, +which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> like a link in a great chain form, with many others, more or +less disjointed, the "coast range" that fringes the sea from Mexico +to Oregon. Sometimes the road is bordered with Yucca palms, sometimes +with pepper trees, and sometimes with eucalyptus. One even sees, almost +simultaneously, cactus plants and prickly pears growing amid the +parched-up grass on the sun-swept side of some unfriendly hill!</p> + +<p>At Caviota, a few miles south of the famous "Point Conception," the +road leaves the coast and swerves inland. Across the tip of the Santa +Ynez Range it goes, swerving now to the left, then to the right, +climbing, dipping, and swerving again for sixty or seventy miles until +once more it catches a glimpse of the Pacific at El Pismo beach.</p> + +<p>Near here I left the beaten track and followed a narrow pathway that +led around a hill-side to the cliffs. Here I made my bed down once +again in the long, dry grass that clothed the top. I could say with +tolerable certainty that never before had a motor-cycle followed that +path. It was soon no more than a little rut scarcely visible in the +grassy slope. But I achieved my objective. With the murmur of the sea, +as it dashed against the rocks a few hundred feet below, singing always +in my ears, I passed one more night of exquisite repose and magic charm.</p> + +<p>I awoke in the morning and sniffed the sea air. It was very attractive +certainly, but was there not something the matter with it somehow? Or +was it my imagination? I wriggled half out of bed and peered over the +edge of the cliff. I stopped; I looked; I listened. Down there, on a +little bed of white sand, lay a dead seal stretched out flat, as one +would lay a tablecloth. He looked a dismal sight, poor fellow.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ten miles more, inland again, and it was breakfast-time. We were at San +Luis Obispo, a fine little town at the foot of the Santa Margarita—one +more link in the coast range. San Luis Obispo took its name from an old +Mission founded in 1772, and once was the centre of wealth among the +Spaniards of the country.</p> + +<p>Afterwards we cross the hills and continue northward. Always the +Southern Pacific Railroad is on our right, sometimes just a few feet +from the highway. The concrete has stopped and at intervals we have +our old friend, the natural gravel. The laying of concrete is being +proceeded with at many places, a hundred yards or so at a time, and +detours running parallel at the side connect us up with the road ahead. +Many little seedling towns are passed—all of them well planned and +well advertised—and at last we come to Paso Robles (Pass of the Oaks), +a larger town which derives its name from a great natural oak park. I +should mention that oak trees are abundant in California and they grow +often to a very great size.</p> + +<p>We are now in the Salinas Valley, in proportion like a long, narrow +groove 100 miles long cut in the face of the country. Through it runs +the Salinas River, winding and bending with great sweeps through its +sandy bed. At midsummer it is dried up completely, and, from the +long wooden bridges that cross and re-cross it, looks like a sandy +sea-beach, with fences across from one bank to the other to stop the +cattle straying!</p> + +<p>Along this valley blows a constant cool wind from the sea in the +north. All day long it blows, week in, week out. The further north one +proceeds the stronger it becomes, until it approaches almost a gale +that whistles down the narrow channel like a cold blast, even in the +broiling heat of the cloudless sun. Where, here and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> there, were to +be seen bunches of poplar trees and eucalyptus, they were invariably +leaning distinctly to the south, their gaunt trunks permanently moulded +by the inexorable wind. On the smaller trees, the sycamores and the +cedars, there was often not a branch nor a leaf to be seen on the +northern side of the trunk, the foliage almost touching the ground on +the southern side. Those hundred miles were the coldest I had known in +the whole journey, and always I found the head wind so strong that the +power of the machine seemed half absorbed in merely combating it.</p> + +<p>San Miguel, San Ardo, King City, Soledad, Gonzales, and finally, at +five in the afternoon, Salinas was reached at the end of the valley. +San Francisco was now but little more than 100 miles beyond. To-morrow +would be the last day. The end was in sight.</p> + +<p>But what of Lizzie? Alas, she was in a sorry condition. Gradually since +we left Los Angeles two days before she had fallen off in power. The +old rattles and noises had recurred with astonishing alacrity. I had +had many stops for minor adjustments and examinations, and even feared +another breakdown before the skyscrapers of 'Frisco loomed in sight. +The reader may be in as good a position as I to judge of the merits of +American compared with English motor-cycles, but he will admit that +seldom could occur a worse combination of bad luck and pig-headed +pertinacity than is witnessed in the wanderings of Lizzie and me +through the United States of America.</p> + +<p>At Salinas I ate and drank right heartily, and drowned my sorrows in +wistful contemplation of the blue eyes of the gentle damsel who served +apple pie across the counter of the "quick-meal" luncheon bar.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Lizzie, would you like to sleep by the sea to-night for the last +time? Think we can get there, old girl? It's twenty miles there and +twenty back, y' know!—Righto, c'mon!" and she burst once again into an +animated confusion of noise and life.</p> + +<p>Monterey is on the coast. It stands surrounded by hills on a +magnificent bay which, with its yachts, motor-launches, and +fishing-boats, is one of the most famous beauty-spots of the +Californian coast. Monterey was once an important centre of history in +the early days of Spanish and Mexican sovereignty. Later, it enjoyed +the distinction of being the first spot in California where the +American flag was hoisted. Now it is little more than a seaside resort, +but as famous in California as is Naples in Italy.</p> + +<p>A splendid highway leads from Salinas and cuts through beautiful hills +clothed in cedar and oak. The journey was worth doing, if only to +breathe the sea air again and sleep to its murmur.</p> + +<p>It was rather a pathetic affair—that last night out. I hated to +leave Lizzie propped up on her stand on the low cliffs while I made a +comfortable bed in the sand on the beach. The tide was out, but I was +determined to get as near to the sea as possible. I chose a spot where, +nestled in a sandy cove in the rocks, I could see the breakers just a +score of yards from my feet.</p> + +<p>I awoke in the early morning to find the sea barely a foot from my +feet. The tide rose higher than I had expected, but I had time to enjoy +a few delightful minutes of lying half awake in bed before I finally +proved discretion to be better than damp bedclothes and dragged my +belongings to a less obtrusive spot.</p> + +<p>Thus dawned another day, the day that was to see the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> end. I had ample +time and lingered on the way, now administering friendly attention to +Lizzie, now stopping for a light refreshment or to take a leisurely +photograph. It was all too glorious—that last day.</p> + +<p>But poor old Lizzie again showed signs of exhaustion. I nursed her +tenderly and rode as slowly as I felt inclined throughout the day.</p> + +<p>Monterey was left behind after breakfast. Then Salinas was reached once +more, and now we were again on the road to 'Frisco.</p> + +<p>Over the mountains to the east once again, down the San Juan Grade, +that wound and screwed itself round the rocky slopes, and we got to San +Juan, where the tall eucalyptus and waving pepper trees gave an air of +majesty to the fine old Mexican town it proved to be.</p> + +<p>Then we turn to the north once more and enter another valley, the +valley of Santa Clara. The towns become larger and more frequent, the +country more developed. Orchards and fruit-groves are frequently seen. +At the roadsides, built up on trestles, are great water-tanks that are +used for irrigation. I notice that here and there, where the pipes that +lead to them have leaked a little, the dark brown soil below has burst +into great masses of fresh green grass, while all around is parched and +lifeless.</p> + +<p>At San José we find a great fruit-growing centre, and at the same time +a beautiful city of many thousand inhabitants. Its streets are lined +with palms and its suburbs extend into the orange groves that abound on +every hand.</p> + +<p>Simultaneously one cylinder starts to misfire, and then another. Soon +they are all missing. At intervals they would all chip in for a second +or two, and as suddenly chip out again. I smelt magneto trouble.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> + +<p>I also smelt prunes, millions of them. O Californian Prune, how often +have I eaten of thy tasty endocarp in far-off England! And here thou +art in myriads about me!</p> + +<p>I stopped a dozen times, changed plugs, examined leads, and tinkered +with the magneto. Evidently there was something the matter inside the +magneto. I would trust to luck to get to 'Frisco—only forty miles more.</p> + +<p>And thus we continued, sometimes dawdling along at fifteen and then +suddenly bursting into full power and shooting along at forty for +a minute or two, as Lizzie's peculiar whim would have it. It was +annoying, tiring, disheartening, but I felt I should get there. I had +long since planned a trip to the Yosemite National Park, returning +thence to the north across the border and eastward through Canada back +to New York. That little project would certainly never come off. I had +had enough already. I made one great big oath to sell Lizzie's carcase +for what it would bring in San Francisco. Poor old Lizzie! I pitied her +in a way. She must have been born with a curse on her head. But she +would have to go, if only for 100 dollars. Already I began wondering +who would get her after we had parted.</p> + +<p>After ten miles appeared the southern tip of the great harbour that +stretches inland to north and south from San Francisco. This bay is +fifty miles long and ten miles wide and forms one of the grandest +harbours in the world. All the navies of all the nations of the earth +could be comfortably tucked away in a corner of it. The road follows +within a few miles of the western shore of this inland sea, and at +every few miles are small, fast-growing cities comparable with nothing +but their prototypes that cluster around Los Angeles. For here we +are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> absolutely in the centre of the wine-making district. Sixty +years ago cuttings and rooted vines of every variety found in Europe +were brought to California and planted, mostly around this great bay +of San Francisco, where the frequent sea-fogs contribute so much to +the maintenance of perfect conditions for the growing of vines. They +flourished, and now we have Médocs and Sauternes and Moselles and +countless others from California, as well as from France.</p> + +<p>For miles and miles we see nothing but vineyards and fruit-groves. +There is no fence, no ditch, no railing. The orange trees and plum +trees fringe the very road. It is not possible to say where one estate +ends and another begins. The owners probably know.</p> + +<p>The towns are now so thick that with them also it is difficult to say +where one ends and another begins. Only another fifteen miles! Poor old +Lizzie, she may peg out altogether.</p> + +<p>But no. She keeps at it. Sometimes she ceases firing altogether, +but only for a moment. On she goes again, now on one, now on four +cylinders. Hey ho! We shall get there all right.</p> + +<p>'Buses and cars in hundreds pass in both directions. We shall soon be +in 'Frisco now.</p> + +<p>Tram-lines appear and then trams. Trolley-cars, they call them in +America. 'Frisco at last!</p> + +<p>I dodge in and out of the traffic as best I may. It is very thick +indeed, and in very much of a hurry. I sail down Market Street, the +"Strand" of San Francisco. What matter if Lizzie clatters and rattles +and stops and shoots on again? She has brought me here. And as I say +so, the little indicator on the speedometer moves to 4,950. Just 50 +miles short of 5,000 from New York!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> Gee! it seems like an extract from +another life, that departure from far-off New York. And how long? Three +months? It feels like twelve at the least!</p> + +<p>I found the post office and sang out for mail. Sure enough there was +some—forwarded from Cincinnati. I learnt for the first time that the +detailed "Schedules" that I had dispatched three months ago at New +York had not yet reached England. Hence the reason for the seeming +unkindliness of the Post Office en route. But where were they? I was +not to know until a week after my return to England, when they arrived +suddenly, without any warning, and simultaneously, to all my friends +and relatives there. They had been all round British East Africa; +Heaven and the New York postal authorities alone know why! I had not +counted on such waywardness on their part when in my innocence of +American ways I had dropped them in the post-box at New York.</p> + +<p>Thus ends my tale of woe. It is a strange thing, but nevertheless true, +that now I have done with it and written about it and done with writing +about it, I still think what a glorious trip it was and what a perfect +ass I was to do it, and what a still greater ass I was to say anything +about it!</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="EPILOGUE" id="EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE</a></h2> + + +<h3>SCENE I</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Scene</span>.—<em class="italic">Outside the Post Office, San Francisco, Cal.</em></p> + +<p class="center">TIME.—<em class="italic">August</em>, 1919.</p> + + + + +<p class="ph3">CHARACTERS</p> + + +<ul class="list"> +<li><span class="smcap">Lizzie.</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Myself.</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">An Armenian.</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Crowd of Loungers, Small Boys, and Women of various Nationalities.</span></li> +</ul> + + +<p class="center"> +(<span class="smcap">Self</span> <em class="italic">emerges from portals of Post Office. Chorus of +voices from crowd.</em>)</p> + +<p>"'Ere'e is; look at his face; look at his chest. You're one +globe-trotter, I'll reckon. How long did it take? How much has it cost? +What did you do it for? How'd you like San Francisco?" etc., etc., etc.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Myself</span> (<em class="italic">dangerously ruffled at not having received a +cheque</em>). "Well, and what are you all gaping at, like a lot of +half-witted school-kids? Never seen a motor-cycle before? Here, you (to +<span class="smcap">Armenian</span>), where's the Clift Hotel?"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian</span>. "Do you vont to zell zis machine?"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Myself</span> (<em class="italic">successfully concealing rapture at the suggestion</em>). +"Sell her, after she's brought me all the way from New York? <span class="smcap">Sell +Her?</span> Why, I'd sooner sell my mother-in-law."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "I vill gif you 'undred dollar right 'ere."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Myself.</span> "Hundred dollars be damned, and you with 'em! Where's +the Clift?"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Chorus of Voices.</span> "Up the hill here and second on the right. +Von 'undred dollar. Follow the trams. Give us yer water-bag, boss. Look +at his boots. There's a cop on the corner. Von 'undred ten dollar, +right now. Look at 'is 'air," etc., etc.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="center">(<em class="italic">Exit slowly in procession</em>, <span class="smcap">Self</span> <em class="italic">leading; Alarums and +Excursions.</em>)</p></div> + + +<h3>SCENE II</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Scene.</span>—<em class="italic">My room at the Clift Hotel.</em></p> + +<p class="center"><em class="italic">Half an hour has elapsed.</em></p> + +<p class="center">(<span class="smcap">Self</span> <em class="italic">discovered, washing face. There is a knock at the +door.</em>)</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Come in."</p> + +<p class="center">(<em class="italic">Enter</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span>.)</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Ah, 'ere you vos. Ze manager tolt me your room. I +come right up."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Apparently."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "I vont to buy your motorsickle; vot you vont for +'im?"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Speak respectfully, please. I want 500 dollars for +<span class="smcap">her</span>."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian</span> (<em class="italic">throwing up his hands in horror</em>). "Ah, zat vos too +much, my frent! Dot vos more zan you give for 'im—for <span class="smcap">'er</span>."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "And how the devil do you know what I gave for her?"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "I haf made enquiries, jhust. I af bin to ze aghency +'ere. Zey say it vos 480 dollars."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Well, any fool knows a machine improves with running +(the blush is unnoticed beneath my Indian complexion); and what's more, +if a machine can stick it all the way across <span class="smcap">The United States of +America</span> it must be a dem good one. I should have asked 600, but I +like your face (<em class="italic">cold shivers down spine</em>), so I only want 500."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Ah, zat vos far too much. I vill gif you von +'undred fifteen—no more."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Nothin' doin', bo. Five hundred. Here's my card; you +can call round any time between now and to-morrow midday with the +money. If you can't do it by then, you can drop in and see me at +Salt Lake City after next Wednesday, or Chicago after next Saturday. +Cheerio; close the door as you go out."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian</span> (<em class="italic">reading card and much awed by same</em>). "Ah, you vos +Mistaire Sh—— Captin Sheffer, R.A.F.? I tink you vos vaire rich man. +You could afford to <span class="smcap">gif</span> me ze machine! Not so? Me vaire poor +man, Captain Sheffer, R.A.F."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "If you knew as much about the Air Force as I do, you'd +know better, my friend. Now, for Heaven's sake, <span class="smcap">buzz off</span>, and +don't worry me."</p> + +<p class="center">(<em class="italic">Exit</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span> <em class="italic">with bows, shuffles of the feet, and +salaams</em>.)</p> + + +<h3>SCENE III</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Scene.</span>—<em class="italic">The same.</em> <em class="italic">Half an hour later.</em> <em class="italic">A knock.</em></p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Come right in."</p> + +<p class="center">(<em class="italic">Enter</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span>.)</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "What, again? Got the 500?"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p> +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Grieved to trouble you vonce more, Captin Sheffer, +R.A.F., but all ze money I 'af in ze world vos von 'undred twenty-five +dollar. Me vaire poor man, Capt——"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Yes, I've heard you say so. I believe you. Now we're +both liars."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Ah no, you insult me, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F. I am +poor, but I am 'onorable man. I tell always ze truth. Zat vos all I 'af +in all ze vorld."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Look here, Mister—I don't know what your name is, but +I guess you're a Hebrew of some kind——"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "My name is Mistaire Karachan, and I come from +Armenia."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self</span> (<em class="italic">aside</em>—"I might have guessed it."). "Well, Mr. +Karachan, I'll take your word for it. Give me 125 right now and you +can take the machine away with you. She's outside on the pavement. But +mind, I shall never want to see your face again."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian</span> (<em class="italic">moved almost to tears</em>). "Ah, you vos a torough +zhentleman, Mistaire Sheffer; all ze Englishmen are zhentlemen. Zer is +only von contry in all ze vorld vaire zer are such zhentlemen."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Well, you can hand over the wealth right now, here."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Ah, but I 'af not got it wiz me, Mistaire Sheffer. +It is too much to carry about in my pocket. But I can gif you fifty +dollar and bring ze rest zis afternoon. Zat vos alright? I can take ze +machine now, yes no?"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "You can take the machine when you've paid me 125 +dollars <span class="smcap">in Cash</span>, and not till then. Get me? I shall be in +again at two this afternoon. You can meet me in the hall with the +money. Good-bye till then."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Vell, you vill gif me written undertaking not to +sell it to anyvon till then, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F.?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>SCENE IV</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Scene.</span>—<em class="italic">The same.</em></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Time.</span>—<em class="italic">3 p.m.</em></p> + +<p class="center">(<em class="italic">A knock on the door, followed by</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span>.)</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Mistaire Sheffer, I 'af come to make you a good +bargain. You see zis gold votch? It vos giffen me by my fazer and it is +solid gold wiz twenty-von jewels. You could sell it anywhere for fifty +dollar. Now you 'af bin zhentleman to me, I vill be zhentleman to you. +I vill give you ze votch and von 'undred dollar for your motorsickle! +Is it not a bargain, Mistaire Sheffer?"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Get out!"</p> + + +<h3>SCENE V</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Scene</span>.—<em class="italic">The same.</em></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Time.</span>—<em class="italic">An hour later.</em> <em class="italic">A knock on the door.</em></p> + +<p class="center">(<em class="italic">Enter</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span>.)</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Oh, Mistaire Sheffer, I 'af jhust von more offer +to——"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Look here, Mr. Karachan, I'm getting fed up with you. +Better quit before I bang this water-jug on your head. You've wasted +all my day as it is."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Ah, you vill not do zat. I know you vill not do +zat. You are too much zhentleman. But wait, Mistaire Sheffer. Hear me +vot I say. I 'af von great big suggestion to make for you. I make my +living viz growing fruit. I 'af small plantation only five mile from +'ere. I vill pay you for your motorsickle viz grapes. I vill gif you +five ton of beautiful grapes and send them wherever you like in United +States. Or if you not like zat, I vill gif you 'undred dollar and von +ton of grapes. Is zat not good offer, yes no?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p> +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self</span> (<em class="italic">recovering from momentary speechlessness at the thought +of swapping Lizzie for five tons of grapes</em>). "Look here, Mr. Karachan, +I've had enough of this fooling. I've undertaken to sell you the +machine for 125 dollars, and if you don't bring me the money, and all +of it, right now, I'll report you to the police. Now there's an end of +it. Get out."</p> + +<p class="center">(<em class="italic">Exit</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span> <em class="italic">amid more alarums and excursions</em>.)</p> + + +<h3>SCENE VI</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Scene.</span>—<em class="italic">The same.</em></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Time.</span>—<em class="italic">7 p.m. A knock.</em> (<em class="italic">Enter</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span>.)</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Oh, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F., I 'af got your money +'ere, but I 'af bin to ze police to register ze machine and zey say I +'af stolen it and vould not let me come away. After much trouble we +telephone a big frend of mine who know police and zey let me come away. +But zey vont your address and ze registration certificate you 'af in +New York."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "But, Good Lord, man, who the devil said you could +register it? It isn't yours yet! Give me the money."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian</span> (<em class="italic">handing me fifty dollars and a cheque for +seventy-five</em>). "'Ere it vos, but you vos not angry, Captin Sheffer, +R.A.F? I vonted only to save time, because I vont to use ze machine +to-morrow."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Yes, but this is no good (<em class="italic">showing the cheque</em>). This +isn't <span class="smcap">Cash</span>. How do I know this'll be honoured? Besides, the +banks are closed now and won't be open till Monday, and I'm leaving +to-morrow."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Ah, but no, zey vill 'onour ze cheque. Mistaire +---- is vaire well known in San Francisco. You can speak to 'im on ze +telephone if you like and 'e vill tell you ze cheque is all right."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self</span>. "No doubt, but all the same I'll see if the hotel +manager here will cash it. If he won't, that's good enough for me. Come +along, and we'll see him together."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian</span>. "But you vill gif me receipt now, yes no? Ah, but +vot is zis? <em class="italic">(picking up a small adjustable spanner that lay on the +dressing-table).</em> It is part of ze machine! You vould not surely make +me pay for a motor-sickle vizout no tools? Ah, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F., +it is not jhust; I must 'ave everyzing. Are zer any more——" (<em class="italic">At +this juncture</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span> <em class="italic">is successfully extruded through the +doorway, still protesting volubly.</em>)</p> + + +<h3>SCENE VII</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Scene</span>.—<em class="italic">In the hall of the Hotel. Manager behind desk.</em></p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self</span>. "Excuse me, but I have a favour to ask. I have just +done a deal with this gentleman, but as all the banks are closed till +Monday, I am wondering if you would be good enough to cash this cheque +for me as I am leaving for the East to-morrow."</p> + +<p class="center">(<span class="smcap">Manager</span> <em class="italic">looks closely at me and proceeds to open till; then, +looking at</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span>, <em class="italic">pauses for a moment. Ultimately the +money is paid over.</em>)</p> + +<p class="center">(<span class="smcap">Armenian</span> <em class="italic">and</em> <span class="smcap">Self</span> <em class="italic">walk toward door opening on to +street</em>.)</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self</span>. "What the blazes! Where's Lizzie? I left her up against +the pavement. She's gone!"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian</span>. "Oh, zat vos alright. I move 'er zis afternoon to a +garage round ze corner. Jhust zink how terrible it would be if some one +stole 'im!"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self</span>. "Well, I'll be goldarned!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>SCENE VIII</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Scene.</span>—<em class="italic">Garage "round the corner." Lizzie stands surrounded +by darkness</em>, <span class="smcap">Armenian</span>, <em class="italic">and</em> <span class="smcap">Self</span>. <span class="smcap">Self</span> +<em class="italic">discovered explaining to</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span> <em class="italic">how the wheels go round +and why.</em></p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Well, good-bye, Lizzie, old girl. I grieve to let you +go into the hands of this being, but it is all for the best. We've had +some jolly times together, but the time is come to part. Good-bye, once +and for all; good-bye, <span class="smcap">good-bye</span>——"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Ah, Mistaire Sheffer, you 'av forgot ze adjustable +spanner!"</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p class="transnote"><b>Transcriber's Notes</b><br /><br /> + + +Minor punctuation errors have been silently corrected.<br /><br /> + +Page <a href="#Page_39">39</a>: In the sentence: "and anyone found guilty of exceeding 60 +miles per hour will be liable to a fine of 100 dollars, etc., etc." +"60" may be a typo for "50" because the following sentence says the +fine for exceeding 60 miles per hour is "250 dollars for the first +offence...."<br /><br /> + +Page <a href="#Page_48">48</a>: "Pittsburg" may be typo for "Pittsburgh."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(At Waynesburg I passed Pittsburg some miles to the right,)</span><br /> +</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44505 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/44505-h/images/cover.jpg b/44505-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..17d52a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/44505-h/images/i002.jpg b/44505-h/images/i002.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cfb489b --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-h/images/i002.jpg diff --git a/44505-h/images/i026a.jpg b/44505-h/images/i026a.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9feb838 --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-h/images/i026a.jpg diff --git a/44505-h/images/i074a.jpg b/44505-h/images/i074a.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..28539c8 --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-h/images/i074a.jpg diff --git a/44505-h/images/i074b.jpg b/44505-h/images/i074b.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1f3d07e --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-h/images/i074b.jpg diff --git a/44505-h/images/i150a.jpg b/44505-h/images/i150a.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e1b1500 --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-h/images/i150a.jpg diff --git a/44505-h/images/i150b.jpg b/44505-h/images/i150b.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8e6b760 --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-h/images/i150b.jpg diff --git a/44505-h/images/i158.jpg b/44505-h/images/i158.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cbe148e --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-h/images/i158.jpg diff --git a/44505-h/images/i162.jpg b/44505-h/images/i162.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9c6ee46 --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-h/images/i162.jpg diff --git a/44505-h/images/i170a.jpg b/44505-h/images/i170a.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..084cd4f --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-h/images/i170a.jpg diff --git a/44505-h/images/i170b.jpg b/44505-h/images/i170b.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b6cb4c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-h/images/i170b.jpg diff --git a/44505-h/images/i178a.jpg b/44505-h/images/i178a.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..65600ff --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-h/images/i178a.jpg diff --git a/44505-h/images/i178b.jpg b/44505-h/images/i178b.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..077cabb --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-h/images/i178b.jpg diff --git a/44505-h/images/i178c.jpg b/44505-h/images/i178c.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e171a0e --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-h/images/i178c.jpg diff --git a/44505-h/images/i188.jpg b/44505-h/images/i188.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5a00542 --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-h/images/i188.jpg diff --git a/44505-h/images/i206a.jpg b/44505-h/images/i206a.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a748a79 --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-h/images/i206a.jpg diff --git a/44505-h/images/i206b.jpg b/44505-h/images/i206b.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bc35aee --- /dev/null +++ b/44505-h/images/i206b.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6b6587b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #44505 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44505) diff --git a/old/44505-8.txt b/old/44505-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3d19fd2 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44505-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8297 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Across America by Motor-cycle, by C. K. Shepherd + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Across America by Motor-cycle + +Author: C. K. Shepherd + +Release Date: December 25, 2013 [EBook #44505] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ACROSS AMERICA BY MOTOR-CYCLE *** + + + + +Produced by Diane Monico and The Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + + + +ACROSS AMERICA BY MOTOR-CYCLE + +[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR.] + + + + +ACROSS AMERICA +BY MOTOR-CYCLE + +BY +C. K. SHEPHERD + +ILLUSTRATED + +NEW YORK +LONGMANS, GREEN & CO. +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD & CO. +1922 +_All rights reserved_ + + +_Made in Great Britain +by_ Butler & Tanner, _Frome and London_ + + + + +PREFACE + + +A few months after the Armistice of 1918 was signed, when the talk of +everyone concerned was either WHEN they would be demobilized +or what they would do when they WERE demobilized, two young +men were exchanging views on this same subject in the heavy atmosphere +of a very ordinary hotel somewhere in London. + +One was wondering how near, or how far, were the days when he would see +the old home-folks once again "way back in Dixieland." + +The other was wondering what form of dissipation would be best suited +to remove that haunting feeling of unrest, which as a result of three +or four years of active service was so common amongst the youth of +England at that time. + +"How about getting married?" suggested the one. + +Then followed a long pause, wherein the other was evidently considering +the pros and cons of such a unique proposition. + +"Nothing doing," he replied eventually--"not exciting enough, old +man." Another pause--"And when I come to think, I don't know of any +girl who'd want to marry me even if I wanted to marry her." And as +if to give a final decision to any proposal of _that_ nature, he +added--"Besides, I couldn't afford it!" + +"But I tell you what I will do, Steve," said he, "I'll go back with you +across yon herring-pond and have a trot round America." + +So that was how it happened. + +Two or three months later, when I arrived at New York from Canada, +I purchased a motor-cycle and set out to cross the continent to the +Pacific, and I have it on the best authority that this was the first +time an Englishman had ever accomplished the trip on a motor-cycle. If +it is so, I don't wonder at it! + +The whole trip, which covered just fifty miles short of 5,000, was +undertaken quite alone, and although spread over about three months, +constituted a day or two short of a month's actual riding. For the +benefit of brother motor-cyclists who may be interested in such +details I may add that I dispensed entirely with the use of goggles +from beginning to end, and except at stops in large towns on the way +I wore no hat. I think that when the motor-cyclist gets accustomed to +doing without these encumbrances he will find the joys of motor-cycling +considerably enhanced. + +The total number of replacements to the engine alone comprised the +following: Five new cylinders; three pistons; five gudgeon pins; three +complete sets of bearings; two connecting rods, and eleven sparking +plugs. + +The machine was entirely overhauled on four occasions between the +Atlantic and the Pacific, and on three of these by the recognized +agents of the manufacturers. The engine cut-out switch was the only +part of the machine that did not break, come loose, or go wrong +sooner or later. I was thrown off 142 times, and after that I stopped +counting! Apart from that I had no trouble. + +Contrary to what the reader may think, I paid considerable care to +the machine, particularly in the early stages. For the first three +hundred miles I barely exceeded twenty to twenty-five miles per hour +in order to give the machine a good "running-in" before submitting it +to harder work. At the end of the trip I had spent more in repairs and +replacements than the original cost of the machine, and I sold it at +San Francisco for just over a quarter of the amount I paid for it three +months before. + +And I am still as keen a motor-cyclist as ever! + +The machine was of the four-cylinder, air-cooled type, and I have +nothing but praise for the smooth running that this type affords. I +have ridden scores of machines at one time and another, but never have +I driven any motor-cycle that for luxurious travel could I even compare +with the one mentioned in this narrative. As regards reliability, +however, I must leave the reader to form his own opinion from the +facts, which occurred exactly as I have stated them. Nothing in this +book is set down in malice, and I can only hope that my case was +exceptional so far as the frequent breakdowns were concerned. I must +admit that the conditions were exceptional and that anyone crossing the +United States on a motor-cycle might expect trouble sooner or later. + +The reader may observe that I say little of tyre trouble throughout the +story. That is for two reasons: the first is that there is nothing at +all interesting in the narrative of repairing a puncture, for instance; +the second is that I had very little trouble indeed to complain of. +With the smooth, even torque that is so characteristic of four-cylinder +engines, tyre trouble is easily halved, and practically all that one +has to fear is the terrible condition of most of the roads. I arrived +in San Francisco with the same tyres as I had when I started, and they +were still good for several hundreds of miles more. + +Petrol consumption, too, was excellent. Those who have not known +high-powered, four-cylinder motor-cycles would probably think the +consumption would be about forty miles to the gallon. On the contrary, +I found my machine much more economical than the same-powered V-twin. +As far as I know I averaged about 75 m.p.g. "all on." + +The journey was comparatively uneventful. I never had to shoot anybody +and nobody shot me! In spite of the relative wildness and barrenness +of the West, there were always food and petrol available in plenty. +I spent most nights at the side of the road and experienced neither +rheumatism nor rattlesnakes. + +In the following pages I have endeavoured to portray America and +Americans exactly as I found them and as they appealed to me. If at +times I perchance may give offence to any who are lovers of all and +anything American, I do it without intent. Suffice it to say that +before I went I had the highest opinion of anything that came from that +worthy country, so that it cannot be claimed that I am one of those +"Pro-British-every-time" individuals who delight in criticizing other +countries and other peoples in order to gratify their own sense of +national or other superiority. + +Finally, I will ask the reader to be patient, or at any rate, not +over-critical when he or she may confess to being bored. For the sake +of making this a complete record of my wanderings I have included that +which may lack interest, and as I can lay claim to no graceful diction, +I may, I am sure, rely on the reader's indulgence towards the narrative +of quite an ordinary, unaspiring, British motor-cyclist. + + C. K. S. + +BIRMINGHAM, 1922. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + +PROLOGUE 1 + + + I. TRAFFIC IN NEW YORK + +My Efforts to Become Americanized--Reflections on New +York Traffic--Dissertation on American Roads--Coney +Island--Equipment for the Journey 5 + + + II. NEW YORK TO PHILADELPHIA + +Companions in Distress--"The Playground of the World"--American +Proclivities towards the Superlative--A Lapse into +Philosophy--Introduction to the "Detour"--The Good Samaritan +Rewarded--Philadelphia--Adventures with a Garage Proprietor 12 + + + III. PHILADELPHIA TO WASHINGTON + +Prosperity in New England Villages--Motor-cycling de +Luxe--Peregrinations of a "Tin Lizzie"--Insights into the Inner +Life of an American Highway--Humouring a Negro--Self-conscious +Scruples--Illuminated Signs--Hotel Life in Washington 22 + + + IV. EXCEEDING THE SPEED LIMIT + +Experiences of Brick Roads--Approaching the Alleghanies--The +Lust for Speed--And Its Consequences--Queer Methods of Enforcing +the Law--Stranded 32 + + + V. ACROSS THE ALLEGHANIES + +Soliloquies of the Humble Poor--The Subtleties of Advertisement +Hoardings--Corn in Egypt--The Peregrinations of an English +Sovereign--A Whiff of Good Old London--Appreciation of +Nature in America--Lizzie Reports Sick--Lead, kindly +Light--Auto-suggestion as an Aid to Sleep 42 + + + VI. THE DIXIE HIGHWAY + +I Make the Acquaintance of the Ohio River--Lizzie develops +Acute Indigestion--The Irony of Henry Ford--I administer +First-aid--Hero-worship to a Rag-and-bone Merchant--A New +Use for an Old Tree--The Ubiquitous Columbus--The Friendly +Tram--The Dixie Highway--Eulogy to the City of Dayton--My +Extravagant Taste for Cake--An alfresco Meal--A Final Burst +of Extravagance--Home Once More 51 + + + VII. CINCINNATI AND ONWARDS + +Cincinnati--A Memorable Day--Aspersions on an American +Repair Shop--Chess-board Roads--The Humour of Decorated +Telegraph Poles--Soliloquy on the Pike's Peak Highway--Effects +of State Boundary Lines--Indian Corn--A Luxurious +Bathe--Indianapolis--The 3 A Club--What Constitutes a Good Road 60 + + + VIII. INDIANA AND ILLINOIS + +How Dirt Roads are Cultivated--A Brush with a Road-plough--How +Flivvers "get through"--A Bad Patch and a Good Samaritan--The +Subtleties of General Merchandise--I attract a Crowd in +Springfield--Taken for a Movie Actor--Future Cities of +Illinois--Illinois River--The Mississippi at Last--I sleep on +a Railway Embankment 70 + + + IX. STORMY WEATHER IN MISSOURI + +Hannibal--Infantile Automobilation--Rain in Missouri--I get +Annoyed--Railroads v. Highways--Kansas City 83 + + + X. RESULTS OF A BREAKDOWN + +Kansas City--I visit Lizzie on her Sick-bed--I visit an Editor +in his Lair--Kansas City gets My Story 89 + + + XI. THE SANTA FÉ TRAIL + +Westward Again--The Santa Fé Trail--Mosquito Nets--Into the +Great Prairies--I sleep in a River--Pie--Prairie Towns--In a +Thunderstorm--Colorado Reached--The Map proves not Infallible--A +Detour to the Heart of the Rockies--Rain Again 94 + + + XII. THE ROYAL GORGE OF ARKANSAS + +A Strange Dwelling--I am Taken for an American--Supper in +Style--Sleep in Style--Breakfast and Lunch in Style--The Sun +Once Again--Housebuilding at Speed--An Appreciation--The +Rockies--Pueblo--Pike's Peak--The Royal Gorge--The Lust +for Taking Pictures--Picturesque Names--The Worst Road in +America--A Mud Bath--The End of a Perfect Day 106 + + + XIII. IN SOUTHERN COLORADO + +Strange Mountain Forms--Trinidad--A Flivver to the Rescue--The +Raton Pass--A Wonderful View--At the Feet of the Rockies--A +Phantom Road--Prairie-dogs--Companions--Lizzie sheds a +Sprocket--A Tiring Search--The Biggest Thing in Mud +Lakes--Wagonmound--Argument with a Linemaster 118 + + + XIV. NEW MEXICO + +Adventures with a Railway--Stuck Once Again--Assistance +from California--House-hunting by Caravan--Las Vegas--A +Wonderful Ford--A Mexican Village--Lizzie Clean Again--The +Travelling Tinsmith--Santa Fé at Last 132 + + + XV. SANTA FÉ + +Santa Fé--Adobe Architecture--The Art Museum--Where +Americans Hustle Not--In the Limelight Again 148 + + + XVI. THE RIO GRANDE VALLEY + +Departure from Santa Fé--La Bajada Hill--Albuquerque--The +Rio Grande--Indians--The Morals of Mountains--Socorro--Camping +in the Mountains: A Farmyard Episode 155 + + + XVII. THE PETRIFIED FOREST OF ARIZONA + +Magdalena--A Strange Metamorphosis--I Sport a Camp Fire--A +Strange Sight--The Petrified Forest of Arizona--Holbrook--Lost +in the Arizona Desert--Mosquitoes Again--Winslow--An Ingenious +Anti-speeding Stunt--That Cylinder Again!--A New Use for Old +Sign-posts--Meteor Mountain--The San Francisco +Peaks--Fairy-land--Flagstaff 163 + + + XVIII. THE GRAND CANYON + +The Lowell Observatory--Wonders of Mars Hill--Ptomaine +Poisoning--Flagstaff Dwellings--Towards the Grand Canyon--A +Wonderful Ride--The First Approach of Loneliness--The End of +the World--The Greatest of all Natural Wonders 178 + + + XIX. THE MOHAVE DESERT + +Lizzie Comes to Grief--Etiquette of the Road--The Tragedy +of Peach Springs--Kingman--Desert Vegetation--Yucca--The Art +of Rut-riding--The Tomb of a Town--The Colorado Needles--A +Marvellous View--Oiled Roads--Ludlow 192 + + + XX. I REACH THE PACIFIC COAST + +Comrades in Arms--Lizzie begins to Complain--Death Valley--An +Unfortunate Caravan--The End of the Desert--The Cajon +Pass--Los Angeles is Startled 210 + + + XXI. LOS ANGELES TO SAN FRANCISCO + +Los Angeles--Friendly California--Towards 'Frisco by Night--I +Dream a Dream--The Californian Missions--The Salinas +Valley--The Last Sleep--Lizzie gives it up Again--The Struggle +for 'Frisco--4,950 at last! 224 + + +EPILOGUE 241 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + TO FACE + PAGE + +Portrait of the Author _Frontispiece_ + +A Common Occurrence 26 + +An Awkward Stretch of Road in Indiana 74 + +The Midnight Couch 74 + +The Oldest House in America, at Santa Fé 150 + +The Art Museum at Santa Fé 150 + +Pueblo of Taos 158 + +The Rio Grande, New Mexico 162 + +A Petrified Leviathan 170 + +Lizzie in the Petrified Forest, Arizona 170 + +The Trail to the Grand Canyon 178 + +The Lowell Observatory, Flagstaff 178 + +San Francisco Peaks from Flagstaff 178 + +The Bottom of the Grand Canyon 188 + +Cactus Trees near San Bernardino 206 + +In the Mohave Desert 206 + + + + +PROLOGUE + + +One bright morning in June--to be exact, the thirteenth (the +significance of that number will be apparent later), in the year of Our +Lord 1919 and in the year of American Prohibition 1, a small assembly +of mechanics, passers-by, and urchins witnessed my departure from a +well-known Motor Cycle Agency in New York. + +The machine, a perfectly new and very powerful motor-cycle, was +dazzling in her pristine beauty. No spot or blemish could be seen on +her enamel of khaki hue. No ungainly scratch or speck of rust marred +her virgin form. Her four little cylinders, gaily murmuring as the +engine joyfully sprang into life, seemed to hide a world of romance +as if they were whispering to each other of the days that were to +come, the adventures and experiences they were to encounter, and the +strange lands they were to see. The purr of her exhaust, healthy though +muffled, smooth and even in its rhythm, was music in my ears. A thing +of beauty is a joy for ever, and to those who know the call of the +open road and who love to feel the rush of the wind and the glamour +of speed, such was this machine. Although she was in reality but an +organized combination of various pieces of unfeeling, soulless metal, +without even a name, and known only by a sordid number embossed on a +tinplate provided by the Law, she was soon to develop a character and +personality of her own. She was to play the rôle of sole companion in +the weeks and months to follow. There would be times when I should +curse her profanely and at the same time love her passionately. I +pictured vast prairies and deserts where we should be alone together, +far from the haunts of man or animal or perhaps of any living +thing--times when it would depend upon HER to bear me on to +civilization. So I trust, reader, that you will not think I was waxing +too sentimental on that memorable day in June. + + * * * * * + +The mileage indicator just flicked to 4,422. + +I was hungry, hungry as a dog. I was thirsty too, and tired--oh, so +tired! The skin on my face was tanned dark with the desert sun and bore +the dirt of many days' accumulation. The growth of the previous week +was upon my chin. My hair was bleached and dishevelled, my clothes and +boots laden with the sand and dust of Arizona and California. With a +bandaged, broken finger, and the rest skin-cracked and bloodstained +with the alkali sand, I held the handles with the palms of my hands. +The sole was missing altogether from my right boot, and the left +contained many a piece of stone or gravel from far away. A couple of +empty water-bags flapped up and down on the handlebar, and as the +old bus dragged her weary way on three cylinders through the crowded +streets of Los Angeles her hideous clatter told many a tale of woe. I +decided at that moment that the best thing in all the world was to get +something to eat and drink. + +"What's the day of the month?" I asked, when with a final "clank" of +the engine we drove into the Agency Garage. + +"The seventh." + +"The month?" + +"August." + +"And what's the year?" + +"Nineteen nineteen." + +"The seventh of August nineteen nineteen," I mused, and relapsed into +contemplative silence.... + +Some one spotted the registration plate "N.Y.8844" and "rumbled" that I +had come from New York. + +"When did you start?" they asked in curious tones. The question +pulled me up with a jerk and brought me back to normal existence, so +inadequately measured by time. + +"Oh, seems like ten years ago!" I replied, and relapsed once more into +reverie. + + + + +CHAPTER I + +TRAFFIC IN NEW YORK + + +I spent the better part of two days in the survey of New York City +from all points of view. In the Pullman from Niagara I had decided +that America would probably be just as bad as any European country +for robbing the alien. I would therefore simulate the gentle habits +and customs of these (hitherto) worthy people. Having some slight +knowledge of their language I would endeavour to acquire perfection in +the art of American self-expression. I would cultivate the correct pose +of the hat and wear boots with knobbly toes. Only a little practice +would be required before I should be able to gyrate a cigar at the +accepted velocity from one corner of my mouth to the other. In a little +while, methought, I should feel much more at ease in tight-fitting +clothes with ridiculously small sleeves and three inches of projecting +shirt-cuffs. Maybe I should improve my outlook on the world if I viewed +it through a pair of large, round, ebony-rimmed spectacles. There was +just a possibility that I should some day appreciate the soothing charm +of a much-overworked morsel of chewing-gum. With all these splendid +accomplishments I could no doubt dispense with the less attractive +habits of Modern America. + +Let me say at the outset that I proved a dismal failure. I would sooner +master the Chinese than the American lingo. The infinite variations of +nasal accomplishment outnumber by far the tribal dialects of India +and leave the poor student to wonder and despair. Why! the number of +orthodox ways of translating the plain English word "Yes" is probably +beyond the scope of mathematical deduction! The shades and blends +between "Yep" and "Ye-oh" alone are sufficient to put a spectrograph of +the sun to shame. + +For four months I travelled through the wilds of New York, Ohio, and +Illinois, and even into the civilized states of Colorado, New Mexico, +and Arizona, in a vain search for the man who pronounced "Yes" with a +final "s." In the end I found him, lurking in a little restaurant in +Los Angeles. I gazed in wonderment intense and rapturous when I heard +it. I have his pedigree. He said he came from Boston. Boston, according +to all well-informed Bostonians, represents the acme of perfection in +all things relating to education, etiquette, and propriety. As such it +is unassailable by any other city in America. + +There was a time early on when I thought I was succeeding well. I found +that I did better by dispensing with speech altogether. If I dressed in +a "Palm Beach" suit, walked on people's feet, elbowed my way through +passers-by, and continually repeated to myself "The earth is mine +and all that therein is," there was never any doubt but that I was a +"Native Son." + +It is superfluous for me to say, however, that after many trials and +more rebuffs, I ultimately abandoned the idea of becoming Americanized. +"After all," thought I, "what sane Englishman wants to be an American?" +The project had been but a brain-wave to combat the "H.C. of L." To +the uninitiated, that is the recognized "Hearst" abbreviation for the +"High Cost of Living," a topic which so frequently appears in American +newspapers that editors were forced to face the question of either +referring to it in symbols or of cutting out the "Want-Ads." Finally, +therefore, I consoled myself that it was better for hotel bills, +cinemas, ice-cream sodas, petrol, and other necessities to rise 200 per +cent. on my approach than for me to lose my own soul. Incidentally, +virtue does not always have its own reward. On my return to England I +heard many accusations against me. "What an awful American accent you +have!" was the greeting of many one-time friends. + +... Some have recovered. Others are still in hospital! + + * * * * * + +It took me some time to get accustomed to the traffic of New +York--rather should I say, to its habits and practices. New York itself +consists of a network of streets and avenues ingeniously arranged on +an island which is about five or six times longer than it is broad. +The avenues run the length of the island and the streets run at right +angles across them. In addition, "Broadway" wobbles across from one end +of the island to the other, cutting the avenues at a weird angle of +anything between nothing and twenty degrees. + +At all the important street crossings was stationed a "traffic cop" +whose duty was apparently to hold up at the most inconvenient intervals +all the traffic going one way until all the traffic going the other way +had passed. Then he blew his whistle and Hey, presto! the traffic in +the other street began to move. It was fatal to move before the whistle +was blown. I didn't know that! + +I had been sailing down Sixth Avenue, just trying the machine for the +first time, as a matter of fact. Everything went smoothly. I felt at +peace with all the world. Here was I on my iron steed of ten little +horses, about to begin a long holiday wherein I should forget the +Kaiser and his deeds and the four or more years of my existence that +had gone in helping to bring about his everlasting undoing. But all of +a sudden: + +"Why the jooce don't yer stop, yer Goldarn young son of a gun?" +bellowed an irate "cop" who gesticulated but a few feet from my front +wheel. + +"Well, why the blankety blank SHOULD I blankety well stop, +anyway?" I returned, not to be outdone, as I pulled up in the exact +centre of 34th Street, Sixth Avenue, and Broadway. + +I could see a crowd beginning to collect. I don't like crowds at any +time. I have a keen antipathy for publicity. My friend the "cop" +drew nigh. "See here, young fellar: whar yer from?" he inquired, +evidently anxious to investigate further the mental condition of this +unique defier of the Law.... To cut a long story short, I was finally +constrained by good judgment to avoid further constabulary hostilities +and, in accordance with the somewhat over-ardent desire of the "cop," +retired like a whipped schoolboy to the corner where there was already +a long queue of waiting automobiles and taxis. In a few seconds the +whistle was blown and the procession sailed across 34th Street, headed +by a much-humbled motor-cyclist. + +I should explain at this juncture that a motor-cyclist is an altogether +despised individual in America. Motor-cycles are not popular over +there. With few exceptions they are owned by delivery men, newspaper +boys, "traffic-cops" and sundry other undesirables. Personally I do +not wonder at it. The roads and streets in the cities are bad enough +to ruin the constitution of any but the most confirmed young "blood" +who does not mind risking a few broken bones. I have seen places +in Broadway where the tram-lines wander six or seven inches above +the surface of the road and where the pot-holes would accommodate +comfortably quite a family of dead dogs within their depths. + +So much for the cities. The roads that traverse the country are with +few exceptions nothing better than our fifth-rate country roads on +which no self-respecting Englishman would ride. + +Here and there, in the far East and the far West, are found stretches +of concrete or macadam. Somehow, the Americans think they are great +road-builders. A couple of inches of concrete laid over a garden-path +or a sheep-track, with the cracks filled in with tar, represents the +zenith of road construction in this country of ninety odd million +inhabitants. I should like to see some of those concrete roads when +they have had a few years' solid wear with heavy lorries and occasional +traction engines. + +Ninety-five per cent. or more, however, of America's highways are dirt +roads, or what they are pleased to call "Natural Gravel." In many cases +they comprise merely a much worn trail, and as often as not a pair of +ruts worn in the prairie. Very often, instead of being a single pair +of ruts, there are five or six or perhaps ten, where individual cars +have manifested their own personality. When this multiplicity of ruts +crosses and re-crosses in a desperate attempt to achieve the survival +of the fittest, the resultant effect on the poor motor-cyclist is +somewhat disconcerting. But of this more anon. Suffice it to say that +on the whole journey of 4,500 miles from one coast to the other, I only +saw FOUR other motor-cyclists on the road anywhere. So the +reader will perhaps understand why the poor human who travels in this +fashion is to be pitied, and why his associates in the towns and cities +are despised by the rest of the community. + +When I had acclimatized myself to the traffic of New York and could +worm my way successfully in and out of the "hold-ups" or dart between +trams, taxis, cars, and other impedimenta without danger either to the +community or to myself, I felt that it was time for me to commence my +peregrinations in earnest. + +I decided first, however, to visit Coney Island, which is within easy +reach of New York (it is only a few miles away), and, with a plentiful +supply of trains, trams, and 'buses, is fed with a never-ending stream +of pleasure-seeking humanity. It has one avenue of perhaps a couple +of miles' length running parallel with the beach, and every nook and +corner on both sides accommodates a "fun palace" of some kind. There +are dancing-halls by the dozen; mountain railways, switchbacks, and +roundabouts by the score; soda fountains by the hundred. Fronting +the beach are hotels, boarding-houses, and restaurants of all types +save the best. Coney Island is decidedly not a place for the _élite_. +Hither flock young couples, married or single, representatives of the +American democracy, for a week-end of frivolity. The beach is at all +times sprinkled, as by a human pepper-box, with specimens of the "genus +anthropomorpha" of all sizes, of all ages, of all shapes, and in all +stages of dress and undress. I opined that indeed 'twas no place for +me, and with one push of the starting pedal the motor was a living +thing. "Enough is as good as a feast," and an hour at the Playground +of New York was an hour well spent; but I left it for ever behind me +without the slightest desire or intention of ever returning to its +whirl of plebeian gaiety. + +Arrived once more at New York City, I prepared to make my adieux. I had +two handbags only, one a beautiful new dressing-case, resplendent with +pig-skin writing pads, ebony brushes, and glass bottles, and the other, +a slightly larger one, which accommodated my spare clothing, boots, +etc., and the miscellaneous collection of junk that every globe-trotter +inevitably carries around with him. + +Now I have an inherent contempt for side-cars, although had one been +available at New York when I bought the machine I should have taken +it and carried all my luggage with me. That would have been the acme +of luxury. As it was, however, I contented myself with a good strong +carrier and with many straps; the dressing-case, surrounded by a good +thick blanket, was securely attached to the back of the machine. The +other bag I "shipped" on by train to my predetermined stops across the +country. + +That dressing-case must have weighed fifty or sixty pounds, and with +the blanket around it looked an alarming size when _in situ_. There +was no hope for it. I'm that kind of individual who always likes +plenty of silk shirts and pyjamas and things, so it didn't occasion me +the slightest worry if the people did stare wildly at me as I passed +through their towns and villages. + +And they "sure" did! + + + + +CHAPTER II + +NEW YORK TO PHILADELPHIA + + +"Gotter match?" he inquired as I pulled up near him. + +I had left my palatial sky-scraper hotel only fifteen minutes before. +Soon, I contemplated, my experiences in and around New York would +be past history. Happy and light-hearted, I was humming along that +boulevard with the truly wonderful surface which runs along the edge +of Manhattan Island. It is known as "Riverside Drive," and here dwell +many of America's millionaires. A young fellow and his companion with +a Harley-Davidson and side-car at the side of the road attracted my +attention. Neither of them looked as though he were a resident of that +district. A khaki-coloured shirt, thick corduroy breeches, leggings, +and boots were their only attire. One of them held up his hand when he +saw me. + +"Maybe these fellows know something about the roads," thought I; so I +stopped. + +To stop a motor-cyclist and ask him for a match seemed quite a unique +departure from the well-established English customs with which I was +familiar. Feeling benevolent, I silently proffered a box of "England's +Glory" wax vestas. Without a word he took one, scrutinized it closely +as though it were something wonderful in the art of match-manufacture, +and slowly lit his pipe. A dozen puffs ensued. He broke the silence. + +"Where you from?" + +"When I left it they called it 'England,'" I replied. + +Another dozen puffs. + +"Where you goin'?" + +"I may get to San Francisco some day." + +"You sure got some bit of pavement in front of you. I said it." + +"Well, I guess it's never so bad but what it might be worse," I hinted. + +He spat twice, puffed a few clouds, spat again; took another look at +me, then glanced at my machine. + +"You got SOME bird there," he ventured, and then added, as if +to place the assertion beyond all doubt,-- + +"I said it." + +I agreed that it ought to be able to get along. + +"Yew said it.--See that bird thar?" he asked, pointing to his machine. +"Waal, I guess she can move some too; she done eight thousand miles on +them roads, an' I guess they warn't mos'ly booleyvards neither." + +In the conversation which followed, mainly in reference to many +inquiries on my part as to the various "National Highways" which I +had learnt were occasionally to be found throughout the country, I +gleaned from this worthy native son that it would be better for me to +"go back 'ome and pick strawberries" than to continue farther with +such an obviously insane desire as to cross the American Continent. +I persisted, however, that having come thus far, I would at any rate +continue while sanity remained, although I should certainly bear his +good advice in mind for future reference. + +With a final injunction from him that I should know him when next I saw +him if I were fortunate enough to subsist in the land of the living, we +parted, and after a trip on the Ferry across the Jersey River, I was +soon winding my way out of the drab and dreary suburbs of Newark. + +It would be incorrect to say that the best people do not go to Atlantic +City. Americans, I believe, reckon this well-known seaside resort to be +one of the nine wonders of the world. No free-born American citizen, I +do not doubt, would give the credit of the other eight, whatever they +may be, to any foreign country. On this assumption I felt I should have +no difficulty in identifying the other eight when I had seen more of +"God's Own Country." + +Now Atlantic City is just one hundred per cent. American. It would be +impossible to associate it with any other country but America. To begin +with, it has the inevitable "million-dollar" pier. Let me explain that +nothing in America is worthy of popular patronage unless it costs at +least a million dollars. When I was at Niagara I was told how many +million gallons of water flowed over the falls in a year. No one (on +the American side) seemed to worry very much about the magnificence +of the falls or the grandeur of the river. Such sordid interests do +not appeal to them. But ask someone how many million horse-power will +be developed in a year, and see with what eagerness he relieves you +of your ignorance! The American public WILL have millions in +their calculations and their lust for the superlative MUST be +appeased. + +In Atlantic City there are naturally many objects of interest to the +budding student of modern life like myself, but, on the whole, the +amusements of this nation do not differ considerably from the modest +efforts of our own. There one can see the usual bashful maidens whose +main delight is to recline on the sand or parade the beach in the +latest thing in bathing costumes,--but never under any circumstances to +get them wet. Also we find the usual stores where every conceivable +variety of picture post card or "present from ..." can be bought. + +In two hours I was aweary of Atlantic City. In a very superior frame +of mind I trod on my feelings and the kick-starter of "Khaki Lizz" +(my soubriquet for the machine, which was finished entirely in that +delightfully-reminiscent hue) and turned her nose towards the west. +Philadelphia, I decided, was to be my resting-place that night. + +To be hot on the scent of Philadelphia was one thing; but to get there +was quite another. A glorious three-mile stretch of macadamized road +out of Atlantic City was indeed a tempting bait, and I admit for a +few luscious but brief moments I set at defiance all limits of speed +imposed for the general welfare of the public by worthy law-makers upon +the motoring population of New York State. I have always contended +(privately, not in public!) that laws are only made to be broken. I +might perhaps add that I was destined afterwards to supplement this +somewhat outrageous dictum with a further--"He only is entitled to +break laws who thoroughly knows and understands them!" + +As every wanderer in this vale of tears discovers, all good things +come to an end some time. That three-mile stretch of macadamized +road very soon came to an end. It ended, as far as I remember, in an +abrupt right-angle corner where in an endeavour to get round at about +forty-five miles an hour I nearly met myself coming back, and from that +point the road gradually bore resemblance to an elongated dust-heap. +They call it "natural gravel," which means that in the opinion of the +road engineers of that time the natural surface of the road did not +need any reinforcement in the way of metal. I should imagine that about +99 per cent. of all the roads in America are of this construction, the +remaining 1 per cent. being either covered with a layer of concrete, or +macadam, as in any civilized European country. At times, very few and +far between, this natural gravel forms quite a tolerable surface where +there is not much traffic, but it must be remembered that motor-cars +are used in the States on a far greater scale than is ever dreamt of +in England. I was, in fact, simply amazed at the tremendous number +of cars in the various towns and villages through which I passed. I +have sometimes been in a town, and quite a large one too, where it was +almost impossible to find a place at the side of the pavement where +I could leave my machine. Every available space was taken up with a +car, and in some towns, Salt Lake City for instance, I have seen cars +"parked" along the side of the road two-deep, so that to cross from one +side of the road to the other one has to traverse four separate ranges +of automobiles. In the summer, thousands of cars are travelling all day +long between Atlantic City and the adjacent large cities, so that the +reader can perhaps imagine the state of all the main highways in that +direction. + +I was here introduced to a diversion which at first seemed quite an +interesting one, but which continued familiarity certainly turned to +contempt. I refer to the "detour." The unfortunate motorist is perhaps +ploughing his way steadily along through the gravel, dust, and sand. +He encounters a barrier across the road bearing a notice that repairs +are going on and that he must follow the detour indicated. The road +selected, I believe, is generally the one with the most pot-holes, +ruts, mountains, canyons, etc., in its formation in the surrounding +district. Sometimes in these detours one finds further auxiliary +detours until finally one has to use the utmost intelligence and a +compass in order to get back to the main highway. + +I did not, therefore, arrive in Philadelphia strictly to schedule. +I was many times tempted to take up my abode at a convenient spot +on the side of the road. Several times I dismounted and examined a +promising spot, but always there was some very serious objection. This +objection either took the form of frogs or of mosquitoes or of both. +As we used to read in the days of the War, "the enemy was present in +large numbers." I did not relish either the prospect of being kept +awake indefinitely with the objectionable gurgling of a battalion of +bullfrogs or of being eaten to death in my slumbers by a nation of +bloodthirsty mosquitoes. + +So I spun onwards, ever onwards towards Philadelphia. Meanwhile the +sun was sinking lower and lower in the west. The nearer I got to +Philadelphia the more numerous became the cars on the road. It seemed +as though the whole of Philadelphia frivolled at Atlantic City on +a Sunday afternoon. I was working my way along, dodging tremendous +pot-holes and ruts, imagining myself in an hour or two's time reposing +comfortably between clean white sheets. All of a sudden a most +distressing noise came across my ear. It appeared to be a motor-cycle +in pain. At times there was only one cylinder firing. Sometimes there +were two. At other times there was none at all. I drew in to the side +of the road and waited for the unfortunate author of this disturbance +to arrive. + +He soon emerged from the darkness. He had no lights, and was only too +pleased to stop at the sight of another motor-cyclist. + +"Why, I thought I was the only madman about here," I greeted him, +surprised but gratified to know that there really were other seemingly +sane people who rode motor-cycles in America. + +How delighted he was to meet another Englishman! He had, he explained, +been in America only a year or two, having come from my old home town +of Birmingham during the War. He had got so "fed up" with Americans +that it was a treat to set eyes on anyone from the Old Country. + +He was a youth of eighteen or nineteen years, and after I had fixed him +up with a couple of sparking plugs and attended to a few other urgent +requirements, he asked me abruptly, but quite politely, the inevitable +question, just as I might have expected. "Where you from, an' where you +goin'?" + +I explained that I was making for Philadelphia, where I hoped to find +somewhere to lay my weary head. + +"Well, if you don't want anything very luxurious," said he, "I think I +can fix you up all right, if you don't mind going on ahead to light the +way." + +I gladly assented, and by this means, with my brilliant headlight +illuminating the road, it did not take us long to reach the Delaware +River, on the opposite bank of which stood the fine old city of +Philadelphia. It took a quarter of an hour to cross the river by the +ferry, but once in Philadelphia my friend was happy. "Now you follow +me," he said. + +He had no lights whatever, but his engine was running well, so I agreed +and followed. This was not in itself very easy. I am perfectly certain +that I have never seen ANY motor-cycle ANYWHERE +dash along at such a rate through a city. Although it was dark and I +could not see my speedometer, I am sure that he must have travelled +about forty-five miles per hour through the streets of Philadelphia. +They were certainly good and straight and wide. There was a little +traffic here and there, but this did not seem to worry our friend in +the slightest. Occasionally we saw a "cop" or two standing on a street +corner make a half-hearted attempt to step into the road to hold us up. +Our friend, however, was desperate and would stop for no one. After +about a quarter of an hour's riding, dodging round corners and shooting +past obstructions at a tremendous pace, he pulled up at a small corner +house in a secluded portion of the town and we dismounted. He lived +with his mother, he explained, but she was away in New York. Also he +had lost his latchkey. Also it was really a florist's shop, but he was +sure I wouldn't mind. "There is nothing for it," he said, "but to climb +the fire escape and get in through the front window." + +I shouldered him up to an iron frame projecting from the house. Thence +he clambered on to a rickety fire escape leading up the wall into +blackness, and he was soon lost to sight. A few moments later the front +door opened and we pushed our muddy, dirty machines on to the clean +linoleum of the front room, where they remained overnight surrounded by +pots of roses, carnations, palms, and ferns. This, he explained, was +quite the usual procedure and his mother would not mind a bit! + +It was then about 11.30, and when we had washed some of the dirt from +our faces we sallied forth in quest of a meal. We had no difficulty in +picking up the scent of a flourishing cafeteria. Neither did we have +any difficulty in disposing of disgusting quantities of hot coffee and +"waffles," a commodity peculiar to America, resembling pancakes and +eaten with jugfuls of maple syrup. + +Well after midnight we returned to our domicile, and I laid me down +to sleep the sleep of the righteous. At seven o'clock in the morning +I bade farewell to mine host. Not a cent would he accept in payment +for my night's lodgings. So, with the parting assurance that he would +drop in and see me when he was next in England, we each took our +several roads--he in the direction of a neighbouring works where he was +employed as a mechanic, and I towards Washington, drifting meekly along +the streets at certainly nothing like the speed of the night before. + +The road for some distance was good, the sun came out, and the day +promised to turn out fine and hot. I soon began to feel an inward +content. Everything was going smoothly. I was expecting some money to +be waiting for me at Washington, and then I should have nothing to +worry about for a long time to come. + +As it usually happens when one begins to pat oneself on the back, +I immediately had a puncture. It was of course in the back wheel. +Meanwhile the sun was rising higher and higher, and when, after about +half an hour, I had repaired the wheel, I was feeling very thirsty. +Another five miles further on I had another puncture. This time it +happened to be exactly outside a garage. + +I have known places in England where a certain amount of trade is +always guaranteed by the ingenuity of some of the garage proprietors +who regularly and systematically throw tacks and nails along the road +in their vicinity. It occurred to me that this was a practice not +confined to England, as examination revealed the cause of the puncture +to be a nice long nail driven through from one side of the tube to the +other. Not feeling of a very arduous disposition at the time, I wheeled +it into the garage to be repaired. + +I am afraid I was rather annoyed at the result. In the first place, I +had to supply the mechanic with solution. In the second place, I had +to take off the tyre for him. In the third place, I supplied a patch; +and in the fourth place, I actually had to do the job for him. After +settling his account, I finally explained in language as polite as I +could muster that in my opinion the practice of strewing discarded +nails and other implements on the highway, while not being exactly +meritorious in itself, was just as commendable a method of obtaining a +business connection as many that were frequently resorted to in other +trades or professions of a higher standing. I explained, however, that +after having been so successfully victimized by such an artifice, one +would consider oneself justified in expecting a much higher standard of +workmanship than was apparently forthcoming in his establishment. + +Then we parted, the mechanic expressing the hope that he would never +(crimson) well see me again, and that if I ever did happen to be coming +back that way and got a nail in my (unspeakable) tyre that he would see +me in (Arizona) before he would (smoking) well repair it for me! + + + + +CHAPTER III + +PHILADELPHIA TO WASHINGTON + + +The scenery now began to look charming. Rolling ranges of hills +extending into the distance clustered around as we drew nearer to the +Chesapeake River, which flows into the well-known bay to which it gives +its name. + +"All aboard for Chesapeake Bay." + +... I hummed the air to myself as the road abruptly ended and a +suspension bridge continued the course across the broad, peaceful mouth +of the river. The whole country around seemed to be permeated with a +comfortable, wholesome vigour. Nothing seemed shabby, discontented, or +poverty-stricken. I passed through many small towns and embryo cities. +All were prosperous and all extended a hearty welcome to the traveller +or visitor. Stretched across the road between two poles, just before I +entered one little town, was a huge white banner bearing the words:-- + + "CONWAY CITY WELCOMES YOU. +WE LIKE TRAVELLERS TO VISIT US. +HAVE A GOOD LOOK AT OUR CITY." + +Conway "City" did not prove to be exactly a metropolis. It was probably +nothing more than a well-to-do farm town. But the houses were clean and +neat, indeed some of them were very beautiful, perfectly up-to-date but +never objectionably modern. The roads were a bit bumpy in places but +not at all bad as American roads go. As I passed out of the town I saw +another notice similar to the first:-- + +"THANK YOU FOR COMING. + WE HOPE YOU LIKE US. + COME AGAIN." + +I got so used to being welcomed to every town I came to that I forgot I +was a "stranger" in a "foreign land." There was not a town or village +that did not publish its welcome in some form or other. In the main it +was by advertisements. But if I stopped at a wayside store to quench +my thirst (oh, the sun was hot!) I was met neither with scowls nor +incivility. I am reminded of the old joke of _Punch_ many years ago:-- + +"Oo's that bloke over theer, Bill?" + +"Dunno; stranger, I think." + +"'Eave 'arf a brick at 'im." + +That is typical of what we _English_ think of strangers. The man +of better education or more refinement perhaps expresses himself +differently, but he feels just the same as a rule. + +At this juncture in my reveries the macadam road stopped and gave +way to "natural gravel." That was quite sufficient to postpone any +soliloquies I may have been indulging in until a later date. The +entire sixty seconds in every minute were employed in keeping myself +substantially upright. Small pot-holes gave place to larger ones, +and they in turn to larger still. The loose sand, which was an inch +or two deep at the start, soon assumed more considerable depths. As +the detective books of our youth used to say, "The plot grew thicker +and thicker." I was floundering about from right to left, prodding +energetically on the ground each side with my feet to maintain some +kind of balance. At times the back wheel churned up the sand aimlessly +in an endeavour to get a grip on something solid. Here and there the +sand and gravel were heaped into great ridges as if a mighty plough +had been along that way. Getting through this stuff, thought I, was +no joke. Furthermore, it was warm work; very warm work. Now and then +I would find myself directed absolutely without control from one side +of the road to the other, and only with the greatest strain could +I keep the machine on its wheels. And with all this the "highway" +still maintained its regulation width of 90 feet! The casual observer +from an aeroplane above would in all probability be attracted by its +straightness, its whiteness, and its apparent uniformity. "What a +splendid road!" he would think. + +Not so I. I was on the point of physical exhaustion with the +seemingly-endless paddling and pushing and heaving (and don't forget +the half-hundred-weight bag on my back!) when I was thrown on to a +steeply-cambered part of the road at the side. The back wheel just slid +limply sideways down the slope and left everything reposing peacefully +in the natural gravel of Maryland. + +When I had extricated myself from under the machine, I surveyed the +position with a critical eye. What a road for a civilized country! +These Yanks must be jolly-well mad to tolerate such roads as this! + + * * * * * + +Just then an old Ford came by. It was shorn entirely of mudguards, +running boards, and other impedimenta. As he wallowed past me, swaying +to this side and that, sometimes pointing at right angles to the way +he was going and with his old engine buzzing away in bottom gear and +clouds of steam issuing from his radiator (it had no cap; it must have +blown off!) the driver seemed perfectly at ease. He rolled a cigar +stump from one corner of his mouth to the other and gazed nonchalantly +ahead. I don't think he even noticed me and my recumbent motor-cycle. +I could not repress a grin as his old box of tricks disappeared slowly +up the road, wagging its tail this way and that and narrowly averting a +catastrophe at every few yards. "You ragtime bunch of tin merchants!" +I mused (not so much in reference to the driver as to the nation in +general!) as his diminishing form finally side-slipped into the ditch +at a bend in the road. + +And then a distressing thought struck me: "They'll never believe me +when I get back home and tell them!" So I took my little camera out of +the tool-box on the top tube and snapped the worst bit of road there +and then. A five minutes' struggle followed, in which "Khaki Lizz" was +withdrawn from her ditch. + +By way of nourishment to sustain me in any further fights with the +road, I slowly and meditatively consumed one only orange before +proceeding once more. + +But things did not improve. Here and there, where the ridges of soil +and gravel had not been disturbed, grew tufts of grass and weeds. Huge +ruts, crossing and recrossing in the remaining sand, showed where cars +were wont to pass as fancy dictated, and with only two wheels it was +barely possible to maintain any progress at all. + +"Hang it all! This is TOO much!" I exclaimed, after a few more +precipitate dismounts,--and took another photo and ate another orange. + +A mile or two farther on I came to a weird-looking machine at the +side of the road. It was a sort of combination of steam tractor and +automatic plough, but very much bigger and more complicated. Its main +function was to chop down _en masse_ the sides and banks of the road +and shovel the debris into the middle. Grass, shrubs, bushes, and young +trees alike fell victims to its activities. Now this really was the +limit! Not satisfied with the condition of the road as it was, they +sent forth this "Heath Robinson" mechanism to improve it. I stopped and +left the bike standing in the road where it was--there was no need to +prop it up against anything--and went back to question the driver of +this implement as to its function in life. + +He was not perturbed in the slightest either at my question or at the +heated state of mind and body in which I approached him. Punctuated +by intervals in which he slowly masticated a worn-out chunk of +chewing-gum, he explained that all good motorists liked wide roads; +that the State Council had decided that motorists should have wide +roads; that they had provided machines for widening roads that at +present were not up to standard width; and finally that he was there to +see that this machine did its work properly! + +[Illustration: A COMMON OCCURRENCE. + +_By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler._] + +So I took another photograph, ate another orange, kicked the +self-starter once more, and pushed on again. The road got worse and +worse. Sometimes there were ruts and sometimes there were strips of +unploughed field in the middle of it. But I spent no more films on +it. The people at home, I decided, would have to take my word for +it after all. About ten miles farther on I came to a cross-road. +It was perfectly straight and beautifully paved with concrete and +stretched from one horizon to the other. With what joy I gazed upon its +countenance! There was a wooden shack on one corner, evidently a +saloon. A negro sat on the doorstep, gazing indolently at me. + +"Is this the road to Baltimore?" I inquired, indicating the concrete +highway. + +No reply. But he continued to gaze at me, and spat twice. + +"Must be deaf," thought I. "How's this for Washington?" I shouted. + +Still no reply. + +"Say, brother, which is the road to Baltimore?" I inquired as politely +as convenient. + +The appellation "brother" had its effect. The negro jerked his thumb +over his shoulder, indicating that I was to go straight on (and +incidentally follow that excruciating stretch of natural gravel). + +Fortunately, Baltimore was not many miles away, and when I got there I +breathed many sighs of relief. There were paved roads, good and true; +macadam and concrete for miles and miles, all the way to Washington. +I picked my way by instinct through Baltimore, the capital of the +State of Maryland, not stopping for food or rest. I would reach my +destination before I gave way to such physical necessities. I certainly +had an appetite, but I always feel that more than two meals a day when +on tour are not only unnecessary, but mean a dead loss of time, money, +and distance. + +The reports on the state of the road ahead turned out to be true +in every detail, and throwing to the winds all respect for such +trivialities as speed limits, I made up for at least a good fraction of +the time wasted on the road. + +When, about 5 p.m., I pulled Lizzie on to her stand outside one of +Washington's "cafeterias," I began to feel an incipient timidity. I +doubted whether I should be able to get into any respectable hotel. +I was covered in dust, and dirt. Headgear of any kind I had dispensed +with altogether. My hair was dusty and knotted with the wind. Owing to +the heat, I had also found it advisable to remove my collar and tie, so +that the wind could circulate as much as possible. How could I in such +a condition maintain my self-respect in Washington, the magnificent +capital of the United States? + +Fortunately, it did not take long for me to overcome such scruples. +Another day or two on the road, and I was perfectly at ease during the +intervals in which I had intercourse with civilization. Occasionally I +experienced a difficulty in entering a drug-store for an iced drink, +and sometimes I felt a trifle shy at my bare, sunburnt neck, but no one +seemed to mind. I soon found that in America, and particularly when +travelling in the West, one could wear absolutely anything that one's +fancy might dictate without rousing the slightest disturbance. + +After satisfying my requirements at the "cafeteria," the second item on +my programme was a visit to the Post Office. This revealed the sordid +fact that there was no money awaiting me. It can easily be understood +that such a discovery might have proved most distressing. I had been +advised not to take much with me, but to cable for a draft from home at +intervals. My adviser, as I was afterwards to find out to my cost, had +overlooked the utterly chaotic state of the post-war transatlantic mail +service. + +I still had a little left, however, quite enough to get me comfortably +to Cincinnati, my next financial depot, so why worry? I could always +work for a living, or at any rate, if I did not feel inclined to that, +I might pawn something. + +I found a hotel that, from the outside, just suited my fancy. Plain, +large and unpretentious, it described itself in an illuminated sign as +the "National." I booked a room at three dollars (12_s._ 6_d._) and +sallied forth to see the sights. + +I was impressed with Washington. It is truly a city of beautiful +streets and magnificent buildings. Undoubtedly it is the city _de luxe_ +of America. Being the capital, wealth is lavished upon it. No factories +or barren wastes disfigure its graceful countenance. Every street or +avenue glistens at night with a bewildering multitude of illuminated +signs. This method of advertising is typically American. The first +impression of a stranger visiting a large American city at night is +that he is in a children's luminous palace. There are illuminations +and decorations of every conceivable nature. Sometimes a single sign +advertising perhaps some particular brand of chewing-gum or cigarette +or motor-car has thousands and tens of thousands of lights wonderfully +displayed in different colours and arranged in different series, one +series flashing into view as another disappears, then a few seconds +later giving place to another still more wonderful, and finally there +comes a grand climax in which all the colours and all the series and +all the figures blaze forth in an indescribable orgy of light. + +When I found myself finally back in my hotel I was to be the victim +of still another disillusionment. No country anywhere could rival +America for hotels, I had thought. But I had not then experienced the +"National" at Washington. The room allotted to me was literally an +outrage. It was of the very poorest that one would expect to find in +an East End boarding-house in the Old Kent Road. It had one window, +which faced on to an unimaginably dreary "area." The carpet was +threadbare and colourless. The furniture, consisting of one bed, one +dressing-table, one wardrobe and one chair was obviously suffering from +advanced senile decay. There was a washbasin in one corner that boasted +of two taps and a piece of wood to stop the hole up with. The door +showed signs of having been minus a lock for many a long day. I was too +tired, however, to bother about trivialities of detail, so putting my +revolver under the blanket near me in case of possible eventualities, I +laid me down in peace to sleep. + +Nothing occurred, however, to disturb my peace of mind or body +throughout the night. The following morning found me hot on the warpath +after a bathroom. After sundry peregrinations I unearthed a clue. It +was in the form of a very corpulent negress--evidently a chambermaid. +"Bathroom?" "No, dere am no bathroom h'yar," she informed me. But I +persisted in my inquiries, suspecting her reply to be a mere excuse +for sheer laziness. Finally, as a last resort, I absent-mindedly took +my "life preserver" from my hip pocket and looked at it vacuously. Its +effect was magical. "Yes, saar, yes, saar, come right h'yar!--I find +you bathroom!" + +When I came to square up that morning I paid my respects and three +dollars to the management. + +"See here, Mister Manager," I said in such a tone that everyone +within hearing distance had the benefit of it as well, "I've done a +bit of travelling here and there, but never in ANY city at +ANY time have I struck ANY hotel that for sheer +rottenness compares with THIS one!" + +I have an idea at the back of my mind that that manager-man doesn't +love Englishmen! + +Now that I had seen America's capital, I turned my face to the west, +and began to make rash estimates and frivolous promises to myself +concerning my destination for the day. Could I get to Cincinnati +next day? How long would it take to do the odd 550 miles or so? And +what would be my reception when I got there? I had some friends in +Cincinnati, friends that I had never even seen. What would they think +when they saw THIS specimen roll up to their front door in +Clifton Avenue? Was Lizzie going to stand up to it all right? When +should I get to the coast? What kind of roads should I meet "out West"? +And so I wondered on. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +EXCEEDING THE SPEED LIMIT + + +I did not waste much time on the road. Fortunately there was a good +proportion of concrete road, although the inevitable natural gravel +was not by any means conspicuous by its absence. I also passed many +stretches of brick road. + +This variety is confined in England mainly to city streets, and is +associated nearly always with trams. Not so in America. On the main +roads of the East I have passed many a ten-mile stretch of splendidly +paved highway made solely out of good red brick, and of the correct +size and shape and camber of surface that literally made one's +tyres hum and sing as each brick was momentarily touched in endless +procession. I need hardly say that for every good stretch of brick road +there are UMPTEEN bad ones though, just to add a spice of life +_à la grande route_. Here and there one would encounter by no means +solitary patches where apparently some enterprising farmer had torn up +a few bricks from in front of some one's house to repair his cowshed +or to build a new pigsty, or maybe to help put another storey on his +house. There would seem to the lay mind such as my own to be a most +decided disadvantage in this method of road construction! To put it +mildly, it is disheartening when one is enjoying a fifty-mile-an-hour +sprint on a straight stretch of road visible almost from horizon to +horizon, to be rudely awakened from swift but peaceful contemplation +of the beauties of nature, the loveliness of the atmosphere and the +joys of motoring by being mercilessly thrown on top of the handlebars +with one tremendous thump. At one spot of which I have very vivid +recollections, the road took a short dip down and up again. In the +bottom of the "valley" thus formed was a young but aspiring cañon where +a wayward stream had left its prosaic path to strike out in life on its +own across the road. Its presence was unfortunately undiscernible until +close acquaintanceship was made. + +When I came round I was vaguely conscious of something having happened, +but as the engine was still running and the front wheel was still +fairly circular, I got up and rode on, but not until I had arrived +definitely at the conclusion that had I been doing sixty instead of +forty-five I should have jumped across the bit of road that wasn't +there and been hardly the wiser of it! + +Here it was that I began to scratch crosses on the top tube to keep +count of the number of times I was thrown off on the whole trip. + +When the top tube got too short I put them on the front down tube. + +When that was full I scratched them on the bottom tubes. + +After that I trusted to memory. But that was when I got to the "Far +West." + +I made good time, however, in spite of an occasional set-back, and +looked forward to completing three hundred and fifty miles that day. +With luck I should reach Cincinnati the next, and then, oh for the joys +of a good hot bath, clean clothes, well-cooked food, and last, but not +by any means least, good company. And I wasn't forgetting either that +I had only about twenty-five dollars in my pocket. With no mishaps I +should have enough and to spare for even three or four days' travelling. + +It was not yet midday, and the sun was getting very hot indeed. +Moreover, I was getting hungry. Although I believe the two-meal-a-day +system to be an excellent one, one sure gets a roaring appetite for +breakfast at the end of a hundred-mile ride. So if I had not a moral +excuse for a little real speed work I at least had a physical one. The +road surface now changed from red brick to dazzling white concrete +as in the far distance the Alleghany Mountains, that inexpressibly +beautiful range that stretches parallel with the Atlantic coastline +from Maine to Georgia, loomed gradually higher on the horizon, its +varying tints growing deeper and deeper as mile after mile flew by. + +There was hardly a soul on the road. Occasionally I would pass a +touring car loaded up with human freight and with luggage bags, +bandboxes and portmanteaux piled up and strapped (and sometimes I +think glued!) to every available mudguard, wing or projection that was +large enough to accommodate them and quite a lot that weren't. Then +a hay wagon flew by, and then, after a few miles, a solitary farmer +on horseback--not at all a common sight in this land of Fords and +motor-cars. And after a few more miles a tiny black speck came into +view on the horizon. It took a long time to catch up. When I got closer +I made it out to be a Buick roadster, its two occupants, a young man +and his (apparent) fiancée, evidently enjoying a little spin in the +country. And he wasn't crawling either. A touch of my electric horn +(oh, a beautiful horn it was!) aroused his soul from its soliloquy and +he drew in to the right, waving me on vigorously as he did so. And +as I passed him he seemed to quicken a little. I glanced sideways for +an instant and spotted a gleam in his eye. So I accepted his unspoken +challenge and glanced now and then over my shoulder. He was hanging on +well, his six cylinders to my four. A mile was passed and he was still +just a little way behind. The road was clear and straight, so I opened +out a little more. + +Another glance. He was still there. My speedometer hovered around fifty. + +Not to be outdone I twisted Lizzie's right handlebar grip as far as it +would go, and like a bolt from the blue we darted ahead. Fifty-five, +sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-five. The wind was simply screeching +in my ears. + +Another glance back, our friend was slowly losing distance. A minute or +two more and he was fast dwindling behind. In ten miles he was almost +back on the horizon. + +I had visions of breakfast in "Hagerstown," the next town of importance +not so very far ahead. And so I forgot our friend of the Buick. In ten +minutes' time I came to a village. As usual the good surface of the +highway stopped and the roads through the town turned from the perfect +concrete to an infernal hotch-potch of holes, gullies, ruts and mounds. +Ironical notice boards warned the traveller that he must reduce his +speed to fifteen miles per hour. It was purgatory even to go at four! +To plunge into a seething mass of soil-waves at speed is disconcerting. +It annoys you. But it is a custom that grows on you in Eastern America. +You flounder about from side to side; you take a hop, skip and a +jump here, there and everywhere; your very bones are shaken in their +sockets; your temper approaches a frenzy of despair; and your language! + +Time was when I would blush with shame at the sound of a word that +was bad. Then a war came along and I learnt to experience the +soothing charm of an occasional flow of language. Occasionally I met +a sergeant-major who could swear freely for five minutes without even +repeating himself! + +And then I motor-cycled across the States. And my heart rejoiced within +me that I had received such an excellent education. I found that with +very little provocation or practice I could, had I the desire, have +graduated to a very much higher stage of perfection in the United +States than with the British Army in France. Indeed I will go so far +as to aver that when ultimately I reached San Francisco not only could +I have put to shame the most cultured sergeant-major that ever drilled +recruits on a square, but in his moments of greatest enlightenment his +powers of speech would have appeared as the futile prattle of childhood +compared to what _I_ could have taught him. + +So that is why I slowed down when I got to "Victorville." + +In a few minutes, who should come alongside but our friend with the +Buick racer. He slowed down and put up his hand. "Mind stopping here a +minute?" he asked. + +"Not at all," I replied, thinking he wanted to ask the way or borrow a +sparking plug--or maybe beg a match. + +He got out of his car and came along. + +"Say, d'ye know what speed you were doing way back there?" he asked +casually with a kind of ten-percent.-solution smile. + +"Well, I don't know exactly, but I guess I got YOU beat, +anyway!" I chuckled. + +Whereat he pulled a pocket-book from his coat and opened it. (Going to +give me his card, thought I.) + +"I'll trouble you for your number," quoth he, as he came to a page that +was all nicely printed in columns ready for use. + +From that moment I saw things in a different light. Verily the workings +of the Law would seem to be getting interesting. + +"And your licence, please?" after he had obligingly removed a layer of +dust from my number-plate. + +"What licence?" + +"Your driving licence, of course. What y' think?" + +"See here. Mebbe I do look a bit of a mug, but I do know you don't have +to have a separate licence in New York State, s'long as your machine is +registered. The number-plate is the same thing as a licence." + +"Oh, is it? I didn't know that." (Pause) "Well, do you mind following +me a short way down the road--next block but one. It isn't far." + +Whereat he got in his car again and moved slowly forward, while his +lady friend protruded her arm from one side as if to stop me if I was +inclined to dash past. + +I did think of it in fact, because I knew I could give him a run for +his money, but America, I recollected, was noted for its telephone +service and I couldn't quite fancy having to resort to a hiding-place +near the banks of the Ohio or perchance a field of corn somewhere in +Indiana. + +So I followed them down to the corner. + +We stopped at a small wooden shanty on the door of which was a board +bearing the sign "DANIEL S. TOMKIN, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW." My +friend the "speed cop" pushed open the door and ushered me into a +passage. On the right was another marked "JUSTICE TOMKIN." +"Come in: come in," shouted a shrill seedy voice as the "cop" knocked +at the door. + +"I've got a case for you, Judge," said he, when we got inside. + +"Oh yes, oh yes!"--and then to me--"Take a seat, sir, please, and +er--make yourself at home." + +I'm afraid at that juncture I began to laugh. The "Judge" was just +the kind of man that we love to see "on the pictures" in England, but +who we never believe really exists. I had seen his prototype dozens +of times before. Tall and wiry, thin legs and tight trousers, "Uncle +Sam" physiognomy with the usual goat's beard and with stars and stripes +printed in indelible ink all over him. He sat at a desk bare of papers, +books, letters or other impedimenta. How long the desk had been cleared +for action I know not, but his duties as a Justice of the Peace +evidently did not involve any overtime from the look of things. The +room was small and dingy and its walls were covered with shelves piled +with books of all colours, shapes and sizes. + +JUDGE.--"And what has this gentleman been doing?" + +SPEED COP (producing notebook and reading +therefrom).--"Driving a motor-cycle in excess of the legal speed limit, +namely at forty-five miles an hour." + +JUDGE (after reaching from a bookcase a large red book marked +"Laws, Bye-Laws and Regulations existent in the State of Maryland," +or words to that effect).--"I will proceed to read Statoot number +51, article 13, section 321b, subsection 2a of the 'Regulation of +Traffic in the State of Maryland Act, 1898.'"--(Submerged chuckle +from self)--"And it is hereby enacted that anyone found guilty of +exceeding 25 miles per hour but not exceeding 30 miles per hour will +be liable to a fine of not less than 5 dollars for the first offence +and of 50 dollars for a second and any subsequent offence; and anyone +found guilty of exceeding 30 miles an hour but not exceeding 35 miles +per hour will be liable to a fine of not less than 10 dollars for +the first offence, etc., etc.; and anyone found guilty of exceeding +35 miles per hour but not exceeding 45 miles per hour will be liable +to a fine of not less than 25 dollars for the first offence, etc., +etc."--(Considerable amusement visible on the face of self)--"and +anyone found guilty of exceeding 60 miles per hour will be liable to a +fine of 100 dollars, etc., etc."--(Feeling of merriment subsides)--"but +anyone found guilty of exceeding 60 miles per hour will be liable to +a fine of 250 dollars for the first offence and of 1,000 dollars and +imprisonment for any subsequent offence. I am afraid, sir, in view of +the evidence and of the dictates of Statoot number 51, article 13, +section--etc., etc., I shall have to administer the minimum fine of 25 +dollars." (I breathe again). + +SELF.--"Say, Judge, we seem to have got a bit ahead, don't we? +Aren't I going to have a chance to say anything?" + +JUDGE (a little "peeved." Evidently that aspect of the case +hadn't occurred to him).--"By all means, sir, by all means. Say jest +what you like." + +Now I have neither the eloquence of a Disraeli nor the declamation of a +Demosthenes, but I do claim to have no small power of persuasion when +it comes to an argument or a question of opinion. So I mustered up +every effort and summoned every resource to convince this malevolent +Judge that he had been reading his "Statoots" upside down and that, +far from being incriminated, I should, on the contrary, be granted a +handsome award. I invoked the aid of every artifice known to humanity. +Every inflexion of the voice; every modulation of speech; every appeal +for sympathy, innocence, ignorance and youth known to me was conjured +up. + +And to what purpose? Did the Judge budge?--I might as well have read +him Gibbon's _Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_ in five minutes for +all the good it did. + +"I am very sorry, sir," he said, "but the Statoot says that the minimum +fine is 25 dollars, so it must be 25 dollars." + +"But, my dear good Judge," said I, "I've only got about 25 dollars in +the world at the present moment." + +"Well, I'm very sorry, but the fine is 25 dollars"--(and then an +afterthought)--"Oh! and costs as well." + +"Costs!" I gasped in amazement. + +"Yes, my costs will be 75 cents, and that makes 25 dollars 75 cents +altogether." + +Then ensued more argument, more persuasion, more eloquence, more +appeals, but it was all in vain. I took out my wallet and counted out +my belongings. + +I had just 25 dollars and a few odd "bits." + +And then the humour of the situation appealed to me once more, and +stronger than ever before. I laughed at the Cop and I laughed at the +Judge and I laughed at myself for laughing and paid over the 25 dollars +75 cents. + +"Thank you very much. Good-day, sir," said the Judge as he put the +"bucks" loosely in the drawer in his desk. + +Here the Cop spoke up: "I have another charge against the defendant, of +riding without his registration certificate, but it's getting late, and +I think we might as well overlook it in view of the circumstances." (He +was evidently thinking of his girl waiting outside.) + +I suggested it _would_ be as well and left the Judge to gloat over his +ill-gotten gains. + +The idea of that goat-faced Judge and his sleek-eyed friend the "speed +cop" having a good dinner together at my expense did not appeal to my +better self. How was I going to travel 450 miles, buy petrol, oil and +food with about tenpence in my pocket? On the opposite side of the road +stood Lizzie with her carrier piled high and dusty, waiting, patiently +waiting, for her lord and master. Ah, pathetic sight!--An idea--I +return to the sanctum of the "Attorney-at-Law." + +He was counting over the notes again. + +"Say, Judge. S'posing you give me those notes back again. What'll it +mean in imprisonment?" I had always since childhood cherished a wild +desire to spend a night in prison. "The Statoot stipulates that there +will be an equivalent of one day's imprisonment for every dollar fine." +(Depths of despair once more, then enlightenment.) "Can you show me the +statute that says that?" + +"Sure," and he reached for the volume. + +"All right, don't bother," said I, and left him once more to count his +25 dollars 75 cents. + +Somehow I couldn't help laughing at everything. Such interesting +sidelights into the workings of the ragtime laws of America are not met +with every day of the year, I mused. But what fun to be all alone in +America with nothing but a motor-bike and tenpence! + +I guess the Judge was wondering what I was laughing at as he watched me +through the fly-net at his window while I kicked the engine to a roar +and rode away. + +Truth to tell, I didn't quite know myself. + +I was wondering when the petrol would give out. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +ACROSS THE ALLEGHANIES + + +Strange to say, I felt not the slightest bit "peeved" about this +occurrence, but facts have to be faced, and anyone who has ever found +himself in a strange land 4,000 miles from home, with a motor-bike +and tenpence, will agree that something has got to be done about +it sooner or later. All sorts of ways and means of making money +quickly--the eternal problem!--occurred to me, but I dismissed them +all for one reason or another. I could hold up the next car I passed +and shoot the occupants after relieving them of their surplus cash. +But that I thought was a distasteful way of getting money. I had seen +it done in the "movies," but decided to leave that _modus operandi_ +for a last extremity. What was it to be--a week's work or "trading +away" the watch? I pondered. I got very little inspiration from my +surroundings on a problem of such moment. Instead I was exhorted at +almost every hundred yards to "Say it with flowers" or to "Chew our +famous Smello'mint Gum." A huge yellow sign would then loom in sight +bearing the legend "Playtime Biscuit." Every mile or so would appear +another and more ominous inscription, "Sell it and buy a Ford." "For +all internal ailments 'Kewrit' is the Sovereign remedy," blurted forth +another placard. "The Sovereign remedy," I mused.--But say! What was +that? The SOVEREIGN remedy?--Inspiration at last. Lizzie's +throttle seemed to close its eyes with a snap. The brakes went on of a +sudden and in a few moments I was taking off my tunic at the roadside. +The memory had dawned upon me of a kind sister sewing some golden +sovereigns in the lining of the belt of that very same tunic months ago +way back in good old Brum. She had no doubt imagined me falling into +the hands of Mexican bandits at some period in my peregrinations. At +first I remembered I had protested against such a seemingly unnecessary +precaution. Thank Heaven that argument against a woman is never of any +avail! + +I searched and I found; a few stitches carefully removed with a +pocket-knife revealed two glittering "yellow boys" to my anxious gaze. +On we sped once again, bounding, spinning ever faster onward. Truly we +toiled not, but we sure did spin. If the sky was blue, it was bluer +than ever before. If the road had been good, 'twas never so good as +now. Refreshing breezes rolled down from the hills; sweet vistas sprang +into sight; charming dells and streamlets flitted by, and never did the +call of nature sound so strong. + +And all because of two forgotten coins. + +Hagerstown hardly welcomed me with open arms. A fair-sized, prosperous +little town, it boasted a tramway service and two banks. My heart went +not forth in joy at the contemplation of the tramway service. It did at +the sight of the banks. + +Dusty, dishevelled, and of dilapidated attire, I leant Lizzie up +against the kerb and mounted the marble steps of the "First National +Bank." The massive swing-doors frowned back as they squeaked and +groaned to my command. I stood in the midst of a gilded palace replete +with austere-looking deities in white shirt-sleeves behind marble +counters and fancy-work grids. Nothing daunted, I flicked my precious +sovereigns on the counter before the very quintessence of immaculate +manhood with a "Change those, please" as if it were the kind of thing I +did every day of my life. + +Once upon a time I had often with swelling pride expanded my chest at +the thought of a British sovereign being honoured in every country +of the world and any corner of the globe. I had reckoned without +Hagerstown. It seemed that the austere-looking deity before referred +to was not at all impressed by my view of the situation. It must have +been the personal _tout ensemble_ that put him on his guard. He might +oblige me by sending it along to New York to the Head Office, he said. +"Couldn't wait a couple of days?" he supposed. + +It was no use. He didn't like my face and didn't want my gold. + +I scraped the dirt from my boots on his marble steps and crossed the +road to the "Incorporated Bank of Holland." + +After conducting a lengthy battle of argument and exhortation with +all the clerks in succession and all to no avail, I began to realize +that British currency was of no more worth than the little sea-shells +that in the earliest days of trade were supposed to be used by the +enterprising natives of prehistoric communities. With a gallant show of +indignation I demanded that the manager be produced forthwith. Strange +to say, he appeared. I took him on one side and into my confidence. +"Look here, old man," quoth I, "I'm in a bit of a hole. All your worthy +satellites here think I'm a sort of cross between a rubberneck and a +highway robber. Fact is, I've been rushed for speeding at the last +village and I've only got two sovereigns to take me to Cincinnati. Now +don't tell me you won't change them." Whereupon he looked warily at +me and then at the gold, examining it minutely. "Guess I might fix it +for you, but just hang on a minute till I can get some one to identify +them. We never see such things as these, y'know." + +In a few minutes he returned with an accomplice, who glared with +amazement at the coins as they lay on the counter. "Gor' blimey!" said +he, "don't that do yer blinkin' eyes good! Strike me pink, an' you've +brought these ole yallerboys orl the way from England?" and he picked +them up reverently and gloated over their merry chinkle as he dropped +them again on the counter. "Lor', I've spent many a one on 'em! How +much d'ye want for them, gev'nor?" + +"Four dollars eighty each," I replied. + +"Done! Pass him the 'oof, boss. Nuthin' wrong wi' them." + +Verily is it said that music hath charms for the savage breast. Once +again Lizzie burst into a roar, and once again I turned her nose to the +west. + +Music? That Cockney's dialect seemed like a wonderful fragrant melody +pealing forth through the strains of a ponderous fugue. It was like a +sudden rift in the thunderclouds through which burst a cheering shaft +of sunlight. It was sacrilege even to think of those nine paper dollars +that I had thrust so anxiously into my hip-pocket. "Thank Heaven there +is at least one spot in the U.S.A. where the King's English is spoken +undefiled," I murmured to myself. + + * * * * * + +The road to Cumberland was good going. We had now to commence crossing +the Alleghany Mountains. This wonderful range, which also goes by +the name of the Appalachians, has, in my opinion, no rival in the +American Rockies as regards the loveliness of its scenery and the +infinite variations of colour of its slopes. "The best scenery in the +world, sir," an American would say, and he would not be so very far +wrong either. Perhaps its heights are not so majestic as those of the +Rockies; there may be no glaciers on its slopes nor crests of eternal +glistening white on its peaks, but there is an unparalleled wealth of +natural beauty in the blue and purple pine forests of its less aspiring +heights and the myriad glistening streams and rivers that find their +source in the thickly-wooded foothills clustering around its borders. + +"Cumberland" is a comparatively large town in the middle of the hills +and is well named. Undoubtedly the surrounding district reminded +the early settlers so forcibly of our own lake district that they +were inspired to perpetuate its memory, as they have done in so many +other districts, towns and rivers in the far-eastern or "New England" +States. Although the descent from the mountains was in places almost +precipitous, the road was excellent, and excepting the concrete +boulevards of California, afforded undoubtedly the best running that +I met in the whole country. Although I stopped several times for +considerable periods to allow the brakes to cool, there was nothing +left of the brake-linings when ultimately I arrived in Cumberland, +where I ministered adequate and well-earned refreshment to the inner +man of both Lizzie and myself. + +The road now lay clear of obstructions ahead and led over undulating +country for several hundred miles. Once more thoughts of Cincinnati +in the distance with a vague anticipation of something approaching +"England, Home and Beauty"--and money as well--occupied the hours as +we sped along, leaving the mile-posts quickly behind us. In places +travelling was good. In places it was distinctly bad. Here and there +were stretches of several miles of brick road, and now and then would +reappear our old friend the "Natural Gravel," that so much conspired to +make life on two wheels not worth living. At times even that provided +quite a respectable surface. My firm intentions not to be baulked in my +aim to reach Cincinnati next day, however, kept up the pace even if to +our mutual discomfort, and made the going good. + +At Uniontown, about seventy-five miles past Cumberland, various trivial +little knocks and rattles in the engine disturbed my peace of mind. +The speedometer registered only about 800 miles, and I had hardly +expected to commence tightening things internally at that stage. A +little farther on and one cylinder, after a few peremptory misfires, +gave up the ghost altogether, and I proceeded a few miles on three +only. I changed the sparking plug, hoping for better results, but in +vain. After a few more miles I tried another plug and then another, +but always with the same result. After travelling a few dozen miles in +this unsatisfactory manner, I put Lizzie once again on her stand. This +time I examined closely and found the valves, tappets and clearances +all in good condition. There was apparently nothing wrong with the +ignition either, or the carburettor, and there seemed no reason at all +why such a trouble should arise--particularly, I reflected, as I was +anxious to lose no valuable time. On trying still another plug out of +one of the other cylinders and finding that No. 1 was still obstinate, +I got on again, determined to do the journey on three cylinders only. +I found I could touch well over forty-five even at that, so after all +there wasn't much to complain about. Every motorist, however, who has +a regard for his engine and can sense the "moral fitness" of even +running and good rhythm will understand that travelling under such +circumstances is decidedly unpleasant and monotonous. + +At Waynesburg I passed Pittsburg some miles to the right, the +"Birmingham" of America, the centre of a huge coal and iron industry +and, next to Philadelphia, the largest town in Pennsylvania. A few +miles farther on, and I crossed the borderline and entered West +Virginia once again. It was now quite dark and I had to pick out the +road as best I could by my headlight. I was getting tired and was +very hungry, not having had anything to eat for ten hours. After half +an hour the headlight flickered and went out, leaving me with only +a "dimmer," as the Americans call the small auxiliary light, with +which to keep on the road and find the way. The engine, which before +sounded pretty loose, now emitted noises signifying extreme agony of +mind. Then a thick ground mist settled over everything, making it +next to impossible to keep on the road at all, much less to keep on +the right one. Occasionally I dismounted in an endeavour to bring the +headlight back to life. Frequently I narrowly avoided being run down +by large cars with powerful searchlights that couldn't see me at all. +It generally meant pulling into the side of the road, getting off and +waving my arms frantically to signify my presence. Between time I got +more hungry and more tired, and kept asking myself the same question, +"Why, oh why did I leave England?" The answer always came: "Search me!" + +Shortly before midnight I reached the small town of "Moundsville," on +the Ohio River and on the borders of West Virginia and Ohio. Every +shop in the place was closed except that of a corpulent Italian +dealer in bananas, oranges and ice-cream sodas. I entered his door +with thanksgiving. The worthy proprietor scrutinized me open-mouthed. +Finally he gave it up. I could see he had been wondering to himself, +"What is this thing, and whence came it?" I sat on the counter in his +presence and consumed three ice-cream sodas, four bananas and two +oranges. After witnessing their consumption, he let drop his bottom jaw +and ventured, "Whare yer from?" + +"Doanchew worry your old think-box about where I'm from, brother, but +just tell me where I'm goin'. I wonna get to Cincinnati. Now for the +love of Mike don't tell me I'm not on the right road." + +His jaw dropped through a further angle of ten degrees. Finally he +volunteered the information that I was miles and miles from the road +to Cincinnati, and that he hadn't the "goldarnest notion" how I should +ever get back on it again. In disgust I filled my pockets with bananas +and oranges and presented one more ice-cream soda to the minister for +the interior and quitted his establishment. + +My next duty was to find somewhere to lay my weary head. I decided to +choose a spot where water was convenient, so that I could wash in the +morning. The river was quite inaccessible from the road and the only +places where there chanced to be a stream were infested with frogs +and mosquitoes. After a half-hour of weary searching and climbing of +long winding hills in the thick damp fog, I eventually gave it up in +disgust. I found an open space at the roadside sheltered by a few +trees, and here laid down my rainproof coat with the thick blanket +doubled on top of it, and with my suit-case as a pillow, soon convinced +myself that I was comfortably settled down for sleep. In a few minutes +I was well in the land of dreams. I dreamed that I was journeying to +the North Pole on a twelve-cylinder Ford which went so fast that it +melted the ice as it passed and ultimately crashed into the Pole at +such a terrific velocity that the equilibrium of the earth was entirely +upset, as also my own. At this point a lusty mosquito inflicted a +tremendous bite on the very tip of my nose, and I woke up with a start. +Then I dreamed that I had undertaken a banana-eating tournament with +an army of Italians, and was just finishing off the ninety-ninth when +another bite in the middle of my left eyelid brought me again to normal +consciousness, and thus the night passed. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE DIXIE HIGHWAY + + +In the morning everything was wet with dew. The mist was disappearing +quickly, and I arose refreshed in body and mind. Specialists would have +prognosticated acute rheumatism. Doctors would have foretold death +within forty-eight hours. But I was never so free from rheumatism as +I am now; moreover, I live to tell the tale, with the probability +of continued existence for several years to come. Lizzie looked +disconsolate and rusty in every nut and bolt, but with a few kicks she +rattled into life once more. The driver of a passing Ford informed me +that I was twenty miles from the right road, which meant returning into +Moundsville and crossing over the broad, muddy Ohio River, spanned +by a lofty suspension bridge made almost entirely of wood. The Ohio +River, once seen, is never to be forgotten. It is verily a flowing mass +of dirty, yellow-brown mud. The natives of Ohio refer to it as the +"Golden" River, I believe, but when I first made its acquaintance, I +was in no mood to appreciate such poetic nomenclature. Instead I was +bent on reaching Wheeling and breakfast. + +Wheeling was reached in a couple of hours' riding along the banks of +the river. It need hardly be said that I did justice to a substantial +breakfast, which put an entirely new aspect on affairs in general. I +struck the main "pike" through to Cincinnati, and continued hopefully +on three cylinders with the best of intentions of reaching it that +evening, although it meant a ride of over 300 miles. + +I did 150 in fairly good time and reckoned on having my +lunch-tea-dinner-supper meal at Columbus, the State capital, about +five in the afternoon. But about twenty miles from that city a most +distressing sound arose from the engine. I had previously slackened +down to a steady thirty miles an hour so as to give Lizzie the best +chance of holding out over the journey. But now a series of violent +thumps and bangs disturbed once and for all my hopeful frame of mind. +Undoubtedly there was a big breakage somewhere and it was evidently +quite impossible to continue another mile. With a final thud the engine +stopped and the machine came to a standstill near a little bridge where +a tiny streamlet trickled under the roadway. Near the bridge was, as +might be expected, the inevitable hoarding: "SELL IT AND BUY A +FORD." Strange that Fate should at times be so ironical! + +I made myself comfortable on a grassy slope and proceeded to take the +engine down. This I soon discovered was no mean task. It took nearly +three hours to remove the cylinders. Woe be unto the man hereafter who +puts nuts where they cannot be loosened or places cylinders where they +cannot be removed save by an Indian sword-swallower! The result of my +investigations was that I found the front piston in fragments, mainly +in the bottom of the crank-case. The gudgeon pin was broken in half and +the connecting rod was waggling about merrily in the cylinder. All the +bearings were loose, and although there was plenty of oil in the sump, +one was devoid of metal altogether. This was discovered at the bottom +in the form of powder. An encouraging outlook indeed! + +Although my motto where a refractory motor is concerned--"to get it +home somehow"--could have been ignored, I was not even in walking +distance of anywhere. There was no town or village for miles around, +and only a solitary farmhouse here and there. Further, an empty stomach +does not improve one's outlook on life under such circumstances, and +mine was very empty. I took stock of the whole situation. What should +it be? Walk to Columbus and take the train, or stick by Lizzie and get +along somehow? I counted out my money. It amounted to three dollars and +thirty-five cents, not even enough for the railway fare. "No, I've set +out to cross these infernal States on a motor-cycle, and I'll do it," I +resolved, and sat down again to patch Lizzie's engine together. + +The rumble of cart wheels on the brick road attracted my attention. The +cart was drawn by a weary horse in the charge of a more weary driver. + +"Hi, brother, got anything edible on board?" I shouted. + +"I gotta lot o' old boots here," he replied, evidently in ignorance of +the meaning of the word "edible." + +"No, thanks, I gotta good pair of my own to start on before I come to +that. Aincher got any oranges?" + +"Yep, I got one box left, four fer a quarter." + +Bang went seventy-five cents for a dozen, leaving me with two dollars +sixty. Now, thought I, I have enough provisions to last a couple of +days. Let Old Harry do his worst. + +The vendor of boots, furniture, and oranges went on his weary way. + +From a bough of a willow tree I shaped a neat gudgeon pin that fitted +dead into the loose end of the connecting rod to guide it up and down +in the cylinder. I fished out all the big lumps of the broken piston +that remained in the crank-case and tightened up the bearings as well +as I could. By the time it was dark I had everything replaced ready to +start on the road once more. + +Before daybreak, I was up and on the road; my plan was to keep on all +day at a steady twenty miles an hour and reach Cincinnati about five +in the afternoon. The machine ran well considering its wooden gudgeon +pin, although it was not easy to avoid being reminded continually of +Lizzie's indisposition, and as time went on the rattles became worse, +the clanks became gradually louder, and I began to wonder where my next +stop would be. + +I passed through Columbus about breakfast-time, but did not stop for +breakfast. There was no money for breakfasts. Now, although I did not +stop at Columbus, I cannot with but a few words dismiss it entirely +from consideration. Although not by any means the largest town in Ohio, +it is the State capital. That feature, as I have pointed out before, +is not at all unique in the States. In fact, I do not think I could +name a single State capital that is the largest town of the State, +without referring to the authority of one Baedeker. Not only are there +over 125,000 people in Columbus, but it appeared to me to be a very +fine city. The streets are wider and are better paved than those of +most American cities, and in places are illuminated by large electric +arches. Although there are seven towns throughout America boasting this +title (each one in a different State), I think Columbus, Ohio, must be +the _élite_ of all the Columbuses. + +Outside Columbus I stopped, had lunch--three oranges--and continued. +There was really no necessity to stop, but I liked to feel that lunch +was just as important an occasion as when it wasn't oranges. + +The engine was by now getting rather noisy. People who passed in +cars, many of whom I had passed two days before, slowed down as they +approached and looked at me wonderingly, as if to ask if I knew +anything about it. They probably came to the conclusion that I was a +deaf-mute. + +Then we got to Springfield, and a noticeable feature at the side of +the road, on a special track of its own, was an electric train service +connecting up all the large towns in the district, even though the +distances amounted to thirty and forty miles, in some cases even +fifty, as is the case between Columbus and Springfield. Perhaps I am +complimenting them by referring to them as trains, as they are more +in the nature of single or double-coach trams, but I was surprised +not only by the speed at which they travelled, but also by the number +of passengers who availed themselves of the service. In a way, the +presence of that track was comforting, particularly when some new noise +or rattle emanated from my thrice-weary steed. On the other hand it is +distinctly humiliating to be astride a 10 h.p. motor-cycle de luxe, +jogging along side-saddle (to ease the growing soreness!) at fifteen or +twenty miles per hour on three crotchety cylinders, when a tram-load +of disinterested Americans flies past with a shriek at forty or fifty. +Generally the driver realized the position and sounded a piercing +whistle with a supercilious air, as if to say: "Make way for the fast +traffic, please!" + +At Springfield the speedometer flicked off the 1,000th mile, and +I branched away from the "Pike's Peak" Ocean-to-Ocean Highway +(for such it appeared to be), and turned south-westward towards +Dayton, a flourishing manufacturing and business centre. "Detours" +and sub-detours were the order of the day and were conspicuous by +their presence, as also by the general looseness and rottenness of +their surface. In theory I was travelling upon the "Dixie Highway," +reputed (by advertisements thereon appearing) to be "the finest and +most luxurious highway in the States." As far as my experience was +concerned, I found it paved with good intentions and bad cobblestones. +Sometimes, when the paving blocks had been pulled up preparatory to new +ones being laid down, the surface was tolerably good, but then would +appear a "detour" heralded by an insolently-improvised notice-board +which led the unfortunate traveller miles and miles from his appointed +path and over the most disgusting road-surface imaginable. + +I was pleased with Dayton. As I left it behind me, I wished it +prosperity. It seemed to have the right kind of air about it. A +friendly policeman held up a bunch of traffic for two minutes for me +while he put me "wise" to the road to take. He noticed my New York +number-plate and finished his chat with "Well, good day, brother, and +the best of luck to you." I wouldn't even have killed a mosquito in +Dayton! + +It was now well after midday. Cincinnati was still about sixty miles +away. Would it be safe to have a meal in the next town? I had filled up +with "gas" and oil in Dayton and had about fifty cents (2_s._) left. +With a three days' diet of oranges, I had cultivated an appetite of +great latent possibilities. I determined to be rash. Next stop, I told +myself, I would look around for a "bakeshop." + +An hour later I arrived at a little town called "Lebanon." It was +very small, very picturesque, and very unpretentious. But it boasted +an excellent "bakeshop." I leant Lizzie against the kerb outside and +pressed my nose against the window-pane. The sight of all those nice +cakes was almost as good as a feed--but not quite! I espied one, plain +and large but tasty-looking. I valued it at twenty-five cents. "Well, +it'll last a long time," I thought, and entered meekly to inquire the +price. "Five cents," replied the lady of the counter. "Done! It's mine, +_all of it_!" + +Long live Lebanon! + +A few miles out, I halted near a bridge under which ran a little stream +of crystal water. It was a treat to be out of the glare of the baking +sun, so I sat down on the bank underneath the bridge and settled down +in earnest to a sumptuous dinner. The bill of fare was as follows:-- + +_Hors d'oeuvres_ Gâteau de Lebanon (varié). +_Consommé_ Eau Naturelle. +_Entrée_ Gâteau de Lebanon. +_Plat du jour_ Ditto. +_Légumes_ Ditto. +_Dessert_ Ditto. +_Wines_ Vin blanc d'Adam (direct + from the distillery). + +And oh, what a meal was there, my countrymen! There was enough and to +spare. The cooking was excellent, the service irreproachable, and there +were no gratuities. + +After a leisurely half-hour I stuffed what little cake I couldn't +contain into the tool-box, took one last, lingering draught from the +cool crystal stream, and again kicked Lizzie into a rattle. + +Once more towards Cincinnati! Two hours only, now, I reminded myself, +and all the trees and birds in hearing. Gradually those two hours +became shorter as mile after weary mile rattled past. Sure enough, in +about the time I had reckoned the pot-holes in the road grew larger and +the ruts deeper, a sure sign of approaching civilization. Then a huge +signboard appeared, "CINCINNATI, THE QUEEN CITY OF THE WEST. +Make your home in Cincinnati." + +The Cincinnati Speedway was passed on the right, and after a couple of +miles or more I struck tram-lines. The reader can well imagine how glad +and relieved I felt when I spotted trams and tram-lines, those things +which in normal life I rightly detest and abhor. Whereas once upon +a time I considered them to be the motorist's greatest enemy, I now +smiled upon them with friendly gaze. + +By the time I was actually on the outskirts of the town, I was "baked +to a frizzle." And such a thirst! For three days I had been amassing a +good thirst. Ohio mud is not really a good beverage. It might perhaps +"put one over" the "near" beer that I have tasted in various American +towns, but that's not to be wondered at. The man who first called it +"near" beer wasn't much of a judge of distance! Never could I remember +having been so hot, so thirsty, and so fed up, all in one. I pulled up +at the first drug store and literally squandered twenty-five cents in +an orgy of ice-cream sodas. I took the precaution to retain ten cents, +however, "in case anything turned up." + +At about half-past four WE ARRIVED. A wealth of meaning rests +in those two words. My friend Steve heard the noise as he sat reading +on the verandah of 3,450 Clifton Avenue. "That can't be Shep. That's +somebody wheeling a lawn-mower," he said to himself without looking-up, +and went on with his book. But when the lawn-mower had overrun itself +and turned round and came back and continued indefinitely to lawn-mow +outside the same 3,450, he looked up and saw that it was indeed a +motor-cycle or, at any rate, the unmistakable remnants of one. When he +saw the rider, he thought: "No, that can't be Shep after all; that's +the dustman." + +But fact will always triumph over fiction. In the same way soap, +thank Heaven, will always triumph over dirt. But what a relief to be +once again in a comfortable house, that could almost be considered +"home," and once more to know the joys of a good hot bath and feel the +luxurious embrace of clean clothes again! + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +CINCINNATI AND ONWARDS + + +I spent in all twelve days in Cincinnati. They were twelve happy days; +days of leisure, days of interesting experiences, followed by days of +longing to be on the road again. + +The first of July, 1919, will live in the mind of every free-born +American citizen as the day when Prohibition became law throughout the +entire States. Not by design, but by coincidence, was it also the date +of my departure from my friends in Cincinnati to explore the "perils" +of the West. My sojourn there was brought to a sudden close by the +astounding discovery that Lizzie's overhaul was completed. I had a few +warm things to observe when I was presented with the repair bill. It +amounted to a mere seventy-five dollars, half of which represented the +alleged value of the somewhat indifferent labours of a more indifferent +mechanic and a small boy. On the various occasions when I had visited +the shop, the mechanic was generally conspicuous by his absence, and +were it not for the occasional activities of the small boy, who seemed +to delight in "salivating" at frequent intervals on every available +inch of the floor surrounding Lizzie's remains, I feel inclined to +think that I should even now be enjoying myself in Cincinnati. The +other half of the bill represented sundry replacements which, to my way +of thinking, should have been made free under the firm's guarantee, +which had still three-fourths of its term to expire. After much +argument, the proprietor and myself agreed to differ on this point. + +The early afternoon witnessed my departure. The kindly attentions of +mine hostess had provided me with good things for the journey. Meat +sandwiches in boxes; fresh butter in tins; fruit and nuts galore. +Little packages were squeezed in here and big ones strapped on there. +Odd corners and crevices revealed an unsuspected orange or banana and +hard-boiled eggs or biscuits in twos and threes lurked amongst the +shirts and socks. + +With a light heart I spun down the beautiful, well-paved avenues +that set at defiance the rigid, straight-edge avenues of more modern +American cities. I hummed over the cobble-stones of the lesser streets +and swung past trams and over bridges and was soon speeding along the +road to Indianapolis, thinking like a true pessimist that Lizzie didn't +feel as well as I had hoped, and that I should be hung up again at a +not far-distant date. + +In America, in the east, it is the easiest thing in the world to take +the wrong road. Moreover it is generally the most difficult thing to +find out whether one is on the right road or not. I have no objection +to make when roads in towns and villages will run either north and +south or east and west, because for town life this arrangement spells +efficiency. In the country, however, the _raison d'être_ of these +chess-board roads is somewhat obscure. When combined with old-time +roads that originally followed goat-paths or sheep-tracks, its effect +is confusing. But when taken to the extreme, and one finds the main +highways connecting large cities abound with sharp right-angle turns at +every few miles, sometimes going north to make up a little latitude, +then continuing west, then returning south to lose the latitude gained, +and afterwards continuing west again, the result is ridiculous and +sometimes exasperating; very often two, three, four, or more roads run +parallel and only a few yards distant, all leading to the same place. +Sometimes they lead to different places. Sometimes they lead nowhere at +all. Sign-posts are not popular anywhere in the United States. Instead +the roads are identified by painting every third or fourth or tenth +or _n_th telegraph pole with different colours. When properly carried +out, this principle is a very commendable one, and without it travel +would be absolutely impossible. But when followed only imperfectly, or +when the colours become faded and obliterated, so that one trail can be +easily mistaken for another, the traveller has many troubles and trials +ahead. + +I had ample moral consolation, therefore, for completely losing my way +only ten miles out of Cincinnati, and wasted a full hour in trying to +get on the right "pike" without going back. + +Incidentally the system of decorating telegraph poles in accordance +with the trail they follow has its humorous side. There are, all told, +over a hundred different trails or "National Highways" in different +parts of the States, and each one is supposed to have its distinctive +sign. Thus the "Pike's Peak Ocean-to-Ocean Highway" is identified by a +circle of scarlet above a circle of white, and the "Lincoln Highway" +by circles of red, white, and blue. Sometimes, as in the cases of the +"Blackhawk Trail" and "Mackinaw Indian Trail," the sign is of a more +or less complex nature, including the profile of an Indian's head, for +instance. The humour of the situation will be apparent when a single +stretch of road coincides with say four or five separate trails. Each +telegraph pole is truly a thing of beauty and a joy for ever, with its +inscriptions, circles, squares, profiles, bales of cotton, etc., etc., +painted on in various colours from top to bottom! + +In large towns and cities where several trails meet, it requires the +quintessence of alertness and deduction to find one's way by the +telegraph poles, which, save for a few exceptions, represent the only +means of identification. Strange, in a country using twenty times the +number of cars per head found in any other country in the world, that +facilities for using them should be so meagre as at times to be almost +prehistoric! + +It is strange also that some of the roads that were constructed even in +modern times were the achievement of personal enterprise and are even +now "boosted" and advertised by their "promotors." An outstanding case +is that of the "Pike's Peak Highway" just mentioned, which is one of +the three trails that cross the Continent from east to west. This road +boasts a President, three Vice-Presidents, and a Secretary-Treasurer! +Between them these worthy gentlemen are responsible for the proper +maintenance of the road (experience compels a sarcastic smile), and +for the furnishing of information to travellers thereon, etc. Where +the money comes from I wot not, unless it be from the various motoring +clubs in the country. In a booklet, published apparently by them, it is +described as "The Appian Way of America." Permit me to quote passages +from this remarkable publication:-- + +"Increased attention is this year being focussed on the 'See America' +idea, and motorists planning a trans-continental trip will naturally +select the route of greatest scenic and historic interest. That is +why the discriminating tourist will travel over the Pike's Peak +Ocean-to-Ocean Highway, the improved central route from the Atlantic +to the Pacific coast. From New York it follows the National Old Trails +Road to Indianapolis; from that city to Salt Lake City, it has its +own DISTINCTIVE ORGANISATION; and west of Salt Lake City it +follows the line of the Lincoln Highway. History places the stamp of +approval on this as the LOGICAL trans-continental Highway. +Etc., etc. (pages of it).... The trip has no dreariness and no +monotony.... (More pages)." + +Never was such a grossly misleading impression of ease, comfort, and +luxury perpetrated upon an unsuspecting Englishman! It was well said +that the pen is mightier than the sword. If ever again I find myself +so utterly demented as to motor-cycle across the United States before +proper roads have been constructed, may Heaven preserve me from "The +Appian Way of America"! + +The reader may think that I am dwelling unduly on the subject of roads, +but I do so at this juncture because it was a subject which now became +of increasing magnitude. Practically the last sign of paved road of +any kind between this point and the Pacific Coast (some 2,500 miles +away) would be encountered at Indianapolis, and from there onwards +were universally the execrable "dirt" roads that so seriously threaten +not only the comfort but the safety of motor-cycling. I was not even +disappointed at the outlook, because I came to America without even +expecting any form of trail or route across its entirety to be at my +disposal. But I feel the natural resentment of the Englishman when I am +led to believe that there is a luxurious "highway" ahead, only to find +an aggravated series of dust-heaps, mud-pools, and cow-paths! + +The road, however, to Indianapolis was not of the "Appian Way" variety. +It was comparatively good in places, and ran for many miles along the +valley of the Miami River, amidst beautiful scenery of ever-changing +variety. After a few miles, the Ohio-Indiana boundary was crossed, and +here, as many times afterwards, I was struck by the apparently sudden +change of landscape, the same as the home tourist can almost always +discern by the "feel" of the country whether he is in England or Wales, +no matter if he be without his map for reference. I do not mean that +either Ohio or Indiana is particularly mountainous. On the other hand, +the latter is on the whole somewhat flat, as if in preparation for the +weary stretches of monotonous prairie that are to be encountered the +more one travels westward until the Rockies are reached. + +I made little headway that afternoon, and at 10.30 in the evening I +was still some distance from Indianapolis, the capital of the State. +I therefore looked around as best I could in the pitch-darkness, with +only my lights as a guide, for a likely spot for my night's abode. +Water is a _sine qua non_ for the camping vagrant, and when I came +to a large steel bridge I decided that that was the place for me. It +evidently spanned a pretty big river, but it was so far below, or +seemed so far, I could not see the water. A lengthy reconnoitre from +the road led me to the edge of a field of corn whence I could hear the +river but could not see it for dense masses of vegetation. + +I propped Lizzie up on her stand and found to my dismay that when +the engine stopped the lights went out. Not feeling in the mood +for investigating the cause of the trouble, I was satisfied to keep +the engine running slowly as long as illumination was necessary in +unstrapping my baggage and "making" my bed. Then I set out to find the +river and enjoy the luxury of a wash. + +Easier said than done! I could find openings in the thick undergrowth +where I deemed the river should be, but could find no way of making +closer acquaintance with its waters. As I continued my search, the bank +suddenly gave way beneath me, and I was plunged up to the waist in the +river I had been so diligently seeking! + +My exit was more difficult to negotiate than my entrance. The bushes +and weeds on the banks were not strong enough to enable me to pull +myself out, but came away, roots and all, and left me sinking in the +muddy river-bed. I eventually extricated myself, however, and decided +to retire unwashed! Pulling off my soaking top-boots was a herculean +task, and this done, I hung my wet breeches on a tree to dry in the +warm summer night. + +I passed a splendid night and awoke with the dawn, only to find my +clothes wetter than they were the night before, thanks to a heavy dew. +Such conditions, I reflected, were of mere trifling importance in the +life of a bona fide tramp, and I was soon humming along once more +through the fresh, crisp morning air. + +We arrived in Indianapolis at breakfast time and with a hearty +appetite. I remember Indianapolis chiefly as a city with long wide +streets full of cobble-stones, tram-lines, and traffic policemen. My +first duty was to take Lizzie to see the vet. I didn't like the sound +of her at all, and she seemed but a rickety shadow of her former self. +I was taking no chances now. As if by instinct we went "right there." +The Henderson agent took Lizzie under his protecting wing, and while I +settled down to consume a hefty breakfast of cantaloupe, puffed rice, +and coffee, he took her for a spin along the few miles of concrete road +that I had left behind with such regret. + +"Waal, I guess there ain't very much wrong with her, boy," was the +verdict, although he did not seem over-exuberant about it. + +"How far you goin'?" he added. + +"Just to the end of the road," I replied. + +"Hm, and a tidy ride too, I'll say so. I've done it, but not on one o' +them." + +Then, after meditation, he added, "But I think she'll take you there. +Give my love to 'Frisco, won't you, boy?" + +I promised, paid him a dollar, and left to track down the offices of +the local branch of the "3 A." Club, or Automobile Association of +America, whom, I was informed, I must see before going any further, to +inquire about the roads ahead. Dirt roads, it will be understood, vary +with the weather. Hardly ever does the English motorist hear of a road +being washed away with the rain, but the idea of its being borne away +on the wings of the wind would indeed appear strange to him! + +I found the "3 A." Club located at one of the large hotels, all alive +with "bell-boys" and commissionaires and elevators. I was greeted by +the hotel staff with haughty aloofness. "Put that gink outside," I +could imagine the desk clerk saying to the hall-porter. But I was being +whisked up the elevator to the umpteenth floor before he had the chance. + +At the "3 A." Club office I was greeted most cordially. The gentleman +at the desk was a human encyclopædia of roads and places. Beneath +the dirt and dust he believed he perceived some person of high rank, +a brigadier or something, and my brown tunic and field-boots must +have borne out this assumption. However, that may be, he certainly +did his best to give me every assistance. But when I told him I was +motor-cycling to the Pacific and wanted to know which was the best road +to take, his jaw dropped suddenly. There were two alternative routes to +Kansas City, the "Pike's Peak" through Springfield and the "National +Old Trails Highway" through St. Louis. Which should I take? + +"Well, sir, the National Old Trail is impossible just now. The rains +have been very heavy and there are several places where you couldn't +possibly get through. And as for the other--well, I shall have to +think." + +Which he did. He hummed and ha'd and stroked his chin and hummed and +ha'd again, as if struggling with some momentous problem. He spread out +maps in rows before him and followed the route with his finger. Then +silence. + +After a minute or two of this, in which the merits of "washouts" and +hold-ups and detours by the score were being weighed together in his +troubled brain, he spoke: + +"Yes, sir, I think you can get through"--and, more deliberately--"I +_think_ you can get through. Yes, it's a good road," he added. + +I learnt then for the first time one outstanding principle in the +road-study of America. I confirmed it on innumerable occasions later. +There are two classes of roads and two only. They are good roads and +bad roads. Any road, ANYWHERE, in the whole of the United +States of America (and, I presume, her Colonies as well) is a "good" +road if you can "get through." The remainder are bad. + +I thanked my benefactor and accepted sheaves of maps and guide-books +for which he would take no payment. He was indeed the quintessence of +obligation. I on my part was the quintessence of gratitude. + +"Now for the fun," I chuckled as I kicked Lizzie to a roar and set out +for the highway with red- and white-circled telegraph poles. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +INDIANA AND ILLINOIS + + +The first bit of fun was not far ahead. In places the road was passable +if one ignored the six-inch layer of loose sand and soil that covered +it. The country was flat and uninteresting. Diversion was occasionally +encountered in the form of side-slips and here and there an unexpected +spill. The quicker I went the easier I got through, as the soil did +not cling to the wheels so much and hinder steering. At thirty it was +almost impossible to maintain balance. At thirty-five it was tolerable, +and at forty it was comparatively simple. + +Now and then I would pass a kind of harrow the width of over half the +road and drawn along by a team of horses. The function of this was to +break up the big lumps of solid mud formed by the recent rains. After +this would follow a similar team of horses dragging a "grader"--a kind +of snow-plough arrangement which scraped the surface flat and shovelled +the surplus sand and mud-lumps into the side. In these districts the +farmers are held by law individually responsible for the condition of +the roads their farms adjoin, and the process of grading is expected +to be carried out within three or four days after the rain. When the +farmers are busy with their crops this doesn't get done, and when they +aren't, it sometimes does, according, I think, to whether the farmer +is a sheriff or a justice of the peace and has to set an example to +others. Fortunately all farmers are motorists as well; they have to be +able to get about, so when they wish to travel, they grade the roads +for their own use if for no more altruistic object. + +Once I was passing one of these road-ploughs drawn by a team of three +horses abreast, which took up most of the road and showed not the +slightest intention of drawing in to the side. In endeavouring to pass +it, I struck at too small an angle the huge ridge of solid mud-lumps +that it had formed. I was going fast, of course. The handlebar was +wrenched out of my hands and I was thrown with great force over it and +on to the bank at the side. Lizzie herself lay roaring on her side in +the dirt. The horses took fright and galloped off. The only damage done +showed itself in some nasty cuts and scratches, some small areas of +skin missing from different places, and a few bent levers and controls. +From past experience I had learnt that in all such cases the clips and +brackets and sharp corners of Lizzie's profile ALWAYS seemed +to be in the path of my flight over her handlebars. + +A handkerchief bound tightly round the cuts, a few adjustments made, +and on we go with smiling faces, only to overtake the wretched thing +again! + +After twenty or thirty miles of this, we came to mud in earnest--mud +measured not by the inch in depth, but by the yard. Never was it soft +and squishy and respectable, but always baked rock-hard into ugly +contorted shapes that simply defied progress on two wheels alone. +The diabolical effect had been heightened by the passing of numerous +cars through the roads when the surface was still plastic, and great +ruts and cracks and ridges were thrown up at every point between +the road-boundaries, each one representing an eternal struggle to +"get through." When the fierce sun came out and poured down for days +unceasing upon such ugliness as this, the hideous surface was as if +petrified by its glare, and the efforts of a "grader" would be futile +to alter in the slightest degree its abominable condition. + +Riding was out of the question. It was haulage work that had to be +done, and many times when I got into a huge solidified "crevasse," +I had to leave the machine standing in it on the tubes of its +cradle-frame and proceed ahead to chip the edges down until the wheels +would reach to the bottom again. + +Anyone who has stood on the "Glacier des Bossons," looked upwards +towards the summit of Mont Blanc, and seen the contorted, fantastic +shapes that the ice assumes as it swells over the ridges in its path, +can perhaps imagine the same effect on a smaller scale applied to the +dirt roads of Indiana. + +Fortunately there were stretches of road, generally when there was a +slight gradient, where the surface was well-drained, hard, and flat, +and going was good. But invariably at the foot of every slope, or at +the dip between two hills, there was a stretch of excruciating "agony" +that would reduce the most defiant motor-cyclist to submission. + +Thus it was for eighty or ninety miles. The truth began to dawn on +me that a fellow has to be a "tough guy" to motor in these parts. +Sometimes I would stop and rest awhile to let an occasional car get by. +It was funny to see how they all went! The big heavy touring car would +roll along as if to devour all that came its way. It would meet a nasty +patch and with broken dignity would heave and sigh from side to side +as it slowly crawled on bottom gear over the ridges and furrows; and +then it would rear proudly into the air as it surmounted some huge lump +of solid mud and suddenly flop down with a dull thud on the bottom of +the springs as it plunged into the hollow beyond. One could hear every +joint groan under the strain and could sometimes see the bottom of the +engine scrape ridges in the chunks of earth and watch the little bits +knocked off an unfriendly obstruction as the back axle dragged its +weary way along. + +And then perchance would come some cheeky Ford, the essence of +impudence as opposed to the dignity of its wealthier brethren. With a +hop, skip, and a jump, it would scramble over the furrows, swinging +gaily from side to side, wagging its tail in the air and rattling in +every sinew as only a Ford knows how! But the "Flivvers" got through +easier than any. + +The worst patch I struck was near the small town of Hume. I have never +seen in the space of 200 yards a more apt imitation of a volcanic +lava-bed. The thick mud of two days before had been churned up into the +most fantastic shapes that ever a main highway has taken. Every square +inch of the ninety-foot-wide road bore signs of the passage of some +vehicle or other. Some of the ruts were so deep that the machine rested +on the engine and the frame and not on the wheels at all. Pushing it +anywhere but in one of the best ruts was impossible. When the rut got +too deep, I had to lift up the back of the machine bodily and wheel it +foot by foot, while the rut took the front wheel whither it listed. +Here and there were signs where car-drivers, in similar predicaments, +but a day or two before, when the mud was not yet baked quite hard, +had shovelled away large quantities of the road to allow the engine +and chassis to clear. Half-way through was a large hole, deep and +broad enough to allow a small car to be hidden therein from view. In +this hole the mud was still soft and plastic. A good Samaritan of the +road had procured a piece of old corrugated iron from somewhere and +propped it against two poles to warn any others who might follow of its +presence. + +Lifting four-cwt. Lizzie across this whole stretch took three-quarters +of an hour all told, and at the end I was faint with exhaustion. The +sun was never hotter and I never perspired more, not even in the middle +of the Mohave Desert in California, where the thermometer rises up to +140 degrees or more! I begged a glass of milk from a farmhouse a mile +farther on, and thanked God that He made cows and that I was still +alive to appreciate them! + +And thus we toiled and thus we spun for many miles until late in the +afternoon, when I came to parts where the sun had not yet had time to +do its work. Every inch of the road was thick, black, slimy mud; mud +that stinks with a smell peculiar to itself alone; mud that clings to +the tyres and wedges in the forks and fouls the chains and blocks the +wheels; mud indeed that sticketh closer than a brother. I stopped at +a ramshackle little village of a few dozen shops and houses, all made +of wood, and boasting the name of "Murdock," to partake of afternoon +tea. Outside an old rickety "store" (this term includes any conceivable +kind of retail shop in America), I saw a notice: "HENRY T. HODGES, +JUSTICE OF THE PEACE; DRY GOODS STORE; GENERAL MERCHANDISE; POST +OFFICE; REAL ESTATE; REFRESHMENTS." + +[Illustration: AN AWKWARD STRETCH OF ROAD IN INDIANA.] + +[Illustration: THE MIDNIGHT COUCH.] + +Henry T. Hodges beamed on me benignly from behind a pile of preserved +fruit tins as I entered his gloomy establishment. + +"See here, dad, I want a good meal," I said; "money's no object. Get +me?" + +"Sure; an' have ye come far, brother?" + +"I should reckon about a thousand miles to-day. Dandy roads you've got +in these parts, dad." + +"Aye, but you'd 'a seen 'em when we 'ad the rains, brother; they wuz so +mighty slick the hottymobiles sunk right down in 'em and 'ad to be dug +out wi' a shovel and dragged along wi' a team of four 'osses." + +"Why, I shouldn't have thought there were four horses in Murdock," I +replied. + +"Aye, an' I know there is, brother, 'cause they're my 'osses." + +"Um! Guess you make a pretty good living out of them, don't you, dad?" + +"You've said it, brother. Ten dollars a time is my charge, and if a +chap don't pay I jest leave 'im there till 'e does!" + +"Well, what about this meal, dad? I'm mighty hungry--and, say, who's +the road commissioner about here?" + +He essayed no answer, but disappeared hurriedly to boil the tea. I had +no doubt now who the road commissioner was! + +After leaving the "Store" of Henry T. Hodges, J.P., I did another +twenty miles or so until dark, and sought out a comfortable secluded +spot near the road, but far enough from it to avoid the smell of +it, and settled down for the night. Mosquitoes were the only source +of worry now. Otherwise this roadside sleeping was getting quite a +commonplace event. + +Up at dawn in the morning! On the road once again; labouring, pushing, +hauling, heaving, lifting, cleaning off the mud, speeding a mile or two +and then more labouring and more pushing. + +At breakfast-time I reached Decatur, a flourishing town of 20,000 or so +inhabitants, and had breakfast at a "get-fed-quick" eat-house where you +sit on a stool in front of the counter and the man at the range behind +fries you a mutton steak, bakes the "waffles," or poaches the eggs as +per your desire. + +Then on again towards Springfield, the capital of Illinois State. The +mud changes to sand and the sand to dust. More spills, more cuts, more +bruises. The country as flat and uninteresting as they make it. More +right-angle bends, more losing of the way and more frizzling in the +sun. Two villages are passed in forty miles. One has a population of +417 and the other 59. + +At 11 a.m. we draw into Springfield, hot, tired, dusty, and sore. +Springfield is a mass of roads, trams, telegraph poles, and people. I +leave Lizzie leaning against the kerb and go for an ice-cream soda; +when I return, Lizzie is no longer visible. Instead there is a large +crowd. They are all examining something. Those on the outside elbow +their way to the middle. Those in the middle try to keep them out. The +passers-by wonder what it's all about and stop to see. They in turn try +to make their way to the middle. Many are disappointed and pass on. The +traffic cop, seeing the crowd, strolls over to see what's wrong. + +When he had moved the crowd away, I got astride Lizzie's saddle and +rode away, amid murmurs of astonishment. + +"Come quite a ways, I reckon." + +"That's the kind of bird to go travelling on." + +"Looks as though he's seen some mud somewhere." + +"Look, Bill, he's got 'igh boots on like they have in the movies!" + +"Ah, that's what 'e is, 'e's a dolgarn movie actor," etc., etc. + +All the trails in America seem to go through Springfield, Ill. +Consequently the telegraph poles and tram poles were a mass of +hieroglyphics. It took a few minutes to get into Springfield. But it +took the best part of two hours to get out of it satisfactorily. Once I +thought I was well away, but found that for ten miles I had followed a +trail that had white stripes on a red background instead of red stripes +on a white background, or something of the kind. + +Jacksonville was the next town, some forty miles away. There are six +smaller towns on the way. I don't remember passing six, but my map +vouches for this number. Their respective populations, taken from the +said map, are as follows:--Riddle Hill, 25; Berlin, 251; New Berlin, +690; Alexander, 200; Orleans, 38; and Arnold, 15. So America is not +full up yet. But fancy showing a village of fifteen inhabitants on +the map! If it were in Arizona instead of Illinois they would have +called it Arnold "City." Here are some more names, taken at random from +the map, to show the endless variety that the American cartographer +has drawn upon:--"Daisy," "Whitehall," "Quiver," "Cuba," "Golden," +"Siloam," "Time," "Pearl," "Summum," "Birmingham" (population 76), +"Illinois City" (population 80), "Bible Grove" (population 10), +"Enterprise" (population 7). + +After Jacksonville the road seemed to change its mind. It refused to +be a road any longer. It turned instead into a sea-beach and dodged +in and out, here and there, to evade the approaching traveller. +Everywhere was to be seen white sand. It lay feet deep on the trail, +making progress almost impossible. It covered all the vegetation at +the roadside, and it filled the air as well. Here for the first time I +encountered the type of road that can disappear with the vagaries of +the wind. It was easy to imagine that in æons of time this self-same +road would help to form some great geological strata deposited in the +Gulf of Mexico or elsewhere. The country became hilly and thickly +wooded, and sometimes the trail would narrow down to just a few feet in +width and then just as quickly open out to fifty or sixty. The trees +grew thicker, the sand grew thinner, the trail dodged around boulders +and trees, shot up little sandy slopes, and then, all of a sudden, +without any warning whatever, stopped at the bank of a great wide +silent river. + +It was the Illinois River, a tributary of the great Mississippi, which +itself was only fifty miles away. About a couple of hundred yards wide, +it was navigated by a ferry-boat of unknown antiquity pulled across the +river by a cable wound round a drum. Every man, woman, and child, and +every vehicle that crosses America by the Pike's Peak Highway, swells +the funds of the man who owns that ferry-boat. + +"Which is the road now?" I asked him when we eventually reached the +other side. I could see no signs of any continuation of the trail. He +had better eyes than I, however. + +"Go straight ahead; you can't miss it." + +There was certainly visible a little pathway that scrambled up the +bank and then wound in and out among the trees, and as I could see +nothing else, I followed it. Sure enough it led to "Valley City" +(population 52), and thence onwards, through "New Salem" and "Barry" +towards "Hannibal" on the Mississippi River. + +The Mississippi! Long had I conjured up visions of this mighty river of +over 4,000 miles total length that cuts through the United States from +north to south, and drains nearly 1-1/2 million square miles of land! +I had imagined its vast breadth and followed in my fancy the great, +silent, moving river as it flowed from west to east and north to south +through ever-changing scenery and ever-widening banks. And here I was +within a few miles of it! The thought was almost absurd. + +Just when the sun was about to set the road made one more swerve to the +left. The trees and the surrounding country fell away as if by magic, +and there was nothing beyond, save a massive bridge of steel. Beneath +and from horizon to horizon flowed the majestic river. + +The other end of the bridge was probably some 3,000 feet away in the +town of Hannibal and the State of Missouri. Hannibal bristles with +statues, tablets, posters, placards, and picture-postcards. They all +have the same theme for a subject--"Mark Twain." The Hanniballians, if +such they are called, are just as bad. I believe it is not possible +for a stranger to be in Hannibal for five minutes without being told +that Mark Twain was born there. If the "clerk" at the refreshment +bar doesn't tell you, the man at the post office does. If the young +"fellar" who pumps a couple of gallons of "gas" into your tank forgets +to tell you, the old girl at the fruit-shop doesn't. They must have a +secret code in Hannibal whereby they arrange these things. And I will +guarantee there aren't two out of every dozen picture-postcards on sale +in Hannibal that don't show Mark Twain's birthplace or his cave or his +statue or his ass or his ox or something that he either did or did not +"immortalize." + +Seeking a quiet little spot by the river where I could spend the night +and fulfil one of my long-cherished hopes--to bathe in the River +Mississippi, I turned down a little road that ran along the bank and +reconnoitred the country. To my dismay a railway ran between the road +and the river, almost at the very water's edge. Nothing daunted, and +hoping that it would sooner or later swerve away and leave me in peace +with my river, I continued for miles, long after it was dark, but with +no success. The road itself was on a ledge high above the railway, +and the railway was on a ledge built some six or eight feet above the +river. Eventually I left Lizzie at the roadside, camouflaged her with +leaves and branches, and scrambled down with my bags over the ledge on +to the bank below. I found a comfortable little spot about ten feet +from the rails and laid my bed. And oh, what a glorious bathe I had in +the river! + +It was the eve of July 4th, the American "Day of Independence." Sounds +of revellers from far away were wafted over the calm, silent waters. +Now and then would be heard the faint swish of a canoe as it glided +past in the darkness of the night, and soft music crept up the river +from time to time, now clear, now faint, as if from its dark and mystic +depths. + +I tucked myself under the blanket feeling like a good Christian that +night, with never a worry in the world--a world that was good and kind +and comfortable always. + +Nevertheless I should have liked to know when a train would be coming +past to disturb my slumbers. + +Just as I was dozing over, I heard footsteps along the rails. They came +closer and closer, but I could see nothing. The night was pitch-dark. +As the footsteps came opposite to me, I made out the form of a man +against the starlit sky. He did not see me. + +"Say, bo, can you tell me how many trains pass here to-night?" I asked. + +He jumped as if struck in the back. + +"Only a couple, brother," he replied to where the air had spoken, +"one of them in about half an hour and the other about one in the +morning;--but they won't worry you," he added. + +Sure enough in half an hour's time I heard the distant rumble of a +train. I began to wonder if I had not rolled any closer to the rails +than when I lay down. The earth shook and a red glare appeared in the +distance, and with a mighty roar the huge train came thundering through +an opening in the trees. Although I knew I was at a safe distance, the +feeling of impending annihilation swooped suddenly down upon me. "Don't +be an ass," said I, "what's the use of getting the wind up?" And the +next second it seemed that the rushing torrent of steel and fire was +but an inch from my head. Clatter bang-thump, clatter-bang-thump, for +twenty long seconds, and the intruder was gone. In another minute not a +sound broke the silence of the midsummer night. + +Thinking what an excellent test of self-control it would be to pitch +my bed between the rails, but disinclined to do so on account of the +possibility of a cow-catcher being in front of the trains, I rolled +over into heavy slumber. + +In half an hour I was awake again and the same process was repeated. I +deemed then that I should be left in peace for the night. But my friend +had not reckoned on the freight trains. Only the passenger trains were +of account to him! + +Regularly every half-hour they thundered past. At dawn I had counted +thirteen in all. I resolved not to sleep on a railway embankment again, +even though it be in company with the Mississippi. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +STORMY WEATHER IN MISSOURI + + +Hannibal is a nice, clean, respectable place; were I an American +tourist I would call it a "cute little city." + +I found an eating-house with a tempting smell around it, and ordered a +hearty breakfast. After polishing off this meal, I mounted Lizzie and +started off once more. + +We were now in Missouri, the State of the small farmer. Not that the +farms are so very small, but they are not on so large a scale as +further on in the west, where the hundred-square-mile ranch is the +order of the day. + +Again the scenery experiences a quick change; the country becomes hilly +and rough; one sees maize growing almost everywhere and very often +pigs (or hogs as they are termed in the States) turned out to pasture. +Nevertheless there is much uncleared and uncultivated land to be seen; +the towns and villages are clean, modern, and well laid out, and all +give an air of prosperity and plenty. Every farmer has his car, and +it is generally a Ford; youngsters of twelve and fourteen can be seen +driving them, and generally with as much skill as their parents, if not +more. + +But for all its hills and vales and the luxuriance of its natural +beauty, Missouri has one great drawback. There is a very big fly in +the Missouri ointment--RAIN. And when it rains in Missouri, +it rains properly, not in tantalizing little showers as it does in +England. It is as though the whole sky had burst its water-mains. It +falls not in inches but feet; not for hours but for days. Then suddenly +the sun breaks out and scorches everything with renewed vigour. If +a car is out far from home when the rain comes, it generally has to +"stay put." The rain sinks into the road and so does the car. Every +car carries a set of chains for its wheels, but although they improve +matters slightly, they are often futile in ploughing through the +thick slime. Then come the teams of horses at five and ten and twenty +dollars a time to drag the unfortunate automobile to some garage where +it "lays up" until the rain has gone and the sun has dried the roads +sufficiently for further progress. + +Sometimes enterprising individuals do not wait for rain to bring +in the shekels. I have often heard of perfectly authentic cases of +a farmer deliberately flooding likely patches of the road and then +waiting patiently with his horses to drag out some unfortunate victim. +This seems absurd, but care is always taken to select a spot where it +cannot be definitely proved that natural conditions are not entirely +responsible for the result! + +In the early afternoon, after a hard ride from Hannibal, punctuated at +every village with a stop for the consumption of ice-cream, I reached +a small town called "Bucklin." No sooner was I there than a huge black +cloud appeared suddenly in the sky and a terrific windstorm rose which +blew everything that was not fixed to something in all directions. For +half an hour it raged. The air was thick with dust, leaves and bits of +paper. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the wind subsided, and rain +commenced in torrents. So fast did it fall and so heavy were the drops +that the surface of the road was beaten into a froth which hovered +all the time a few inches above the road itself. Even to walk across +it was a test of skill; so slimy was the mud that one's feet slid +aimlessly about in any direction but the one desired. For this reason +concrete pathways are invariably provided so that pedestrians can +move with comparative ease and can leave their homes and visit anyone +anywhere in the town without actually touching the mud at all. These +concrete pathways naturally have to cross the road in places, and when +the road surrounding them is washed away, as very often happens, the +result to a passing vehicle can be imagined. + +Further progress being out of the question that day, I hied me to the +only hotel in the place and prepared to while away the days that were +to follow in writing letters, studying an obsolete almanac, and eating +bad food. + +It rained in a continual deluge all that day, all night and all next +morning. At midday it stopped with a bump, the sun came out with +another, and the birds began to sing again. At three I ventured forth +with Lizzie. I had not gone a dozen yards when the back wheel slipped +sideways round to the front and left me reposing in the half-baked mud. +Back again for another hour's wait while the broiling sun did its work. +Next time I got as far as the outskirts of the town before I decided +to turn back. After another hour we started out to do or die, come +what might. During the remainder of the day until dark we covered ten +miles, going hard all the time. When I was not extricating myself from +a spicy bit of quagmire, I was poking semi-hard mud out of the wheels +and mudguards. + +On one occasion I came to a sudden dip in the road, followed by an +equally sudden rise. As usual there was an uninviting "slough of +despond" in the hollow. After trying two or three different ruts in +an effort to "get through," giving up each one in turn as hopeless, +and pushing back again to where still another rut branched off from +the one I was in, I eventually worked my way through. The struggle up +the slope on the other side was a formidable one and was being slowly +accomplished by a combination of bottom-gear driving, pushing, lifting, +and "paddling." Just before the summit was reached I was thrown by a +steep furrow into the ditch at the roadside, breathless, exhausted, and +extremely bad-tempered. + +As I was extracting myself, a young man in shirt-sleeves strolled +leisurely over, hands in pockets, from a stationary car a little +further on. When I had safely extricated my right leg from under the +machine and hauled Lizzie on to her wheels again, the stranger spoke. + +"Say, fella, does that front cylinder get hot? I've heard say that's +the weak point about them four-cylinder motorsickles." + +Here follows a flow of language from self entirely unprintable. The +stranger opens his eyes, whistles softly, then adds, as if to turn the +subject: + +"Where you from?" + +He remained with his hands in his pockets staring at my diminishing +form. He was still there when I looked over my shoulder half a mile +further on. He is probably there now! + +As time went on, black clouds appeared in the sky; the sun went in; the +wind rose, and a repetition of the events of the day before commenced +just as I arrived in the small town of "Wheeling." The only thing to +do was to eat ices until the climatic conditions adjusted themselves. +This took the best part of two hours. Once again I sallied forth with +Lizzie. This time in the short space of five yards I reposed gently +but thoroughly in the Missouri mud, much to the amusement of the +population, who had all turned out to witness my departure. Again I +tried and again I fell. The whole machine seemed to act as though it +were made of jelly. I gave it up on the third attempt. + +"Try the railway," jeered the village comedian, pointing to +a level-crossing in the distance. This amused the onlookers +"considerable." For myself, I discerned a glimmer of wisdom in the +suggestion. + +"Look here, you guys," I retorted, "what about giving me a hand to push +this as far as the depot" (I never made the fatal mistake of referring +to it as a "station") "instead of looking on and grinning like a lot of +schoolboys?" + +It had its effect. Three or four volunteered at once. We all pushed; we +slithered to right and left; we slipped over each other and ourselves. +But we got there. + +Riding on the sleepers was hardly humorous, but it was better than the +road. They were not filled in and were very irregular. Consequently +progress was slow and a trifle disjointed. The "depot" was not far +away. The "line-boss" looked at me curiously, as though I were a +strange offshoot from some wayward train. + +"Many trains coming along this way?" I queried, wishing to know what I +should have to meet, as there was only a single track, double tracks +being seldom, if ever, laid in the States, and if one was unprepared +it might prove embarrassing to meet a train coming in the opposite +direction just in the middle of a tunnel or a bridge. American railway +bridges are remarkable for their narrowness. Very often the sleepers +themselves project into space, and never is there any track beyond +them. + +"You said it, brother," he replied, "dozens of 'em." "And what's more, +there's a couple of long tunnels just a mile away--look, you can see +the beginning--and beyond them there's a bridge pretty nigh half a mile +long--and trains is mighty funny things to play hide and seek with, y' +know!" + +I was of that opinion myself. As I looked, I saw a train emerge from +the tunnel ahead. I reflected that I should have been just about there +by now if I hadn't stopped. I went back to Wheeling. + +The next day I covered twenty miles in four hours and found myself back +in Wheeling again, but this time by another road. Nothing daunted, I +said nothing, clenched my teeth, and polished off another twenty until +dark. + +The day after I did better. The nett progress at the end of the +day's work was twenty-five miles instead of twenty. I arrived at the +conclusion that Missouri had one great advantage that I had hitherto +overlooked. It was an excellent place to get out of! + +On the next day I covered five miles in six hours, and although only +forty miles or so from Kansas City, which marks the commencement of the +historic Santa Fé Trail leading to the Pacific Coast, I made a solemn +vow that I would "ship" everything there by train at the next town. +The next town happened to be "Excelsior Springs," twenty miles further +on. The road improved considerably, and the comforting thought of +civilization at so short a distance urged me on and I broke that solemn +vow. I rode into Kansas City late that afternoon, a mass of bruises +from head to foot, just as the speedometer showed 1,919 miles from New +York. I ferreted out the Henderson agent and left Lizzie in his tender +keeping. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +RESULTS OF A BREAKDOWN + + +It took three days for me to find that the Kansas City I was in was not +the Kansas City I thought I was in. I took it for granted that Kansas +City would be in Kansas State. But it was not. _My_ Kansas City was in +Missouri, but after searching diligently at the post office for mail +that wasn't there, I found there was another Kansas City on the other +bank of the river. All good citizens of Kansas City, Mo., turn up their +noses at the mention of Kansas City, Kan.,--"no connection with the +firm opposite" sort of thing. + +Of the two, Kansas City, Mo., is by far the more commendable town. It +hustles and bustles just as every good American city should do. It is +exactly "one hundred per cent American." The advertisements in the +papers said so. I believe it, because any city that boasts of being +four times larger than it really is must be 100 per cent. American! +But I must give Kansas City its due. It represents the essence of +keenness and enterprise in business and farming circles. It has that +"breezy" air that is so healthy in city life, compared with the dull, +gloomy inertness so characteristic of most manufacturing towns, +especially here in England. Kansas City has some excellent streets and +some magnificent buildings, and has undoubtedly grown at a remarkable +rate during the last ten years. Being the last city of really large +dimensions that one meets until the Pacific Coast is reached, it is +the connecting link between the East and the Far West. Grain and farm +produce from the vast States of the West flow unceasingly through its +warehouses and stockyards. A network of railways concentrates to a +focus at Kansas City, railways bringing in and taking out millions of +tons of produce annually. + +The next day, when I visited the motor-cycle agency, Lizzie was +standing disconsolately where I had left her the day before. I begged, +entreated, exhorted, and threatened that she be given immediate +attention. I lied abominably to the manager that I was putting up a +record between the coasts and every minute was important. + +How could I expect to beat all existing records if they kept my machine +in dock for a week? I was promised that it would be started on "right +now." That term "right now" has a significance unknown to Europeans. It +is subtle and evasive, intangible and incomprehensible. It conveys a +sense of such utter obligation on the part of the speaker that one has +not the heart to query its exact purport. As far as I can ascertain, or +at any rate as far as I have experienced its application, it is more +similar to the French "tout de suite" than any other expression I can +identify, in that it might imply anything between the immediate present +and the indefinite future. + +Lizzie required several replacements, including a new set of bearings, +a cylinder and two gudgeon pins, these latter being broken in half at +the middle. The agent told me that they always were liable to break. If +they were put in upside-down, as he always fitted them, so that the oil +hole was at the bottom instead of the top, they would not break at all. +Further he hinted that my particular machine was turned out while a +good fat strike was in progress at the factory. + +"Well, you can stick it together so that it will take me to the coast +all right?" I queried anxiously. + +"Well, yes, I guess I can," was his studied reply. + +"Go right ahead then, boss, but do it quick! I'm running short of money +and can't afford to stay in your metropolis right here for the benefit +of my health." + +Being destined then to remain in Kansas City for four or five days +more, I found myself with ample leisure in which to collect my thoughts +and prepare for the journey through the "wild west" ahead. + +One result of my leisure was that I paid a visit to the editor of the +_Kansas City Star_. This is one of the most progressive newspapers in +the United States, and circulates everywhere in the West. The extent of +its circulation and the results of its progressiveness I was, however, +still to learn. + +The editor was found as usual at his desk in the middle of a large +room, surrounded by his myrmidons in typical American style. He greeted +me with extreme cordiality. "No need to tell you I'm English, I +suppose?" I said. + +"See that door over there?" (pointing to the one in the far distance +through which I had entered). "Well, I spotted you were an Englishman +the minute you came in there." + +I explained with complete humiliation that I was travelling across the +United States of America on a motor-cycle and wondered whether his +readers would be interested in the point of view of such a despicable +object as an English motor-cyclist on this great and wonderful country. +"Not for the love of the thing, you know," I added, "I don't see why I +shouldn't earn a dollar or two on the wayside." + +He pointed to a typewriter standing idle at a desk. "Let's have the +story right now, and give us something about roads. There's a big +movement just started to get good roads, so you can just hand out the +straight dope to everybody on the subject. Get me? Something good and +snappy." + +I explained that while no one was more eminently capable of writing +about American roads than myself, I had never graduated as a typist in +the course of my business career. I should, therefore, have to retire +and push the modest pen. + +"What! a business man who can't use a typewriter? I didn't know there +was such a thing," was his rejoinder. + +I let them have it about roads. I referred also to their commendable +system of arresting road-hogs. This with a few pro-American +embellishments such as "wonderful country," "indescribable beauty," +"inexhaustible wealth," etc. etc., rounded off the theme. + +My friend the editor not only rewarded me at the noble rate of a dime +a line (5_d._), thus assuring the hotel expenses for my stay in the +city, but also gave me about an hour of his valuable time in talking +about almost everything under the sun--mainly American. It is rather +surprising to an Englishman to find that practically any worthy +American business man, no matter how busy he may be or how valuable the +time lost thereby, will entertain a visitor for an incredible length of +time. If the visitor happens to be an Englishman, he is all the more +pleased to do so because then he can talk uninterruptedly about America +and what a wonderful country it is. All the noted men of Europe, I +learned, had been in the office and sat in that same chair. The editor +told me so. Lord Northcliffe spent all his leisure hours there while +in the States. So also did many other notorieties, some unknown to +me. Leastways, so the editor told me. I took his money and bade him +farewell. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE SANTA FÉ TRAIL + + +On the fifth day after my arrival in Kansas City all was in readiness +for my departure. There was another big bill to meet for Lizzie's +overhaul, but I had the satisfaction of knowing that the bearings had +all been replaced, as well as a few cylinders and pistons and things, +and that there was just a chance of getting to the coast before +something else went wrong. Once again I wrote polite letters to the +factory at Chicago, paid many dozen "green backs" over the counter, +and started off once more, this time with only thirty-five dollars in +pocket. Once again fate and the post office had been unkind. Not a +suggestion of anything was there at either of the post offices at any +of my calls thereon. Amid vague wonderings and oft repeated doubts +I promised myself a big cheque at Santa Fé, next stop. I was just +beginning to know the ins and outs of the postal service. + +The Santa Fé Trail is the oldest and most interesting highway in +America. Rather should it be said that the pioneers over what later +became known as the Santa Fé Trail were the first to leave permanent +marks on routes that have since become "highways" between the +Central-Western and the Far-Western States. In the days of the ox +team and prairie-schooner, the plains and mountains were crossed by +trails, usually along the lines of least resistance, keeping as close +as possible to bases of supplies and water. Travel over the Santa Fé +Trail began about 1822, starting from Little Rock, Arkansas (pronounced +Arkansaw), and following the Arkansas River west. A few years later, +this trail was superseded by a more permanent one going west from +Kansas City (then called Westport) to "Great Bend," a base situated, +as its name implies, on a great bend of the Arkansas River, and thence +to Santa Fé by a choice of two routes. An important trade with the +Spanish population of the south-west was early developed, reaching its +zenith in the '60s. This route, the one which I followed, has now been +marked a considerable part of the way by stone monuments erected by the +"Daughters of the American Revolution" and constituted the chief inroad +from the East to the Far West. Santa Fé itself, next to St. Augustine, +Florida, is the most ancient city in America, having been founded in +1605 by Spanish settlers on the site of a "pueblo" or Indian village of +far-distant origin. Naturally, therefore, it was the centre of trade +for years numbered by hundreds, and traders from afar brought their +goods and supplies in boats up the rivers as far as navigable and then +in teams across the dreary plains and over the steep Rockies to this +one destination. + +Later, in the gold-rush to California in 1849, emigrants reached San +Francisco, the "Golden Gate," via this same Santa Fé Trail, undergoing +indescribable hardships on the way, and at all times subjected to +frequent onslaughts by the hostile Indians. + +The first railroads were built across the plains alongside the old +trails. The first automobile trips (and I take off my hat to them!) +naturally followed the railroads, from the necessity of keeping near +to supplies. But the motor-car of to-day frequently makes either short +cuts or detours--leading perhaps 100 or 200 miles away from the +railroad--in order to visit sections offering unusual attractions, or +places of historical interest, even when located in desert regions. + +Thus, with Kansas City behind me, the journey begins to be really +interesting from an historic, if not from a scenic point of view. The +hand of modern civilization at last is seen to relax its grasp. Now, +instead of the prosaic, the conventional and the luxurious, are we to +find the unique, the heterodox and the primitive. After the tainted +breath of huge cities and the seething, crushing, maddening turmoil of +wealth and modernism are to follow the pure unbounded atmosphere of the +giant plains, the mystic call of the great mountains, the vastness, the +fearfulness and the rapture of the scorching deserts. Which shall it be +for me? + +Before me lie 500 miles of perfectly flat and uninteresting country +before I leave the State of Kansas and enter Colorado. Then follow +another 200 equally flat, equally drear, to be crossed before the +Rockies loom into sight. Seven hundred miles of endless weary prairie, +stretching always, everywhere, as far as the eye can see, with never +a hill nor a dale nor hardly a tree in sight!--Nothing but boundless, +illimitable corn, wheat and prairie. + +That night, after an afternoon's run of 120 miles, I rested in a +cornfield. The road had ended abruptly. An old bridge had been +demolished and a new one was about to be erected. A heap of debris +in the middle attracted my attention, and I was fortunate. Here the +road ended; there was a little chasm some thirty feet across; beyond +was the road again. Nothing for it but to turn back. Turning back is +always objectionable. I deemed that it would be less so in the morning. +That is why I wrapped myself in my mosquito net behind a hedge in a +cornfield and offered up thanksgiving. + +The mosquito net--I have not mentioned it before! I purchased three +yards of it in a little store back in Missouri while waiting for the +road to dry up. I also bought a cap. Having worn no headgear since +leaving New York, I soon discarded the cap and later gave it away to a +little urchin who looked as though he needed one more than I. But the +mosquito net remained for a longer spell. Nightly was it unfolded and +wrapped around my unworthy self, and daily was it folded carefully up +again and packed into the bag once more. + +I shall never forget that mosquito net. It was white. Leastways it +was when I bought it. I tried countless ways of enveloping myself in +its folds, but never with any great measure of success. The _tout +ensemble_ when struggles had subsided, with self in pyjamas surrounded +by wrappings of white chiffon on a black background (my waterproof +groundsheet) must have presented an extraordinary spectacle to the poor +birds above. No doubt they mistook me for some miscreant angel served +with an ejectment order without notice from the star-lit sky! At first +all went well. I breathed the calm midnight air unmolested. "It can't +be true," I told myself, "there is a catch in it somewhere." There +was. I discovered that whereas it was comparatively difficult for a +mosquito to get inside the net, once he did get inside it was an utter +impossibility to get him out again. One mosquito inside a mosquito net +is worth much more than two outside. He is worth at least forty! + +Then I tried various stunts because, when I did get properly wrapped +up, I invariably rolled out of it in my sleep. I rigged up poles and +sticks and cut little pegs from twigs to hold the net down like a +tent. I had it stitched up the sides like a bag and wriggled into it +nightly, only to find it wrapped around my feet in the morning and my +face and arms a mass of bites. Finally, in the heart of the Rockies I +think it was, I gave it up as a bad job and resorted to the Citronella +method once again. For aught I know that old mosquito-net is still +hanging to the fence of a cow-ranch at the foot of Pike's Peak, Colo.! + +Up at dawn in the morning and away. I found another road some three +miles back and continued on my way westward rejoicing. Sixty miles were +covered before breakfast. The towns and villages became very few and +far between, and Council Grove, where I enjoyed my morning repast, was +practically the first town to be encountered. I had set my mind on a +good day's run and prayed for good roads. On my map, which was said to +be the only road-map of the United States published, and was hopelessly +inaccurate and inadequate, there was a huge river, the Arkansas, a +couple of hundred miles ahead. I judged it to be about half a mile +wide. Verily, thought I, the Arkansas River shall be my resting place +to-night, and Great Bend my destination. + +After a long day's ride I toiled into Great Bend at sunset. The journey +had been monotonous and the road fatiguing. I longed to stretch +my weary bones on the banks of yon mighty river and bathe in its +refreshing waters. While I was devouring my evening meal, on a little +high stool in the one and only café of Great Bend, I was consoling +myself with this prospect. + +Outside, a little group of men were sitting on the pavement eyeing +Lizzie propped up against the kerb. It is the general thing to sit on +pavements in the Far West. They are much higher than those we are +accustomed to and afford adequate and comfortable accommodation for the +weary population. Often one can see a row of men sitting on the kerb +for the whole length of a "block" when the sun is in such a direction +that the sitters are sheltered by the buildings behind them. I made a +mental note: "Another good idea for importation to England." I pictured +tired Londoners sitting down in rows on the pavements of the Strand or +clustered leisurely around Piccadilly Circus chewing "shag"! + +My pockets bulged with bottles of "Buckeye," an imitation root beer +sold extensively in the States (since prohibition) and alleged to have +a "kick" in it. A suspicious swelling elsewhere on my person indicated +a tin of pineapple chunks (a delight of my youth). + +"Goin' far?" inquired one of my scrutineers. + +"Down to the river to-night. This the right road?" + +"Right slick in front of your nose half a mile away." + +I came to a long wooden bridge arrangement, but could find no river. +After going two or three miles and finding no Arkansas, I returned to +Great Bend to try another road. This time I inquired at the café. + +"Straight ahead, you can't miss the bridge." + +"Oh, is there a river there? I didn't see one." + +Back again to the bridge, but no signs of a river. Instead there was a +great stretch of white sand like a sea-beach, but with little trees and +shrubs and tufts of grass dotted here and there. + +"Well, this is no Arkansas River," said I to myself, "but I'm through. +This sand looks pretty comfortable, so here goes." + +In amongst the sand dunes I made my bed and never did traveller camp +in more delightful surroundings or rest in more peaceful conditions. +The stars shone out with unusual brilliancy in the heavens, and the +moon rose at the setting of the sun, enveloping all in a magic sheen +of silver. A soft cool breeze played gently over the plain and little +birds of unknown song and uncounted variety slowly sang themselves to +rest. This indeed was no night for sleep; more was it a time for quiet +contemplation of all the things that make life good and noble and +worthy of the living. How terrible, how awful it would be when I should +in the end return to the narrow beaten track of city life, and once +again be fettered to "the trivial round, the common task" that knows no +magic spell and thrills with no mystic breath. Could it ever be that +the duties that bind and numb, the needs that hamper and clog, the +tasks that chill and estrange, should once again enshroud me in their +toils? Such I suppose are the meditations of everyone who breaks away +from home to enjoy for a spell the bounties of nature and whose canopy +is the sky. + +In the morning I awoke as fresh as the merry sandpipers and +waterwagtails that ran and hopped about in dozens. There was no trace +of fatigue, no thought but of the glorious day that was opening, no +regret but that every day had not brought and would not bring this +rapturous dawn. + +I learned in the village that I had indeed slept in the middle of the +Arkansas River! The summer had been excessively dry and that part of +the river which, several hundred miles away, had risen boisterously in +the heart of the Rockies and had not been dried up with the heat, had +drained through the sandy bed, never to emerge again. This though was +one of many rivers that I was to meet with no water in them. Sometimes +even, I was to see fences and railways erected across would-be rivers +to prevent the cattle straying! + +The farther westward I travelled the fewer became the towns. +Nevertheless, albeit they were sometimes thirty and forty miles apart, +they were all prosperous, new and inviting. Of gasoline there was +always an abundant supply at 22 cents (11_d._) per gallon. Of garages +there were enough and to spare. Indeed, it was surprising what palatial +garages were to be found everywhere. Outside each was the familiar +"Bowser" pump communicating with a 1,000-gallon tank below the pavement +from which anything from half a gallon to six gallons at a time could +be pumped up by the garage hand at one turn of the handle. A flexible +pipe with a cock at the end leads from the pump, and one's tank can be +filled in a few seconds without a drop being spilt. Not once in all my +travel through the States have I seen a petrol tin. I do not believe +they are used at all because nowhere in the States is it necessary to +travel by road with spare petrol on board, provided, of course, that +one is careful to fill up regularly at the different towns or stations +on the way. Even in the heart of New Mexico and Arizona, even in the +terrible "Death Valley" and Mohave Desert of California, stations are +found where "gas" and oil can be bought in plenty to carry one well +beyond the next to be reached. + +At Larned I made a hearty breakfast from canteloupe, coffee and "pie." +Now "pie" is one hundred per cent. symbolical of America. In the States +they have attained the absolute limit of perfection in the manufacture +of pies; indeed I think it must be a "key" industry. Not only can pies +of every conceivable kind of fruit (and many inconceivable ones) be +obtained, but the cooking thereof is perfection itself. + +On the road again, ever westward, ever looking forward to the day when +from the dreadful monotony of the plains the Rocky Mountains would loom +high and faint upon the horizon. + +I passed a few small towns at long intervals, towns with picturesque +names such as "Cimarron," "Garden City," "Lamar," and "Las Animas." In +every case an approaching town was heralded by an unspeakable stretch +of road. With the passage of traffic of all kinds the road was ground +up into powder. Every inch of it was loose sand, sometimes a couple or +three feet deep, sand that would be impassable to any but horse-drawn +traffic. As a saving grace it was generally less deep at the edges of +the road than in the middle, and locomotion was just within the range +of possibility with frequent assistance by way of "leg-work" and with +occasional spills and crashes. The only use I had for these towns +lay in the unlimited scope for ice-cream consumption which they all +afforded. As time went on, Lizzie showed signs of further disrupture. +Gradually little noises and rattles developed and slowly her power fell +off by almost imperceptible degrees. Of course I had ample power even +at that to cover the country, which, with few exceptions, was level, +and the road, where dry, was good. I averaged no more than twenty-five, +and as there was hardly any stop to make or traffic to slow down +for, this did not mean travelling more than thirty at any time. A +good conscientious motorist, I told myself, would stop and examine +everything. I had got far beyond that stage. "Let the old crock go on +till she busts," I muttered inwardly and opened up to avoid an oncoming +thunderstorm. + +Thunderstorms travel quickly in U.S.A. They get a hustle on and don't +mess about generally. There's never any doubt about it when you +see one coming. It means business; there is none of that burbling, +gurgling, gloomy overture that hangs around for hours in England +and very often comes to nothing at all. No, no. In U.S.A. you see a +thundercloud on the horizon and before you've got "George Washington" +off your lips it's on you with a crack and a bump and a splash and woe +betide any innocent motor-cyclist who is riding in his shirt-sleeves +with his jacket strapped on the back. + +But that rain was good! Kansas can be hot when it likes and it's mostly +liking all the time, so that a shower-bath is a gift from the gods. +When it stopped, and fortunately before it had had time to do its foul +work on the surface of the dirt road, I arrived in Syracuse, a small +town with not much of a population to substantiate its artistic name, +and but twenty or thirty miles from the Colorado State Line. Net result +150 odd miles that day and to-morrow with luck I should behold the +Rockies. Oh, those Rockies! How I longed to see them! + +The rest of the evening I spent adjusting Lizzie's tappets (they had +all worked loose, hence the noise) and eating pies and ices at every +café in the place. The night was spent in a dirty inhospitable little +inn calling itself, I think, the Broadway Temperance Hotel. Heaven help +Broadway, and the Devil take all temperance hotels! I shivered as I +compared this with the night before. + +Westward once more. In an hour I crossed the State Line. Invariably +there is a large sign-board denoting this fact. "THIS IS THE STATE +OF COLORADO, THE MOST PICTURESQUE AND FERTILE STATE IN THE UNION," +it read on this occasion. This time there was not such a marked change +in the country. It was still flat, still dismally uninteresting. +Everything looked dried up. At times the trail, which hitherto had +followed the Arkansas "River," crossed and re-crossed it by long low +creaky wooden bridges. There was still no water flowing underneath +them. "Water? That was only meant to flow under bridges," says the +confirmed toper. The Arkansas River "puts him wise" on that point! + +Flagrant mistakes now appeared on the map. Roads and towns which +in reality lay on one side of the river were alleged to be on the +other. Distances became either grossly exaggerated or hopelessly +underestimated, so much so that I only expected to get to a place when +I found myself already there. If it turned out to be another place than +that I had expected--well, there, that made it all the more exciting. + +Later on the trail became very dishevelled and forlorn. Great waves of +sand were piled up in ridges and furrows defying all comers. Sometimes +a benevolent signpost advised all drivers of automobiles not to risk +travelling thereon, but to follow such and such a detour which would +lead back to the road ten or fifteen miles farther on. I saw many +such notices. At first I scorned them, but the sand grew so thick and +deep that it enveloped the frame of the machine and the projecting +footboards brought progress to a standstill. For several hours I pushed +and heaved and skidded and floundered about on highways and detours and +pathways that baffle description. If I averaged ten miles an hour I was +content with that. I got through many places that passing pedestrians +swore were impassable. In short I was beginning to reduce locomotion +over American roads to a science. + +At La Junta, the Santa Fé Trail swerves to the south-west towards New +Mexico, but another trail continues westward and northward towards +Pueblo, Colorado Springs, and Denver, the three "cities" of Colorado +State, and Pike's Peak, one of the highest points of the Rockies. +I decided to leave the trail for a day or two and go sightseeing +in famous Colorado. So I continued westward, scanning the horizon +all the time for a vision of a vast and rugged mountain range. The +sight of mountains would be as balm to a sore wound; as welcome as +a spring of water in the desert; or even as the sight of land to a +shipwrecked mariner, so heartily tired was I of the endless plains and +the inexhaustible flatness and monotony of the country for the past +thousand miles. + +Instead of mountains came a cloud. Soon the whole horizon was black. I +knew what that meant. It meant "laying up" for a day or two and looking +round for a good place to lay up at "right slick." But I was in the +midst of nowhere. Not a house or a shack could be seen anywhere. Even +as I scanned the country the rain came. The road was not sandy enough +for it to soak through. Instead it absorbed it greedily and changed to +mud. I rode as far as riding was practicable and then I pushed. In a +few miles I came to a little wooden shack at the side of the road near +a large dyke already swollen with rain. The shack looked as though it +had recently been thrown together with matchboarding and liberal use +had been made of tarpaulins as curtains instead of doors. I left Lizzie +in the road and went to explore. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE ROYAL GORGE OF ARKANSAS + + +There were two huts. I drew aside the tarpaulin and peered in one of +them. It was stuffy and dark and filled with beds, tables, cupboards +and piles of odd furniture and miscellaneous clothing, boots, blankets +and mattresses. In a clearing amongst the general debris sat a +middle-aged woman on the top of a trunk before a sewing machine. + +"Hope I'm not intruding, but is there anywhere I can get out of the +rain until it goes off?" + +From a heap of assorted oddments under my very nose came a voice, a +man's voice. + +"Sure; come right in, brother. You're welcome to any shelter we can +give you. Guess you've gotten a little wet out there? Jim, go you into +the kitchen and bring a chair for this gentleman." + +A pile of musty books rocked on its foundations in another corner and a +young lad of fifteen or sixteen rose as if from out of the earth. + +We talked for an hour, but the storm showed no signs of abating. The +wind whistled through the tarpaulin doorway and gloomy blobs of water +dropped from the ceiling from time to time on all and sundry. + +Strange to say I did not betray my nationality. I presume that by that +time I had unconsciously acquired in a small degree the language of the +race. + +"You're from the East, I suppose?" queried mine hostess after half an +hour, the first words I had heard her speak. + +"Oh, sure, I'm from the East, the far East--in fact, the VERY +Far East!" I replied. + +"Boston?" + +"You've said it," was my rejoinder. "Ever been to Boston?" I added. + +"Yep, I was there I reckon fifteen fall. All I remember now was the +railway depot. What do they call it, the South Union?" + +"Sure, it's the South Union all right. Why, I was born only a couple of +blocks from the South Union depot." + +Miserable liar that I am, I have never been in Boston in my life. + +"Fine city, Boston," interjected the male voice from below. + +"The finest in the world, sir," I effused. + +Meanwhile the rain continued, with not the slightest sign of abating. + +"You best bring your motor-sickle under shelter and stay the night +right here," suggested the man of the house when the shadows deepened +and still the rain went on. + +"I'm sure that's very good of you, sir, but I'm afraid I'd better not +trouble you any more." + +"No trouble at all; we're delighted to have you; we can soon make a bed +up with a few chairs and some of these blankets." + +I was only too pleased to avail myself of their hospitality and agreed. + +At supper I had a chance of studying the various members of the family. +Apart from the man and his wife, there were two boys, and quite a few +more people rolled in afterwards from a source unknown to me. Supper +consisted of stewed beans, with plenty of bread and water, and more +beans. + +That night I slept on four chairs in a row near the door. The two boys +were elsewhere in the gloomy darkness within. All through the night +I waged war upon mosquitoes and slapped myself vigorously for many +hours until the guerrilla warfare grew so tiring that sleep overcame +its anxiety. The mosquitoes then nibbled my face to their hearts' +content--if they have hearts, which is doubtful. + +In the morning breakfast consisted of stewed beans with plenty of bread +and water, and more beans. + +By lunch-time it was still raining, but slower. I stayed to lunch. It +consisted of stewed beans, with plenty of bread and water, and lots +more beans. + +In the afternoon the sky cleared, the sun opened his eyes with a snap +and began his work of drying up the roads. Throughout the day I had +employed my time with giving Lizzie an overhaul. I had the cylinders +off, examined the bearings, and tightened things generally. Meanwhile I +discovered that my friends were building a house on an adjoining field. +They were doing the work alone, with the help of a few friends, who +no doubt accounted for the other partakers of stewed beans. A pile of +timber lay in one corner of the field and the foundations had already +been laid and the uprights erected. + +It was well seen that the house was for themselves to live in. Never +have I seen a house grow so quickly or watched the progress of one so +keenly. Moreover the walls were not all out of the vertical or the +windows far from square as one generally gets in home-made houses (and +very often other kinds too!) + +"You'd better stay and have something to eat, brother," said mine host +as I was strapping my bag on Lizzie's back in preparation to depart. +"We've only got stewed beans, but they're a mighty wholesome food." + +But I had visions of apricot pie in Pueblo, thirty miles ahead, and +urged my desire to be getting on the road "right now" while the weather +lasted. + +They were good folks, those house-builders of Nepesta. Not a cent would +they accept under any circumstances for their hospitality to me. They +worked hard and feared God, and every time they partook of their frugal +meals grace was said beforehand and afterwards as well, in thanksgiving +for the blessings that rewarded their toils. One could not refrain from +comparing the civilization of the West with the sordid life-scramble of +the East. + +Once on the road again the despondent sort of gloom that seemed to +surround everything became a thing of the past, as gradually the +Rockies loomed up on the horizon; at first faint and mysterious +they gradually deepened in colour and sharpened in outline. What a +refreshing and soul-inspiring sight after nearly 1,000 miles of travel +across the dusty, dreary, tiring plains! + +In the late afternoon a thin cloud of curling black smoke was seen +upon the horizon. This is invariably the forerunner of a western town. +Long before one actually draws near to one's destination, if that +destination be a town, it is discernible sometimes twenty and even +thirty miles away by the tufts and clouds of smoke that hang over it. +The sight is as that of a huge Atlantic liner no more than a fraction +above the horizon. One cannot discern its hidden size or form, but the +smoke from its funnels threads upwards into the heavens like a sentinel +in the engulfing vastness of the sea. + +Thus does one approach a town set in the heart of a bewildering plain. +Gradually it is possible to discern here and there a chimney-stack and +sometimes the reflection of a solitary window in one of the tallest +buildings will scintillate on the distant horizon. + +The busy town of Pueblo drew nigh. With a rapidly increasing population +of over 50,000 and nearly 300 factories, some of which are among the +largest steel-manufacturing plants in the States, Pueblo is known as +the "Pittsburgh of the West." But let not the reader be misled by this +title into thinking that Pueblo is miserable and gloomy and odoriferous +as is the wont of most towns of its character. Its streets are wide, +clean and well-lit with electric lamps; its buildings also are clean +and of comely architecture; there are no slums or poverty-stricken +quarters, and with the giant mountains looming in the distance Pueblo +is an ideal manufacturing town in ideal surroundings, besides being the +centre of a rich mining district. + +From Pueblo, after ministering to the wants of the inner man, I turned +again westward towards Canyon City, some forty miles away in the heart +of the Colorado Rockies, in order to visit the famous Royal Gorge, +known also as the "Grand Canyon of the Arkansas," thence to return by +a large detour through Colorado Springs, another Western city like +Pueblo, and with perchance a side-trip up the automobile road that +has been cut to the summit of Pike's Peak (the highest highway in the +world), to return to the trail to the south into New Mexico. + +That rise from Pueblo into the Rockies will linger ever in my memory. +Surrounded in all directions but behind with glowering mountain +ranges, the road cut across vast rolling plains and prairies that +spoke of desolation immense and wonderful. As the sun set behind the +mountains they became tinged and fired with every shade of colour, +and darkness slowly crept through the valleys and filled the air with +vague wonder and glorious contentment. In front and slightly to the +right rose Pike's Peak high above its fellows, thrusting its massive +splendour 14,000 feet and more into the ruddy heavens. An eerie feeling +of intense loneliness crept through my veins as mile after mile was +passed through naked prairie in the midst of such awful surroundings, +with never a soul to be seen. I travelled thirty miles before the +chilly breezes and the growing darkness constrained me to stop. (The +headlight was _hors de combat_; only the "dimmer" would work.) In all +that distance I saw no living thing save the tufted grass and the black +pine-trees peppered over the sides of the foothills. + +When progress was no longer possible, I pulled Lizzie to the side of +the dusty road, propped up her stand, and unfolded my blanket on the +grass of the prairie at her side. Once again I should enjoy the sweet +luxury of Nature's bedchamber in the heart of Nature's best. + +But Dame Nature's bedchamber is oft a chilly and inhospitable one, and +despite the invitations she tenders to all who count themselves her +lovers. "Bring your own blankets" is the one stipulation. She will +provide the rest. She will bring the magic sleep, the fairy dreams, the +golden dawn and the thrills of ecstasy as one wakes again fresh and +strong into her lovely world of health and beauty. + +From rolling plains we passed to bounding foothills where the road +twisted and turned and crossed torrential streams, spanned by +picturesque stone bridges, until the delightful little town of Florence +was reached. Here came a short stop for breakfast and thence on again +towards Canyon City. + +From Canyon City to the Royal Gorge has been built a wonderful piece +of road, winding and climbing into the very heart of Colorado's rugged +bosom. The gradient in places is terrific. Every ounce of power +was sometimes necessary to surmount certain stretches, and blind +=S=-bends carved from the solid face of the rocks made travelling +a danger as well as a test of skill. At every bend and every turn +some new panorama would spring to view and farther and farther away +would fade the distant horizon of the east. Whither the road led was +impossible to see. Frowning cliffs and wooded crags seemed to be the +only goal ahead. After half an hour of heavy toil we reach an opening. +There is a turn to the left, a flat plateau and a slight dip down; the +trail dies away to nothing and a sign "Royal Gorge" is announced from +a bungalow near its end. The gaunt pine-trees also end, there is a +huge gap in the earth and the plateau beyond is seen a clear half-mile +to the westward. We clamber over the rocks and boulders, carefully +and gently, where the ground has suddenly stopped, and peering down +from the brink we gaze upon a tremendous cleft in the crust of the +earth. Some 3,000 feet below we see a raging torrent like a huge white +snake lashing with a sullen roar along its tortuous path, hemmed in by +vertical walls of cold relentless granite. The rushing torrent is the +Arkansas, a mighty flood although but a few miles from its source, and +the same river whose bed 700 miles away towards its mouth had afforded +such excellent nocturnal accommodation a week before! + +It is as though one is peering into the very bowels of the earth. That +this gigantic chasm has been cut out by that river which now is over +half a mile below seems almost incredible. As we gaze there is another +surprise in store. Like a tiny plaything, a train emerges from a bend +in the cliffs and with little infantile puffs of smoke crawls along the +rails which one now sees running along the narrow river bank. Clinging +close to every twist and turn the train proceeds. There is scarcely +sufficient space between the rugged walls and the surging river for the +single track. At one point the width of the ledge is but 10 yards and +the track has been built out over the water. The river dashes madly +through; the engine sways from side to side as it drags its heavy load +onward. Down there, it is said that the sky above is but a thread of +light and the stars can be seen at midday as in a mine. + +One moves one's gaze and scans the rugged boulders that lie heaped and +stacked and strewn about as if but a push would suffice to send them +hurtling down into the chasm below. Here and there are stunted growths +of sage, cactus and prickly pear, or a giant fir-tree springs from a +grassy cleft in the rocks. + +Retracing the trail, we find ourselves soon descending the precipitous +winds and turns that lead back to Canyon City. On the left we pass +"The Famous Sky-line Drive," which announces itself by placards here +and there as "The greatest scenic highway wonder of the world." But +a little distance from here is also "the one-day trip that bankrupts +the English language" and such beauty spots as are suggested by the +names "Hell Gate," "The Frying Pan," "Roaring Fork," "The Devil's +Thousand-Foot Slide," "Cripple Creek," "The Garden of the Gods," and +other similarly euphonious and onomatopoeic appellations. + +It would be tempting to explore all these places and to see more of +Colorado and the immense fund of natural beauty which she displays +in endless variety. But impatience draws me again towards Pueblo, so +that I can once again strike the trail that leads to California. I am +already getting anxious to see the blue sea, though yet only half-way +between the oceans! + +That afternoon as I paused beneath a "bowser" in Pueblo while Lizzie +was filled to the brim, I inquired the condition of the road to +Trinidad, some 100 miles to the south on the Santa Fé Trail. + +"Trinidad? The worst road in America, sir!--ab-sol-oot-ly the worst +road in America, sir." + +The prospect was not pleasing. There was certainly an element of +interest about it because it would be fascinating almost to see for +oneself exactly what Americans did consider a bad road. My formula so +far had been that when an American said a road was good, it was bad. +When he said it was bad, it was damn bad! But what would the "worst" be +like? + +As I sped along, the sky deepened and a severe thundershower +threatened. Heavy black clouds glowered around the mountain-tops +and every moment I expected a sudden outburst from the heavens. On +my right the Rockies rose higher and higher. In the distance, but +gradually approaching, rose Blanca Peak, a dreadful, ponderous giant +amongst its brethren, its gloomy crest piercing the very vaults of the +sky and hardly visible in the sombre blackness that so often hangs +in the neighbourhood of these western mountain peaks. Now and again +a streak of lightning would flash through the heavens, and the dull +thud that followed, belated and awe-inspiring, would rumble backwards +and forwards along the valleys, reverberating from peak to peak until +finally it was lost in the depths of the firmament. + +On the left spread the rolling plains as far as the eye could reach, +like as the sea stretches up to the shores of Dover whence the cliffs +rise sheer and stubborn. In front lay the road, skirting the borderline +twixt plains and peaks. + +I soon came to the conclusion that that garage hand in Pueblo had +been "pulling one over me." The road was just splendid. Laid in +hard flat well-made macadam, its surface was excellent, passing all +understanding. As I sped on ever quicker to avoid the gathering storm, +the non-skid pads of the tyres hummed a merry tune. Could I be on the +right road? I asked myself once again. I must be, for in these parts +there is only one road to be taken. No others exist. There must be a +catch in it somewhere, I told myself. + +An hour went by and still the thunder rushed around Blanca Peak the +Mighty, now receding from view. An occasional shower just on the edge +of the storm would hasten me on my way. Still the road was perfection +itself, and still it fringed the chain of minor peaks that runs from +north to south, the boundary of the vast plateau of over 1,000,000 +square miles that includes, in those unassuming words, "The Rockies." +Another hour flew by. + +And then it came, like a thief in the night, sudden and unexpected. +The smooth grey macadam vanished, as though the magic wand had ceased +its power. Instead lay ahead a villainous track in the dark brown soil +of the prairie, a track beaten with sorrow and stricken with grief, +here battered into ugly patches, there heaped into fearful ridges and +seething masses of mud and rock. It had rained. Those words alone +express a world of sin and shame, when one speaks of a trail "out +West." Here once more were the old agonies, the old discomforts, +the old tortures, the old haulings, heavings, pushings, joltings and +bruisings. The sky again became overcast. The rain began to fall +tormentingly. I had still twenty-five miles to go to the nearest town. +The sun sank lower behind the mountain ridge. The rain fell faster; if +I did not reach Walsenburg that night I should have to rest among the +prairie-dogs in the pelting rain. And what chance was there of reaching +Walsenburg before dark with no lights and at an average of six miles an +hour "all out," with only a paltry hour before dusk? + +I will not attempt to describe that ride. I feel it should not be +described. "The ride that bankrupts the English language," indeed, +thought I. Many times I left the road altogether and pursued my course +whither I listed over the rough prairie. Strewn with boulders, rocks +and ugly stones, carved here and there in fantastic shapes, with +mysterious hollows and quaint prairie-dog holes, it was just possible +to scramble along. From a distance the "road" I had left looked better +and I returned to it, only to find that the prairie still looked more +enticing. How I leapt over the smaller stones and skipped round the +larger ones always intent on nothing but the few yards that were to +follow, I shall never completely remember. Again and again I returned +to the road and endured its agony for a spell, and again I swerved away +from it, my every bone shaking in its joints and my teeth rocking in +their sockets with the vibration. + +Let me forget. These things are not good to gloat upon! I remember +but one amusing incident, which was but the forerunner of many more +to come. I had returned to the road for a spell. I came to a slight +dip. It was like a lake full of fluid mud where a wayward stream had +swollen with the rains and encroached upon the sanctity of the road. +"Not negotiable" was the unspoken verdict. Strange to say, the prairie +was now fenced off from the road boundary, so there was no avoiding the +coming struggle. "It's got to be done, so here goes"; slowly I dived +into the yellow mass. Just half-way the back wheel turned to jelly and +seemed to crumple up to nothing. With one big splosh the whole five +hundred-weight of us flopped gaily over into the mire. Pinned down by +the weight of the machine, the mud had ample time to soak through all +my clothing, into my pockets and down my neck. Lizzie's submersion +would have been entire instead of partial had I not intervened.... +After a short struggle I ultimately succeeded in extricating my right +foot from between the brake-pedal and the engine, and heaved the bulky +mass from its repose. No sooner was this done than we slithered once +more and fell over _en bloc_ on the opposite side. + +Oh, the joys of motor-cycling in Yankeeland! + +I did get to Walsenburg that night. As luck would have it, the two +hotels were full. At least the desk-clerks avowed by the bones of their +saintly grandmothers that there wasn't a room left. Probably they +were moved to anxiety lest their worthy name should be soiled by this +mud-covered intruder! + +I found a room after a long search at a fifth-rate "doss-house" devoid +of furniture, where the landlady demanded my money in advance before +giving me the key to my room. + +Thus passed another day. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +IN SOUTHERN COLORADO + + +There is only one road in the States as bad as that from Walsenburg to +Trinidad. I refer to the road from Trinidad to Walsenburg. + +In spite of that it was a good road; I got through. It took endless +patience, perseverance and a morning of time to do those fifty weary +miles. The scenery was strange, almost to the point of weirdness. From +the surrounding flatness would rise sudden plateaus, with dead vertical +sides and perfectly flat tops. Even the hills and mountains where they +occurred (save in the distant Rockies) were modelled on the same plan, +rising abruptly from the plain and ascending in two, three or more +sudden steps. The effect was just as though the land architecture had +been entrusted to some aspiring cubist or futurist instead of to the +well-disciplined laws of Nature. + +I do not profess to have attained much learning in the science of +geology, and speak, therefore, as one without authority. But it seemed +to me on many occasions that to study the geology of the Far West, the +English scientist would have to forget all he had ever learnt about +physical geography and start all over again in Southern Colorado. + +At first I was puzzled in the extreme to see how the mountains rose +suddenly out of the great plains, without any warning almost, and +without the customary foot-hills and valleys that one would expect to +see clustering around a mountain range of several thousands of feet +in height. Afterwards I became accustomed to this unusual formation, +when I found that mountains always grow that way in the Far West, and +particularly farther on in New Mexico and Arizona. All their ranges +seemed like elongated "Wrekins" set in a plain of gigantic dimensions. + +At Aguilar, half-way on the road to Trinidad, I met the first really +Mexican town. It will be remembered that all the south-western States +once belonged to Mexico and one by one they have been ceded or bought +or otherwise appropriated until Mexico now is only a shadow of its +former self. Nevertheless a large proportion of the population is +still Mexican, in spite of the continued influx of American settlers, +and consequently Mexican is spoken almost universally in addition to +English as the national tongue. + +Trinidad styles itself "The industrial and commercial centre of S. E. +Colorado." With a population of something in the region of 14,000, +it stands at the base of Fisher's Peak (10,000 feet), and it is an +admirable example of the inextricable mixtures of Old Mexico and New +America in the cities of the West. I took its picture and left its +shining well-paved streets to track down my old friend, the Santa Fé +Trail. + +I got one mile away from the town and then struck. The trail climbed +rapidly, skirting the Peak all the time in preparation for the Raton +Pass soon to follow, which cuts right over the Rocky Mountains into +New Mexico. That in itself was nothing. I am always game for a good +hill-climb. But I had thought better of the Santa Fé Trail. After +climbing 1,000 feet in just over a mile, it changed into the most +absurd hotch-potch of ruts and mud-heaps that ever eye witnessed, and +this for as far as one could see. The condition of the road strained +my credulity to breaking point. Getting through the far-off mud-hole +at Hume in Indiana was a child's tea-party compared with this. In half +an hour I did just 100 yards and then, after resolutely determining to +return to Trinidad and take the train, I found that to go back was as +much out of the question as to go forward. It simply couldn't be done +single-handed. To turn Lizzie round would require nothing less than a +sky-hook and pulley-blocks. + +I left her standing in a huge rut in the middle of the road and +reconnoitred to see how far this appalling state of affairs continued. + +Fortunately a Flivver appeared round a bend in the road ahead, +coming in the opposite direction. It heaved and swayed and bumped +and side-slipped and hiccoughed its way along. I watched it until it +finally reached the spot where Lizzie blocked the way. Then something +had to be done. The car had two occupants, both hefty-looking men, whom +I enlisted to my aid. Together we lifted and pulled and heaved and +pushed until the worst was past, and then I struggled on alone. + +Farther into the mountains we travelled; higher and higher we climbed. +In places the trail was hewn out of the rugged mountain sides, and +except in a few places there was hardly room for more than one vehicle +to pass. Occasionally a "washout" would be encountered where a mountain +stream had encroached on the road and washed it away altogether. +Then would come a short detour over a gap in the bank, with the +grassy slope strewn with branches and small tree-trunks to prevent +the unfortunate vehicle sinking in and thus permanently blocking all +progress that way. + +The ascent of the Raton Mountains by the Raton Pass is made amongst +some of the most beautiful scenery imaginable. The trail is only +visible a few yards ahead and is lost in sudden twists and turns as +gradually the mountain slopes are devoured. On the right, almost +behind, are still to be seen the famous Spanish Peaks towering like +twins in solitude above the rest of the Sangre de Cristo range, some +forty miles away. Soon we shall be leaving Colorado State behind +us--Colorado the Glorious, the Beautiful, the Great. + +It is said that "amongst all the mountain kingdoms, Colorado seems to +stand easily first in physical adornment: not even Switzerland and her +Alps offering more than a fair comparison." Mont Blanc, the highest +peak in the Alps, is 15,784 feet high, while Colorado has many peaks +lacking little of this height. The lowest depths of some of Colorado's +famous parks are higher than the average height of the Alpine Chain. + +Upward we climb, amid thickly-wooded mountain tops, round thrilling +bends and tortuous precipices and over the rockiest of roads. The end +is in sight. A depression in the sky-line ahead shows where the Raton +Pass (7,620 feet to be exact) reaches its highest point and gazes +forwards into the heart of New Mexico and behind into the vastnesses of +Colorado. + +A gradual bend, a sudden swerve, and then--the summit is reached. +Colorado is passed. Before us lies a great and thickly-wooded valley, +broad and deep and beautiful. Beyond lie the great plains of New +Mexico, plains so vast that in their utter defiance of limit and +dimension they beggar description. The eye could not follow the +great expanse. So immense were the distances that the earth merged +indefinitely into the sky at the horizon. Dotted and strewn here and +there were hills and mountain ranges that seemed to have sprung up so +suddenly out of the plateau to have really no connection with them. + +Here I stood at the gate of another world. Before me lay a land of +mystery and romance, a land of health for body and soul; a land of +desert and sage-bush, of cactus and strange vegetation; a land of +antiquity unparalleled by any other in the world. Here at my feet lay +New Mexico and beyond, Arizona, the two States that at the same time +are the oldest and the youngest in America. Although only admitted to +the Union in 1912, their history dates from remote ages when they were +peopled by a race unknown to-day but nevertheless well advanced on the +road to civilization, a race that built cities while Babylon was as yet +unknown, and laid down irrigation systems that puzzle the engineers of +the present day. + +Arizona and New Mexico, you are the pearls of great price that no human +being has ever yet valued at your true worth. When the day shall come +that man can say of you, "I have seen you in all your moods and have +discovered all your secrets," then this old earth will be a lifeless, +soulless, aimless globe, its purpose fulfilled, its course completed. + +A five mile descent through the scented pine-trees brought me to +Raton, another half-Mexican, half-American town, small but modern +and well-arranged. "No more 'rooming-houses' for me," I resolved and +turned my gaze to the far-distant plains where the darkness was slowly +gathering. + +Even in New Mexico, one need never go without a meal. The way to +an Englishman's heart is through his stomach (this applies also to +Americans and most human beings in general!). My heart was greatly +touched by Raton in this manner, and shortly before dusk I was speeding +on my way southwards towards Santa Fé. + +Ten miles out the trail crossed a river. It must have been the Canadian +River, a tributary of the Arkansas, which it joins several hundred +miles to the east. The surrounding country was desolation and solitude +itself. Half prairie, half waste, almost desert, it was a country of +new sensations. Just to the west, from horizon to horizon, stretched +the gaunt and rugged Sangre de Cristo range, dark and threatening +always in their aspect. Not a living thing was in sight, not even a +suggestion of life. I ran Lizzie off the road to the brink of the river +and laid down my bed in the silver rays of the rising moon. + +At 6.30 in the morning the sky was ruddy and the air pure with the +fresh breezes of the dawn. From minute to minute the myriad colours of +the mountains changed their tints as the sun rose higher in the Mexican +sky. I continued on my way. + +The road was broad and good, but a surprise was in store. After a few +miles there appeared a dilapidated signpost where a bedraggled pathway +joined the broad highway through a gap in the fence which now ran +alongside. It bore the legend "To Santa Fé" and pointed through the +fence to the left. My first impression was that some small boy had been +playing pranks. It was inconceivable that these two ruts but a few +inches wide in the coarse green grass should lead to Santa Fé while +there, straight on, was a good broad highroad that led nowhere. It ran +clear ahead and was lost over the brow of a hill. I never found where +that road went. I have never seen it on any map and have made many +inquiries since. Some travellers, like myself, had seen that road and +wavered, but not one had gone that way and could enlighten me. + +New Mexico is not a nice country in which to lose oneself. Towns +are very few, and often one can go a hundred miles without seeing a +village or meeting a soul. So in spite of the temptation I swerved +to the left and entered the field that was without corn or pasture, +following those two ruts that cut deep into the prairie soil and were +not visible more than 50 or 100 yards ahead at the most. In places the +two ruts had become too deep for further use and another pair had been +started at the side, running parallel with the original ones. When +these had worn too far another pair had sprung up, and in many places +I counted eight distinct pairs of ruts running side by side across the +prairie, each representing a distinct phase in the evolution of the +Santa Fé Trail. At any point, if one looks far and long enough, one +can find the original tracks that centuries ago were formed by the old +prairie-schooners as they journeyed westward across the plains to Santa +Fé. + +The next town lay far across the plains beyond the horizon. I should +have to hurry if I were to get any breakfast, but the riding was rough. +Tufts of coarse grass and sharp stones covered the prairie and held +back the speed; here and there were the holes of prairie-dogs, who +respect no one in their choice of a site. If it pleases them to build +their front-door entrance where your favourite inter-rut strip happens +to be, well, they build it there. Their holes are generally about six +inches in diameter, the mouth being funnel-shaped. Passing vehicles +smash them in until the opening is sometimes two or three feet across. +Our friend the prairie-dog doesn't mind in the least. He continues to +live there in spite of the traffic and never a curse escapes his lips. +He is a dear little animal. One cannot help loving him. In stature +these animals have the characteristic of both a squirrel and a rabbit, +and are about a foot in length. They sit on their fat little haunches +like a squirrel, but have only a little bobbed tail like a rabbit. I +believe they are the most friendly rodents in existence, and have the +reputation of dwelling in friendship even with rattlesnakes, who never +harm them! If you surprise one when he is away from home, he watches +you, motionless, to see if he has been seen, if only a few feet from +the intruder. And when he sees that you have seen, away he runs with +his head well down and his little tail well up until he reaches his +burrow in the flat prairie. This done, he considers himself safe, turns +round, sits on his haunches and stares inquiringly at you. But if you +dare come too close he disappears in a second and is seen no more. + +One cannot help laughing at the antics of these amusing little animals +as they scamper off like month-old puppy dogs. Ofttimes I have chased +one to his hole in the road and watched the anxious look on his face as +for a brief moment he turns his head before flashing into the ground +below your front wheel. No true traveller could harm one of these +innocent little beasts; they are often his only companions for hundreds +of miles. + +Ten, twenty, thirty miles I travelled over the almost trackless +prairie. Occasional mud-pools barred the way, but when the trail was +unfenced, these were easily avoided. Later on fences appeared, limiting +the road from some neighbouring ranch. I judged I was getting near to +Springer. + +An old shack of a two-seater car hove in sight, coming in the opposite +direction; I had an opportunity of studying it in detail as it came +close up. Naturally we both stopped. All travellers are friends in the +Far West, where distances are great and people are few. + +"Guess you'd better follow us if you want to get to Springer this +week," essayed the driver. + +"Why, is there any mud about?" + +"Mud? There's a hole down there outside the town that we've been trying +to get either in or out of these two-and-a-half hours. Had to get some +hosses to pull us backwards out of it in the end. Gosh, I've never +seen a mud-hole like it in all my days. We kin get around another way +though, I'm told. Where you headin' for, stranger?" + +"Santa Fé." + +"Oh, we was expectin' to get to Santa Fé this mornin'. We're bound for +El Paso, and must get there by to-morrow." + +I reflected that El Paso was in Texas on the Mexican border, some 500 +miles to the south! "Well, if you don't mind, I'll come along to Santa +Fé with you, so then we can each help dig each other out of any holes +that happen along." + +"Righto, glad to have your company, but we're not speed merchants like +I guess you are with that 'oss there." + +"Don't make any mistake, brother. I passed the speed craze a thousand +miles back. It doesn't pay." + +So we retraced our tracks, the car leading. It was shorn entirely +of mudwings and footboards to save the wheels becoming clogged or +the running boards fouling the road. On the back was strapped a +large trunk. This I found is the usual way of travel by "auto" in +the West. Seldom does one see wings on a car that is driven for any +distance from home. Running boards, if present, are generally of an +improvised variety made by planks suspended and fastened in place by +ropes around the body work. Thus the road clearance is increased and +the necessity for constant cleaning removed. By far the most popular +"machine" is the Ford. You can buy one cheap and sell it as scrap when +the journey, if a long one, is finished. Owners of large expensive +touring cars very often have a Ford as well for emergencies and for +long distance travelling. In New Mexico and Arizona I have seen scores +of huge touring cars stuck helplessly in the road and often abandoned +altogether until the seasons permit of their removal. + +I followed my friends from Texas along little pathways and rough +tracks strewn with boulders, through gaps in fences, across fields and +back gardens, all, to my mind, at an alarming pace. It was only with +difficulty that I kept up with them at all, owing to the many ruts and +rocks and other obstructions that are far more hindering to two wheels +than four. + +Arrived eventually in Springer, I resolved to postpone the promised +meal until later in the day. + +We passed many ranches and crossed many mud-holes, some of alarming +width across. In most I managed to fall off at least once and wallowed +in the mud. Sometimes the car got so far ahead as to be lost +altogether, but after each encounter with a mud-lake I managed to make +up the lost time. + +Thus passed nearly thirty miles in which I realized the utter absurdity +of two wheels compared with four. At one place I lost so much time that +I began to give up as hopeless the attempt to keep up with the car +ahead. After all, what was the use? Once out of the mire, however, the +trail became better and turned into loose sand for many miles. + +Over this sand I made good progress. It was now nearly midday, and I +had visions of a meal in Wagonmound, a small village some twenty miles +away. The appetite was there all right, and as I trimmed off mile after +mile at good speed I forgot all about mud-holes and the like. + +All at once the engine burst into a wild roar and Lizzie began to slow +down. What new trouble was this? A broken chain, or something worse? I +stopped as quickly as I could and proceeded to an examination of the +transmission. The chain was all right, but the engine sprocket had +almost come right off the driving shaft. The key and nut, where were +they? + +For an hour I searched up and down in the sand and in the grass at +the roadside for the missing parts, but without success. The sun was +almost vertically above and its rays poured down unmercifully from a +cloudless sky. There was not a sign of water or of any living thing in +any direction. + +I returned to another examination to discover whether I could remove a +nut from any other part of the machine to replace the defaulter. Not a +nut was there anywhere that at all approached either the size or the +thread required. I searched once more, wondering in how many days' +time another vehicle would pass that way, and half resolved to walk the +next twenty miles. + +What! Leave Lizzie and walk! NEVER! + +Another hour elapsed. I had explored all the ruts and searched every +inch of the road for half a mile back. I stopped, and wondered where +I could find water to drink. Water would be even more acceptable than +the nut and key now. I scanned the sun-baked prairie in all directions. +From horizon to horizon there was nothing but the solitary distant +mountains, and here and there a lonely parched-up hill. Truly a nice +outlook! Henceforth I would carry a water-bag with me. + +I decided to return to Lizzie, push her off the road and try walking. +But just to think of coming 3,000 miles in her constant company, and +then having to forsake her! "Poor old Lizzie, she's a dear old crock," +I murmured to myself. + +What was that? I stooped down to see, and there hidden in a crack +in the hard mud was the missing key. That put a different aspect on +matters altogether. The nut would in all probability not be far away. +I set out to explore every stone and every rut and every crack. Sure +enough I found it not very far away. + +In a few minutes the midsummer air was whistling past my ears once +again. + +In ten minutes I found myself surveying the biggest thing in mud-lakes +that it has ever been my misfortune to negotiate. The road was fenced +in, naturally. There was a ranch on either side of it. The lake of mud +extended sideways to the very borders of the road, ninety feet wide. +The distance across was about fifty yards. I estimated that the mud and +water were waist-deep in the middle. Ridges and furrows of harder mud, +where passing cars had churned it up, in a desperate attempt to get +through, led into the sickly mass and then were lost. + +"This requires a scientist, not a motor-cyclist, to cross," I averred, +and, propping Lizzie upon her stand, went to reconnoitre. + +I then created a precedent in the art of crossing mud-holes by which +I benefited on all future occasions. I was wearing water-tight field +boots which came up to my knees. The _modus operandi_ was this: I would +select a likely-looking rut and walk along it as far as I could without +the water coming over the top of my boots. If it came over I went back +and tried another one. This process was repeated until I had a good +idea how the land lay. If I could possibly get through without the mud +reaching my knees, I knew I could get Lizzie through all right. This +manner of prospecting in advance I found indispensable and at the same +time perfectly successful. + +I got through somehow, but prayed that I should never meet another like +THAT. + +I rolled into Wagonmound about three in the afternoon a very weary +and mud-stained traveller. When I got there, it started to rain; it +naturally would. + +There is but one restaurant in Wagonmound, which enjoys a population +of 200 or so Mexican-Americans. Here I learnt that there had been a +"cloud-burst" near Santa Fé but a few days back; also that the oldest +inhabitants of New Mexico had never known so much rain to fall as this +summer; also that the roads ahead were almost impassable; also that +at one place on the other side of Santa Fé and at a distance of fifty +miles between two towns there were one hundred cars stranded in the +mud and abandoned! I was proof against it all, however. I considered +that by now I could get through anywhere. I was not to be daunted +by fancy yarns and sceptical reports. Time was when I cursed the +Americans for being optimistic about their roads. That stage had long +since been passed. Now I was proof against even their pessimisms and +discouragements. + +The rain stopped and I proceeded once more, determined to make a big +effort to reach Santa Fé that night, though still ninety miles away. + +At Wagonmound there was a station of the Santa Fé Railway, which for a +good distance ran close to the trail. I inquired at the "Depot" what +were the chances of travelling on the track. I did not want to try +conclusions with any trans-continental trains if avoidable. + +"What! Ride in the track!" ejaculated the line-master. "You can't do +that!" + +"Oh, I guess I can if I'm careful," was my response. + +"Waal, I jest guess you _can't_, my friend," was his rejoinder. "I'll +have you arrested if you try to work that stunt." + +Argument was useless. "D'ye think I want to damage your bloomin' old +track?" I asked him heatedly after much discussion. We settled the +matter finally by my tendering the information that I would ride up +and down his track all day long if I wanted to (not much fear of such +a desire developing!) and if he liked he could "write to _John Bull_ +about it"! + +The humour of the situation was lost upon him. + +"You'll get shot," was his reply, whereat we parted. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +NEW MEXICO + + +I set out from Wagonmound with a light heart and a heavy stomach. + +The road ran parallel with the rail for a mile, then crossed over by a +level crossing and continued parallel on the other side. I did not get +far. No doubt there had been unusual rain; great fields were now lakes +with the grass bottom not always visible; little streams, normally no +more than the size of a small spring, were now swollen rivers. These +crossed the road in places. The road was fenced in. And thereby hangs a +tale. + +After precisely half an hour I found myself just three miles advanced, +and in the midst of a hopeless chaos of sun-dried emaciated mud. I +had "explored every avenue" of the road, but found none possible +of negotiation. Bit by bit I dragged Lizzie back and returned to +the level-crossing. Come what may I would try the track. Even if +the sleepers shook my very bones to powder it would be better than +eternally forging through the mud of New Mexico. + +On each side of the road where it crossed the rails the track was +guarded by a satanic device in the form of spikes and knife-edges +skilfully arranged and extending to a distance of several yards. The +function of these was evidently to prevent cattle and other animals +straying on the line. Traversing these was no easy task. If one did +not ride on top of the spikes, one's tyres wedged in between the +knives. Once past, the rest seemed easy. But things are not what they +seem, especially on railroad tracks. The sleepers were not ballasted +and were anything but level. There was no room outside the track, for +it was steeply banked, and the sleepers projected beyond the rails into +space. At every few hundred yards the track ran over a brick bridge +spanning a bog or a stream. The bridge was just the width of the rails +apart. But when it came to riding--ugh! As every sleeper was passed, +the wheels fell momentarily into the intervening space between it and +the next, and a series of sudden, sharp shocks was hammered through +Lizzie's poor frame as each sleeper in turn was struck by the front +wheel. The faster I went the quicker and smaller were the shocks, and +above a certain speed it was quite tolerable running. + +I was just getting up a comfortable speed when I imagined I heard the +whistle of a locomotive behind. This was discouraging and certainly +unexpected. I stopped quickly and looked back. Sure enough there was +a train coming, but it was easily half a mile away. To go forward in +the hope of out-pacing it would be useless. There was not even room to +get off the track, for once I got down the steep bank, I knew it would +be next to impossible to get back again, or to get anywhere, for that +matter. + +Neither was there room to turn round and go back. + +More than ever before did it appear to me that discretion was better +than valour. + +So I commenced to push Lizzie backwards to the level crossing, prepared +to roll sideways over the bank if I found the train got there first. + +I was just beginning to feel sure about winning the race, and judged +that I should get there with a good hundred yards to spare. I reached +the crossing, but as naturally as one would expect, the back wheel +wedged tight between the knives of the cow-guard. + +Would she budge? No. + +As I struggled and heaved (I could not look on and see Lizzie go west +in such an absurd fashion), the "California Limited" bore down upon me. +Fortunately American trains do not always go so fast as they might; at +any rate, not so fast as one thinks they should when one is travelling +in them. + +With a final desperate lunge, Lizzie yielded to my efforts and came +unstuck. No time was lost in getting out of the way. Fifteen seconds +afterwards the train rolled by at a modest thirty. She had evidently +not got properly under way since her stop at Wagonmound. + +I returned to the mud-hole like a smacked puppy with its tail between +its legs, and reflected on what might have been. + +But it was no use. I stuck again. + +This time I was well armed with refreshments. I had bought six bottles +of a ginger-pop concoction from the last village. I carried one in each +pocket and the other two as reserves, only to be used in case of great +emergency, enveloped in the blanket strapped on the carrier. + +I drank one bottle at the close of every engagement with the road. But +after an hour I was still no farther ahead. I reclined on the bank and +waited for something to turn up. + +Fact revealed itself stranger than fiction once more. Something turned +up very speedily. It came in the form of a "Marmon" touring car, +bearing a Californian number-plate. I had taken the precaution, of +course, to leave Lizzie in the right spot, so that no disinclined +passer-by could get through if he wanted to. After all, one musn't +RELY on everyone playing the Good Samaritan. + +The two occupants of the car were courtesy itself. They not only +assisted me in lifting Lizzie over the _pièce de résistance_, but also +showed considerable interest in me. Out here, where friendship between +motorists is much more marked (almost as a matter of necessity), there +is seldom any need for anxiety, and it is remarkable how potent a +thing is this roadside courtesy. Practically every town I stopped at +afterwards had heard of the strange traveller who was coming along on a +10 h.p. motor-cycle, and awaited my arrival with interest. + +"Had a fella in here on his way to California told us about you," said +one garage hand, in the heart of Arizona. "Said you'd be here sooner or +later." + +"Oh yes? And how long ago was that?" I queried. + +"Um--guess well over a couple of weeks ago." (The word "fortnight" is +unknown in America.) + +Such little incidents happened many times, and these, coupled with the +amazing reports that had been circulated by the Western Press about +me since that inflammatory article on "Roads," etc., in the _Kansas +City Star_, had generally managed to achieve for me quite a notorious +reputation in most towns long before I ever rattled into their midst. + +It was now nearly fifty miles to the next town. I pushed ahead as fast +as I could to reach it before dark. Progress, however, was slow. In +places where the road was not fenced, I rode upon the rocky prairie. +It was, for the most part, a considerable improvement, and one could +ride around the bogs and mud-holes instead of crossing them. + +Never had I been in such wild and barren country. It was quite beyond +hope of cultivation in most places, being strewn with rough stones, +rocks, and boulders, and only sparsely covered with meagre-looking +grass which, in its efforts to keep alive at all, had to arrange itself +in small tufts dotted here and there in order to derive the maximum +nutriment from the scanty, unfruitful soil. The country itself changed +from flat to hilly as the Sangre de Cristo range once more drew nearer. +When it became hilly, great rocks projected through the surface of the +trail, which seldom or never swerved to avoid them. + +The trail itself resolved itself later on into no more than a mere +medley of ruts and grass-bare strips of all widths, running and +crossing each other at all angles and in all directions. There was +no time to look around and enjoy the wild scenery or study the +ever-changing sky-line; it was "eyes on the road" all the time. It +was quite impossible to dodge more than a fraction of the rocks and +boulders, and one was always abruptly brought back to stern reality, +if for an instant one's thoughts diverged to other things, by a sudden +shock from one's front wheel, or a sickening crash on the bottom or +side of the crank-case. + +It was a slow job, and travelling was more in the line of a mountain +goat than a motor-cycle. I was ultimately satisfied if I could average +eight or ten miles an hour. + +After thirty miles of this, I was surprised to discern ahead something +which looked like a caravan. There were two vehicles, apparently +joined together, but with no visible means of locomotion. Nevertheless +they moved slowly. I judged that some enthusiast of the "See America +first" order had converted a Ford into a travelling home, or maybe +a wandering tribe of gipsies had become sufficiently modernized to +appreciate the benefits of auto _v._ horse transport. + +I caught them up and stopped to have a chat. Both sides seemed curious +at the other's means of locomotion, and wanted to know the why and the +wherefore. + +The team, I found, consisted as I had surmised of a Ford chassis, on +which had been skilfully built a caravan body. Behind was a trailer, +on two wheels, and of construction similar to, but smaller than, the +other. Evidently one was the parlour, kitchen, and store-room, and the +other the bedroom. + +The driver stopped his engine and jumped down. + +"Good day, sir; how do?" I inquired. + +"Very fit, thanks; you the same? How in Heavens'n earth d'you manage to +get along on THAT?" + +"Mostly by plenty of bad language and good driving," I returned. +"And what in the world are you doing in this benighted place with +THAT?" + +"Oh, I'm goin' west...." + +"Shouldn't be at all surprised at that!" + +"I'm bound for somewhere in Arizona. Come from Chicago. Fed up with +the life there, so I'm out for a change. Looking for a likely spot to +settle down where there's plenty of fresh air." + +"What! You've come all the way from Chicago on THAT?" I +inquired incredulously. + +"Sure enough." + +"How long has it taken you?" (I was already becoming sufficiently +Americanized, the reader will observe.) + +"Best part of three months." + +"How many with you?" + +"Wife and two children. Here they are." + +"Well, I wish you luck, brother; but it doesn't strike me that the +roads are ideal from a furniture-removing point of view, so to speak." + +"Roads?" (Here he waxed furious: I had touched a sore spot.) "Don't +talk to me about roads. The gor-dem Government oughta a' bin shot that +provided roads like this. Just think that across a civilized country +like America there isn't a dem road fit to drive a cow on to!" + +"Ah, I've thought that way myself; but there's a fallacy in the +observation, old man." + +"What d'ya mean?" + +"Just this--who told you America was a civilized country?" + +Long pause. + +"Aye, you've said it," and he relapsed into a stony silence. + +I bade him farewell, and left him scrambling slowly over the rocks and +mounds, while the caravan rocked from side to side and jerked its weary +way along. I reflected also that, after all, THAT was the way +to see the country. + +At dark I was but a few miles from Las Vegas. Once again heavy clouds +rolled over the sky. Rain began to fall. My spirits did likewise. I +wondered whether it was a habit. But what cared I for rain or mud? By +now surely I was proof against them. I struggled on. And ultimately I +got there. + +Las Vegas is a fair-sized town. In order of merit it is the second +largest in New Mexico. The first is Albuquerque and the third is the +capital, Santa Fé. There are no more towns of any size in New Mexico. +Including native Indian villages there are, in addition, in the whole +of New Mexico, some seventy or eighty small towns and very small +villages, making the total population of the whole State about 50,000. +When it is understood that New Mexico is about four times the area of +England, the reader will be able to form an idea of the sparsity of its +people. + +Now most people would have predicted that immediately on my arrival in +Las Vegas I would have sought out the best hotel and consumed a big +square meal. I did no such thing. I went to the movies instead. + +Then I returned and went to bed, half wondering whether to standardize +the one-meal-per-day experiment for future requirements. + +In the morning it was not raining, but all the time until midday it +showed signs of just commencing. + +At midday I became impatient and started out for Santa Fé. I had just +left the outskirts of the town when it did finally and irrevocably +decide to rain after all. I continued for five miles, when a Ford car +hove in sight. "Here goes for a chat and some straight dope on the +subject of roads to come," said I to myself and stopped. The Ford +stopped also. It had two occupants, a man and his wife. They both +looked bored, so we made a merry party. + +"What's the road like back there?" I inquired. + +"Mighty rough--mighty rough. They get better the further east we come." + +"Do you think I shall be able to get through to the coast?" + +"Well, it's mighty hard riding, but I guess you ought to be able to get +through. Oh, but stay a minute, there's a big wash-out before you get +to Santa Fé--big stone bridge washed clean away with the floods, not a +trace of it left. I don't know much about motor-cycles, but I guess you +could get across the river all right. You'll want to be careful though. +There was a whole cartload of people washed down the river last week, +so they say; all of 'em went west, horse and cart and all!" + +"Ah well, that'll add a bit of excitement to the trip. I'm good at +crossing rivers." + +"Ugh! Guess you'll not be looking out for any excitement time you've +gotten to Santa Fé!" + +I was particularly interested in these people's domestic arrangements. +Without a doubt I have never seen an ordinary touring car, much less a +Ford, equipped and arranged in such excellent style. They carried with +them a portable stove on which could be cooked any dish they required. +They carried ample supplies of vegetables, fruits, eggs, butter, bacon, +bread and tinned goods, and even tanks of fresh water for culinary and +drinking purposes. This is certainly a wise precaution, because it is +never safe to drink water from even the most tempting of rivers in the +West. Furthermore, they had two collapsible beds, which could be laid +upon the top of the seats from back to front, and which were fully +equipped with feather mattresses and blankets! One would think that +all this paraphernalia would have taken up an enormous amount of room. +Not so. Apart from the fact that the back part of the car was neatly +covered in, there was not the slightest sign that the car was anything +but an ordinary Ford with a lot of luggage in the back. + +I bade them farewell only on the strict condition that if the rain +continued I should return and share their supper. They would not be far +away, they told me. The _plat du jour_ was salmon and Mayonnaise sauce, +above all things! + +Still, it is a habit of mine never to go back, however tempting the +circumstances. At intervals I passed a few Mexicans driving teams of +horses, and once more I was alone with Lizzie. As a compensation for +the drizzling rain, the scenery was perfect. The trail had now swerved +into rugged, mountainous scenery, thickly wooded, wild and picturesque +in the extreme. It was almost ridiculous to watch how the narrow +trail dodged in and out of the trees, cutting across small forests of +cedar, aspen, and pine, curving to right and left round some awkward +prominence, now dipping down suddenly into a little valley, and then +darting up over hilly slopes all strewn with loose rocks and broken +with jutting crags. + +We were approaching the Pecos, the haunts of the bear and +mountain-lion, and the headquarters of numerous tourists and campers +attracted thither by the fine fishing, shooting, riding, and +mountain-climbing. + +Occasionally, as one took a sudden swerve around the face of a +projecting hill, one would see, away there in the valley beyond, +a Mexican village set back from the road, and would marvel at the +strange sight of the square mud buildings, congregated together in such +unique and regular formation. The brick-red hue of the houses was so +near to that of the surrounding country as almost to hide the village +altogether from view, even though it was right "under one's nose." + +My first impression of a Mexican village was one of amazement. To think +that several hundred people can live together in those single-storied +mud huts in peace and comfort, with ne'er a sheet of glass in the +windows and seldom a door within the door-posts--well, it was absurd! +But my second impression absorbed the first entirely, and was one +of appreciation for the primitive beauty of these native dwellings. +It is a beauty that lingers in one's memory, a beauty that lies in +natural flowing forms, defying the unrelenting sharp corners of modern +architecture. And I have seen many "adobe" houses in New Mexico that +would be far more comfortable to live in than many that have sheltered +my bones in Europe! + +I was meditating thus when the sound of rushing waters reached my ears. +Sure enough, the road ended abruptly, like a cliff, and continued in +like fashion on the opposite side. Between, and several feet below, +swirled the River Pecos. It was still swollen with rain from the +mountains, although it had evidently been much higher recently. + +Not a soul was about. There was a solitary Mexican house on a hill +to one side. I contemplated the river in silence, save for the sound +of its waters as they swirled over the rocky bed and now and then +dislodged a weighty boulder. + +To the right two rickety planks had been erected, supported partly +by ropes and partly by vertical props from rocks in the river, for +pedestrians to cross. I wondered what pedestrian would find himself in +these parts! + +To the left, a detour had somehow been dug at an angle of about 20 +degrees to the water's edge. In the opposite bank a similar detour +had been dug, but at an angle of about 30 degrees. Evidently several +cars had already passed through the river that way. But a car is not +a motor-cycle. I meditated. A car on four wheels could not only hold +its own better in the middle of the torrent, but could also get up +the opposite bank easier. One thing was quite certain--even if I got +through the river all right, it would require a superhuman effort to +push the machine up the steep, greasy incline on the opposite side. + +I reconnoitred up and down the river bank in the hope of finding a +better place to cross, but the quest was in vain. The banks grew +steeper and higher and the river-bed wider and rougher than ever. I +returned to Lizzie and said a prayer for her. Then I took off my tunic +and removed the bag and blanket from the carrier. + +I judged that it would be expedient to rely upon momentum as far as +possible, as the engine would certainly not run for long under water, +so, starting the engine once more, I put in the bottom gear and charged +down the greasy slope into the river. + +There was a tremendous hiss, and a cloud of steam went heavenwards. +The engine stopped long before I reached the middle, and the smooth +nature of the loose rocks that formed the river-bed was treacherous +for two wheels. There was nothing for it when the engine stopped but +to dismount quickly and push. When I reached the middle, the water was +up to my waist, and it took most of my strength to keep the machine +upright and hold it against the force of the river, which swirled +around the cylinders and washed up against the tank. I managed to avoid +being washed away, however, thanks to the great weight of the machine, +and got her to the opposite bank. + +It was a relief to be out of the water, but the task still remained +of climbing up the bank. I exerted all my strength, but the slope was +so greasy that neither my feet nor the wheels would grip on anything. +Twice or thrice I got it half-way up, only to slither down to the river +again _tout ensemble_. Then I tried the expedient of wedging a huge +stone under the back wheel and pushing an inch or two at a time. But it +was no use. The grease was impossible. I laboured with it for a quarter +of an hour. + +I was just on the point of giving it up after we had all slid down to +the bottom once again, when a huge Mexican appeared on the scene. He +was evidently the owner of the house on the opposite bank, and looked +hefty enough to lift a tram. + +We pushed with our united effort. We slipped and slithered and wallowed +about, but we got to the top. I breathed a sigh of relief, rewarded the +Mexican liberally, and walked across the plank to bring my tunic and +luggage. + +Lizzie had never been so clean since the day she came out of the +crate. Every speck of mud and dirt had been washed clean away, and her +pristine beauty was revealed once again. It was an hour's task to dry +the carburettor and the magneto and get the engine running. It was +getting dark when I got going again. The rain had stopped, but the mud +was terrible. Every half-mile I had to stop and poke it out of the +mud-guards with a screwdriver. + +Eventually, just before dark, I reached the tiny Mexican village of +Pecos, called after the river in the locality. It consisted mainly +of a general store and "rooming-house" for the benefit of stranded +travellers. A rooming-house, by the way, is a kind of boarding-house +but with no accommodation for meals. + +At Pecos I was surprised to see an Indian motor-cycle and side-car +"parked" on a strip of green, which in generations to come would be +the _plaza_ or square. Examination revealed it to be a most remarkable +machine. It was equipped with tool-boxes galore at every available +place and, strange to remark, there was a small emery wheel mounted +skilfully on the top tube and driven by a round belt from a pulley +on the engine shaft. There was also a small hand-vice clipped to the +frame, and numerous other small tools and fitments, which, to say the +least, were not usually found in the equipment of a motor-cycle. + +"Well," I said to myself, "if all this paraphernalia is required to get +a motor-cycle across to the coast, I'm in for a rough time." + +But I was relieved to find that it was the property of a tinsmith +who, out for a holiday, combined business with pleasure, and repaired +people's tanks and pots and pans wherever he went! In this way he not +only defrayed his travelling expenses, but made a far better income +than he used to get in his home-town in Ohio. + +He was a tall, burly-looking chap, and greeted me with effusion. In +like manner did I welcome him. The sight of another motor-cyclist +removed my worst apprehensions. + +"Strike me pink!" quoth I, "I thought I was the only madman in this +part of the world!" + +He glanced at my number-plate. + +"Gee, brother, put it right there. I wuz beginnin' to think I'd never +see another motorsickle agin; you goin' to the coast?" + +"That's where I'm heading for, but of late I'm not so sure about +getting there as I was when I left New York." + +"Oh, boy, yew'll git there all right if yew've come this far--I said +it; but say, there's some smart bits o' travellin' to do ahead on yer!" + +"What? Is it worse than what I've passed?" + +"Waal, I've bin there an' got back--travellin' with the missus +here--an' I tell you, the road gets better the further east I come. +And what's more'n that, brother, yew've got some mighty warm times +ahead before you see California--like goin' through Hell, it is. Wait +till you find yourself in the middle o' the Mohave Desert with the +sun beatin' down at 130 in the shade, and no shade--no nothin' except +prickly pears and funny-lookin' cactuses and a bit of sage-bush here +and there. Say, boy, wait till you see piles o' bones and carcasses +by the score lyin' at the side o' the road, an' yew'll begin to think +it's warm, all right. Whatever you do, boy, take water with yer. Yew'll +drink GALLONS of it!" + +"How long have you been here, then?" I asked. + +"Nigh on a couple o' weeks, brother. We've bin waitin' fer the rain to +clear off." + +Truly a bright prospect. + +I slept well that night, in spite of the fact that my day's mileage was +only thirty, and awoke to find the sky clear and promising. + +I spent the morning in tuning Lizzie and making minor adjustments +and preparation. I commissioned my tinsmith friend to make me a new +accumulator box, my own having become entirely disintegrated with +the vibration. For 1,000 miles it had been held together with straps +fastened tightly round it to the frame. + +The distance to Santa Fé was only twenty-five miles, so I judged I +should be able to reach it that day. + +Those twenty-five miles took four hours. I will not attempt to +describe those four hours. They were filled to the brim with mud, +rain, wash-outs, and bridgeless rivers. In many places there were +great "washes" of sand brought down from the hill-sides that nearly +completely obliterated the trail as it struggled across the mountains. + +It was a very weary motor-cyclist indeed who rattled into Santa Fé at +5.30 that afternoon. And that motor-cyclist had quite made up his mind +to have a few days' rest before anything else happened his way. + +With a deep sigh of relief I leant Lizzie up against the pavement +opposite the "Montezuma Hotel." With heavy, aching limbs and sodden, +mud-stained clothes, I walked towards the door. + +It opened ahead of me. + +"Ah! how do you do, Captain Shepherd? We've been expecting you for over +a week. Come right in. We know ALL about you. Here, James, +take Captain Shepherd up to his room at once. No, don't bother to say +anything. Just go and have a good hot bath." + +It was the voice of an angel that spoke! + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +SANTA FÉ + + +Santa Fé is the most delightful of places. It has a charm all its +own. It is small, quaint, and intensely old. It is far removed from +other American towns--just as far as west is from east. It represents +the quintessence of New Mexico, and at the same time--so it is +alleged--sets the standard of art in America. + +The first words of a mediocre Easterner when he enters the _plaza_ of +Santa Fé are "Heavens'n earth! what kind of a hole have I struck now?" +But if he has a soul underlying that eastern veneer of his, if he +has an appreciation for art and beauty in architecture unimpaired by +familiarity with gigantic skyscrapers, he will repent those words. His +disdainful grin as he first catches sight of the Art Museum and sees +an edifice of mud with ne'er a corner that could be called sharp, will +fade slowly from his face, and once he has recovered from the shock of +the "sudden uniqueness" of everything, his look will turn to one of +wonder and admiration. + +Santa Fé is small. It contains no more than 6,000 inhabitants--a +curious mixture of Mexicans, Indians, and Americans. Its population, +moreover, is at a standstill. As the capital of a State of 160,000 +square miles, it seems ludicrous, until one reflects that there are but +50,000 people in the whole country. Of Spanish origin, it is laid out +in Spanish style, with the _plaza_ or public square in the centre. +Around the _plaza_ are arranged most of the more important buildings. +These, with few exceptions, follow closely the "adobe" architecture +of the "Pueblo" Indians, combined with the architecture of the later +"Franciscan" Missions that were instituted by the Spanish Friars, who +in the early days of colonization penetrated far into the continent. + +In the forefront of every march and every exploration there was always +the brown-robed Franciscan, bearing along with his crucifix the trowel +and the book. To convert, to build, and to teach--these were the +self-imposed tasks to which he consecrated his life. Especially do we +honour him as a builder. Living among a passionate people, who resented +the intrusion of strange gods among their own, often surrounded by +cruel and relentless foes, the type of his structures was determined +by the conditions of his existence. There must be a church in which to +preach the new religion, a convent in which to live, and along with +these, a school in which he might give instruction. These must be +connected and compactly placed to serve as a fortress against present +enemies; and they must be massive, to withstand the ravages of time. +There were eleven such churches in New Mexico alone prior to the +landing of the _Mayflower_--and more than fifty others were established +during the century which followed. + +This is the only type of architecture that can be referred to as truly +"American," saving perhaps the unenvied skyscraper of the East. This +latter, however, belongs to no school and knows no creed; it is not +indigenous to the soil or produced by environment, native material, or +climate. Instead, it defiles the heavens and cuts the landscape into +futuristic nightmares of edge and angle. + +By far the choicest flower of this renaissance style is the New +Art Museum at Santa Fé. Recently completed, it is admired by all, +architects and laymen alike. It embodies the designs of six of the +ancient Spanish Missions, three centuries old, some of which have now +disappeared. The others are fast decaying with the ravages of time. +The outlines of the Museum are plastic, smooth, and flowing, rising +in curves and terraces, without stiffness, sharpness, or repetition. +There is a noticeable lack of symmetry, contrasting so much with the +style of the Californian Missions. Consequently, there is a different +composition and an added charm with every new position or change +of aspect. Inside are paintings and sketches of Indian, Mexican, +and desert life and scenes, specimens of native handiwork, and an +exhaustive library. + +Across the road, on the opposite corner, is the Governor's Palace, the +oldest governmental building in the States. Its appearance would in +modern eyes hardly justify the term "Palace." It is a very unimposing +building of native architecture but contains relics, trophies, and +works of art brought from all corners of the Western world. Within its +adobe walls are housed prehistoric remains of the extinct civilization +that thousands of years ago thrived in Western America. + +[Illustration: THE ART MUSEUM AT SANTA FÉ.] + +[Illustration: THE OLDEST HOUSE IN AMERICA, AT SANTA FÉ.] + +But not only the public buildings of Santa Fé are of Pueblo +construction. Many of the latest private edifices, both residential and +commercial, are of this strange architecture. The offices and works of +the "Santa Fé Water and Light Company" give one the impression of its +unique application to business buildings. But for sheer delight give +me the private dwellings. It is beyond my power to convey an adequate +impression of the soft beauty of one of these exquisitely-designed +houses, with its smooth-flowing profiles, its shady "patio," open-air +bathing pools and well-planned garden. One must go and see to +understand and feel the charm of it all. + +But from the Mexican houses as residences Heaven preserve me! Seldom do +they boast more than one story; the roof is flat, and very often grass +and weeds are found thriving thereon. The "adobe" walls are recovered +from year to year throughout the ages as the hand of Time and the +ravages of weather work their destructive way. It can almost be said +that a Mexican house never grows old. The sun-baked mud that forms +its walls withstands the weather to an extraordinary extent. There is +a little house in a little street in the outskirts of Santa Fé, now +uninhabited, from whose roof rises a notice-board: "This is the oldest +house in America," it reads. It was supposed to have been built over +250 years ago. + +The citizens of Santa Fé are not progressive. The climate is against +them. They do not run any risk of over-exertion; a considerable time +is spent in eating ices, drinking cold concoctions, and lounging about +the _plaza_ in the early hours of the afternoon. Here it was that I +developed this Western habit. In almost every Western town there is a +central square shaded with many trees, or palms in the hottest places. +The good citizen and the weary traveller alike are welcome here. They +lie about on the grass, or sit on their toes as only a Westerner knows +how. Thus pass the blazing hours. It is a treat to find oneself away +from the eternal hustle and bustle of city life and in the midst of +languid, easy-going freedom. I had several photographs that I took to +the drug-store to be developed and printed. + +"Shall I call in to-night for them?" I said. + +"To-night? Why, We won't be able to get them through for four days," he +replied, amazed at my ridiculous presumption. + +"But in New York they develop and print in one day only. Surely you're +not behind New York?" + +"Oh, we don't do things like that in this part of the country, friend; +you've made a big mistake. Nobody hurries in New Mexico!" + +By dint of special pleadings, I got the photographs in three days. They +were nearly all ruined with having been hurried! + +For three days I created quite a furore in Santa Fé. The news of +my doings and misdoings was published daily in the _Santa Fé New +Mexican_ during my stay. I evidently afforded just the right kind of +newspaper fodder that New Mexico wanted. My fame had spread all the +way from Kansas City long before I actually fell upon the anxious +population. My article on Roads, etc., was reproduced immediately after +its publication in Kansas, together with several caustic editorial +comments. Here is one example:-- + + "SEES AMERICA BY COW-PATH." + + English Warrior gets little rest touring America by Motor-cycle. + + "Roads? What roads? I haven't seen any roads. I have been + following a place where cows had been walking...." + +Here is another heading to a two-column "article":-- + + "COW-PATHS"--and not roads in America:--Verdict of British Royal + Airman here on Motor-cycle. + +And again (this headed a quarter-page "Report"). + + "BALLOON"--Only way to get over New Mexico roads, declares British + Aviator. + +I was pounced upon immediately after my arrival. No sooner was I +settled down in a good steaming hot bath (oh, joy untold!) than the +telephone bell in my room rang. I let it go on ringing for two or three +minutes. It would not stop. I jumped out and lifted the receiver. + +"A reporter is here to see you, sir." + +"Och, Hell! Tell him I'm having a bath," and I banged the receiver down +and plunged again into the tub. + +In a minute there was a knock at the door. "No use trying to shake off +an American reporter," I told myself.... "Come in!" + +The result appeared in next morning's paper--not the result of +MY observations, be it noted, however. Amongst other +statements the following was laid to my charge:-- + + "In my opinion the old Prairie-Schooner is far superior to a + motor-car (for travelling in New Mexico). If you can't get a + schooner, try horse-back travel. I really believe some horses + could get through the mud and dodge the boulders. (It was almost + funny there!)... But the ideal form of transportation over these + United States is a big dirigible, say 700 ft. in length, modelled + on Great Britain's R.34. (It had just recently crossed the + Atlantic, hence the introduction.)... I might have suggested the + use of an aeroplane, but I have been told two aviators got stuck + in Santa Fé last winter owing to the deep snow in the environs. So + then, after seeing your roads, I should recommend the R.34 type of + machine in which to travel...." + +Suffice it to say that I never mentioned Prairie-Schooners, dirigibles, +or aeroplanes! We talked (or rather our friend the reporter did) about +the many notorieties that had passed through Santa Fé of recent years, +and the Lowell Observatory at Flagstaff some 500 miles away. + +Every day during my stay our friend the reporter called in at my +hotel. Every day appeared in the press a lengthy report of an alleged +interview. + +What an interminable worry it must be to newspaper editors of the West +to provide adequate copy for their hungering readers! + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE RIO GRANDE VALLEY + + +My stay in Santa Fé was a pleasant one. At the Post Office I found +a few letters and some money, the former forwarded from Cincinnati, +and the latter from Washington (it had been cabled there two months +before). On the morning of the fourth day my weary frame was +sufficiently rested to warrant my continuing once more. I bought a +two-gallon water-bag in preparation for the 700-mile desert journey +ahead, and once more set out westward. A crowd of interested citizens +witnessed my preparations outside the hotel, plied me with questions +as to how far I was going, how long it would take, and how old I was, +and finally bade me farewell as Lizzie burst into a roar, and we moved +sadly, if noisily, away. + +The next town was Albuquerque, some sixty or seventy miles ahead. The +road in between lay over a barren wilderness of sand and prairie. The +blazing sun poured down upon it fierce and unrelenting; nowhere was +there a sign of any living thing. Hardly a hill or a swelling relieved +the monotonous flatness of the trail. In the distance, on my right, +rose rugged mountain ranges suddenly out of the trackless plains. + +After twenty miles appeared La Bajada Hill, crossing the trail at +right angles. There was not much climbing to be done, but going down +the other side was a different matter. It seemed that a great "fault" +or outcrop had appeared in the plain, making it much lower on the +one side than the other. No less than thirty-two acute hairpin bends +conducted the trail down the precipitous slope. The gradient in places +was terrific. At the bottom was a cemetery! + +Here and there we crossed the sandy wash of a one-time river, leaping +over bumps and boulders and picking the road as well as possible. +Occasionally a wooden shack was passed, with a few dirty-looking +Indians hanging around: Indians dressed not in native garb but in +pseudo-modern style. The only things that betrayed them were their +faces and lank dark hair. He that goes to the West and expects to see +the landscape decorated with Indians dressed in multicoloured garbs of +picturesque pattern, is doomed to disappointment. The first impression +of a modernized native is disheartening if one has lingering thoughts +in one's mind left from childhood's days when one read with ceaseless +delight of stalwart Indians with huge muscles and painted bodies +galloping along, bow and arrow in hand, on a fiery white mustang in +pursuit of an unfortunate "pale-face." + +Ah, no!--_Nous avons changé tout cela!_ The Indian as a rule is +not stalwart, and decidedly not picturesque. Having had the gentle +arts of civilization thrust upon him, and being naturally of a lazy +disposition, he is content to loaf around chewing shag and disfiguring +the landscape generally with his presence. + +As Albuquerque was approached, things looked more flourishing. The land +was cultivated where possible, and in places corn and wheat appeared. + +It is very strange to find a prospering city in the midst of such +desolate surroundings as Albuquerque has. It came as a pleasant +surprise to me to see the electric trams, the wide streets and the +clean modern buildings. I was puzzled to know just what it was that +kept the place going. Albuquerque, however, although the largest town +in the State, has only 10,000 or so inhabitants, and is the nucleus +of a very extensive ranching district which undoubtedly largely +constitutes its _raison d'être_. I left it rather sadly, because, with +the exception of Flagstaff some 500 miles away, I should not meet +another town of anywhere near its size until I reached the Pacific +Coast. + +Shortly after leaving Albuquerque the trail crossed a very wide shallow +muddy river--the famous Rio Grande. It was spanned by a low wooden +bridge which creaked and rattled in its planks as we rumbled across +it. We saw quite a lot of the Rio Grande and got to look upon it as +a friendly sort of river. That is not to be wondered at, because in +a wilderness that is next to being called a desert one can become +attached to anything that has life or movement, even if it be a muddy +stream! Probably in consideration of the feelings of weary travellers, +but for no other apparent purpose, the trail from time to time crossed +and re-crossed the same old river with the same old friendly wooden +bridges until finally, eighty miles farther on, it was left to wander +southward unmolested through the plains and deserts of New Mexico and +Texas into the Gulf of Mexico. + +At Isleta there was a surprise in store. Isleta is a charming Indian +pueblo, built wholly of "adobe" mud and populated entirely by native +Indians. So unique, so bewitchingly attractive are these pueblos, that +I must digress awhile to describe their nature and origin. + +The history of the American Indians since the advent of the White Man +is an unsatisfactory one from all points of view. Different authorities +on the subject have widely different opinions as to the eventual +outcome of the American domination, which from generation to generation +has vacillated in its policy and, sometimes with bloodshed, sometimes +with bribery, has gradually reduced the red man to subjection, occupied +his country and enforced an unwilling civilization upon him. But +all are agreed that the Indian of to-day is in a far lower stage of +civilization than when the early settlers first drove him from his +rightful property. + +There are, however, a few tribes which advanced much farther along +the road to civilization than the others. Moreover theirs was a +civilization quite their own, not acquired through contact with the +whites. Chief among them are the Pueblo (pueblo-building) Indians, and +the Moqui Indians, the town-building natives of New Mexico and Arizona. + +The "Pueblo" Indians include several different tribes, each speaking +a different language. Each tribe, with only one exception, comprises +a number of separate "pueblos" or villages, generally built on the +"community dwelling" basis, that is, the houses are in a large and +solid mass, several stories in height, each one receding from the one +below and approached by ladders. In these houses, which look like great +pyramids, live a number of families. In some pueblos most of the houses +are on this plan and as many as 1,600 people have been known to live +in one house. The houses are built of adobe, and sometimes of stones +cemented together with adobe. + +[Illustration: PUEBLO OF TAOS. + +_By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler._] + +Several of these Indian villages are clustered together in the vicinity +of Santa Fé, often on the banks of the Rio Grande. Each has its own +customs and makes its own laws. All are centres of interest. Artists +flock to them from all parts of the Continent to paint and sketch +them. Travellers tramp for miles to see the Indians in their native +costumes and conditions. Some make jewels; some make vases, ornaments, +idols, and all manner of earthenware goods; some work in silver, while +others make blankets and rugs. With hardly an exception they all make +an excellent living out of the things they make and sell. + +Each of the pueblos has its own feast-days, or "fiestas," when, for a +time varying from a day to over a week, the whole population devotes +its time to feasting, dancing and games. The religious rites that are +performed and the strange customs that prevail at these feasts and +dances form in themselves a vast and interesting study. + +At Isleta the road again crossed the Rio Grande. This done, it found +itself in a dry sandy wilderness, with the Manzano Range running from +north to south in the distance. In patches the ground was white with +sandhills, and the trail became two straggling white lines, where +the wheels of passing vehicles had left their imprint in the soft +white sand. These two white ruts were my only guides. All around was +desolation. Nothing was to be seen anywhere, save those two thin +white lines straggling aimlessly ahead, the sun-scorched desert with +its ragged stones and evil, scanty, tenacious vegetation, and on +the horizon that fiery stretch of mountain range, whose peaks rose +rugged and defiant and glistened with red as if roused to anger by +the eternally raging sun. I had never before realized the great depth +of feeling that a mountain range is capable of evoking. The Alps are +majestic beyond description. They awe the observer to a sense of his +own utter insignificance as he gazes upon that glistening majestic +sky-line, and feels the overwhelming influence of those mighty +mountains upon him. But if it is an overwhelming influence, it is +a friendly one--at least I have found it so. Although there is an +instinct in me, as in most people, impelling me to guard and protect +myself against anything that is tremendous--a relic, I suppose, of +prehistoric days--I feel towards the Alps always like a little boy +feels towards his "big brother." The same feeling is seen reflected in +the "Sierra Madre" (Mother Mountains) of California. + +But in New Mexico I have seen huge ranges that one could truthfully +call nothing else but "wicked." They seem to gaze and glower with a +cruel, terrifying gleam upon the wanderer who defies their hateful +solitude. The hours of travel that followed were hours of weary +monotony. A brief lapse every thirty miles or so when a tiny Mexican +village on the Rio Grande was passed, and once more the two white ruts +came into view, the stones and cactus, and again the evil mountains. + +Later, the sand turned to rocks. The trail began to climb the +mountains, and the sun sank low in the sky. If ever there was a place +to starve to death, thought I, it is here. I reflected upon what the +consequences would be if I ran out of petrol or had a bad smash. + +I didn't run out of petrol and I didn't have a smash. Instead of that, +after about eighty miles from Isleta, the trail descended the mountain +pass, re-crossed the Rio Grande for the last time, and swerved at +right angles, to continue its course westward. Shortly before sunset +I arrived at a little Mexican town called Socorro, where both man and +machine were rested, while the man that kept the "C'fay" in the _plaza_ +got busy with some "eats" for weary me. + +After dinner away once again we go. The sun is setting. We must find a +resting-place before dark sets in, for in these countries where the +air is clear and mountain ranges hem in every horizon the darkness +comes quickly and the sinking of the sun below the sky-line means +almost the final close of day. + +There is another range to climb: it lies right ahead of us. As we +approach, it looms its massive bulk like a wall before us. The trail +bends and turns as if hesitating before it tackles this difficult feat; +up there in front is a great gap. The road cuts through it, and is seen +no more. Beyond are much greater heights to climb. Shall we attempt it +now or leave it till the morrow? + +The smell of petrol, which the last few minutes was a suggestion, +became a reality. I look down in the fading light and find the precious +fluid spurting out from the carburettor union. Evidently the pipe has +broken away with the vibration. So I swerve off the road (almost easier +done than said) and stop at the flattest patch of earth that I reach. + +Oh, the joys of the open life once again! Never shall I forget that +night in the desert past Socorro. The sun as it set behind the range +that I had commenced to climb plunged everything around into gloomy +blackness. Across the valley, from north to south, stretched the +Manzano Range that I had already crossed. It shone like fire throughout +the whole of its length. Gradually the rugged shadow of the range +behind me crept farther and farther away, crossing the river and +mounting up the opposite side of the valley. Slowly, slowly it mounted +up, higher and higher as if a great black cloak were being drawn +by an unseen hand over that fiery ridge that glistened in its evil +splendour. In five short minutes there were but a few of the highest +peaks remaining above the inky shadow. They enjoyed their splendour for +a few brief moments and then were gone, as though wiped suddenly out +of existence. All was blackness: silent, heavy blackness. The stars +appeared, one by one. + +I prepared my bed for the night. + +What was that? A faint tinkle reached my ears. It sounded like the +noise of a cow-bell, such as one hears in the Swiss valleys. Yes, there +it was again. It must be a cow! But what was a cow to live on here? No +doubt there was a well near by. I felt then that nothing in the world +would taste better than a drink of pure fresh milk. The heat of the day +had been intense, and one can always drink in New Mexico. + +I slipped into my field-boots, took a collapsible cup from my bag and +set out in search of the cow. I was quite determined to milk that cow, +come what may. + +I stumbled over the rough stones, picked my way between the cactus +plants and sage-brush. I arrived at a fence. The tinkle, tinkle seemed +to come from just the other side. Cup in hand, I climbed over, very +gingerly so as not to tear my pyjamas. Pyjamas in a desert, think of it! + +"Now, where are you?" Ahead I saw dimly a large black form. + +"Come along, girlie, come and be milked," quoth I in my most bewitching +manner. She moved not. I advanced slowly, trying to discern which was +the business end. Meanwhile I pictured the cow asking herself, "Wot's +the big idea milking me in py's at this time o' night?" + +I drew closer and looked.... + +It was a bull! + +I returned hurriedly to my bed, and cursed when a prickly pear caught +me on the left shin! + +[Illustration: THE RIO GRANDE, NEW MEXICO. + +_By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler._] + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE PETRIFIED FOREST OF ARIZONA + + +In the morning I patched up the broken petrol pipe as well as I could +with insulation tape, and started again on my way. I had to do forty +miles before I should see a soul--forty miles before breakfast could be +thought of. + +It was as well that I had stopped where I did the night before. The +road twisted around precipitous bends and climbed up rough rocky slopes +into the mountains. Down on the other side we found ourselves in a +great sandy plain, stretching due west and bounded by parallel ranges +of rugged mountains. There were frequent washouts and frequent spills. +In places the little streamlets that flowed from the mountain sides cut +great chasms across the road, sufficient to crush one's wheels if one +leapt into them at too great a speed. + +Magdalena is a typical cow-boy town. In the heart of ranching country +and hundreds of miles from anything but a few similar towns, it was in +the early days (before prohibition) one of the "warmest" places in the +West. Cow-boy outfits are seen advertised at all of the few "Stores," +but there has been one big change--the notorious saloons are no longer. +New Mexico adopted prohibition several years before its universal +approval. Consequently Magdalena had had ample time to settle down by +the time of my arrival. + +I was directed to a "C'fay" that had the reputation of providing the +best meal in the town. I pushed open its swing doors and beheld a +picture of cleanliness and tidiness. The tables were all spick and span +in their clean white tablecloths and not a vestige of dirt was visible +anywhere. + +The small boys of the town displayed a lively interest in me as +I disported myself with my camera at the expense of their public +buildings (to be exact, one wooden church). "Look at 'is boots, Jem," +said one. "Looks like as though he's a gor-dem buck-jumper." "Aye, but +'is pants don't look ter be the right stuff, Joe." + +I left them wondering and fell upon the trail once more. A few miles +out I came to a "round-up" of steers. There were ten or twelve cow-boys +on horseback, and some 5,000 or 6,000 steers grouped together in a +large dense mass, blocking the road altogether. "Tough guys, those +cow-boys," I remarked to myself and pretended to ignore them. But I +couldn't help thinking what MIGHT happen if I barged into one of their +animals or if for any reason they didn't like the look of my face! + +Slowly, very slowly, the great mass of cattle moved, like a tide +sweeping over the plain. Carefully I picked my way along and felt +relieved when I left them right behind. I opened out and prepared for a +long weary jaunt. The next town of any kind was ninety miles away. + +The first thirty were dead flat but hard going. There had evidently +been considerable rain recently. Emaciated mud-holes were now rock-hard +contortions in the road. Often I rode on the prairie in preference. + +Another thing was evident. There had been a great drought the previous +year. Ranching is impossible without water, and even now, in spite +of the recent rains, could be seen here and there a great lake-bed +completely dried up. Nothing remained but a great mass of sun-baked +hoof-marked mud, and here and there a skeleton lying upon it. The +ranches of New Mexico are of huge size and cover enormous areas. True, +a few good years mean a fortune to the rancher, but one bad one means +ruin. Hundreds of ranches had been ruined the previous year, I found, +and several thousand head of cattle had died from the drought. As I +passed along, their skeletons lay strewn at the roadside, sometimes +singly, sometimes in groups of a dozen or more. Hardly a refreshing +sight for a poor innocent motor-cyclist! + +At the end of the thirty mile stretch we entered hilly, thickly-wooded +country. The scenery was wild and rough. I met no one and saw no one. +After another fifteen miles was a shack at the side of the road. +The occupation of the owner was selling petrol and oil to passing +travellers. I opined that this was probably not an enviable vocation +from a financial point of view. I filled up, and found to my dismay +that the price, instead of being twenty-five cents per gallon, was +seventy-five. It was 100 miles from the railway, and all supplies had +to be brought by road, hence the trebled cost. + +I have never been through wilder country than that which followed for +100 miles. Hilly, densely-wooded, and fertile, it was most difficult +to believe that it was so thinly populated. Strange rock-formations +appeared. Grotesque boulders of leviathan size lay strewn and standing +in grass-covered openings. Wild pigeons by the score darted in and out +amongst the trees. Merry squirrels scampered up the pine trees and eyed +me from above. Huge "Jack Rabbits" and young antelopes bounded here +and there, and, seeing the intruder, disappeared. It all seemed such a +change from the desert journey of the day before. + +At Quemado, about ninety miles from Magdalena, I felt hungry. Quemado +consists of a wooden shack of an "hotel," and one "general merchandise" +store. I stopped at the "hotel" and fed. Meanwhile it commenced to +rain. My spirits sank with the barometer. + +The rain stopped three hours afterwards. + +I set out full of energy and perseverance an hour after that. We +slipped and slithered and slid in the miry road. Ten miles was enough. +All the energy and perseverance had flown to the winds. I rode up +on to a hill-side to a spot on the fringe of a forest of cedar and +yew. Propping Lizzie up on her stand, I went in search of fuel. I had +decided on the luxury of a camp fire. + +Fuel there was in abundance. Withered trunks and broken boughs lay +strewn about the hill-side. I soon had a roaring fire and passed away +an hour or two before dark in writing letters and ruminating on the +delights of a camp fire. + +As the sun sank down in the valley, I slipped under the old blanket +and watched the flames as they leapt from the burning embers. Just +ahead, almost in sight from where I lay, was the western borderline of +New Mexico. Just beyond there, where the golden sun was slowly sinking +in the valley, was Arizona; the Arizona that I longed so much to see. +I had heard much of Arizona; its wonderful climate, its ancient, +unknown ruins, its extinct volcanoes, its stupendous gorges, its great +thirsty deserts. What would Arizona have in store for me? I wondered. +And the fragrant smell of the burning cedarwood wove a magic charm +about my thoughts as they slowly drifted into the mystic realm of the +unconscious world. + +Morning brought a smiling dawn. I rose early and returned to the trail. + +In ten minutes I was in Arizona. A large signboard indicated the fact. +The road grew wider and better. Even the scenery seemed to change +perceptibly. I somehow felt at home in Arizona. + +At Springerville I breakfasted and bought picture post-cards. When +travelling the latter operation is equally as important as the former. + +Here the road makes a sudden turn to the north, bearing afterwards +to the north-west. After twenty miles of riding, the country became +flatter; it seemed as though it were now an immense plateau. After +another twenty, I reached a little town known as St. John. Here I +filled a half-hour in the commendable process of consuming ices. I had +now to traverse some difficult country, as the great desert of Arizona +was approached. There were more mountains to climb, but when the summit +was reached there was little or no decline on the opposite side, the +altitude grew higher and higher, and as it did so, strange as it may +seem, the earth grew flatter and flatter. + +There is but one ridge ahead to climb. The rocky trail bends and twists +as it slowly swallows up the gradient that connects us to the horizon. +A final swerve, and we commence a slight descent. There is a gap in the +hills; the trail skirts around one side, and behold, a vast, unbounded +plain lies before us, stretching to left and right as far as the eye +can see. + +But what is this strange sight? On our right, barely a half of a mile +from the road, is a gigantic mound. Its presence there, rising abruptly +out of the mathematical flatness of the plain, seems ridiculous, +absurd, uncanny. It gives the impression of having been just dropped +from the sky. It is a mud volcano--an uncommon sight, and formed by +the ejection of sand under pressure from below the surface of the +earth. All around, the plain is of distinctly volcanic formation. +Indeed, we have now entered a vast volcanic region, extending for +several thousands of square miles. Many of the mountains that we shall +see, some of them giant peaks, and some only little hills, are extinct +volcanoes of other ages. They were young and active while man was in +his barbaric infancy on this weary globe, perhaps even before that. + +But soon is to appear a far more wondrous sight. In a few miles we +enter a country of strange shapes and magic colours--the Petrified +Forest of Arizona. The first signs of approach are chains of little +lava hills of grey and white. They also have an air of abruptness. One +wonders how they came to be there at all. Flowing down to the flat +plain in graceful, mathematical curves, they look like mounds of chalk, +although they are softer still. Composed of soft, fine lava-dust, +they weather rapidly away. Now all the plain is lava-dust and a tuft +of lean grass here and there has found a spot wherein to make a home. +Further on one notices great blocks of stone, like pillars of marble, +lying strewn about the plain, some half buried, some barely projecting, +and some perfectly naked. Here is one, there is another--they are +everywhere, in every direction, of all shades of colour and varying in +size from fragments an inch in diameter to pillars twenty or thirty +feet in girth and over 100 feet in length. Every fragment, every +massive block of marble once formed part of a great forest that spread +for hundreds of square miles. The trees of this great forest were huge +leviathans, unlike anything we know of in the Old World and similar +only to the giant Sequoias of California (but a few hundred miles +away), that send their mighty trunks hundreds of feet into the air--the +relics of a bygone race. + +This great forest of Arizona was at its prime. The stately pine trees +rose towering into the sky. Birds of wonderful plumage lived in those +mighty branches, and wild animals roamed amongst its undergrowth. Then +something happened; no one knows exactly what--this great forest was +enveloped in volcanic dust that in time buried it completely. To the +eye, if eye there was to witness the scene, the forest was no longer +visible; it lay buried in the bowels of the earth; it had passed away; +as a mighty, living forest it would exist no more. But those monster +trees remained awhile, preserved by the all-surrounding lava. What +happened then took thousands of years to achieve, though it can be +recited in a few brief words. The trees in substance disappeared, but +their forms remained in the hardened lava, like huge moulds waiting +to be cast, their every crack and wrinkle preserved with inexorable +accuracy. In time, it may have been æons, the moulds were cast, by +some inexplicable phenomenon, and where once were timber and vegetable +tissues came fluid marble rock that filled the hollows and cracks +and wrinkles and reproduced the forms that ages before had been so +suddenly arrested in their growth. Further ages passed, and gradually +the soft lava was removed by the action of wind and rain and other +causes. Gradually the harder material was laid bare, and the giant +trees once more saw the light of day, but this time they were trunks of +solid marble instead of pine wood. The work of denudation continued. +The marble pillars, unsupported, fell to earth. Some broke into huge +blocks, while others remained more or less intact through the whole of +their length, and unless one examined them at close quarters and saw +the nature of their texture, they could not be distinguished from a +tree that had been recently felled. + +There are hundreds of these marble pine and spruce tree trunks, whose +cross-sections, revealed where they have broken, glisten with every +colour of the rainbow. In places, where they lie tumbled and heaped +together, it is as though a whole quarry of onyx had been dynamited +out. In one place a fallen trunk of marble, nearly 200 feet in length, +has spanned a gorge and formed a natural log bridge that all who dare +can walk across. + +Such is the fairy tale that scientists tell. The traveller whose +privilege it is to journey across the Petrified Forest of Arizona will +be lost in amazement at this fact which is so much stranger than any +fiction. + +I left the wonderful scene behind me with a feeling that I was bidding +farewell to one of the prime mysteries of the world. Trunks and +fragments of trunks could be seen projecting even from the surface of +the road over which I passed, and a few blades of fine grass, with +here and there a stunted cactus plant, were the only sign of life in +any direction. I passed out as suddenly as I had entered. A double +=S=-bend, where strange contorted rocks lay piled up in confusion +on either side--and the Petrified Forest was left behind. + +[Illustration: A PETRIFIED LEVIATHAN.] + +[Illustration: "LIZZIE" IN THE PETRIFIED FOREST, ARIZONA.] + +The sun was nearly setting when a couple of hours later I set out from +Holbrook, well fed and well refreshed. From my map I judged I should be +able to reach the Little Colorado River, on whose banks I could spend +the night. But in Arizona the sun sets quickly. It can almost be said +to get dark with a bump. The result was that in half an hour I was +completely lost in the outskirts of the Great Arizona Desert. The trail +had somehow disappeared, I knew not where, and but for my headlight, I +should undoubtedly have ended in difficulties amid the inky blackness. +Loth to turn back, I continued over the almost trackless waste +of rock, sand, and prairie. I arrived at the rocky bed of a small +stream. There were a few inches of water here and there, but it was not +perceptibly moving. It could not possibly be the Little Colorado. I +walked across to the other side. There I found a large ditch, more like +an artificial dyke, that I knew I could never get Lizzie across. There +was grass growing near, however, so I laid down my bed for the night, +resolving to leave further investigations till daylight. + +I should have known better than to camp by an almost stagnant stream, +but I was so utterly tired that I defied the counsel of my own +experience. Mosquitoes literally filled the air. Never have I known +them so thick and so tenacious. The vibration of millions of wings kept +the air in a constant shriek--a wild yell that never abated. I could +only obtain relief from their attacks by enveloping my face completely +with the thick blanket, and breathing through it. Then everything +became so hot--the night itself was very sultry--that sleep was next to +impossible. I snatched an hour or two of rest, but was a mass of bites +and itching lumps next day. + +In the morning, I returned to Holbrook, had breakfast, and searched for +information about the road. It appeared that a bridge had collapsed +somewhere, so a new trail had been formed to circumvent it. I had +missed the turning the night before. At the garage where I made +these inquiries, I took the opportunity of removing Lizzie's wheels, +and of cleaning and adjusting the spindles. I packed them with new +grease in preparation for the sandy journey to come, and removed and +re-aligned the chain sprockets; I wanted no breakdowns or searches for +missing parts in the baking, sandy desert. It was as well that I had +taken precautions. I found the lock ring of one chain wheel missing +altogether, and the sprocket half-way unscrewed from its shaft. The +only item for regret was the charge of one dollar for the use of the +garage! Having already had experience of American garage mechanics, I +resolved not to allow any more to learn their trade at Lizzie's expense. + +I had no difficulty in picking up the trail in the full light of +day. Once again I set out to cross the great Desert of Arizona. The +next town, a kind of oasis, was Winslow, about forty miles away. The +barren prairie soon gave way to bare limestone rocks and shifting +sand; vegetation disappeared altogether, save for occasional clumps +of greeny-grey sage brush dotted here and there over the rocky waste +that ever met the eye. The air was hot but clear. On an elevation one +could see for tremendous distances. The little tuft of black smoke that +hung over Winslow looked clear enough to be a mile or two away. It was +thirty; in the distance was a great silver line, threading its way +intermittently across the plain. I knew it to be the Little Colorado, +which, like its mother, the Great Colorado, flows nearly the whole of +its length in a canyon and seems deliberately to choose the path of +greatest resistance, cutting through rocks and gorges of limestone and +granite with ne'er a murmur. + +As Winslow drew near, the narrow sandy track gave way to a broad +concrete highway. I had not seen a made road of any description for +many days. The appearance of concrete here in the middle of a desert +seemed ridiculous. I would enjoy it to the full. Lizzie's throttle +jumped open unexpectedly and away we sailed through the breeze. +"There's a catch in this somewhere," I told myself. There was! It +nearly meant grief. The city architect had foreseen the goading lure of +that cold flat stretch of concrete and made up his mind that speeding +should not exist thereon. So he made several dips therein at intervals, +each dip about five or ten feet below the normal level of the road. Any +attempt to travel at more than twenty would mean damage to the vehicle +when it hit the opposite side. Unfortunately these obstructions were +absolutely invisible until but a few feet ahead. Sometimes there was a +warning. More often there was not. The first I came to quite unawares +and at a high speed. The machine with its momentum nearly leapt clean +across the space, and had I been going much slower it would have struck +the opposite side lower down and inevitably have caused a serious +crash. I went warily after that and wondered what ingeniously contrived +anti-speeding devices I should meet next. + +Arrived at Winslow, I ate heartily of ices. The busy modern town seemed +a most remarkable contrast to the sandy wastes that surrounded it. + +I now had a long journey ahead. Flagstaff, the next town, was over +eighty miles away, and the trail ran across some of the most arid +country of Arizona. For mile upon mile there was nothing to be seen +but yellow sand and, on the horizon, a rugged range of hills. Ahead, +nearly a hundred miles away, loomed up the San Francisco Peaks, dark +and threatening. Overhead the sun beat down with unrelenting fury. +One could see the shimmer of the air above the baking sand as the +tremendous heat oozed out of it into the atmosphere. Here and there, +one could see spirals of sand hundreds of feet high whisked up by some +strange whirling motion of the air, and carried for hundreds of yards +across the wilderness, gathering in volume and height as they moved, +only to collapse again and give birth to others. Not a sign of life +or vegetation was visible anywhere. What a place to be stranded in +without water! But I had plenty with me. I stopped to drink from the +bag on my handlebar every few miles. The heat and the glare were awful. + +A few miles out of Winslow one cylinder ceased to fire. I had been +wondering when the next instalment of misfortune was to arrive. Like a +true pessimist, I expected it would come in a place like this. So I was +not disheartened. + +I stopped two or three times to change plugs and examine the engine. +It was of no avail, and the heat grew so intense when I was not moving +that it was impossible to stop for longer than a few minutes at a time. +There was no shade, not even a rock to hide me from the fiery sun. The +frame of the machine seemed red-hot, and even the tools in the tool-box +were too hot to handle unprotected. + +"Another overhaul at Flagstaff," I told myself, and continued again +on three cylinders. Ploughing through the loose sand absorbed much of +the power of the engine, but I was content, so long as we kept moving. +Slowly the metal sign-posts of the "Touring Club of California" that +marked the miles were passed. They were the only items of interest in +this barren country. Many times they were missing altogether. Often +they lay prone upon the ground, the strong, eight-feet-long steel +tubing of the post bent in strange forms. They had been uprooted by +some unfortunate traveller and used as levers or crowbars to extricate +a car that had left the beaten track and sunk in the loose sand of the +desert. Some even bore conflicting particulars, and it was quite usual +to notice the distances increase instead of decrease the nearer one +drew to one's destination! Often the signs themselves had been riddled +with bullet-holes "just for fun" by some blasé traveller with a taste +for shooting. Splendid amusement, to shoot at a sign-post put there at +enormous expense by a private club for the benefit of all! + +Slowly the hours went by and, as they did, a huge thunder-storm could +be seen brewing over the San Francisco Peaks, now only forty miles +away. The whole sky became dull and overcast. The loose yellow sand +gave place to rocks and shingle, and gradually the desert was left +behind. As the altitude increased--we were climbing slowly all the +time--signs of life appeared. Lean grass, parched with thirst and brown +with the heat, was seen once more, and later a few sheep were noticed +sheltering behind rocks and boulders. + +I pushed forward with all haste. Flagstaff was at the foot of the San +Francisco Peaks and there would certainly be a deluge very shortly. The +road was abominable. In most places it was so rocky and the gradient +so steep that it was like riding up great flights of rugged steps. The +sharp rocks dug in the tyres down to the rims, and the vibration shook +the very sockets of one's bones. + +On the left, barely a mile from the trail, we passed the "Meteor +Mountain." This is a most remarkable sight. Situated in the midst of +comparatively flat or rolling country, it looks at first sight like the +crater of a great volcano. But its origin is not volcanic. It gives +the impression of having been formed by artificial and not by natural +means. The crater is half a mile across and the interior of the crater +is saucer-shaped. An air of mystery envelops its origin, and many +theories have been put forward to explain it. But the theories have +either been disproved or have never been definitely accepted. + +"Meteor Mountain" remains to this day a mystery of geology. In its +crater is a ranch-house and hundreds of sheep graze in its vicinity. + +A dozen miles farther on the trail led on to a magnificent steel bridge +spanning the "Diablo Canyon"--a wonderful gorge in the limestone rocks. +Far, far below ran a little stream of clear water. + +The sky grew blacker still. We continued climbing over the sharp, rocky +trail. The mighty peaks ahead were almost lost in a sea of blackness. +Distant thunder rumbled and groaned across the desolate waste. Sharp +flashes of lightning lit up the heavens for a moment and revealed the +sharp, lurid outlines of the three giants around whose peaks centred +the fury of the skies. Slowly the storm abated. I thanked Heaven for +that. + +Then we came to the fringe of a wonderful forest that covers the +plateau and clothes the mountain sides almost to the summit of their +peaks. The sight of the trees, the sound of the breezes as they rustled +through the branches bearing with them the magic scent of the pines, +was like passing from death to life. It was a new world, a world of +new sensations and pleasant forms. The broiling wastes, the dazzling +yellow sand, the strange and sometimes ugly shapes, the grotesque, the +mysterious, the incredible: these were left behind--for a while. + +The storm had almost passed. Much rain had fallen, but fortunately the +trail lay through a stretch of volcanic dust. The rain when it fell did +not dissolve it, but soaked through as quickly as it fell, leaving the +surface almost as hard and dry as it was before. I thanked Heaven again +for that. Closer, closer, ever we climbed, until often the mountains +were hardly to be seen; we were amongst them, climbing them, in them. +Here and there the clustering trees grew thinner and fields of wild +flowers, mauve and purple-coloured, would burst into view, clothing +the valleys and the slopes like a great carpet. Then a glade would +appear of fresh green grass--grass so fresh and so green that it would +seem to have been meant more for a child's fairy-book than for a real +live world. Then a beautiful mountain would appear through the trees, +its sides and its angles glistening with every colour of the rainbow +and changing with every new aspect. This would be an extinct volcanic +cone and the colours would be reflected from the loose cinders that +formed its whole. Then amongst the lofty pine trees the traveller would +see--as a last remnant of the grotesque--vast fields of lava, great +beds of solid cinder, thrown up into monstrous shapes with strange, +sinister outlines. And onwards, ever onwards, ever nearer to Flagstaff +we went, the wheels gliding noiselessly over the smooth lava-track +that wound its way in and out of the pine trees and up and over the +foothills and valleys towards the West. We enter a large valley, +from which a wonderful view of the San Francisco Peaks delights the +traveller. They are barely a half-dozen miles away now; their great +volcanic cones, over a couple of miles in height above the sea, can be +seen as sharply and as clearly as though they were but 100 yards away. +So mighty are they, and so pure is the air of Arizona, that on a clear +day they can be seen for 200 miles in any direction. + +At last the small town of Flagstaff is reached. It is clean, modern, +and laid out in pretentious square blocks, some with only a few +bungalows built thereon. Evening was drawing on. Not having had a +meal for over twelve hours, I hied me to a restaurant where puffed +cereals and apricot pies and mugs of good coffee effected a miraculous +disappearance. Thereafter I followed the scent of a comfortable hotel, +where once more I slept the sleep of the righteous. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE GRAND CANYON + + +I woke up next morning feeling very groggy, for no reason accountable +to myself. It was Sunday. My first endeavour would be to fulfil one of +the desires of my boyhood. It lay at my very door. + +The Lowell Observatory at Flagstaff is known throughout the whole of +the civilized world. Years ago, hundreds and thousands of people read +with unabated interest of the theories and discoveries of Professor +Lowell concerning the planet Mars. In his book, _Mars and its Canals_, +he recorded the researches of a lifetime on this most interesting of +planets. He announced his conviction that civilized life of a very high +order was present and flourishing on Mars, and supported his theory +with exhaustive data and series of beautiful photographs of the planet +at different times and under different aspects--the result of the work +carried out at the Lowell Observatory which he himself had founded, +built, and maintained at his own expense. + +In my boyhood's days that book read like a wonderful fairy story, +illustrated with photographs that were far more wonderful and far more +strange than the merely pretty pictures of fancy. Some day, I promised +myself, I would see the Lowell Observatory, and look through the giant +telescope that revealed to the human eye, millions of miles away, so +much of the mysterious and the unknown. + +[Illustration: SAN FRANCISCO PEAKS FROM FLAGSTAFF.] + +[Illustration: THE LOWELL OBSERVATORY, FLAGSTAFF.] + +[Illustration: THE TRAIL TO THE GRAND CANYON.] + +And here I stood, at the door of the hotel, but a few hundred yards +from that same Observatory. Looking up the main street I could plainly +see the white dome, perched on the summit of a hill overlooking the +town, surrounded, but unobscured, by the tall pine trees that clustered +thickly on its slopes. + +An hour later I was standing inside the great dome. The dream had come +true. + +The astronomers of "Mars Hill" treated me, like all visitors, with the +utmost hospitality. My wishes to see this and that and the other thing +had only to be expressed, and they were granted. I was shown the result +of years upon years of tireless, ceaseless research. In the library, +a magnificently designed and equipped building, I found myself in a +veritable Monte Cristo's cave. Arranged around the walls, and lit from +behind by a wonderful system of electric lights, were treasures of far +more value than would appear to the casual, disinterested sightseer. +There were transparent photographs of planets, star clusters, nebulæ, +and comets by the hundred, some but a fraction of an inch in diameter, +and others several feet across. There were volumes of records and +reports of every Observatory, besides astronomical and other scientific +works of all classes, sizes, and tongues. + +Hours afterwards I slowly descended the path that wound down the +hill-side through the pine trees, wrapped in thought and proudly +conscious of having at last achieved something that for so long had +been but a vague vision of the imagination. + +Unfortunately my indisposition of the morning did not disappear. It +increased. I surmised that somewhere or other I had drunk some poisoned +water--an easy thing to do--and must suffer the consequences. + +The consequences I suffered were those of ptomaine poisoning. The +next day was spent in the throes of it. I crept out of bed for an +hour or two, with just enough courage to visit the garage to whose +charge I had confined Lizzie for an overhaul. Finding her once again +in pieces, but with no parts broken, I returned, with a sigh of relief +and a body full of pains, to bed. I had discovered that many patrons +of a certain restaurant--the one which I had so heartily greeted upon +my arrival--had also suffered from ptomaine poisoning. I reflected +that this was an ailment that often proved fatal. But I determined +that it would not be so in my case, at any rate not until Lizzie and +I had gazed down on the deep blue waters of the Pacific Ocean. That +accomplished, anything could happen! + +The next day found things much brighter. The sickness was fast +disappearing, and I was consoled towards midday by the sight of +Lizzie erected, tested, and passed O.K. I was, however, sceptical of +the youth to whom, in my indisposition, I had entrusted her delicate +body. He had sworn that he had overhauled Hendersons until he could +do them blindfold. With characteristic American modesty he claimed to +be the only man between Kansas City and Los Angeles who knew anything +at all about the breed. That made me a trifle suspicious at the +outset. Furthermore, he had agreed to turn in on Sunday and commence +operations, but when Sunday came he was hardly conspicuous by his +presence--the garage door was locked. + +However, I paid over the required quota of dollars with Spartan +stoicism and took Lizzie once more unto my bosom. Being naturally of +a lazy disposition and a firm believer in the futility of walking +whenever there is the remotest opportunity of some form of mechanical +transit being available, I had deferred an extensive survey of the town +until I could execute it in comfort. + +Originally a stores depot on the early trail through the West, +Flagstaff soon became a ranching centre and a kind of "Mecca" for +cow-boys, globe-trotters, wasters, drifters, Indians, Mexicans, and, +of late years, speculators and East-weary business men. Although +boasting only a few thousand inhabitants, the town is growing fast, +and naturally where towns grow fast--a thing known only in the west of +America and the Colonies--the "real estate" agents flourish in their +legions. The people of Flagstaff are "boosters," and so do all they can +to encourage and quicken the growth of their neat little town. Many +come there, buy a plot of land in one of the outlying blocks, build +a bungalow and settle down for good, charmed with the climate, the +atmosphere, the surroundings, the great pine forests, and the view to +the north of the mighty Peaks that are almost always capped with snow +and seem to look down and protect the little town that lies scattered +at their feet. + +Next morning I had concluded all preparations for the fulfilment +of another life-long desire. My next ambition was to see the Grand +Canyon of the Colorado, of which I had read much in school-books in my +childhood. + +In and out through the pine trees we swung once again, darting down +sudden dips in the road and skipping up little hills all fresh with +grass and thick wild flowers. In ten or fifteen miles of exquisite +woodland scenery we had come once more to the fringe of the forest. +Ahead lay plain, prairie, and desert, with never a town or a village or +a house to be seen until the Canyon was reached seventy odd miles to +the north. On the left rose the great San Francisco Peaks, clothed in +green and white. On the right lay Sunset Mountain, a volcanic cinder +cone of ruddy-brown hue, that glistened in the morning sunlight. + +Slowly they were left behind as we hopped, skipped, and jumped over the +rough trail that swerved and twisted untiringly through the strangest +country imaginable. Here it would be broad and sandy; there it would +narrow down almost to nothing; further on, it would make a sudden bend +and dip across a "wash" or some waterless river that had never known a +bridge; then it would enter a beautiful valley all aglow with golden +flowers that crowded thickly up its sides--there were yellow flowers +everywhere, in each direction as far as the eye could see, and at +the same time so close that they were swept aside by the machine as +it passed. Then that picture passed away and there remained just two +deep undulating ruts that struggled persistently across a wilderness +of sand, rock, and boulder. We passed on either side the remains of +ancient volcanoes, now but solitary hills rising abruptly from the +desert around. Then appeared giant heaps of stone clustered strangely +together, the ruins of ancient towns for many a thousand years +deserted. Then for miles and miles was nothing but barren, arid waste +that tired one's patience and cut one's tyres and shook one's limbs, +while thousands upon thousands of prairie-dogs were ever running, +hurrying, scurrying away from the intruder upon their solitude. Their +holes were everywhere, even in the ruts of the trail that stretched +always like a forgotten, lifeless thing through this land of scorching +loneliness. + +Four hours and a half we had now been travelling, and not a soul, not +even a sign of a living being had we seen, save the merry little vermin +that scurried off at the sound and the sight of us. For the first time +in the whole of the trip I felt a great sense of loneliness creeping +over me. The solitude, the peace of the great barren distances at last +made itself known--it was a solitude and a peace that I had never felt +before. It took time for me to appreciate its worth. I amused myself by +bursting suddenly into song. All the old familiar refrains came to my +aid, were they hymn tunes or ridiculous rag-time airs. + +Feeling absurd--even positively ridiculous--in my efforts to remain +cheerful at all costs, but comforted by the thought that there was no +one to witness my insanity, I continued thus until my voice rebelled +and I relapsed once again into stony--very stony--silence! + +Once again the trail entered a great forest; huge pine trees and cedar +trees closed densely around and the trail branched and split here and +there to avoid them. The vegetation grew thicker. It seemed wonderful +how it could possibly thrive in such a country. Not a drop of water +had I seen for eighty miles, when suddenly a most beautiful vista +appeared directly ahead of me. There was a wonderful lake bordered with +giant pine trees, its waters still and flat like a great jewel. At its +edge a few horses were drinking. It was such a magnificent sight that +I was forced to stop to admire it to the full. I breathed a prayer +that my little pocket camera would do it justice, and convey, if only +a fraction, some of that entrancing charm that hung over its glassy +waters. + +On once again we rode, through avenues of pine and cedar; the further +we went, the thicker the forest grew and the greater the stately +trees became. It was possible only to see a few yards ahead in some +places.... "But say, we must be getting near the Canyon soon! How can +all this be?" I asked myself. + +Swerving now to the right, now to the left, to avoid some obstacle, now +leaving the trail altogether to ride on the soft green grass at the +side, when a boulder or a fallen branch blocked the way, it was like +exploring one of those magic forests where fairies.... + +The thought was never finished. + +It seemed as if the whole earth had suddenly stopped dead. There, in +front, the great tree trunks stood silhouetted against space itself. It +was as though something dreadful had happened. Beyond was tremendous, +awful nothingness that made the observer catch his breath and sent a +shiver throughout his frame. But see, there, on the distant horizon, +like a dimly-coloured shadow, lies the opposite side of the gigantic +rift, ten, twenty--aye, in places thirty miles away. It is a sight to +enjoy in silence, with reverence and with fear. Once seen, it is never +to be forgotten, that first glimpse of the greatest of all natural +wonders--the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. + +The trail made a sudden swerve to the left and followed close to its +brink. There were some wooden railings; beyond, a varying strip of +broken, rocky moorland; and then, space. Leaving Lizzie, I clambered +down a narrow pathway carved in the rocks that led to a jutting +prominence known as "Grand View Point." Seated on a huge lump of +limestone that reared like a lofty pinnacle thousands of feet above +the chasm below, I surveyed in mute bewilderment the overpowering, +awe-inspiring sight. + +The Grand Canyon has never been described. It is too immense, too +sublime, too unearthly for mere words to convey one iota of its might +and majesty. One struggles with the futility of mere expression +by words where such a spectacle is concerned and finds that all +the known phrases and well-used artifices of speech are useless to +convey to another the sense of infinite grandeur that only sight can +appreciate--and that so feebly! + +The Canyon is a titanic rift in the earth, over 200 miles in length. +The Colorado River, hardly ever seen from its brinks, lies 6,000 feet +below the surface of the plain through which it has cut. Æons of +time have been taken in the making of it, and it is yet but young, +its progress still continuing. That sinister river, to reach which +takes a seven-mile walk down the trail that leads to its waters, has +cut down through strata of rock that took untold millions of years +to be deposited, has cut lower and lower until it has come to the +very beginning, the foundation of the earth, and then it has carved +its way even through the granite, the very crust of the earth, to a +depth of almost 1,000 feet. Eternal erosion by water, winds, and frost +has helped it to play its part, and now nigh on 2,000 cubic miles +of limestone, sandstone, and granite have disappeared entirely--all +carried as sediment into the Pacific Ocean by the river that for ever +swirls and rages in its bosom. + +The actual settlement that goes by the name of the Grand Canyon is +twenty miles further on. The trail follows closely the rim of the +Canyon, cutting through the fringe of the "Coconino National Forest," +with its stately pine trees that crowd up to the very edge of the +plateau. + +When the end of the trail is reached, it is as though the traveller +had arrived at the edge of the world. On the right is a luxurious, +low-built hotel all but toppling over the edge; on the left is a +railway station; and that is all. The road almost doubles back on +itself, swerving due south towards the Continental Trail eighty miles +away. I do not mean to imply that at the end of this world there will +be either a luxurious hotel or a railway station at the service of +the weary traveller, but the appearance of finality of all things is +complete when one is faced with that terrible chasm ahead. + +For three days and three nights I sojourned at the Canyon, content +to gaze upon its ever-changing colours, and to marvel at the wealth +of beauty and variation of spectacle that lay in its mighty bosom, +always changing, always fresh, always more wonderful than before. +One day after breakfast I began strolling down the narrow "Bright +Angel Trail" that leads from the summit to the river. Between two +and three feet wide in most places, it is wonderfully built and kept +in excellent repair for the mule-back parties of tourists that daily +descend its seven tortuous miles in the morning and ascend them again +in the evening. In places it is like a spiral pathway down an almost +perpendicular wall. One looks over and sees it doubling and folding and +twisting on itself like a thin white line until it is lost behind some +prominence thousands of feet below. + +I did not mean to walk down. Walking is not my forte; I only set out +to take a few photographs. I have the best of reasons for believing +that people never walk down the Canyon. Instead they bulge upon +diminutive mules in strings of twenty or thirty or more and make the +descent slowly, nervously, solemnly, and more or less in comfort. True, +there are places where the trail is so precipitous that they have to +dismount for safety's sake, but to walk the whole way would be absurd. + +Perhaps that was the reason I found myself tramping down the long, +steep trail. The more photographs I took, the further down I went to +take another. One view followed another with endless change. At every +turn there was some new sensation, some fresh vista that just cried out +for remembrance. In this way I gradually found myself descending into +the depths of the Canyon. Truly it is the most wonderful walk I have +ever had. + +It was as though the traveller were entering a new world of a new +climate, new scenery, and new sensations. Up on the plateau at the top +the altitude was 8,000 feet above sea level, and the heat there had +been intense. But as I descended thousand after thousand of feet into +the bowels of the earth, the air became more dense and the heat more +intense until at the bottom, over 6,000 feet below, the climate was +almost tropical. Further, the great "temples"--the fragments of the +plateau where the erosion had left isolated mountains remaining within +the gorge--took on a far different aspect when viewed from below. +From above one saw them as one would see hills and valleys from an +aeroplane--with hardly any relief. But from below they loomed up sharp +against the sky, each one a mighty mountain in itself. What seemed +from the brink to be a mere blotch of green mould on the bare rocks +below proved on closer acquaintance to be a luxurious coppice, dense +with trees and shrubs and tall, thick grass. Minute specks of black +scattered broadcast on the slope turned out to be trees that eked out +a scanty but sufficient livelihood on the crevices and the crags. A +brown, inconspicuous carpet from above developed into a huge tropical +plateau several miles across. So clear is the atmosphere and so great +are the distances that magnitudes are ridiculed and illusions raised to +the point of absurdity. + +It was well after midday when I reached the bottom and watched the +roaring, rushing Colorado, like a great yellow flood, lashing its angry +way between the steep walls of the granite gorge. Above, it had been +invisible, unknown, and whisperless. + +The walk back developed into a tiring, eternal struggle up an +interminable staircase that had no stairs. Sometimes I half decided +to rest until next day. At intervals I grasped my knees in my hands +and helped to lift the heavy, tired feet one above the other. I +abused myself heartily for not having furnished myself with reserve +refreshments before starting, and then remembered that I had only set +out to take a few pictures; I had quenched my thirst at a little creek +six hours before, but felt that a meal of some kind would be acceptable. + +I arrived at the top about 5.30. The mule-party had overtaken me a +quarter of an hour before. They had only stopped half an hour at the +bottom for lunch. + +"Waal, I've done some walkin' in my time, boss, but I guess you've +gotten the best pair o' legs that ever MY optics did see," was the +remark of one heavily-spectacled American who beamed from his mule upon +me as he passed. + +"Aye, that's so," echoed others in the long file with undisguised +approbation. + +So the reader will observe that I am already becoming Americanized, +even in true modesty! + +[Illustration: THE BOTTOM OF THE GRAND CANYON. + +_By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler._] + +My stay at the Canyon was longer than I had anticipated. Considerable +rain had fallen on the second day, and a report came through that +the road in places had been washed clean away. Just what that meant I +did not know, but I did not fear it in the slightest. My experience of +the roads in Arizona was that they were much better away than present. +But I had no taste for mud, so I waited for the sun to do its work +before starting back again. + +I left the Grand Canyon with regret. Everything was so wonderful +and I just seemed to have begun to make friends with it. At first +it all seemed so great, so awful, so grotesque as to give one the +impression of anything but friendliness. I had begun to overcome that +feeling, as everyone does in time. The truth is that it takes a long +acquaintanceship with the giant wonders of the world to form anything +approaching a true idea of them. + +Mud there was in plenty on the way back. In the forest going was bad +and slow, for the sun had not had its due quota of time to play upon +the damp earth. But in the open there was a marked improvement. The +only evidence of the heavy rains was an occasional pool of water +between the tracks of the road that had not yet been completely dried +up, and this remained as a pool of muddy water within a ring of soft, +dark-brown mud. + +I was glad that progress was not so bad as I had expected. I was tired +of making slow progress, low averages, and big delays, so whenever I +had the chance I gave Lizzie her reins and with many bursts of speed +where the condition of the road permitted, and occasional hold-ups +where it did not, we made pretty good progress for a couple of hours. + +Until.... + +We were about half-way between the Canyon and Flagstaff. The country +was bare and rocky--almost on the fringe of the "Painted Desert." I was +riding on the narrow but level track between the two large ruts that +formed the road. I was furthermore enjoying a little burst of speed, my +eyes glued on the little strip below me, for if I but once missed it +and allowed Lizzie to slip into either of those deep, treacherous ruts +that bordered it, there would be a nasty smash. + +I must have been too careful, for I had not noticed a fairly large and +deep mud-pool dead in the centre of the track and only a few yards +ahead of me. There were just about three or four inches between either +side of it and those terrible ruts. If I banged into it, it would mean +a nasty jar to the machine and possible damage. I judged I could steer +round all right without fouling the rut. + +The front wheel went through splendidly. The back one, approaching at +an angle as I swerved, did not. It just skimmed the greasy edge of the +pool and commenced momentarily to side-slip down into the hollow. That +was the beginning of the end. I was going fast, and the equilibrium +of the machine had been suddenly upset. The nightmare known as a +"speed-wobble" ensued. + +I did my utmost to check it, but it got worse and worse. From one side +to the other the machine swayed, like a great pendulum, swinging faster +and faster and each time through a greater distance. For some time I +managed to keep the swerves within the limits of the track without +fouling the ruts and the rocks at the side, but it was no use; I saw a +fearful crash coming. + +The wobble developed at an alarming speed; no doubt the heavy baggage +on the carrier helped. At the end of each oscillation the machine was +at a still greater, a still more ridiculous angle to the ground. The +front wheel caught something. It had to come sooner or later. With +a wild lurch we crashed down on the loose rocks and boulders that +bordered the trail. Our momentum was soon absorbed owing to the rough +nature of the rocks and boulders aforesaid. + +"Here endeth the trip to the coast. Farewell, Lizzie; it might have +happened sooner, you know, old girl." That's what I was saying to +myself as I struggled from underneath her remains! + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE MOHAVE DESERT + + +I have often thought there must be a guardian angel watching over +mad motor-cyclists. Certainly in my case some theory of that sort is +necessary to account for the almost entire immunity from personal +damage that I have always experienced when fate has led me into crashes +of all kinds. At one time and another I have performed wonderful +acrobatic feats after a bad skid or a sudden encounter in the dark with +a stray horse or a flock of sheep. By all the laws of nature and common +sense, I should long since have ceased to labour on this earthly plane. +Instead of that, I continue to flourish like the green bay tree, the +terror of the country I inhabit, and the bane of the Company that has +the misfortune to insure my machines! + +Thus it happened that when I extricated myself from the debris, I found +myself still sound in wind and limb. Apart from one finger having been +crushed between the handle and the final boulder, and the absence +of one or two square inches of good epidermis here and there, I had +nothing whatever to complain of. + +Lizzie, however, wore a forlorn look. Her left handlebar was badly bent +and most of the controls and projections on her starboard side were +either bent backwards or swept clean away. The stand, a heavy steel +structure strong enough to make a suspension bridge, had broken away +altogether, and had not the footboard been of the collapsing type, it +would undoubtedly have shared the same fate. + +An hour of doctoring, with frequent applications of wire and insulation +tape, and Lizzie was going again. I was relieved in the extreme to find +that after all there was a chance of continuing to the coast under her +own power. My forefinger pained a trifle, and I could not bear to bend +it. I believe always in leaving Nature to carry out her own repairs--it +saves a lot of time and bother and generally gets the job finished much +quicker in the end, so I spent no time in doctoring it. + +We got back to Flagstaff all right that evening and, accepting the +hospitality of one of the astronomers at Mars Hill, I spent the night +at his bungalow up amongst the pine trees. It was nearly a month before +I regained the use of my finger and over three months before the sense +of feeling came back to it. Evidently it had been broken at or near the +joint. + +Two days afterwards I made an unwilling exit from Flagstaff. I was so +enamoured with the spirit of the West and the cordiality of its people, +as well as the scenery and the climate, that it seemed a shame to move +away. But how could I do otherwise when in three days' good running +I should be enjoying the reality of the deep blue Pacific washing up +against the fringe of some golden Californian valley? + +From Flagstaff to Williams, a thirty-mile jaunt, the road traversed +the edges of the Coconino Forest. In places it was almost impassable. +Stretches of rock-hard mud, that had been cut up into fantastic shapes, +hindered progress for hundreds of yards at a stretch. I had often to +resort to the old expedient of chipping the edges of the ruts away in +advance to enable Lizzie's cradle frame to get through. Then for miles +there were stretches of incredible roughness where often I left the +road and scrambled over the rough prairie at the side, leaping over +gullies, mounds, cracks, and rocks in preference to the treacherous +trail. But the wild scenery compensated for everything. It was +exquisite. + +Town after town slowly but surely went by, and as they did so, the +country grew wilder and the climate hotter. The trail wound through +great gorges with towering cliffs that obscured most of the sky. +Mad rivers would come rushing down from mountain sides and seldom +were there bridges with which to cross them. Vegetation became less +plentiful and here and there were stretches of barren prairie land with +great boulders and masses of rock spread indiscriminately about them. + +Past Ashforks, some sixty miles from Flagstaff, I came upon a Ford car +by a wide, rough-bedded, unbridged river. The owner, dressed in blue +combination overalls (the standard garment of the West) was playing +round it with a "monkey-wrench." + +"Want anything, brother?" I asked. + +"No thanks, nothing wrong," he replied, eyeing Lizzie and me +curiously up and down. "Gee! What the ..." (his eye caught the number +plate)--"Well, I'll be goldarned!" + +"How's the road ahead?" I asked, ignoring his evident amazement at one +so young having come so far! + +"Pretty tough in places. You've got a fairly good run for a hundred +miles, but you've got to keep your eyes skinned for washouts. There's a +big one about ten miles further on, just before you come to Pineveta. +You can't miss it. It's just beyond a big cliff on the left side where +it says 'REPENT YOUR SINS, THE END IS AT HAND.' And by G--, +you'd better repent 'em quick in case anything does happen!" + +Washouts there were, good and plentiful. Great gullies had been cut +across the roads by the rains. Many were not visible much before they +were felt. On the whole it was exciting running. + +Pineveta was a most "movie-looking" town. I could easily have imagined +myself a Gaumont operator on several occasions. Every building, whether +a house, the village church or the town hall, was of wood and of the +simplest construction possible. Everything seemed loose, ramshackle +and toppling. It was a good home for the tough guys of the West, +where towns spring up in a night, prosper awhile and then fade into +insignificance. + +After Seligman, another twenty miles further on, the trail showed signs +of nervous prostration. It led into a great canyon whose grey walls +towered high on either side. Then it seemed to say to the traveller, +"See here, Boss, you can go on if you like, I'm staying right here; +had enough of this." It had already dwindled down to a couple of ruts +in the sandy bed of the canyon and now it was besieged on all sides +with dense growths of grey scrub, like sage-brush. Even the ruts were +barely visible and now appeared only in white patchy blotches through +the scrub that grew a foot or a couple of feet high in dense, clustered +tufts. It seemed as though something would have to be done about it +soon. + +Finally we came to a wooden fence, rudely but effectively constructed +and barring the way entirely. Behind the fence was a railway track. +Evidently it was necessary to cross the track somewhere but not the +slightest opportunity did there appear of doing so. I explored awhile. + +On the left, where the trail had ended, the fence showed signs of +having been pulled down and ruts in the ground bore witness to traffic +having gone that way at some time or another more or less remote. But +stay, what is this? A large post had been torn down from the fence and +laid right across the track of the apparent detour. In the middle of +it, and fastened on by a piece of wire, was a scrap of paper bearing +the following anonymous inscription in scrawled handwriting--"DOANT +GO THIS RODE CANT GET THRU." + +Now wasn't this kind of some one? I began to wonder if I would have +gone to the same trouble if I had struggled through a fence on an old +Ford car (I was sure from the writing that it was a Ford) and after +proceeding half a mile or so over interminable boulders and gullies had +found it necessary to come back again. I came to the conclusion that I +WOULD, at any rate, if I was in the West, and thus consoled, I +proceeded to search for another outlet. + +Yes, here were a pair of ruts leading off backwards at a tangent. Where +they went was not possible to see, for they were overgrown with scrub. +I started Lizzie once again, put her front wheel into the deeper of +the ruts and set off whither it should take me. It was faithful and +true. Brushing the bushes sideways with the machine as we passed, we +arrived in half a mile at a gate where a good wide road appeared. It +was the entrance to the "city" of Nelson, consisting of a few shacks, +a ranch-house and a railway station. After opening a few more gates we +crossed the rails at a level crossing and were going once again swiftly +westwards. + +"Dinner in Peach Springs," I told myself. Peach Springs on my AAA Map +was a fair-sized town fifteen miles ahead. Evening was drawing on and +there would not be much light left for travelling, but where dinner was +concerned it was another matter. Proceed we must, until fodder hove in +sight. + +Slowly the canyon was left behind. The country opened out and became +flatter. Vast rolling plains appeared, with cedar woods creeping down +their slopes. The air was sultry, hardly a breeze stirred in the trees; +wild pigeons in hundreds flew hither and thither; occasionally a young +antelope or a great jack rabbit leaped across the plains. I hardly gave +them a thought. My mind dwelt upon an imaginary tin of pineapple chunks +somewhere in the distance! + +Peach Springs showed no trace of materializing when required. There was +no sign of it anywhere where it should have been. I stopped at a wooden +shack near the roadside. There was a Bowser pump outside the door. + +An old man with a goat's beard appeared at the door. + +"A couple of gallons of gas, please," I shouted, and while he pumped +it in I surveyed the surroundings; there was another little shack not +far away and two dirty-looking Mexican women were sitting down outside. +Here and there, round about, lay rubbish, pieces of timber, tin cans +and other débris. + +"Guess you get mighty lonesome here, dad?" + +"Aw, dunno," he replied. "Bin here nigh on forty years. Guess I got +purty well accustomed to it now." + +"Forty years! I should say so!... Thanks. Say, how far's Peach Springs +from here?" + +"Peach Springs? This is Peach Springs. You're in it right here," and he +pointed to his shack. + +"_This_ Peach Springs? I thought it was a big town with umpteen +thousand people in it." + +"And so it was, till they moved it." + +"Moved it?" I stood aghast at the thought of such a horrible thing. + +"Aye, I mind the time when there was over 40,000 people in Peach +Springs. They'd all come in a heluva sweat lookin' for gold, and what's +more, they found it. Then the gold begun to give out until in the end +there warn't none at all, an' when the gold went the people went with +it. I'm the only one as didn't go and I guess I'm not much concerned +about it neither. Provisions and gas and oil are better'n grubbin' +after gold all yer life." + +"Provisions?" I queried. "Got any pineapple chunks?" + +"Sure thing. Got everything." + +Overcome with emotion, I filled my pockets with tinned fruit and +biscuits. + +That night my camp fire burned in a glorious spot sheltered by high +cliffs. Fuel was scarce, there were just a few dried-up bushes to burn, +but it was splendid, camping there with the beautiful clear sky above, +the stars shining as I had never known them shine before. + +On again we went at dawn. This time it was to leave behind the cedar +forests and the towering canyons. We were getting near the fringe +of the great arid desert that stretches for nearly 300 miles to the +heart of California. Gradually the ground became flat, almost as flat +as the proverbial pancake. On it grew no vegetation at all, save the +scanty sage-brush that can flourish where all other things die. Miles +away, but clear enough to be only a few hundred yards, rose ranges of +saw-toothed, evil-looking mountains, as barren as barrenness could be. +Ahead lies the trail stretching beyond the traveller's vision to the +horizon. On the left runs a fence. Beyond the fence is the Santa Fé +Railway. The telegraph poles and the distant mountains are the only +objects that break the interminable flatness. The sky is cloudless and +the heat of the sun intense. At every five or ten miles a stop is made +to drink water from the bag on the handlebar. One has a glorious thirst +in these parts. + +Mile after mile goes by, and hour after hour. The sun grows higher in +the heavens, its rays pour down upon my back with unrelenting fury. +When shall we get to anywhere? The inner man grows weary of fasting in +this infernal heat. A massive rock, lying all alone in the vast plain +on the right, asks: "Why will ye not repent?" Oh, the irony of it! The +man who painted that rock was a fanatic, but he knew what he was about. + +Kingman at last! Kingman meant breakfast. Breakfast meant water melons +and coffee and pies and other good--nay, beautiful--things. Kingman +meant drinks and ices and sundries to one's heart's content, and one's +pocket's contents. + +On again I pursue my way, feeling like a new man. Next stop Yucca, +thirty miles. Gee! the sun is hot. Nearly eleven. My stars, what +will it be like at one? Everything is sand now--underneath, around, +everywhere. The wheels tear it up in clouds as they skim through. +Sometimes they slip sideways in it and flounder about, trying to grip +on to something firm. Sometimes we slither over altogether but the sand +is soft and spills do not disturb one much. But the sun--I wish it +would stop working a bit! + +Vegetation appears once again, but of a very strange kind. It is a +vegetation that is different from any we know in Europe. It is at the +same time grotesque, mysterious, ridiculous, wonderful and luxurious. +It is desert vegetation. You have always thought of deserts as devoid +of every sign of vegetation? It is not so in the great deserts of +America. Life abounds but, as if in recompense for the privilege of +living, it has to take strange forms. Yet, if they are strange, it is +only in comparison with the vegetation to which in temperate climes we +are accustomed. The unnumbered varieties of cactus plants and trees are +in reality beautiful and strange beyond description. They are always +green, always fresh and always beautiful. It is a kind of "Futurist" +beauty that adorns them. The cactus trees, for instance, have their +leafless branches projecting almost at right angles to the trunk, and +they in turn branch out in a similar manner, presenting a grotesque +appearance. The tall and beautiful Ocatilla--one can almost refer to +it as a desert "shrub"--springs directly from the ground like several +long waving feelers bunched together below and spread apart above. The +prickly-pear, with its needle-covered fleshy leaves, each one joined +on to another without stem or stalk, presents a most weird aspect. +Even the modest and unassuming sage-brush, the poor down-trodden "John +Citizen" of every desert, seems to have been arranged on the barren +plain in regular rectangles and rows, spaced at mathematical distances +apart. + +The secret is that each one has to think of only one thing--water. Each +cactus plant or tree is provided in itself with the means of storing +a reserve of water. Moisture is the one great thing that dominates +them all. That being so, the constitution of desert vegetation has +to be altogether different from that of humid climates just as our +constitutions would have to be entirely different if we lived on Mars, +where there is hardly any water at all. + +This was truly a world of wild fancy. It would be ridiculous--I +thought--to try to explain a scene like this to people who had +never seen anything but ordinary trees and plants and flowers. They +would laugh in scorn when I tried to describe to them that strange +conglomeration of fanciful shapes, those mad-looking cactus trees with +every joint dislocated, those weird Ocatilla waving their long slender +arms twenty and thirty feet above the ground. And look at that great +organ-pipe cactus over there, nothing but a huge light-green fleshy +trunk, with two or three other trunks all perfectly straight and +perfectly vertical on top of it! How could one possibly describe things +like that? + +"With a Watch-Pocket 'Carbine,' of course. What else?" I mused and +stopped to take out my camera from the toolbox. It was not so easily +done as said. The toolbox lid seemed red-hot to my fingers. I could not +bear my hand on the top of the tank even. + +Oh, water, water: how beautiful thou art! Even when imbibed under +hand-pressure from a smelly canvas water-bag! + +Could it EVER get any hotter than this? The only way was to +keep going, the faster the better. Then the heat, with frequent drinks, +was just tolerable. When I stopped, it was like being plunged suddenly +into a great furnace. Never mind; there would be ice-creams at Yucca. +On again, as fast as we can, leaping over gullies, ploughing through +the loose white sand. Lower and lower we get as we travel. The gradient +is not noticeable, for there are ups and downs all the way, and ridges +of hills here and there. All the same, we are making a steady descent. +In a couple of dozen miles we shall cross the River Colorado. That +morning we were over a mile high above it. Now we are at its level. +That explains the increasing heat the further we go, and further on for +hundreds of miles the road lies but a few feet above the level of the +sea; in places it is actually below it. + +In the distance appear trees--poplars, eucalyptus and cedars. They +denote the small ramshackle town of Yucca, like an island in the plain. +The trail widens into a road. Living beings are seen, horses, carts +and motor-cars. It is the civilized world once again. What Yucca does +for a living I am at a loss to know. It cannot certainly be a ranching +town. Probably there is a little gold in the vicinity and it is a small +trading centre. Probably it is more important as a thirst-quenching +centre! + +A short stop and on we went again into the desert, leaving behind +us the little oasis, and plunging ahead into a still hotter region. +The strange cactus trees and desert plants gathered round once more. +Rougher and rougher the road became. The sand gave place to sharp +loose grit interspersed with rocks and jutting boulders. As it did so, +gradually the luxurious vegetation of the desert grew thinner and the +dull miserable sage-brush took its place. The trail divided up into two +deep and solitary ruts and in between them lay loose shale and grit +that absolutely defied progress. The wheels would sink in freely and +churn the road up aimlessly. It was necessary then to ride in one of +the ruts. Where they were broad this was not difficult, but when they +narrowed and deepened a spill was almost bound to occur if one wobbled +but a fraction of an inch from the dead centre of the rut. Negotiating +a road of this nature was something new in the sport of motor-cycling, +but it was exasperating. I was to find later that riding continuously +in a rut was like riding on a greasy road, in that the more carefully +one went and the more timid one grew, the more dangerous did the riding +become. Time and time again I was thrown off by fouling the side +of the rut and plunged headlong over the handlebars into the road. +The slower I went the more often was I thrown. If I travelled about +ten or twelve miles an hour I could maintain my balance by using my +feet where necessary. Riding at that speed, however, was out of the +question. It was better to go faster and risk the frequent spills than +to be roasted alive. So I went faster. The faster I went the easier +was it to maintain balance naturally, because the steering became more +sensitive and only a very small movement of the handlebars within the +limits of the rut would suffice to correct any deviation from perfect +balance. I found that at between thirty-five and forty miles an hour +it was moderately easy to follow the rut through the swerves in its +course. But even then, occasionally there would be a nasty spill, a +few bent levers and some scratches. (I learned a week or so later from +"Cannonball Baker," the famous American racer, that he travels in these +same ruts at between fifty and sixty!) + +Here and there the trail would cross a "wash" or a dried-up lake bed +and then the sand régime would reappear. And ever did death speak from +all around--desolation in bewildering intensity almost cried aloud +from the fire-swept waste that lay all about me. Often I passed the +remains of derelict cars left at the side of the road; sometimes it +was a mudguard or a spring, a tyre or a broken wheel; sometimes it was +a complete chassis, stripped of everything that could be taken away. +For what could be done in a region like this if the breakdown were too +large? Nothing but to push the car off the road and leave it to its +fate. Almost without exception the remains were of Ford cars. That +shows the wisdom of travelling in a machine that bears no great loss if +it is damaged or forsaken! + +Occasionally I passed a gigantic heap of small tins all rusty and +forlorn. I was puzzled at first. How did they get there? And why had +they been heaped up if they were the discarded food-tins of passing +travellers? But no. They are the sole remains of a "mushroom" town of +the West. In them one can picture the sudden growth and the almost +equally sudden decay of a settlement that thrived while there was gold +to be found in the vicinity. + +Here and there, too, were little heaps of bones, bleached white as +snow--the remains of a horse or a cow that had strayed. To lose +oneself, be it man or animal, is sure death in the Mohave Desert. + +It is just midday. The sun is vertically above. It beats down on my +shoulders and dries up the skin of my hands. My hair, over which I had +never worn a hat since I left New York, is bleached to a light yellow +colour and stands erect, stiff and brittle. The alkali sand and dust +have absorbed all the moisture from my fingers and gradually cracks +and cuts are developing in my finger tips and at the joints. I find +it easier to grasp the handlebars with the palms of my hands alone. +My clothes are saturated with dust and my trench boots are cut and +scratched, with the seams broken away; the right sole has pulled away +and threatens to come off altogether unless carefully used. I feel that +the sooner I get out of the Mohave Desert the better it will be for me. + +But the heat! It seems to know no shame, no pity. It is terrific. Every +five miles I stop and drink from the water bag. There is just enough +to carry me to the next stop. For the first time I begin to long for +shelter from the burning rays. There is none around anywhere--not as +far as the horizon. I must push on quickly.... The rut suddenly breaks +and swerves away.... CRASH!... Up again, lose no time. On once +more; what matter if the footbrake doesn't work? A motor-cycle is made +to go, not to stop! + +In front, to the left, rise pinnacles of purple granite. They stick up +sharply into the sky like the teeth of a great monster grinning over +its prey. They are the "Needles," and they fringe the Colorado River. +What a glorious sight it will be to see a river again, with water +flowing in it. + +Now on the horizon appears a blotch of green. Its beauty in that yellow +wilderness is beyond description. It is the green of the stately poplar +trees that surround the railway station of Topock. That is where the +road and the railway and the river all meet, and where we leave Arizona +and enter the State of California. Thank Heaven it is not far away. The +pinnacles rise higher and higher, the little oasis grows bigger and +bigger, and the trees greener and taller. + +At last! Lizzie's rattle is silent. We come to rest under a great +shelter thatched with straw that has been erected by the roadside +opposite the restaurant--the only building in the town beside the +railway station. A few yards further on was a massive steel bridge 400 +yards long that spanned the Colorado. Beyond lay California, but I was +satisfied with Arizona and the straw-thatched shelter for an hour or +two. + + * * * * * + +At two we crossed the great bridge. What good fortune would California +bring, I wondered. It brought even worse roads than I had seen in +Arizona. There still remained over 200 miles of desert to be crossed. +The trail was very rough, like a mountain track at the start, full +of ups and downs and swerves and washes. Twelve miles further on I +arrived at the town of Needles, so tired and hot that I decided to +abandon travel until the evening. Then I would ride out into the desert +and make my bed under the steel-blue sky. I was too enamoured of the +wonderful sunsets and the glorious sunrises of the open plain to allow +them to pass unseen in a musty, stuffy hotel bedroom. + +Needles, I was surprised to find, was very much bigger than I had +expected. It is now a good-sized town and its main street a bustle of +activity. After disposing of a steak at a Chinese restaurant, I bought +a book and retired to the square. There I took off my tunic, rolled +up my shirt sleeves and lay on the grass beneath the tall, thick palm +trees and whiled away the hot afternoon hours. + +At evening as the setting sun was drawing a magic cloak over the +tropical sky, I stole out of Needles along the lonesome trail that I +had learnt to love. Except for low-lying mountains all around, there +was nothing but the everlasting sand and sage-brush. Behind lay the +gigantic plain and across it, like a silver snake, crept the great +silent river. It was the most impressive scene that I have ever beheld +from my bedroom window. My mattress was the sand with a waterproof +sheet laid upon it. Never did Monte Cristo with all his wealth sleep in +such luxury as that. + +[Illustration: IN THE MOHAVE DESERT.] + +[Illustration: CACTUS TREES NEAR SAN BERNARDINO, CALIFORNIA.] + +He who all his life has associated the dawn with the soft greetings +of birds and the mellow noises of awakening nature, is struck at +once with the vast difference of desert countries. I have read that in +unexplored Africa and South America, the dawn is heralded by a mighty +tumult of millions of voices, a great chorus of every soul in the +great populace that lives in forest and jungle. In the Mohave Desert +the majesty of the dawn unfolds itself in deathly silence. The entire +absence of sound of any kind is awe-inspiring, almost weird, and the +observer can but watch and wonder at it as he sees the whole firmament +set ablaze with colours and shades that he never imagined existed, and +gradually the silent grandeur of the spectacle is revealed. + +It was with just such feelings that from my bed I watched the unfolding +of another day from the depths of the great silent plain which lay +beyond that thread of silver in the distance. + +And then, on again. There was a low range of mountains ahead to be +crossed. It was slow work and very tiring. The constant looseness of +the surface, the need for everlastingly keeping one's eyes glued to the +trail, and the terrible monotony of it all for mile after mile, made +me long all the more for a sight of the orange groves and the blue sea +beyond that to-morrow I might, if nothing unforeseen happened, enjoy. +Thus went fifteen, twenty, thirty miles. The first halt was reached. +It was only a railway station, a "hotel," a garage and two or three +houses, but it meant breakfast, and a good one at that, for the journey +that was ahead. Feeding over, out we went once more to brave the ruts +and the rocks and the sand, for miles and miles unending. The morning +sun grows slowly into a midday sun. + +We have been climbing a little. Low-lying ranges of absolutely bare, +purple-brown jagged hills seem to hem us in. Soon we shall be across +them. Beyond there will be--what? More, perhaps. The road here has been +"oiled," that is, the sand has been levelled and then crude mineral oil +poured on. This hardens the crust and prevents the road from blowing +away, giving to the uninitiated the impression of well-laid macadam. It +is a relief after the loose sand, and it looks so strange for a black, +broad highway to be going across a desert! It does not last long, but +comes and goes in patches. Where it does appear it is often lumpy and +cut into grooves and slices. Nevertheless it is welcome.... The road +turns when it reaches the crest, continues for a few yards, and then.... + +A marvellous sight has suddenly appeared, viewed from the meagre height +at which we stand. A great plain lies beneath and before us, greater +and flatter and more desolate than my imagination could ever have +conceived. All around it are mighty saw-toothed ranges of mountains +pressing close upon the horizon and fading away into nothingness. In +it is nothing, not a prominence of any kind, save the omnipresent +sage-brush that seems to stretch in streaky uniformity like a great +purple-brown veil above the cream-white sand. It is impossible to go +on--to do anything but stop and wonder that over so great an area +nature can be so desolate. It is wonderful, mystifying in its intensity. + +Did I say there was no prominence? What are those two minute specks +away over there in the heart of the plain? They must be a tremendous +distance away, but in their very minuteness they are conspicuous. It is +obvious that they are not there by the design of Nature.... As I look, +a tiny white speck appears further still to the left, as though it +emerged from behind the range of mountains that I have just crossed. +Look! There is a short black tail behind it. It is a train! + +Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it moves across the great wilderness. The +black specks then are stations, small man-made oases where water has +been brought to the surface. Yes, it is true. Ten minutes elapse, and +the little white speck merges into the little black speck. Thus are +sizes and speeds dwarfed into insignificance when Nature has the mood +to show her magnitude! + +On again we go, spinning smoothly awhile over the smooth, oiled road. +It stops in a mile or two and leaves nothing but the old heart-rending, +twisting, wayward ruts and sand to guide us. Hours go by. They are +hours of wild effort, maddening heat, and interminable boredom. +Generally, every fifteen or twenty miles, there was a railway station +and a restaurant where one could stop for drinks, ices, and petrol. + +Four o'clock saw me in Ludlow, a small town, larger than the other +stops. I was dead tired. Come what may, I was not going to work myself +to death. I had done 200 miles since daybreak. That was enough for +anyone in a country like this. + +At eight o'clock I set out with Lizzie in the deepening twilight to +find a resting-place for the night. The road was oiled, but in most +places the sand of the desert had blown over it, covering it for +several inches in depth, and sometimes obliterating it from view for +many hundred yards. + +"I will sleep at the foot of yonder hill," quoth I, and saw visions of +concrete roads and orange groves beyond the horizon. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +I REACH THE PACIFIC COAST + + +I saw something else on the horizon too. It started as a little black +speck on the road, seeming to swerve now and then from one side to +another. It emitted a strange noise that at first was scarcely to be +heard, but increased until it reverberated indefinitely from the bare +angular mountain ranges. + +It was a motor-cycle! + +An inexpressible feeling of sympathy and comradeship surged through me, +as I realized that here was another fool starting to do what one fool +had already almost done. I wondered vaguely whether he knew what he was +doing. + +We both stopped, dismounted, and looked at each other for a few moments +before either spoke. The sight of another motor-cycle seemed to take +both of us by surprise. The stranger, a young man of twenty-four or so, +had an old twin-cylinder Excelsior that looked very much as if it had +seen better days. I led off the conversation. + +"Where do you reckon you're going on that?" + +"New York." + +"Ever done it before?" + +"Nope." + +"Insured?" + +"Nope." + +"Pleasure or business?" + +"Both." Here he fumbled around a huge bruise on his forehead. +"Leastways, that was the idea. I'm writing it up for the _Adventure +Magazine_ when I'm through"--and he added guardedly, "That is, if I +don't kill meself with a few more headers like this." + +"How'd you get that?" + +"Oh, Boy, I came such a crash on a bit of oiled roadway back there by +that salt-lake bed. Don't remember anything of it except being chucked +clean over the grips about fifty. My Gad, it was some crash! I came +round about half an hour after. Say, Boy, you look out for them ruts; +ride plumb in the middle of the road, and you may miss 'em, 'cause +they're filled in and blown over with sand. Jest the right width of +your wheel, they are." + +"Sure, I've made their acquaintance already; kind of keep a man fit, +don't they? But, say, you've got many more like that coming between +here and New York. Take my tip, old man. If you've got anyone depending +on you for a living and you don't want to knock the 'X' and yourself to +little pieces, you had better go back home right now and tootle up and +down the Californian coast for a holiday. And if you still want to get +to New York--well, all I can say is, there's a dem fine train service, +and you'll find a depot right there in Ludlow." + +"Don't you worry, Boy; I've done a heap of motor-cycling in my days +and I guess I don't get scared at a header or two, and s'long as I can +fix anything that happens along, I guess I'll git to Lil Ole Noo York +before a couple of weeks is gone." + +"Young man," said I in a fatherly tone, "you don't know what you're +saying. You're talking blasphemy--sheer heresy. Your crash has turned +your wits a little." + +"Thanks, but I've made up my mind to go by road, and go by road I will." + +"That's the spirit, but just a few more words of advice. Sell it and +buy a Ford. Then you'll be able to take some one with you." + +"I'm taking some one already, Boy. He's back at Ludlow. Shipped him on +from Barstow, the road was so dog-gone bad and he got scared at the +desert." + +"What! You're taking him on the carrier?" I cried aghast. + +"Sure enough. What's against it?" + +I was speechless. His youth and innocence held me spellbound for a +moment. Then I burst forth: + +"Man, you're mad! ABSOLUTELY MAD! Here, c'mon, Lizzie, before +it gets too dark and before this lunatic gets unsafe." I kicked her +into a roar. "Cheerio, old man! Give my love to the Angels to-morrow!" + +Then his open exhaust burst into a clatter and I saw him no more. I +often thought about him, though, and wondered how, when, and where he +ended up. + +Next morning I shook the desert sand from my blanket for the last +time. By hook or by crook I should be sailing through the streets of +Los Angeles before nightfall. I judged I looked pretty fierce on the +whole. I had no looking-glass, having left my suit-case to be shipped +on back at Santa Fé, but I had the best part of a week's growth on my +chin and I had not known the joy of a wash for four days. My hair, my +boots, my clothes, my everything, were saturated with sand and dust. My +tunic, which in its earlier days had been a green tweed, was now white +at the back, bleached almost colourless with the sun and then soaked +with alkali dust. In the front and below the sleeves it maintained +something approaching its original colour. My boots? Well, they had not +been off for four days, and the right sole, which had been threatening +revolution, had so many times nearly tripped me up by doubling +underfoot, that I had removed it near the instep with my pen-knife! + +And Lizzie was in no better condition. Externally she was a mass of +string, wire, insulation-tape, mud, oil, and sand. Internally she +was a bundle of rattles and strange noises. Everything was loose and +worn; the sand had invaded her at every point and had multiplied wear +a thousandfold. Latterly the tappet rods had had to be cleaned and +adjusted over a sixteenth of an inch every day until there was no more +adjustment possible. The valve rockers were worn half-way through, some +more than that. One had worn right through until it had broken in the +middle. I began to be afraid that the engine would not hold out even +for the 200 odd miles to come. By handling her carefully and giving her +ample oil, I hoped to "deliver the goods" and get across the remaining +half of the great desert tract that borders on the Sierra Madre Range +running parallel with the coast from north to south. Once across that +range, everything, I told myself, would change abruptly, the roads, the +scenery, and the climate. + +Mile after mile of rock and sand went by with the sweating hours. +Often little patches of oiled road appeared, stayed awhile, and then +miraculously disappeared below the white, loose surface. Nearly always +there were two ruts, beautifully sharp and well cut, sunk three or four +inches below the rest of the surface, caused by the fierce rays of +the midday sun converting the oiled surface into a plastic condition +easily moulded by passing cars which, once given the lead, follow +blindly in the others' "footsteps." Many a bad swerve and an occasional +spill did I have when my front wheel found such as this. But the major +portion of the road was just the bare, loose sand and gravel of the +desert. + +I had by now become so used to my own company that the sense of +loneliness almost disappeared, and I felt as perfectly at ease here as +anywhere else. I felt that the great wastes had a charm, nay, even a +lure, that eclipsed all past sensations and gave a mental satisfaction +that no other phase of Nature could ever reveal. I cannot describe +the ineffable something which made me love the great solitude and the +mighty spaces, but it is there nevertheless, and, like the greatest +of passions, it gives extremes. After one has lived but a few days in +the desert, either he loves it passionately or he loathes it. There is +nothing in between. + +On the right there lies the great "Death Valley" that stretches a +hundred miles to the north between the Armagosa and the Paramint +Mountains. Its name is suggestive of the many people who have miserably +perished of thirst in its clutches. It is the remains of a long-since +dried-up inland lake and parts of it are 150 feet below the level of +the sea. There is nothing in it save bare rock and shifting alkali +sand, with here and there a cactus or a little sage. The heat is +tremendous and the thermometer sometimes rises to 140°. In all, not a +pleasant place either to live in or to die. But there are those who in +the search for gold live here for months at a stretch. + +Confound it! There goes No. 1 cylinder again. Why doesn't she fire? Am +I to start overhauling the engine in this terrible place? I stop to +change a plug.... Nothing doing.... Try another.... Still no result. +For ten minutes I tinker with red-hot tools. Gee! the blessed machine +will be melting soon if we don't move quick. In disgust I go on again +with only three cylinders working. Past memories crowd into my mind, +but the eternal battle with the loose sand suffices to keep them out. + +It was too bad, to start playing pranks like this within a few hours of +the coast. The sand of the road absorbed most of the power I now had +left and often I had to change down to bottom gear to get along at all. +It was wonderful what a difference just that one cylinder made, and it +was most annoying that it should happen just here, where the earth was +nothing more than a confused mass of rocks and sand, and the sun stood +vertically above in the sky. "Thank Heaven, I've some water left, if +anything happens," thought I. + +"What in the world is that thing?" I asked myself. Closer acquaintance +proved it to be a motor lorry, dressed up as a caravan and minus a back +axle--a most remarkable sight in most remarkable surroundings. From the +numerous loop-tracks that swerved around it, it had evidently stood +there many days. Its owner was lying underneath on his back. + +"Pretty place to change a back axle, old man," I remarked intelligently. + +"Yep. Not the kind o' thing a feller does for the fun of it, either," +he retorted, scrambling out from his resting-place in the sand. + +"Well, is there anything I can do for you, anyway? I don't quite +like to see a chap stranded in a blankety-blank country like this on +blankety-blank roads like these." I forget just the adjectives I used, +but I know they were hardly of the drawing-room variety. Imagine my +surprise when a feminine voice from inside chirped out: + +"Yes, that's just about got 'em sized up! I've never heard such a +mighty cute description of 'em." + +Five days they had been there. The back axle had broken under the huge +strain of dragging the load through the deep, loose sand. A passing car +had taken it to San Bernardino to be repaired, and other passing cars +had kept them well supplied with water. They expected to have the axle +back the next day and then had nothing to fear. As I could do nothing +for them, I propped Lizzie up against the side of the lorry and tried +once more to persuade No. 1 cylinder to join hands with the rest. + +After half an hour of useless toil, I bade farewell to the caravan and +its occupants. + +"Quite sure I can't do anything?" + +"Plumb sure, thanks. Mebbe we shall be there before you, y'know,"--with +a wicked twinkle in his eye. + +Then followed hours and hours of ceaseless toil. We climbed hills and +crossed great lake-beds that glistened white with a dazzling glare. +In some of these there was nothing to be seen in the vast stretch of +alkali deposit where once, thousands of years ago, rested the briny +waters of lakes and inland seas--nothing, not even a plucky bush of +sage-brush, clinging valiantly to its life-hold. + +We came to Barstow, a growing settlement, a railway centre and with +great alkali factories. Here, after nearly 100 miles' running, I had a +substantial breakfast-lunch-dinner meal and filled my water-bag for the +last time. We were nearing the end of the Mohave Desert. + +Here the trail turns sharply to the south to "San Berdoo," the +colloquial abbreviation of San Bernardino. At one time the trail had +crossed the desert by a different route altogether, in places almost +100 miles from the railway line. So many souls had perished with the +heat and lack of water--perchance through some breakdown or through +losing their way--that later a new road was "constructed" following +closely the track of the railway so that travellers by road need never +be in difficulties for long. It is an unwritten law in any of the +American deserts that anyone can hold up a train anywhere if he needs +water or supplies or other help. It is willingly given, whether it be a +freight train or the "California Limited" express from New York to San +Francisco! + +The San Gabriel Mountains now rose high on the horizon. They had but to +be crossed, and then all our troubles would be over. + +So I thought. + +At Victorville, a growing town at the north base of the range, the +desert had almost disappeared. Eucalyptus trees became strangely +intermixed with cactus trees, and the aroma of their long, grey-green +leaves filled the air with a new sensation. It was the approach of +civilization once again. + +And then followed the long, winding climb up to the Cajon Pass. In the +thick sand and with only three cylinders, it was hard work and slow +work. I thought we should never get to the top. Looking back, I beheld +a wonderful panorama of desert plain, and a glistening sea of sand; +looking forward, I saw just a gap in the great black wall and a rocky +pathway winding through it. + +Are we NEVER going to reach the summit? We must have climbed +nearly a mile high already, I argued with myself, when, of a sudden, +the twisting, rocky trail ceased to exist. It vanished like magic, and +instead there was before us a magnificent, broad highway of smooth, +flat concrete that made me yell with delight. It was wonderful. I +laughed and sang with childish glee to think that after 4,000 miles +of mud and sand and soil and rock and rut and unspeakable goat-track, +I was at last on a concrete road once again, with a surface like a +billiard table. I swerved madly from side to side to make sure those +two haunting ruts had really disappeared, and laughed again when I +found I was not thrown off. It was just glorious. + +One more turn, and a great valley lay at my feet. It was green with +grass and the mountain sides were clothed in pine trees. Pine trees! +How beautiful they looked! It was surely a dream, a vision, a trick +of the imagination. There was a long, winding gradient down into the +valley. I shut the engine off and we coasted down the smooth concrete +without even a whisper or a jar of any kind. It was like a sudden entry +into heaven--and almost as silent. + +There were now seventy miles of concrete leading between avenues of +eucalyptus and groves of orange trees into Los Angeles. Further, the +road was almost perfectly flat, although bordered by the San Gabriel +range, and, with a few right-angle bends here and there, cut straight +across from east to west, with hardly a swerve from the straight line. + +Truly it was like a new world, this fruit garden of California. For +miles unbroken save by little avenues, one passed row upon row of +orange trees laid out in perfect symmetry and exactitude in the rich +flat soil. A narrow ditch, dug parallel with each row and having small +branches to each individual tree, communicated with larger ditches +along which flowed a constant stream of fresh water led from the +mountain sides. + +Interspersed would be groves of prunes, peaches, and apples, then a +plantation of water-melons and cantaloupes of all shapes and sizes. + +And then, as if to snatch away the enjoyment of all these pleasant +things, a great clatter arose from the engine. Something had broken at +last, and it seemed that the whole was a revolving mass of loose pieces +all knocking up against each other. Then, before I had been able to +slow down--it all happened in a few seconds--there was a metallic thud, +the back wheel locked dead, and the machine dry-skidded itself to rest. +Once again Fate had decreed against me, angry that I should have got so +far in spite of all her efforts. + +Well, well! There was plenty of time to spare now; no need to hurry. +I sat down on the grass at the roadside in the shade of an orange +tree, ate two oranges--from the tool-box--and smoked a pipe. Feeling +refreshed in every sense, I then proceeded to take the engine to pieces. + +No. 1 piston had broken in fragments and a large piece had jammed +between the big end of one of the connecting rods and the crank-case. +It was strange that it had not punched a hole through it. + +It was far too long a job to take off the sump at the roadside--it +would have meant taking the whole engine out of the frame--nearly a +day's work--so I removed as many of the pieces of piston as I could get +at through the inspection window. The piston-head was floating loose +like a flat disc above the small end. This I removed and packed the two +halves of the broken gudgeon pin apart, so as to guide the small end +up and down in the cylinder. It was impossible to remove the connecting +rod entirely, even with the cylinder off, without removing the whole +engine from the frame and taking off the sump. + +In a couple of hours I was going again, but very very gingerly, lest +another piece of piston should be caught up and cause another jamb. +The noise of the rattle too was terrific, and I could hear the warning +of passing cars (of which there were now several) only when they were +right behind me. Sometimes it would get suddenly worse and a further +disrupture would appear imminent, and then it would go suddenly back +again to its normal. Thus we toiled for thirty miles, at an average +speed of twelve miles an hour. + +At Ontario--the towns were as numerous as they were prosperous--I +feared another and final episode. A Ford car that was passing slowed +down to offer me assistance, and putting Lizzie in "free engine" I +hung on to his hoodstays with my right arm as a tow-rope. This lasted +for ten miles, but I could stand it no longer; my arms were stiff and +aching with the uneven strain. I thanked my benefactor and let go. + +The remaining twenty miles into Los Angeles were endured and +accomplished under our own power at about eight miles an hour. The +attention I attracted was considerable. Hundreds upon hundreds of cars, +buses, and motor-cycles passed, hurrying here and there, their tyres +making a continuous low hum on the concrete road. Luxury, wealth, and +happiness abounded on every hand. No greater antithesis to the aching +void of the desert back behind the mountains could be imagined. + +Every house was a picture, a model of cleanliness and homeliness. The +art of building bungalows is reduced in California to the irreducible. +It is amazing to see the variety of design and the characteristic +beauty of them all. They made the modern English bungalows of my memory +seem like enlarged dog-kennels by comparison. + +At five o'clock in the afternoon we rattled into Los Angeles, the New +York of the Far West. Lizzie's clatter rose above the noise of the +trolley cars that thronged the busy streets. Here at last was the +long-sought-for goal--the goal that for nearly three months had urged +me westward! And my steed? Poor Lizzie, she cried aloud for a respite +from the long, weary journey! + +Had I known where the Henderson Agency was I could not have found my +way there quicker. It seemed as if Lizzie's instincts had taken her +there just as a lost cat, transported hundreds of miles from home, +slowly, painfully and perseveringly drags its tired body back again. + +A quarter of an hour later I was sailing in a side-car towards the +"Clark Hotel." That was where my hotel at Santa Fé had recommended me +to go and had forwarded my baggage. + +We drew up at the door of a palatial establishment--the "posh" hotel +of Los Angeles. Once again, after many a long day, my knees began +to quake. Brushing by the magnificent door-porter, I swung into the +luxurious lounge. Afternoon tea was just finishing. I strolled across +to the reception desk, trying hard to maintain an air of complete +innocence as regards my personal appearance. I endeavoured to assume an +attitude of perfect congruity with my surroundings. + +To say the least, I was lamentably unsuccessful! Little groups of +people chatting together stopped and gazed at the dishevelled +intruder. Imperfectly disguised smirks were evident on all sides. +Pages, bell-boys, and porters quickly brought their grinning faces to +attention as I glowered upon them in turn. At last I reached the desk. + +"You've got some baggage for me, I believe--a couple of grips--sent +from the 'Montezuma' at Santa Fé. Shepherd is my name." + +Meanwhile the manager appeared on the scene. Resting himself with both +hands on the desk as if to steady himself against any possible shock +that he might receive from the contemplation of so strange a spectacle, +he gazed at me in silence. Then, below his breath, he found words to +convey his astonishment: + +"My Gad!" he said, and paused deliberately. Then he continued +explosively, "I've seen some sunburnt faces in my time, but never, +NEVER, NEVER have I seen a man anywhere with a face +like yours!" + +"It's nice of you to say so," I retorted. + +"Heavens, man!" he continued, ignoring the interruption, "your hair's +nearly white and your chest is nearly black. Where in hell have you +been?" + +"Oh, I didn't stay there long," I replied, "no longer than was +necessary to get here from New York." + +"New York!" (I was quite expecting him to say "Whar's that?" but +evidently its existence was known in well-informed circles in Los +Angeles). "Have you walked it or swum it or what?" + +"Only motor-cycled it, Old Bean!" + +"Well, now, if that's not.... Here; I'll give you your key. Go and have +a good bath RIGHT NOW." + +I thanked him. A porter had got my bags and stood waiting. His face was +the essence of staid immobility when I looked at him. Together we went +in the elevator to the _n_th floor. Eager to see what I really did +look like, my first indulgence was to look at myself in the glass, a +thing I had not done for many a day. + +It certainly was a shock. I could barely recognize myself. I really +was the most remarkable creature I had ever seen. I could not refrain +from bursting into uncontrollable laughter. The hitherto straight-faced +porter did likewise, and we both felt the better for it. + +A hot bath! Wonder of wonders! I tumbled into it and the past was +forgotten in the inexpressible ecstasy of the present. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +LOS ANGELES TO SAN FRANCISCO + + +In full, the real name of Los Angeles is "La Puebla de Nuestra Señora +la Reina de los Angeles"--"The City of our Lady the Queen of the +Angels." Founded by Spanish settlers about 1780, it is built upon the +plains that roll from the foothills of the Sierra Madre down to the +sea. It represents the very last word in the civilization of the Far +West. + +Los Angeles is a city of which to be proud. It is a hustling +metropolis, but not too hustling. Its streets are wide and well-laid, +its buildings clean, and its residences are just too wonderful for any +words of mine. It is moreover the "movie centre" _par excellence_ of +the world. "Duggie" and "Mary" and "Charlie" are not merely familiar +characters on the screen. They are your neighbours. You see them pass +in the streets and go shopping with them in the stores, like ordinary +human beings. Undoubtedly the development of Los Angeles in recent +years is due largely to this industry. So also is the amazing beauty +of its feminine population. Going deeper still, we find that the +secret of its success lies in the wonderful climate. There is but one +rainy season in Los Angeles during the year, and that is the month of +December. + +Strange to say, Los Angeles is not on the sea-coast. It is twelve miles +to the nearest part of the beach. This seemed rather extraordinary +to me, particularly as San Francisco, with whom they are so eagerly +competing, stands on one of the finest and largest harbours in the +world. I remarked so to the _Times_ reporter one day. "But why," I +asked, "did they build Los Angeles so far from the sea?" "Oh well, you +see," he replied in all seriousness, "they had a mighty good idea about +things. They reckoned that by the time Los Angeles had really started +growing she'd be right on top of the Pacific, so they gave her a chance +and laid the place out twelve miles away." "Oh, was that it? I see," +was my innocent retort. + +Be that as it may, there is a network of beautiful, straight, concrete +roads leading from the city down to the coast in all directions. +Dozens of small residential towns are springing up amid this network +of roads--towns that some day will be suburbs of Los Angeles. At least +that is the way to think of them. And the roads themselves? On Saturday +afternoons and Sundays they are like great living arteries along which +flows an endless stream of motor-cars. The Californians know how to +enjoy themselves. There is not one fragment of the art of exterminating +boredom that they have not studied. They frivol _en masse_, and to do +it they naturally choose the sea-beach as a habitat. Consequently the +coast is strung with dozens of seaside resorts of every type and shade +of description, and with only a mile or two between them. + +A trip to one of these "Los Angeles Beaches" is essential to the +education of the true student of Southern Californian civilization. +Never at any time have I seen public highways so completely covered +with motor-cars. The number seen approaches the incredible, in the eyes +of the astonished European. Frequently there were two almost endless +rows of cars with but a few feet between them, moving slowly along like +a gigantic procession several miles in length. Occasionally there would +be a hold-up, and the whole string of cars, one after the other, would +pull up, each car close upon its forerunner. Without exception, all +American cars are provided with buffers at front and rear so that the +car does not suffer any damage when one touches another even with quite +a severe impact. The obstruction is removed, and on the procession goes +again. Perhaps some unfortunate is changing a wheel at the roadside. +Then there is a big curve in the long, straight line where the more +fortunate Fords and Maxwells and Buicks and Overlands, etc., etc., +swerve round him. And thus we carry on until the coast is reached. + +Naturally the first glimpse I had of the Pacific Ocean gave me feelings +of unbounded joy. I even confess to having obeyed the childish instinct +to pick up shells and seaweed on the beach. It was a sight to look upon +until the majesty of the breakers and the infinite expanse of the deep +blue ocean eclipsed one's sense of magnitude altogether and one became +lost in a world of vision and fantasy. + +I spent over a week in Los Angeles. During that time I was almost +overwhelmed with hospitality. The Californians I found easily the most +hospitable people in America. At every hand I found people, whom I had +neither seen nor heard of before, inviting me to dinner, and taking me +rides in their cars. Further, I found I was friends with the police, +and that without any difficulty either! In fact, the very air of +California is charged with friendliness. Consequently, I was sorry when +the day came when I should leave it behind. + +Lizzie was finished. She had had a complete overhaul and several parts +of the engine replaced. Numerous telegrams and letters had been flashed +across the States to the works at Chicago. They were in vain. Although +still under the makers' guarantee, they would accept no responsibility. +I paid the last bill that made Lizzie's repair account just exceed the +amount I originally paid for her three months before and started out +to complete the journey to San Francisco. I cannot, however, omit to +mention the extreme courtesy and hospitality with which I was met at +the Henderson Agency itself. I could never at any time wish for better +attention or hope to make better friends in foreign countries than I +was fortunate enough to do in the "City of Angels." I left it with a +pang of regret. + +It was late in the evening when I started. I found to my annoyance that +the lights were defective. The headlight was _hors de combat_. Only the +"dimmer" remained to light me on my way. I had about sixty dollars in +my pocket, though, so I was the perfection of happiness withal. + +I am afraid those sixty dollars need some explanation. I arrived in +Los Angeles a week before with about twenty. The Post Office, as ever, +maintained an inexplicable silence. Having now quite reconciled myself +to being mailless wherever I went, save for a letter or two forwarded +through my friends in Cincinnati, I decided to direct my energies to a +profitable purpose while waiting for Lizzie's return from hospital. + +I scanned the newspapers night and day. Had I been a tram-driver or +a page-boy I could have made a hit at once without any difficulty. +There was also a big demand for boot-blacks, but for anything that +suited my tastes and inclinations there was nothing. My small stock +of "greenbacks" (paper dollars) was slowly diminishing the while. +Something had to be done. + +So I started in on journalism. Strange to say, I made money at it. With +the one exception of Kansas City, it is the only time I ever have. +Americans seemed interested in the impressions of stray Englishmen +through "God's own country." Better still, Californians seemed +interested to learn what one stray Englishman in particular had to say +about California on the one hand, and all the other States on the other! + +I have the best of reasons for believing that they were perfectly +satisfied with my report. So that is how, after paying for Lizzie's +operation, I still had sixty odd dollars left to my credit. + +The broad, well-lighted city streets with their trolley-cars soon were +left behind, and we rode for miles along boulevards of wondrous surface +through the residential quarters of Los Angeles. There were magnificent +bungalows of countless variety, the homes of both poor and rich. +Further on, we passed through Hollywood, the home of the homes of the +"movie" people. Occasionally would be seen a great block of buildings, +unpretentious in architecture but palatial in extent. These were the +"studios" where the films are made that instruct, amuse, and annoy the +world's population. + +Finally, the last bungalow receded into the background and ahead was +inky blackness, a beautiful concrete highway, and the faint forms of +mountain ranges. In the darkness, dispelled only within a radius of a +few feet by the small pea-lamp that remained in service, everything +looked mystic, shadowy, and strange. It seemed just the night, just the +surroundings for adventure, the kind of environment that makes the +vagrant life so much worth living. + +The road ran parallel with the coastline, some ten or more miles away, +but in between lay the Santa Monica Mountains, whose feet the highway +skirted. Sometimes the hill-sides were barren and rocky; other times +they were clothed in gloomy cedar forests. I wondered what strange +animals lurked in them and whether I should make the acquaintance of +any mountain lions, bears, wolves, wild cats and other animals that +still are plentiful in the mountain regions of California. Occasionally +a car passed, the glare of its headlights transforming the sombre +surroundings into a still stranger world of silver and gold. The road +for a few moments changed to a path of glistening white leading to +the unknown. And then, when the car dashed by, everything plunged +instantaneously into a sea of blackness so intense that it could almost +be felt. + +I had intended to polish off a couple of hundred miles before morning. +I love nothing better than a long night ride on a good road. But lack +of illumination defied my intentions. After thirty miles I pulled in to +the side of the road where a great beech tree overhung its branches, +and laid down my ground-sheet upon the soft bed of dead leaves and nuts +that lay beneath. + +It was the softest mattress that I have ever lain upon in the open. In +a few minutes I was fast asleep. + +In the early hours of the morning I began to dream. I dreamt that some +great animal was walking slowly around me as I lay. It snuffled about, +grunting at intervals in a most dissatisfied manner. It is not a habit +of mine to dream about anything. I remember reflecting subconsciously +that I had ceased to dream of bears and such like when I reached the +age of four. Why then should I dream about them now? Oh, hang the +fellow! What is he making that confounded noise for? + +A few minutes later I discovered that I was not dreaming at all. I +was wide awake. Without moving anything but my eyes I peered into the +darkness that still enshrouded everything. Sure enough I could make out +a huge black mass somewhere near my feet, but could not discern its +actual form.... Slowly, gently, I slipped my hand underneath my pillow. +At last, I thought, I shall have a chance of shooting at something +bigger than prairie-dogs! And then the thought struck me, how strange +it was that in all these thousands of miles of travelling through +plains and deserts and forests, my slumbers had never been interrupted +by any nocturnal visitor--I had not even SEEN anything that +could possibly annoy the most domesticated young person who loves his +feather-bed. + +The big black thing became more distinct as I looked. His head was down +and he was engaged in wondering just exactly what my feet were and who +put them there; whether they'd be nice to eat if vegetable, and if not, +whether they were animal or mineral, and if so, why? I waited my time. +He put his head closer to smell the offending object. With a sudden +kick I landed out straight for his nose with my right foot. A yell rent +the air and the big black thing leapt away squealing into the darkness. +A 33 bullet followed him there just for luck. + +His squeaks gradually died down as he scampered helter-skelter down the +road. It was only a poor harmless pig looking for nuts--but he had no +right to disturb my slumbers! + +In the morning we continued towards the west. The end of the Santa +Monica Range came in sight and soon the road descended in long winding +"grades" towards the sea-coast. For the first time by daylight I saw +California in its true colours. Here I should mention that the height +of summer is not the best time to explore California. It is in the +winter and the spring that the country is arrayed in its greatest +glory. The lack of rain, even near the sea-coast, is so marked that +by the time summer is reaching its zenith, there is not a green +blade of grass to be seen. The face of the country, where it remains +uncultivated and unirrigated, is an eternal brown. At first this +brings a sense of disappointment to the traveller who has heard so +much of California's meadows of wonderful green mingled with the hues +of countless kinds of wild flowers. In summer-time there are none. +But in spring-time, when the sun has not started to blaze and the +rain has worked its miracles, the charm of the country must be beyond +description. + +At Ventura, a pretty town on the sea-coast, Lizzie's speedometer ticked +off the 4,500th mile. There remained another 450 to be done, and the +journey would be at an end. I had little doubt now of getting there. +The roads were so good that motor-cycling was child's play. Indeed it +often became monotonous. At most times one could travel at almost any +speed of which one's machine was capable, and still the straight, flat +roads would be tiring to the point of boredom. + +The towns and villages one passed, however, were full of charm. The +most famous road through California, El Camino Real--which means +"The Highway of the King"--was one which I was following and had its +origin in the old trail which the historic padres followed in the +romantic days of the Spanish occupation two and three hundred years +ago. This trail, blazed by the padres "by God's will for the reigning +monarch of Spain," stretches for 900 miles from Mexico to Oregon, +and along it there still stand the old Mission Houses that are so +prominent a feature of Californian history. There are nineteen of them, +each "a day's journey apart," and each of an entirely distinct and +characteristic type of architecture. + +These Missions stand to-day, having with few exceptions been maintained +intact in their original form, and they serve as beautiful testimonies +to the genius of their builders. So admired is their style of +architecture that they are religiously copied, more so now than ever +before, in public buildings and sometimes private dwellings in all +parts of the West. One even sees railway stations and tramway termini +modelled in the form of one of these ancient Franciscan Missions! + +If I was charmed with Ventura, I was thrice charmed with Santa Barbara, +another wonderful coast town of modern style built on an ancient site. +The old Santa Barbara Mission stands away up on the hill-sides of the +Santa Ynez Range above the town and looks over the blue waters of the +Pacific towards the craggy islands of Santa Cruz that lie beyond. For +sheer delight of climate, scenery, and surroundings I would forsake any +home in any town in any country that I have yet seen to live in Santa +Barbara, had I the wherewithal to do so. + +Following the coastline, and in many places separated from it only +by a ridge of stones or a strip of vegetation, the road continues on +its happy way for many miles. On the left splash the deep blue waters +of the Pacific. On the right rise steeply the Santa Ynez Mountains, +which like a link in a great chain form, with many others, more or +less disjointed, the "coast range" that fringes the sea from Mexico +to Oregon. Sometimes the road is bordered with Yucca palms, sometimes +with pepper trees, and sometimes with eucalyptus. One even sees, almost +simultaneously, cactus plants and prickly pears growing amid the +parched-up grass on the sun-swept side of some unfriendly hill! + +At Caviota, a few miles south of the famous "Point Conception," the +road leaves the coast and swerves inland. Across the tip of the Santa +Ynez Range it goes, swerving now to the left, then to the right, +climbing, dipping, and swerving again for sixty or seventy miles until +once more it catches a glimpse of the Pacific at El Pismo beach. + +Near here I left the beaten track and followed a narrow pathway that +led around a hill-side to the cliffs. Here I made my bed down once +again in the long, dry grass that clothed the top. I could say with +tolerable certainty that never before had a motor-cycle followed that +path. It was soon no more than a little rut scarcely visible in the +grassy slope. But I achieved my objective. With the murmur of the sea, +as it dashed against the rocks a few hundred feet below, singing always +in my ears, I passed one more night of exquisite repose and magic charm. + +I awoke in the morning and sniffed the sea air. It was very attractive +certainly, but was there not something the matter with it somehow? Or +was it my imagination? I wriggled half out of bed and peered over the +edge of the cliff. I stopped; I looked; I listened. Down there, on a +little bed of white sand, lay a dead seal stretched out flat, as one +would lay a tablecloth. He looked a dismal sight, poor fellow. + +Ten miles more, inland again, and it was breakfast-time. We were at San +Luis Obispo, a fine little town at the foot of the Santa Margarita--one +more link in the coast range. San Luis Obispo took its name from an old +Mission founded in 1772, and once was the centre of wealth among the +Spaniards of the country. + +Afterwards we cross the hills and continue northward. Always the +Southern Pacific Railroad is on our right, sometimes just a few feet +from the highway. The concrete has stopped and at intervals we have +our old friend, the natural gravel. The laying of concrete is being +proceeded with at many places, a hundred yards or so at a time, and +detours running parallel at the side connect us up with the road ahead. +Many little seedling towns are passed--all of them well planned and +well advertised--and at last we come to Paso Robles (Pass of the Oaks), +a larger town which derives its name from a great natural oak park. I +should mention that oak trees are abundant in California and they grow +often to a very great size. + +We are now in the Salinas Valley, in proportion like a long, narrow +groove 100 miles long cut in the face of the country. Through it runs +the Salinas River, winding and bending with great sweeps through its +sandy bed. At midsummer it is dried up completely, and, from the +long wooden bridges that cross and re-cross it, looks like a sandy +sea-beach, with fences across from one bank to the other to stop the +cattle straying! + +Along this valley blows a constant cool wind from the sea in the +north. All day long it blows, week in, week out. The further north one +proceeds the stronger it becomes, until it approaches almost a gale +that whistles down the narrow channel like a cold blast, even in the +broiling heat of the cloudless sun. Where, here and there, were to +be seen bunches of poplar trees and eucalyptus, they were invariably +leaning distinctly to the south, their gaunt trunks permanently moulded +by the inexorable wind. On the smaller trees, the sycamores and the +cedars, there was often not a branch nor a leaf to be seen on the +northern side of the trunk, the foliage almost touching the ground on +the southern side. Those hundred miles were the coldest I had known in +the whole journey, and always I found the head wind so strong that the +power of the machine seemed half absorbed in merely combating it. + +San Miguel, San Ardo, King City, Soledad, Gonzales, and finally, at +five in the afternoon, Salinas was reached at the end of the valley. +San Francisco was now but little more than 100 miles beyond. To-morrow +would be the last day. The end was in sight. + +But what of Lizzie? Alas, she was in a sorry condition. Gradually since +we left Los Angeles two days before she had fallen off in power. The +old rattles and noises had recurred with astonishing alacrity. I had +had many stops for minor adjustments and examinations, and even feared +another breakdown before the skyscrapers of 'Frisco loomed in sight. +The reader may be in as good a position as I to judge of the merits of +American compared with English motor-cycles, but he will admit that +seldom could occur a worse combination of bad luck and pig-headed +pertinacity than is witnessed in the wanderings of Lizzie and me +through the United States of America. + +At Salinas I ate and drank right heartily, and drowned my sorrows in +wistful contemplation of the blue eyes of the gentle damsel who served +apple pie across the counter of the "quick-meal" luncheon bar. + +"Lizzie, would you like to sleep by the sea to-night for the last +time? Think we can get there, old girl? It's twenty miles there and +twenty back, y' know!--Righto, c'mon!" and she burst once again into an +animated confusion of noise and life. + +Monterey is on the coast. It stands surrounded by hills on a +magnificent bay which, with its yachts, motor-launches, and +fishing-boats, is one of the most famous beauty-spots of the +Californian coast. Monterey was once an important centre of history in +the early days of Spanish and Mexican sovereignty. Later, it enjoyed +the distinction of being the first spot in California where the +American flag was hoisted. Now it is little more than a seaside resort, +but as famous in California as is Naples in Italy. + +A splendid highway leads from Salinas and cuts through beautiful hills +clothed in cedar and oak. The journey was worth doing, if only to +breathe the sea air again and sleep to its murmur. + +It was rather a pathetic affair--that last night out. I hated to +leave Lizzie propped up on her stand on the low cliffs while I made a +comfortable bed in the sand on the beach. The tide was out, but I was +determined to get as near to the sea as possible. I chose a spot where, +nestled in a sandy cove in the rocks, I could see the breakers just a +score of yards from my feet. + +I awoke in the early morning to find the sea barely a foot from my +feet. The tide rose higher than I had expected, but I had time to enjoy +a few delightful minutes of lying half awake in bed before I finally +proved discretion to be better than damp bedclothes and dragged my +belongings to a less obtrusive spot. + +Thus dawned another day, the day that was to see the end. I had ample +time and lingered on the way, now administering friendly attention to +Lizzie, now stopping for a light refreshment or to take a leisurely +photograph. It was all too glorious--that last day. + +But poor old Lizzie again showed signs of exhaustion. I nursed her +tenderly and rode as slowly as I felt inclined throughout the day. + +Monterey was left behind after breakfast. Then Salinas was reached once +more, and now we were again on the road to 'Frisco. + +Over the mountains to the east once again, down the San Juan Grade, +that wound and screwed itself round the rocky slopes, and we got to San +Juan, where the tall eucalyptus and waving pepper trees gave an air of +majesty to the fine old Mexican town it proved to be. + +Then we turn to the north once more and enter another valley, the +valley of Santa Clara. The towns become larger and more frequent, the +country more developed. Orchards and fruit-groves are frequently seen. +At the roadsides, built up on trestles, are great water-tanks that are +used for irrigation. I notice that here and there, where the pipes that +lead to them have leaked a little, the dark brown soil below has burst +into great masses of fresh green grass, while all around is parched and +lifeless. + +At San José we find a great fruit-growing centre, and at the same time +a beautiful city of many thousand inhabitants. Its streets are lined +with palms and its suburbs extend into the orange groves that abound on +every hand. + +Simultaneously one cylinder starts to misfire, and then another. Soon +they are all missing. At intervals they would all chip in for a second +or two, and as suddenly chip out again. I smelt magneto trouble. + +I also smelt prunes, millions of them. O Californian Prune, how often +have I eaten of thy tasty endocarp in far-off England! And here thou +art in myriads about me! + +I stopped a dozen times, changed plugs, examined leads, and tinkered +with the magneto. Evidently there was something the matter inside the +magneto. I would trust to luck to get to 'Frisco--only forty miles more. + +And thus we continued, sometimes dawdling along at fifteen and then +suddenly bursting into full power and shooting along at forty for +a minute or two, as Lizzie's peculiar whim would have it. It was +annoying, tiring, disheartening, but I felt I should get there. I had +long since planned a trip to the Yosemite National Park, returning +thence to the north across the border and eastward through Canada back +to New York. That little project would certainly never come off. I had +had enough already. I made one great big oath to sell Lizzie's carcase +for what it would bring in San Francisco. Poor old Lizzie! I pitied her +in a way. She must have been born with a curse on her head. But she +would have to go, if only for 100 dollars. Already I began wondering +who would get her after we had parted. + +After ten miles appeared the southern tip of the great harbour that +stretches inland to north and south from San Francisco. This bay is +fifty miles long and ten miles wide and forms one of the grandest +harbours in the world. All the navies of all the nations of the earth +could be comfortably tucked away in a corner of it. The road follows +within a few miles of the western shore of this inland sea, and at +every few miles are small, fast-growing cities comparable with nothing +but their prototypes that cluster around Los Angeles. For here we +are absolutely in the centre of the wine-making district. Sixty +years ago cuttings and rooted vines of every variety found in Europe +were brought to California and planted, mostly around this great bay +of San Francisco, where the frequent sea-fogs contribute so much to +the maintenance of perfect conditions for the growing of vines. They +flourished, and now we have Médocs and Sauternes and Moselles and +countless others from California, as well as from France. + +For miles and miles we see nothing but vineyards and fruit-groves. +There is no fence, no ditch, no railing. The orange trees and plum +trees fringe the very road. It is not possible to say where one estate +ends and another begins. The owners probably know. + +The towns are now so thick that with them also it is difficult to say +where one ends and another begins. Only another fifteen miles! Poor old +Lizzie, she may peg out altogether. + +But no. She keeps at it. Sometimes she ceases firing altogether, +but only for a moment. On she goes again, now on one, now on four +cylinders. Hey ho! We shall get there all right. + +'Buses and cars in hundreds pass in both directions. We shall soon be +in 'Frisco now. + +Tram-lines appear and then trams. Trolley-cars, they call them in +America. 'Frisco at last! + +I dodge in and out of the traffic as best I may. It is very thick +indeed, and in very much of a hurry. I sail down Market Street, the +"Strand" of San Francisco. What matter if Lizzie clatters and rattles +and stops and shoots on again? She has brought me here. And as I say +so, the little indicator on the speedometer moves to 4,950. Just 50 +miles short of 5,000 from New York! Gee! it seems like an extract from +another life, that departure from far-off New York. And how long? Three +months? It feels like twelve at the least! + +I found the post office and sang out for mail. Sure enough there was +some--forwarded from Cincinnati. I learnt for the first time that the +detailed "Schedules" that I had dispatched three months ago at New +York had not yet reached England. Hence the reason for the seeming +unkindliness of the Post Office en route. But where were they? I was +not to know until a week after my return to England, when they arrived +suddenly, without any warning, and simultaneously, to all my friends +and relatives there. They had been all round British East Africa; +Heaven and the New York postal authorities alone know why! I had not +counted on such waywardness on their part when in my innocence of +American ways I had dropped them in the post-box at New York. + +Thus ends my tale of woe. It is a strange thing, but nevertheless true, +that now I have done with it and written about it and done with writing +about it, I still think what a glorious trip it was and what a perfect +ass I was to do it, and what a still greater ass I was to say anything +about it! + + + + +EPILOGUE + + +SCENE I + +SCENE.--_Outside the Post Office, San Francisco, Cal._ + +TIME.--_August_, 1919. + + + + +CHARACTERS + +LIZZIE. +MYSELF. +AN ARMENIAN. +CROWD OF LOUNGERS, SMALL BOYS, AND WOMEN OF VARIOUS NATIONALITIES. + + (SELF _emerges from portals of Post Office. Chorus of + voices from crowd._) + +"'Ere'e is; look at his face; look at his chest. You're one +globe-trotter, I'll reckon. How long did it take? How much has it cost? +What did you do it for? How'd you like San Francisco?" etc., etc., etc. + +MYSELF (_dangerously ruffled at not having received a +cheque_). "Well, and what are you all gaping at, like a lot of +half-witted school-kids? Never seen a motor-cycle before? Here, you (to +ARMENIAN), where's the Clift Hotel?" + +ARMENIAN. "Do you vont to zell zis machine?" + +MYSELF (_successfully concealing rapture at the suggestion_). +"Sell her, after she's brought me all the way from New York? SELL +HER? Why, I'd sooner sell my mother-in-law." + +ARMENIAN. "I vill gif you 'undred dollar right 'ere." + +MYSELF. "Hundred dollars be damned, and you with 'em! Where's +the Clift?" + +CHORUS OF VOICES. "Up the hill here and second on the right. +Von 'undred dollar. Follow the trams. Give us yer water-bag, boss. Look +at his boots. There's a cop on the corner. Von 'undred ten dollar, +right now. Look at 'is 'air," etc., etc. + + (_Exit slowly in procession_, SELF _leading; Alarums and + Excursions._) + + +SCENE II + +SCENE.--_My room at the Clift Hotel._ + +_Half an hour has elapsed._ + +(SELF _discovered, washing face. There is a knock at the +door._) + +SELF. "Come in." + +(_Enter_ ARMENIAN.) + +ARMENIAN. "Ah, 'ere you vos. Ze manager tolt me your room. I +come right up." + +SELF. "Apparently." + +ARMENIAN. "I vont to buy your motorsickle; vot you vont for +'im?" + +SELF. "Speak respectfully, please. I want 500 dollars for +HER." + +ARMENIAN (_throwing up his hands in horror_). "Ah, zat vos too +much, my frent! Dot vos more zan you give for 'im--for 'ER." + +SELF. "And how the devil do you know what I gave for her?" + +ARMENIAN. "I haf made enquiries, jhust. I af bin to ze aghency +'ere. Zey say it vos 480 dollars." + +SELF. "Well, any fool knows a machine improves with running +(the blush is unnoticed beneath my Indian complexion); and what's more, +if a machine can stick it all the way across THE UNITED STATES OF +AMERICA it must be a dem good one. I should have asked 600, but I +like your face (_cold shivers down spine_), so I only want 500." + +ARMENIAN. "Ah, zat vos far too much. I vill gif you von +'undred fifteen--no more." + +SELF. "Nothin' doin', bo. Five hundred. Here's my card; you +can call round any time between now and to-morrow midday with the +money. If you can't do it by then, you can drop in and see me at +Salt Lake City after next Wednesday, or Chicago after next Saturday. +Cheerio; close the door as you go out." + +ARMENIAN (_reading card and much awed by same_). "Ah, you vos +Mistaire Sh---- Captin Sheffer, R.A.F.? I tink you vos vaire rich man. +You could afford to GIF me ze machine! Not so? Me vaire poor +man, Captain Sheffer, R.A.F." + +SELF. "If you knew as much about the Air Force as I do, you'd +know better, my friend. Now, for Heaven's sake, BUZZ OFF, and +don't worry me." + +(_Exit_ ARMENIAN _with bows, shuffles of the feet, and +salaams_.) + + +SCENE III + +SCENE.--_The same._ _Half an hour later._ _A knock._ + +SELF. "Come right in." + +(_Enter_ ARMENIAN.) + +SELF. "What, again? Got the 500?" + +ARMENIAN. "Grieved to trouble you vonce more, Captin Sheffer, +R.A.F., but all ze money I 'af in ze world vos von 'undred twenty-five +dollar. Me vaire poor man, Capt----" + +SELF. "Yes, I've heard you say so. I believe you. Now we're +both liars." + +ARMENIAN. "Ah no, you insult me, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F. I am +poor, but I am 'onorable man. I tell always ze truth. Zat vos all I 'af +in all ze vorld." + +SELF. "Look here, Mister--I don't know what your name is, but +I guess you're a Hebrew of some kind----" + +ARMENIAN. "My name is Mistaire Karachan, and I come from +Armenia." + +SELF (_aside_--"I might have guessed it."). "Well, Mr. +Karachan, I'll take your word for it. Give me 125 right now and you +can take the machine away with you. She's outside on the pavement. But +mind, I shall never want to see your face again." + +ARMENIAN (_moved almost to tears_). "Ah, you vos a torough +zhentleman, Mistaire Sheffer; all ze Englishmen are zhentlemen. Zer is +only von contry in all ze vorld vaire zer are such zhentlemen." + +SELF. "Well, you can hand over the wealth right now, here." + +ARMENIAN. "Ah, but I 'af not got it wiz me, Mistaire Sheffer. +It is too much to carry about in my pocket. But I can gif you fifty +dollar and bring ze rest zis afternoon. Zat vos alright? I can take ze +machine now, yes no?" + +SELF. "You can take the machine when you've paid me 125 +dollars IN CASH, and not till then. Get me? I shall be in +again at two this afternoon. You can meet me in the hall with the +money. Good-bye till then." + +ARMENIAN. "Vell, you vill gif me written undertaking not to +sell it to anyvon till then, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F.?" + + +SCENE IV + +SCENE.--_The same._ + +TIME.--_3 p.m._ + +(_A knock on the door, followed by_ ARMENIAN.) + +ARMENIAN. "Mistaire Sheffer, I 'af come to make you a good +bargain. You see zis gold votch? It vos giffen me by my fazer and it is +solid gold wiz twenty-von jewels. You could sell it anywhere for fifty +dollar. Now you 'af bin zhentleman to me, I vill be zhentleman to you. +I vill give you ze votch and von 'undred dollar for your motorsickle! +Is it not a bargain, Mistaire Sheffer?" + +SELF. "Get out!" + + +SCENE V + +SCENE.--_The same._ + +TIME.--_An hour later._ _A knock on the door._ + +(_Enter_ ARMENIAN.) + +ARMENIAN. "Oh, Mistaire Sheffer, I 'af jhust von more offer +to----" + +SELF. "Look here, Mr. Karachan, I'm getting fed up with you. +Better quit before I bang this water-jug on your head. You've wasted +all my day as it is." + +ARMENIAN. "Ah, you vill not do zat. I know you vill not do +zat. You are too much zhentleman. But wait, Mistaire Sheffer. Hear me +vot I say. I 'af von great big suggestion to make for you. I make my +living viz growing fruit. I 'af small plantation only five mile from +'ere. I vill pay you for your motorsickle viz grapes. I vill gif you +five ton of beautiful grapes and send them wherever you like in United +States. Or if you not like zat, I vill gif you 'undred dollar and von +ton of grapes. Is zat not good offer, yes no?" + +SELF (_recovering from momentary speechlessness at the thought +of swapping Lizzie for five tons of grapes_). "Look here, Mr. Karachan, +I've had enough of this fooling. I've undertaken to sell you the +machine for 125 dollars, and if you don't bring me the money, and all +of it, right now, I'll report you to the police. Now there's an end of +it. Get out." + +(_Exit_ ARMENIAN _amid more alarums and excursions_.) + + +SCENE VI + +SCENE.--_The same._ + +TIME.--_7 p.m. A knock._ (_Enter_ ARMENIAN.) + +ARMENIAN. "Oh, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F., I 'af got your money +'ere, but I 'af bin to ze police to register ze machine and zey say I +'af stolen it and vould not let me come away. After much trouble we +telephone a big frend of mine who know police and zey let me come away. +But zey vont your address and ze registration certificate you 'af in +New York." + +SELF. "But, Good Lord, man, who the devil said you could +register it? It isn't yours yet! Give me the money." + +ARMENIAN (_handing me fifty dollars and a cheque for +seventy-five_). "'Ere it vos, but you vos not angry, Captin Sheffer, +R.A.F? I vonted only to save time, because I vont to use ze machine +to-morrow." + +SELF. "Yes, but this is no good (_showing the cheque_). This +isn't CASH. How do I know this'll be honoured? Besides, the +banks are closed now and won't be open till Monday, and I'm leaving +to-morrow." + +ARMENIAN. "Ah, but no, zey vill 'onour ze cheque. Mistaire +---- is vaire well known in San Francisco. You can speak to 'im on ze +telephone if you like and 'e vill tell you ze cheque is all right." + +SELF. "No doubt, but all the same I'll see if the hotel +manager here will cash it. If he won't, that's good enough for me. Come +along, and we'll see him together." + +ARMENIAN. "But you vill gif me receipt now, yes no? Ah, but +vot is zis? _(picking up a small adjustable spanner that lay on the +dressing-table)._ It is part of ze machine! You vould not surely make +me pay for a motor-sickle vizout no tools? Ah, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F., +it is not jhust; I must 'ave everyzing. Are zer any more----" (_At +this juncture_ ARMENIAN _is successfully extruded through the +doorway, still protesting volubly._) + + +SCENE VII + +SCENE.--_In the hall of the Hotel. Manager behind desk._ + +SELF. "Excuse me, but I have a favour to ask. I have just +done a deal with this gentleman, but as all the banks are closed till +Monday, I am wondering if you would be good enough to cash this cheque +for me as I am leaving for the East to-morrow." + +(MANAGER _looks closely at me and proceeds to open till; then, +looking at_ ARMENIAN, _pauses for a moment. Ultimately the +money is paid over._) + +(ARMENIAN _and_ SELF _walk toward door opening on to +street_.) + +SELF. "What the blazes! Where's Lizzie? I left her up against +the pavement. She's gone!" + +ARMENIAN. "Oh, zat vos alright. I move 'er zis afternoon to a +garage round ze corner. Jhust zink how terrible it would be if some one +stole 'im!" + +SELF. "Well, I'll be goldarned!" + + +SCENE VIII + +SCENE.--_Garage "round the corner." Lizzie stands surrounded +by darkness_, ARMENIAN, _and_ SELF. SELF +_discovered explaining to_ ARMENIAN _how the wheels go round +and why._ + +SELF. "Well, good-bye, Lizzie, old girl. I grieve to let you +go into the hands of this being, but it is all for the best. We've had +some jolly times together, but the time is come to part. Good-bye, once +and for all; good-bye, GOOD-BYE----" + +ARMENIAN. "Ah, Mistaire Sheffer, you 'av forgot ze adjustable +spanner!" + + + + +Transcriber's Notes + + +Minor punctuation errors were silently corrected, and oe ligatures +were spaced out. + +Page 39: In the sentence: "and anyone found guilty of exceeding 60 +miles per hour will be liable to a fine of 100 dollars, etc., etc." +"60" may be a typo for "50" because the following sentence says the +fine for exceeding 60 miles per hour is "250 dollars for the first +offence...." + +Page 48: "Pittsburg" may be typo for "Pittsburgh." + (At Waynesburg I passed Pittsburg some miles to the right,) + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Across America by Motor-cycle, by C. K. Shepherd + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ACROSS AMERICA BY MOTOR-CYCLE *** + +***** This file should be named 44505-8.txt or 44505-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/5/0/44505/ + +Produced by Diane Monico and The Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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K. Shepherd. + </title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +.ph1, .ph2, .ph3, .ph4 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } +.ph1 { font-size: xx-large; margin: .67em auto; } +.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } +.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } +.ph4 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +div.titlepage { + text-align: center; + page-break-before: always; + page-break-after: always; +} +div.titlepage p { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + font-weight: bold; + line-height: 1.5; + margin-top: 3em; +} + +.xsmall {font-size: x-small;} + +.author {text-align: right; + margin-right: 5%; + font-variant: small-caps;} + +.hang {margin-left: 2em; + text-indent: -2em;} + +ul.list { list-style-type: none; } +li { margin-top: .5em; } + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; + margin-left: 27.5%; + margin-right: 27.5%;} + +hr.chap {width: 65%; + margin-left: 17.5%; + margin-right: 17.5%;} + +hr.r5 {width: 5%; + margin-left: 47.5%; + margin-right: 47.5%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +.figcenter {margin-top: 1.5em; + margin-bottom: 1.5em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + text-align: center;} + +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:smaller; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; } + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Across America by Motor-cycle, by C. K. Shepherd + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Across America by Motor-cycle + +Author: C. K. Shepherd + +Release Date: December 25, 2013 [EBook #44505] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ACROSS AMERICA BY MOTOR-CYCLE *** + + + + +Produced by Diane Monico and The Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<hr class="chap" /> + + + + + +<h1>ACROSS AMERICA BY MOTOR-CYCLE</h1> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 561px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="561" height="800" alt="(cover)" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 473px;"> +<a id="frontispiece"></a> +<img src="images/i002.jpg" width="473" height="600" alt="Portrait of the Author." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">Portrait of the Author.</span></div> +</div> + + + +<div class="titlepage"> +<p class="ph1"> +ACROSS AMERICA<br /> +BY MOTOR-CYCLE</p> + +<p class="ph3">BY<br /> +<span class="ph2">C. K. SHEPHERD</span></p> + +<p class="ph3">ILLUSTRATED</p> + +<p class="ph3"><span class="ph4">NEW YORK</span><br /> +LONGMANS, GREEN & CO.<br /> +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD & CO.<br /> +<span class="ph4">1922<br /> +<i>All rights reserved</i></span></p> +</div> + +<hr class="r5" /> +<p class="center"> +<span class="xsmall"><i>Made in Great Britain<br /> +by</i> Butler & Tanner, <i>Frome and London</i></span> +</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE">PREFACE</a></h2> + + +<p>A few months after the Armistice of 1918 was signed, when the talk of +everyone concerned was either <span class="smcap">when</span> they would be demobilized +or what they would do when they <span class="smcap">were</span> demobilized, two young +men were exchanging views on this same subject in the heavy atmosphere +of a very ordinary hotel somewhere in London.</p> + +<p>One was wondering how near, or how far, were the days when he would see +the old home-folks once again "way back in Dixieland."</p> + +<p>The other was wondering what form of dissipation would be best suited +to remove that haunting feeling of unrest, which as a result of three +or four years of active service was so common amongst the youth of +England at that time.</p> + +<p>"How about getting married?" suggested the one.</p> + +<p>Then followed a long pause, wherein the other was evidently considering +the pros and cons of such a unique proposition.</p> + +<p>"Nothing doing," he replied eventually—"not exciting enough, old +man." Another pause—"And when I come to think, I don't know of any +girl who'd want to marry me even if I wanted to marry her." And as +if to give a final decision to any proposal of <em class="italic">that</em> nature, he +added—"Besides, I couldn't afford it!"</p> + +<p>"But I tell you what I will do, Steve," said he, "I'll go back with you +across yon herring-pond and have a trot round America."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span></p> + +<p>So that was how it happened.</p> + +<p>Two or three months later, when I arrived at New York from Canada, +I purchased a motor-cycle and set out to cross the continent to the +Pacific, and I have it on the best authority that this was the first +time an Englishman had ever accomplished the trip on a motor-cycle. If +it is so, I don't wonder at it!</p> + +<p>The whole trip, which covered just fifty miles short of 5,000, was +undertaken quite alone, and although spread over about three months, +constituted a day or two short of a month's actual riding. For the +benefit of brother motor-cyclists who may be interested in such +details I may add that I dispensed entirely with the use of goggles +from beginning to end, and except at stops in large towns on the way +I wore no hat. I think that when the motor-cyclist gets accustomed to +doing without these encumbrances he will find the joys of motor-cycling +considerably enhanced.</p> + +<p>The total number of replacements to the engine alone comprised the +following: Five new cylinders; three pistons; five gudgeon pins; three +complete sets of bearings; two connecting rods, and eleven sparking +plugs.</p> + +<p>The machine was entirely overhauled on four occasions between the +Atlantic and the Pacific, and on three of these by the recognized +agents of the manufacturers. The engine cut-out switch was the only +part of the machine that did not break, come loose, or go wrong +sooner or later. I was thrown off 142 times, and after that I stopped +counting! Apart from that I had no trouble.</p> + +<p>Contrary to what the reader may think, I paid considerable care to +the machine, particularly in the early stages. For the first three +hundred miles I barely exceeded twenty to twenty-five miles per hour +in order<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span> to give the machine a good "running-in" before submitting it +to harder work. At the end of the trip I had spent more in repairs and +replacements than the original cost of the machine, and I sold it at +San Francisco for just over a quarter of the amount I paid for it three +months before.</p> + +<p>And I am still as keen a motor-cyclist as ever!</p> + +<p>The machine was of the four-cylinder, air-cooled type, and I have +nothing but praise for the smooth running that this type affords. I +have ridden scores of machines at one time and another, but never have +I driven any motor-cycle that for luxurious travel could I even compare +with the one mentioned in this narrative. As regards reliability, +however, I must leave the reader to form his own opinion from the +facts, which occurred exactly as I have stated them. Nothing in this +book is set down in malice, and I can only hope that my case was +exceptional so far as the frequent breakdowns were concerned. I must +admit that the conditions were exceptional and that anyone crossing the +United States on a motor-cycle might expect trouble sooner or later.</p> + +<p>The reader may observe that I say little of tyre trouble throughout the +story. That is for two reasons: the first is that there is nothing at +all interesting in the narrative of repairing a puncture, for instance; +the second is that I had very little trouble indeed to complain of. +With the smooth, even torque that is so characteristic of four-cylinder +engines, tyre trouble is easily halved, and practically all that one +has to fear is the terrible condition of most of the roads. I arrived +in San Francisco with the same tyres as I had when I started, and they +were still good for several hundreds of miles more.</p> + +<p>Petrol consumption, too, was excellent. Those who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> have not known +high-powered, four-cylinder motor-cycles would probably think the +consumption would be about forty miles to the gallon. On the contrary, +I found my machine much more economical than the same-powered V-twin. +As far as I know I averaged about 75 m.p.g. "all on."</p> + +<p>The journey was comparatively uneventful. I never had to shoot anybody +and nobody shot me! In spite of the relative wildness and barrenness +of the West, there were always food and petrol available in plenty. +I spent most nights at the side of the road and experienced neither +rheumatism nor rattlesnakes.</p> + +<p>In the following pages I have endeavoured to portray America and +Americans exactly as I found them and as they appealed to me. If at +times I perchance may give offence to any who are lovers of all and +anything American, I do it without intent. Suffice it to say that +before I went I had the highest opinion of anything that came from that +worthy country, so that it cannot be claimed that I am one of those +"Pro-British-every-time" individuals who delight in criticizing other +countries and other peoples in order to gratify their own sense of +national or other superiority.</p> + +<p>Finally, I will ask the reader to be patient, or at any rate, not +over-critical when he or she may confess to being bored. For the sake +of making this a complete record of my wanderings I have included that +which may lack interest, and as I can lay claim to no graceful diction, +I may, I am sure, rely on the reader's indulgence towards the narrative +of quite an ordinary, unaspiring, British motor-cyclist.</p> + +<p class="author">C. K. S.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Birmingham</span>, 1922.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</a></h2> + + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="toc"> +<tr><th align="right" colspan="2"><small>PAGE</small></th></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Prologue</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">I. <span class="smcap">Traffic in New York</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">My Efforts to Become Americanized—Reflections on New York +Traffic—Dissertation on American Roads—Coney Island—Equipment +for the Journey</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">II. <span class="smcap">New York to Philadelphia</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Companions in Distress—"The Playground of the World"—American +Proclivities towards the Superlative—A Lapse into +Philosophy—Introduction to the "Detour"—The Good Samaritan +Rewarded—Philadelphia—Adventures with a Garage Proprietor</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">III. <span class="smcap">Philadelphia to Washington</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Prosperity in New England Villages—Motor-cycling de Luxe—Peregrinations +of a "Tin Lizzie"—Insights into the Inner Life +of an American Highway—Humouring a Negro—Self-conscious +Scruples—Illuminated Signs—Hotel Life in Washington</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">IV. <span class="smcap">Exceeding the Speed Limit</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Experiences of Brick Roads—Approaching the Alleghanies—The +Lust for Speed—And Its Consequences—Queer Methods of Enforcing +the Law—Stranded</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">V. <span class="smcap">Across the Alleghanies</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Soliloquies of the Humble Poor—The Subtleties of Advertisement +Hoardings—Corn in Egypt—The Peregrinations of an English +Sovereign—A Whiff of Good Old London—Appreciation of Nature +in America—Lizzie Reports Sick—Lead, kindly Light—Auto-suggestion +as an Aid to Sleep</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">VI. <span class="smcap">The Dixie Highway</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">I Make the Acquaintance of the Ohio River—Lizzie develops<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span> +Acute Indigestion—The Irony of Henry Ford—I administer +First-aid—Hero-worship to a Rag-and-bone Merchant—A New Use for +an Old Tree—The Ubiquitous Columbus—The Friendly Tram—The +Dixie Highway—Eulogy to the City of Dayton—My Extravagant +Taste for Cake—An alfresco Meal—A Final Burst of +Extravagance—Home Once More</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">VII. <span class="smcap">Cincinnati and Onwards</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Cincinnati—A Memorable Day—Aspersions on an American +Repair Shop—Chess-board Roads—The Humour of Decorated +Telegraph Poles—Soliloquy on the Pike's Peak Highway—Effects +of State Boundary Lines—Indian Corn—A Luxurious Bathe—Indianapolis—The +3 A Club—What Constitutes a Good Road</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">VIII. <span class="smcap">Indiana and Illinois</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">How Dirt Roads are Cultivated—A Brush with a Road-plough—How +Flivvers "get through"—A Bad Patch and a Good +Samaritan—The Subtleties of General Merchandise—I attract a +Crowd in Springfield—Taken for a Movie Actor—Future Cities +of Illinois—Illinois River—The Mississippi at Last—I sleep on a +Railway Embankment</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">IX. <span class="smcap">Stormy Weather in Missouri</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Hannibal—Infantile Automobilation—Rain in Missouri—I get +Annoyed—Railroads v. Highways—Kansas City</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">X. <span class="smcap">Results of a Breakdown</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Kansas City—I visit Lizzie on her Sick-bed—I visit an Editor +in his Lair—Kansas City gets My Story</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XI. <span class="smcap">The Santa Fé Trail</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Westward Again—The Santa Fé Trail—Mosquito Nets—Into the +Great Prairies—I sleep in a River—Pie—Prairie Towns—In a +Thunderstorm—Colorado Reached—The Map proves not Infallible—A +Detour to the Heart of the Rockies—Rain Again</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XII. <span class="smcap">The Royal Gorge of Arkansas</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Strange Dwelling—I am Taken for an American—Supper +in Style—Sleep in Style—Breakfast and Lunch in Style—The Sun +Once Again—Housebuilding at Speed—An Appreciation—The +Rockies—Pueblo—Pike's Peak—The Royal Gorge—The Lust for +Taking Pictures—Picturesque Names—The Worst Road in America—A +Mud Bath—The End of a Perfect Day</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XIII. <span class="smcap">In Southern Colorado</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Strange Mountain Forms—Trinidad—A Flivver to the Rescue—The +Raton Pass—A Wonderful View—At the Feet of the Rockies—A +Phantom Road—Prairie-dogs—Companions—Lizzie sheds a +Sprocket—A Tiring Search—The Biggest Thing in Mud Lakes—Wagonmound—Argument +with a Linemaster</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XIV. <span class="smcap">New Mexico</span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Adventures with a Railway—Stuck Once Again—Assistance +from California—House-hunting by Caravan—Las Vegas—A +Wonderful Ford—A Mexican Village—Lizzie Clean Again—The +Travelling Tinsmith—Santa Fé at Last</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XV. <span class="smcap">Santa Fé</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Santa Fé—Adobe Architecture—The Art Museum—Where +Americans Hustle Not—In the Limelight Again</td><td align="left"><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XVI. <span class="smcap">The Rio Grande Valley</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Departure from Santa Fé—La Bajada Hill—Albuquerque—The +Rio Grande—Indians—The Morals of Mountains—Socorro—Camping +in the Mountains: A Farmyard Episode</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XVII. <span class="smcap">The Petrified Forest of Arizona</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Magdalena—A Strange Metamorphosis—I Sport a Camp Fire—A +Strange Sight—The Petrified Forest of Arizona—Holbrook—Lost +in the Arizona Desert—Mosquitoes Again—Winslow—An Ingenious +Anti-speeding Stunt—That Cylinder Again!—A New Use for Old +Sign-posts—Meteor Mountain—The San Francisco Peaks—Fairy-land—Flagstaff</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XVIII. <span class="smcap">The Grand Canyon</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Lowell Observatory—Wonders of Mars Hill—Ptomaine +Poisoning—Flagstaff Dwellings—Towards the Grand Canyon—A +Wonderful Ride—The First Approach of Loneliness—The End of +the World—The Greatest of all Natural Wonders</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_178">178</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XIX. <span class="smcap">The Mohave Desert</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lizzie Comes to Grief—Etiquette of the Road—The Tragedy +of Peach Springs—Kingman—Desert Vegetation—Yucca—The Art +of Rut-riding—The Tomb of a Town—The Colorado Needles—A +Marvellous View—Oiled Roads—Ludlow</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_192">192</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XX. <span class="smcap">I Reach the Pacific Coast</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Comrades in Arms—Lizzie begins to Complain—Death Valley—An +Unfortunate Caravan—The End of the Desert—The Cajon +Pass—Los Angeles is Startled</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">XXI. <span class="smcap">Los Angeles to San Francisco</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Los Angeles—Friendly California—Towards 'Frisco by Night—I +Dream a Dream—The Californian Missions—The Salinas +Valley—The Last Sleep—Lizzie gives it up Again—The Struggle +for 'Frisco—4,950 at last!</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_224">224</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Epilogue</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</a></h2> + + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="loi"> +<tr><th align="right" colspan="2"><small>TO FACE</small><br /><small>PAGE</small></th></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Portrait of the Author</td><td align="right"><em class="italic"><a href="#frontispiece">Frontispiece</a></em></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Common Occurrence</td><td align="right"><a href="#common_occurrence">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">An Awkward Stretch of Road in Indiana</td><td align="right"><a href="#awkward_stretch_road">74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Midnight Couch</td><td align="right"><a href="#midnight_couch">74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Oldest House in America, at Santa Fé</td><td align="right"><a href="#oldest_house">150</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Art Museum at Santa Fé</td><td align="right"><a href="#art_museum">150</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Pueblo of Taos</td><td align="right"><a href="#pueblo_taos">158</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Rio Grande, New Mexico</td><td align="right"><a href="#rio_grande">162</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Petrified Leviathan</td><td align="right"><a href="#petrified_leviathan">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lizzie in the Petrified Forest, Arizona</td><td align="right"><a href="#lizzie_pet_forest">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Trail to the Grand Canyon</td><td align="right"><a href="#trail_grand_canyon">178</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Lowell Observatory, Flagstaff</td><td align="right"><a href="#lowell_obs">178</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">San Francisco Peaks from Flagstaff</td><td align="right"><a href="#san_fran_peaks">178</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Bottom of the Grand Canyon</td><td align="right"><a href="#bottom_grand_canyon">188</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Cactus Trees near San Bernardino</td><td align="right"><a href="#cactus_trees">206</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">In the Mohave Desert</td><td align="right"><a href="#mohave">206</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PROLOGUE" id="PROLOGUE">PROLOGUE</a></h2> + + +<p>One bright morning in June—to be exact, the thirteenth (the +significance of that number will be apparent later), in the year of Our +Lord 1919 and in the year of American Prohibition 1, a small assembly +of mechanics, passers-by, and urchins witnessed my departure from a +well-known Motor Cycle Agency in New York.</p> + +<p>The machine, a perfectly new and very powerful motor-cycle, was +dazzling in her pristine beauty. No spot or blemish could be seen on +her enamel of khaki hue. No ungainly scratch or speck of rust marred +her virgin form. Her four little cylinders, gaily murmuring as the +engine joyfully sprang into life, seemed to hide a world of romance +as if they were whispering to each other of the days that were to +come, the adventures and experiences they were to encounter, and the +strange lands they were to see. The purr of her exhaust, healthy though +muffled, smooth and even in its rhythm, was music in my ears. A thing +of beauty is a joy for ever, and to those who know the call of the +open road and who love to feel the rush of the wind and the glamour +of speed, such was this machine. Although she was in reality but an +organized combination of various pieces of unfeeling, soulless metal, +without even a name, and known only by a sordid number embossed on a +tinplate provided by the Law, she was soon to develop a character and +personality of her own. She was to play the rôle of sole companion in +the weeks and months to follow. There would be times when I should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> +curse her profanely and at the same time love her passionately. I +pictured vast prairies and deserts where we should be alone together, +far from the haunts of man or animal or perhaps of any living +thing—times when it would depend upon <span class="smcap">her</span> to bear me on to +civilization. So I trust, reader, that you will not think I was waxing +too sentimental on that memorable day in June.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The mileage indicator just flicked to 4,422.</p> + +<p>I was hungry, hungry as a dog. I was thirsty too, and tired—oh, so +tired! The skin on my face was tanned dark with the desert sun and bore +the dirt of many days' accumulation. The growth of the previous week +was upon my chin. My hair was bleached and dishevelled, my clothes and +boots laden with the sand and dust of Arizona and California. With a +bandaged, broken finger, and the rest skin-cracked and bloodstained +with the alkali sand, I held the handles with the palms of my hands. +The sole was missing altogether from my right boot, and the left +contained many a piece of stone or gravel from far away. A couple of +empty water-bags flapped up and down on the handlebar, and as the +old bus dragged her weary way on three cylinders through the crowded +streets of Los Angeles her hideous clatter told many a tale of woe. I +decided at that moment that the best thing in all the world was to get +something to eat and drink.</p> + +<p>"What's the day of the month?" I asked, when with a final "clank" of +the engine we drove into the Agency Garage.</p> + +<p>"The seventh."</p> + +<p>"The month?"</p> + +<p>"August."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And what's the year?"</p> + +<p>"Nineteen nineteen."</p> + +<p>"The seventh of August nineteen nineteen," I mused, and relapsed into +contemplative silence....</p> + +<p>Some one spotted the registration plate "N.Y.8844" and "rumbled" that I +had come from New York.</p> + +<p>"When did you start?" they asked in curious tones. The question +pulled me up with a jerk and brought me back to normal existence, so +inadequately measured by time.</p> + +<p>"Oh, seems like ten years ago!" I replied, and relapsed once more into +reverie.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br /><br /> + +TRAFFIC IN NEW YORK</h2> + + +<p>I spent the better part of two days in the survey of New York City +from all points of view. In the Pullman from Niagara I had decided +that America would probably be just as bad as any European country +for robbing the alien. I would therefore simulate the gentle habits +and customs of these (hitherto) worthy people. Having some slight +knowledge of their language I would endeavour to acquire perfection in +the art of American self-expression. I would cultivate the correct pose +of the hat and wear boots with knobbly toes. Only a little practice +would be required before I should be able to gyrate a cigar at the +accepted velocity from one corner of my mouth to the other. In a little +while, methought, I should feel much more at ease in tight-fitting +clothes with ridiculously small sleeves and three inches of projecting +shirt-cuffs. Maybe I should improve my outlook on the world if I viewed +it through a pair of large, round, ebony-rimmed spectacles. There was +just a possibility that I should some day appreciate the soothing charm +of a much-overworked morsel of chewing-gum. With all these splendid +accomplishments I could no doubt dispense with the less attractive +habits of Modern America.</p> + +<p>Let me say at the outset that I proved a dismal failure. I would sooner +master the Chinese than the American lingo. The infinite variations of +nasal accomplishment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> outnumber by far the tribal dialects of India +and leave the poor student to wonder and despair. Why! the number of +orthodox ways of translating the plain English word "Yes" is probably +beyond the scope of mathematical deduction! The shades and blends +between "Yep" and "Ye-oh" alone are sufficient to put a spectrograph of +the sun to shame.</p> + +<p>For four months I travelled through the wilds of New York, Ohio, and +Illinois, and even into the civilized states of Colorado, New Mexico, +and Arizona, in a vain search for the man who pronounced "Yes" with a +final "s." In the end I found him, lurking in a little restaurant in +Los Angeles. I gazed in wonderment intense and rapturous when I heard +it. I have his pedigree. He said he came from Boston. Boston, according +to all well-informed Bostonians, represents the acme of perfection in +all things relating to education, etiquette, and propriety. As such it +is unassailable by any other city in America.</p> + +<p>There was a time early on when I thought I was succeeding well. I found +that I did better by dispensing with speech altogether. If I dressed in +a "Palm Beach" suit, walked on people's feet, elbowed my way through +passers-by, and continually repeated to myself "The earth is mine +and all that therein is," there was never any doubt but that I was a +"Native Son."</p> + +<p>It is superfluous for me to say, however, that after many trials and +more rebuffs, I ultimately abandoned the idea of becoming Americanized. +"After all," thought I, "what sane Englishman wants to be an American?" +The project had been but a brain-wave to combat the "H.C. of L." To +the uninitiated, that is the recognized "Hearst" abbreviation for the +"High Cost of Living," a topic which so frequently appears in American<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +newspapers that editors were forced to face the question of either +referring to it in symbols or of cutting out the "Want-Ads." Finally, +therefore, I consoled myself that it was better for hotel bills, +cinemas, ice-cream sodas, petrol, and other necessities to rise 200 per +cent. on my approach than for me to lose my own soul. Incidentally, +virtue does not always have its own reward. On my return to England I +heard many accusations against me. "What an awful American accent you +have!" was the greeting of many one-time friends.</p> + +<p>... Some have recovered. Others are still in hospital!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>It took me some time to get accustomed to the traffic of New +York—rather should I say, to its habits and practices. New York itself +consists of a network of streets and avenues ingeniously arranged on +an island which is about five or six times longer than it is broad. +The avenues run the length of the island and the streets run at right +angles across them. In addition, "Broadway" wobbles across from one end +of the island to the other, cutting the avenues at a weird angle of +anything between nothing and twenty degrees.</p> + +<p>At all the important street crossings was stationed a "traffic cop" +whose duty was apparently to hold up at the most inconvenient intervals +all the traffic going one way until all the traffic going the other way +had passed. Then he blew his whistle and Hey, presto! the traffic in +the other street began to move. It was fatal to move before the whistle +was blown. I didn't know that!</p> + +<p>I had been sailing down Sixth Avenue, just trying the machine for the +first time, as a matter of fact. Everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> went smoothly. I felt at +peace with all the world. Here was I on my iron steed of ten little +horses, about to begin a long holiday wherein I should forget the +Kaiser and his deeds and the four or more years of my existence that +had gone in helping to bring about his everlasting undoing. But all of +a sudden:</p> + +<p>"Why the jooce don't yer stop, yer Goldarn young son of a gun?" +bellowed an irate "cop" who gesticulated but a few feet from my front +wheel.</p> + +<p>"Well, why the blankety blank <span class="smcap">should</span> I blankety well stop, +anyway?" I returned, not to be outdone, as I pulled up in the exact +centre of 34th Street, Sixth Avenue, and Broadway.</p> + +<p>I could see a crowd beginning to collect. I don't like crowds at any +time. I have a keen antipathy for publicity. My friend the "cop" +drew nigh. "See here, young fellar: whar yer from?" he inquired, +evidently anxious to investigate further the mental condition of this +unique defier of the Law.... To cut a long story short, I was finally +constrained by good judgment to avoid further constabulary hostilities +and, in accordance with the somewhat over-ardent desire of the "cop," +retired like a whipped schoolboy to the corner where there was already +a long queue of waiting automobiles and taxis. In a few seconds the +whistle was blown and the procession sailed across 34th Street, headed +by a much-humbled motor-cyclist.</p> + +<p>I should explain at this juncture that a motor-cyclist is an altogether +despised individual in America. Motor-cycles are not popular over +there. With few exceptions they are owned by delivery men, newspaper +boys, "traffic-cops" and sundry other undesirables. Personally I do +not wonder at it. The roads and streets in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> cities are bad enough +to ruin the constitution of any but the most confirmed young "blood" +who does not mind risking a few broken bones. I have seen places +in Broadway where the tram-lines wander six or seven inches above +the surface of the road and where the pot-holes would accommodate +comfortably quite a family of dead dogs within their depths.</p> + +<p>So much for the cities. The roads that traverse the country are with +few exceptions nothing better than our fifth-rate country roads on +which no self-respecting Englishman would ride.</p> + +<p>Here and there, in the far East and the far West, are found stretches +of concrete or macadam. Somehow, the Americans think they are great +road-builders. A couple of inches of concrete laid over a garden-path +or a sheep-track, with the cracks filled in with tar, represents the +zenith of road construction in this country of ninety odd million +inhabitants. I should like to see some of those concrete roads when +they have had a few years' solid wear with heavy lorries and occasional +traction engines.</p> + +<p>Ninety-five per cent. or more, however, of America's highways are dirt +roads, or what they are pleased to call "Natural Gravel." In many cases +they comprise merely a much worn trail, and as often as not a pair of +ruts worn in the prairie. Very often, instead of being a single pair +of ruts, there are five or six or perhaps ten, where individual cars +have manifested their own personality. When this multiplicity of ruts +crosses and re-crosses in a desperate attempt to achieve the survival +of the fittest, the resultant effect on the poor motor-cyclist is +somewhat disconcerting. But of this more anon. Suffice it to say that +on the whole journey of 4,500 miles from one coast to the other, I only +saw <span class="smcap">four</span> other motor-cyclists on the road anywhere.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> So the +reader will perhaps understand why the poor human who travels in this +fashion is to be pitied, and why his associates in the towns and cities +are despised by the rest of the community.</p> + +<p>When I had acclimatized myself to the traffic of New York and could +worm my way successfully in and out of the "hold-ups" or dart between +trams, taxis, cars, and other impedimenta without danger either to the +community or to myself, I felt that it was time for me to commence my +peregrinations in earnest.</p> + +<p>I decided first, however, to visit Coney Island, which is within easy +reach of New York (it is only a few miles away), and, with a plentiful +supply of trains, trams, and 'buses, is fed with a never-ending stream +of pleasure-seeking humanity. It has one avenue of perhaps a couple +of miles' length running parallel with the beach, and every nook and +corner on both sides accommodates a "fun palace" of some kind. There +are dancing-halls by the dozen; mountain railways, switchbacks, and +roundabouts by the score; soda fountains by the hundred. Fronting +the beach are hotels, boarding-houses, and restaurants of all types +save the best. Coney Island is decidedly not a place for the <em class="italic">élite</em>. +Hither flock young couples, married or single, representatives of the +American democracy, for a week-end of frivolity. The beach is at all +times sprinkled, as by a human pepper-box, with specimens of the "genus +anthropomorpha" of all sizes, of all ages, of all shapes, and in all +stages of dress and undress. I opined that indeed 'twas no place for +me, and with one push of the starting pedal the motor was a living +thing. "Enough is as good as a feast," and an hour at the Playground +of New York was an hour well spent; but I left it for ever behind me +without the slightest desire or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> intention of ever returning to its +whirl of plebeian gaiety.</p> + +<p>Arrived once more at New York City, I prepared to make my adieux. I had +two handbags only, one a beautiful new dressing-case, resplendent with +pig-skin writing pads, ebony brushes, and glass bottles, and the other, +a slightly larger one, which accommodated my spare clothing, boots, +etc., and the miscellaneous collection of junk that every globe-trotter +inevitably carries around with him.</p> + +<p>Now I have an inherent contempt for side-cars, although had one been +available at New York when I bought the machine I should have taken +it and carried all my luggage with me. That would have been the acme +of luxury. As it was, however, I contented myself with a good strong +carrier and with many straps; the dressing-case, surrounded by a good +thick blanket, was securely attached to the back of the machine. The +other bag I "shipped" on by train to my predetermined stops across the +country.</p> + +<p>That dressing-case must have weighed fifty or sixty pounds, and with +the blanket around it looked an alarming size when <em class="italic">in situ</em>. There +was no hope for it. I'm that kind of individual who always likes +plenty of silk shirts and pyjamas and things, so it didn't occasion me +the slightest worry if the people did stare wildly at me as I passed +through their towns and villages.</p> + +<p>And they "sure" did!</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br /><br /> + +NEW YORK TO PHILADELPHIA</h2> + + +<p>"Gotter match?" he inquired as I pulled up near him.</p> + +<p>I had left my palatial sky-scraper hotel only fifteen minutes before. +Soon, I contemplated, my experiences in and around New York would +be past history. Happy and light-hearted, I was humming along that +boulevard with the truly wonderful surface which runs along the edge +of Manhattan Island. It is known as "Riverside Drive," and here dwell +many of America's millionaires. A young fellow and his companion with +a Harley-Davidson and side-car at the side of the road attracted my +attention. Neither of them looked as though he were a resident of that +district. A khaki-coloured shirt, thick corduroy breeches, leggings, +and boots were their only attire. One of them held up his hand when he +saw me.</p> + +<p>"Maybe these fellows know something about the roads," thought I; so I +stopped.</p> + +<p>To stop a motor-cyclist and ask him for a match seemed quite a unique +departure from the well-established English customs with which I was +familiar. Feeling benevolent, I silently proffered a box of "England's +Glory" wax vestas. Without a word he took one, scrutinized it closely +as though it were something wonderful in the art of match-manufacture, +and slowly lit his pipe. A dozen puffs ensued. He broke the silence.</p> + +<p>"Where you from?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> + +<p>"When I left it they called it 'England,'" I replied.</p> + +<p>Another dozen puffs.</p> + +<p>"Where you goin'?"</p> + +<p>"I may get to San Francisco some day."</p> + +<p>"You sure got some bit of pavement in front of you. I said it."</p> + +<p>"Well, I guess it's never so bad but what it might be worse," I hinted.</p> + +<p>He spat twice, puffed a few clouds, spat again; took another look at +me, then glanced at my machine.</p> + +<p>"You got <span class="smcap">some</span> bird there," he ventured, and then added, as if +to place the assertion beyond all doubt,—</p> + +<p>"I said it."</p> + +<p>I agreed that it ought to be able to get along.</p> + +<p>"Yew said it.—See that bird thar?" he asked, pointing to his machine. +"Waal, I guess she can move some too; she done eight thousand miles on +them roads, an' I guess they warn't mos'ly booleyvards neither."</p> + +<p>In the conversation which followed, mainly in reference to many +inquiries on my part as to the various "National Highways" which I +had learnt were occasionally to be found throughout the country, I +gleaned from this worthy native son that it would be better for me to +"go back 'ome and pick strawberries" than to continue farther with +such an obviously insane desire as to cross the American Continent. +I persisted, however, that having come thus far, I would at any rate +continue while sanity remained, although I should certainly bear his +good advice in mind for future reference.</p> + +<p>With a final injunction from him that I should know him when next I saw +him if I were fortunate enough to subsist in the land of the living, we +parted, and after a trip on the Ferry across the Jersey River, I was +soon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> winding my way out of the drab and dreary suburbs of Newark.</p> + +<p>It would be incorrect to say that the best people do not go to Atlantic +City. Americans, I believe, reckon this well-known seaside resort to be +one of the nine wonders of the world. No free-born American citizen, I +do not doubt, would give the credit of the other eight, whatever they +may be, to any foreign country. On this assumption I felt I should have +no difficulty in identifying the other eight when I had seen more of +"God's Own Country."</p> + +<p>Now Atlantic City is just one hundred per cent. American. It would be +impossible to associate it with any other country but America. To begin +with, it has the inevitable "million-dollar" pier. Let me explain that +nothing in America is worthy of popular patronage unless it costs at +least a million dollars. When I was at Niagara I was told how many +million gallons of water flowed over the falls in a year. No one (on +the American side) seemed to worry very much about the magnificence +of the falls or the grandeur of the river. Such sordid interests do +not appeal to them. But ask someone how many million horse-power will +be developed in a year, and see with what eagerness he relieves you +of your ignorance! The American public <span class="smcap">will</span> have millions in +their calculations and their lust for the superlative <span class="smcap">must</span> be +appeased.</p> + +<p>In Atlantic City there are naturally many objects of interest to the +budding student of modern life like myself, but, on the whole, the +amusements of this nation do not differ considerably from the modest +efforts of our own. There one can see the usual bashful maidens whose +main delight is to recline on the sand or parade the beach in the +latest thing in bathing costumes,—but never under any circumstances to +get them wet. Also we find<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> the usual stores where every conceivable +variety of picture post card or "present from ..." can be bought.</p> + +<p>In two hours I was aweary of Atlantic City. In a very superior frame +of mind I trod on my feelings and the kick-starter of "Khaki Lizz" +(my soubriquet for the machine, which was finished entirely in that +delightfully-reminiscent hue) and turned her nose towards the west. +Philadelphia, I decided, was to be my resting-place that night.</p> + +<p>To be hot on the scent of Philadelphia was one thing; but to get there +was quite another. A glorious three-mile stretch of macadamized road +out of Atlantic City was indeed a tempting bait, and I admit for a +few luscious but brief moments I set at defiance all limits of speed +imposed for the general welfare of the public by worthy law-makers upon +the motoring population of New York State. I have always contended +(privately, not in public!) that laws are only made to be broken. I +might perhaps add that I was destined afterwards to supplement this +somewhat outrageous dictum with a further—"He only is entitled to +break laws who thoroughly knows and understands them!"</p> + +<p>As every wanderer in this vale of tears discovers, all good things +come to an end some time. That three-mile stretch of macadamized +road very soon came to an end. It ended, as far as I remember, in an +abrupt right-angle corner where in an endeavour to get round at about +forty-five miles an hour I nearly met myself coming back, and from that +point the road gradually bore resemblance to an elongated dust-heap. +They call it "natural gravel," which means that in the opinion of the +road engineers of that time the natural surface of the road did not +need any reinforcement in the way of metal. I should imagine that about +99 per cent. of all the roads in America are of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> this construction, the +remaining 1 per cent. being either covered with a layer of concrete, or +macadam, as in any civilized European country. At times, very few and +far between, this natural gravel forms quite a tolerable surface where +there is not much traffic, but it must be remembered that motor-cars +are used in the States on a far greater scale than is ever dreamt of +in England. I was, in fact, simply amazed at the tremendous number +of cars in the various towns and villages through which I passed. I +have sometimes been in a town, and quite a large one too, where it was +almost impossible to find a place at the side of the pavement where +I could leave my machine. Every available space was taken up with a +car, and in some towns, Salt Lake City for instance, I have seen cars +"parked" along the side of the road two-deep, so that to cross from one +side of the road to the other one has to traverse four separate ranges +of automobiles. In the summer, thousands of cars are travelling all day +long between Atlantic City and the adjacent large cities, so that the +reader can perhaps imagine the state of all the main highways in that +direction.</p> + +<p>I was here introduced to a diversion which at first seemed quite an +interesting one, but which continued familiarity certainly turned to +contempt. I refer to the "detour." The unfortunate motorist is perhaps +ploughing his way steadily along through the gravel, dust, and sand. +He encounters a barrier across the road bearing a notice that repairs +are going on and that he must follow the detour indicated. The road +selected, I believe, is generally the one with the most pot-holes, +ruts, mountains, canyons, etc., in its formation in the surrounding +district. Sometimes in these detours one finds further auxiliary +detours until finally one has to use the utmost intelligence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> and a +compass in order to get back to the main highway.</p> + +<p>I did not, therefore, arrive in Philadelphia strictly to schedule. +I was many times tempted to take up my abode at a convenient spot +on the side of the road. Several times I dismounted and examined a +promising spot, but always there was some very serious objection. This +objection either took the form of frogs or of mosquitoes or of both. +As we used to read in the days of the War, "the enemy was present in +large numbers." I did not relish either the prospect of being kept +awake indefinitely with the objectionable gurgling of a battalion of +bullfrogs or of being eaten to death in my slumbers by a nation of +bloodthirsty mosquitoes.</p> + +<p>So I spun onwards, ever onwards towards Philadelphia. Meanwhile the +sun was sinking lower and lower in the west. The nearer I got to +Philadelphia the more numerous became the cars on the road. It seemed +as though the whole of Philadelphia frivolled at Atlantic City on +a Sunday afternoon. I was working my way along, dodging tremendous +pot-holes and ruts, imagining myself in an hour or two's time reposing +comfortably between clean white sheets. All of a sudden a most +distressing noise came across my ear. It appeared to be a motor-cycle +in pain. At times there was only one cylinder firing. Sometimes there +were two. At other times there was none at all. I drew in to the side +of the road and waited for the unfortunate author of this disturbance +to arrive.</p> + +<p>He soon emerged from the darkness. He had no lights, and was only too +pleased to stop at the sight of another motor-cyclist.</p> + +<p>"Why, I thought I was the only madman about here," I greeted him, +surprised but gratified to know that there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> really were other seemingly +sane people who rode motor-cycles in America.</p> + +<p>How delighted he was to meet another Englishman! He had, he explained, +been in America only a year or two, having come from my old home town +of Birmingham during the War. He had got so "fed up" with Americans +that it was a treat to set eyes on anyone from the Old Country.</p> + +<p>He was a youth of eighteen or nineteen years, and after I had fixed him +up with a couple of sparking plugs and attended to a few other urgent +requirements, he asked me abruptly, but quite politely, the inevitable +question, just as I might have expected. "Where you from, an' where you +goin'?"</p> + +<p>I explained that I was making for Philadelphia, where I hoped to find +somewhere to lay my weary head.</p> + +<p>"Well, if you don't want anything very luxurious," said he, "I think I +can fix you up all right, if you don't mind going on ahead to light the +way."</p> + +<p>I gladly assented, and by this means, with my brilliant headlight +illuminating the road, it did not take us long to reach the Delaware +River, on the opposite bank of which stood the fine old city of +Philadelphia. It took a quarter of an hour to cross the river by the +ferry, but once in Philadelphia my friend was happy. "Now you follow +me," he said.</p> + +<p>He had no lights whatever, but his engine was running well, so I agreed +and followed. This was not in itself very easy. I am perfectly certain +that I have never seen <span class="smcap">any</span> motor-cycle <span class="smcap">anywhere</span> +dash along at such a rate through a city. Although it was dark and I +could not see my speedometer, I am sure that he must have travelled +about forty-five miles per hour through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> streets of Philadelphia. +They were certainly good and straight and wide. There was a little +traffic here and there, but this did not seem to worry our friend in +the slightest. Occasionally we saw a "cop" or two standing on a street +corner make a half-hearted attempt to step into the road to hold us up. +Our friend, however, was desperate and would stop for no one. After +about a quarter of an hour's riding, dodging round corners and shooting +past obstructions at a tremendous pace, he pulled up at a small corner +house in a secluded portion of the town and we dismounted. He lived +with his mother, he explained, but she was away in New York. Also he +had lost his latchkey. Also it was really a florist's shop, but he was +sure I wouldn't mind. "There is nothing for it," he said, "but to climb +the fire escape and get in through the front window."</p> + +<p>I shouldered him up to an iron frame projecting from the house. Thence +he clambered on to a rickety fire escape leading up the wall into +blackness, and he was soon lost to sight. A few moments later the front +door opened and we pushed our muddy, dirty machines on to the clean +linoleum of the front room, where they remained overnight surrounded by +pots of roses, carnations, palms, and ferns. This, he explained, was +quite the usual procedure and his mother would not mind a bit!</p> + +<p>It was then about 11.30, and when we had washed some of the dirt from +our faces we sallied forth in quest of a meal. We had no difficulty in +picking up the scent of a flourishing cafeteria. Neither did we have +any difficulty in disposing of disgusting quantities of hot coffee and +"waffles," a commodity peculiar to America, resembling pancakes and +eaten with jugfuls of maple syrup.</p> + +<p>Well after midnight we returned to our domicile, and I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> laid me down +to sleep the sleep of the righteous. At seven o'clock in the morning +I bade farewell to mine host. Not a cent would he accept in payment +for my night's lodgings. So, with the parting assurance that he would +drop in and see me when he was next in England, we each took our +several roads—he in the direction of a neighbouring works where he was +employed as a mechanic, and I towards Washington, drifting meekly along +the streets at certainly nothing like the speed of the night before.</p> + +<p>The road for some distance was good, the sun came out, and the day +promised to turn out fine and hot. I soon began to feel an inward +content. Everything was going smoothly. I was expecting some money to +be waiting for me at Washington, and then I should have nothing to +worry about for a long time to come.</p> + +<p>As it usually happens when one begins to pat oneself on the back, +I immediately had a puncture. It was of course in the back wheel. +Meanwhile the sun was rising higher and higher, and when, after about +half an hour, I had repaired the wheel, I was feeling very thirsty. +Another five miles further on I had another puncture. This time it +happened to be exactly outside a garage.</p> + +<p>I have known places in England where a certain amount of trade is +always guaranteed by the ingenuity of some of the garage proprietors +who regularly and systematically throw tacks and nails along the road +in their vicinity. It occurred to me that this was a practice not +confined to England, as examination revealed the cause of the puncture +to be a nice long nail driven through from one side of the tube to the +other. Not feeling of a very arduous disposition at the time, I wheeled +it into the garage to be repaired.</p> + +<p>I am afraid I was rather annoyed at the result. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> the first place, I +had to supply the mechanic with solution. In the second place, I had +to take off the tyre for him. In the third place, I supplied a patch; +and in the fourth place, I actually had to do the job for him. After +settling his account, I finally explained in language as polite as I +could muster that in my opinion the practice of strewing discarded +nails and other implements on the highway, while not being exactly +meritorious in itself, was just as commendable a method of obtaining a +business connection as many that were frequently resorted to in other +trades or professions of a higher standing. I explained, however, that +after having been so successfully victimized by such an artifice, one +would consider oneself justified in expecting a much higher standard of +workmanship than was apparently forthcoming in his establishment.</p> + +<p>Then we parted, the mechanic expressing the hope that he would never +(crimson) well see me again, and that if I ever did happen to be coming +back that way and got a nail in my (unspeakable) tyre that he would see +me in (Arizona) before he would (smoking) well repair it for me!</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br /><br /> + +PHILADELPHIA TO WASHINGTON</h2> + + +<p>The scenery now began to look charming. Rolling ranges of hills +extending into the distance clustered around as we drew nearer to the +Chesapeake River, which flows into the well-known bay to which it gives +its name.</p> + +<p> +"All aboard for Chesapeake Bay."<br /> +</p> + +<p>... I hummed the air to myself as the road abruptly ended and a +suspension bridge continued the course across the broad, peaceful mouth +of the river. The whole country around seemed to be permeated with a +comfortable, wholesome vigour. Nothing seemed shabby, discontented, or +poverty-stricken. I passed through many small towns and embryo cities. +All were prosperous and all extended a hearty welcome to the traveller +or visitor. Stretched across the road between two poles, just before I +entered one little town, was a huge white banner bearing the words:—</p> + +<p class="center"> +"CONWAY CITY WELCOMES YOU.<br /> +WE LIKE TRAVELLERS TO VISIT US.<br /> +HAVE A GOOD LOOK AT OUR CITY."<br /> +</p> + +<p>Conway "City" did not prove to be exactly a metropolis. It was probably +nothing more than a well-to-do farm town. But the houses were clean and +neat, indeed some of them were very beautiful, perfectly up-to-date but +never objectionably modern. The roads were a bit bumpy in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> places but +not at all bad as American roads go. As I passed out of the town I saw +another notice similar to the first:—</p> + +<p class="center"> +"THANK YOU FOR COMING.<br /> +WE HOPE YOU LIKE US.<br /> +COME AGAIN."<br /> +</p> + +<p>I got so used to being welcomed to every town I came to that I forgot I +was a "stranger" in a "foreign land." There was not a town or village +that did not publish its welcome in some form or other. In the main it +was by advertisements. But if I stopped at a wayside store to quench +my thirst (oh, the sun was hot!) I was met neither with scowls nor +incivility. I am reminded of the old joke of <em class="italic">Punch</em> many years ago:—</p> + +<p>"Oo's that bloke over theer, Bill?"</p> + +<p>"Dunno; stranger, I think."</p> + +<p>"'Eave 'arf a brick at 'im."</p> + +<p>That is typical of what we <em class="italic">English</em> think of strangers. The man +of better education or more refinement perhaps expresses himself +differently, but he feels just the same as a rule.</p> + +<p>At this juncture in my reveries the macadam road stopped and gave +way to "natural gravel." That was quite sufficient to postpone any +soliloquies I may have been indulging in until a later date. The +entire sixty seconds in every minute were employed in keeping myself +substantially upright. Small pot-holes gave place to larger ones, +and they in turn to larger still. The loose sand, which was an inch +or two deep at the start, soon assumed more considerable depths. As +the detective books of our youth used to say, "The plot grew thicker +and thicker." I was floundering about from right to left, prodding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +energetically on the ground each side with my feet to maintain some +kind of balance. At times the back wheel churned up the sand aimlessly +in an endeavour to get a grip on something solid. Here and there the +sand and gravel were heaped into great ridges as if a mighty plough +had been along that way. Getting through this stuff, thought I, was +no joke. Furthermore, it was warm work; very warm work. Now and then +I would find myself directed absolutely without control from one side +of the road to the other, and only with the greatest strain could +I keep the machine on its wheels. And with all this the "highway" +still maintained its regulation width of 90 feet! The casual observer +from an aeroplane above would in all probability be attracted by its +straightness, its whiteness, and its apparent uniformity. "What a +splendid road!" he would think.</p> + +<p>Not so I. I was on the point of physical exhaustion with the +seemingly-endless paddling and pushing and heaving (and don't forget +the half-hundred-weight bag on my back!) when I was thrown on to a +steeply-cambered part of the road at the side. The back wheel just slid +limply sideways down the slope and left everything reposing peacefully +in the natural gravel of Maryland.</p> + +<p>When I had extricated myself from under the machine, I surveyed the +position with a critical eye. What a road for a civilized country! +These Yanks must be jolly-well mad to tolerate such roads as this!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Just then an old Ford came by. It was shorn entirely of mudguards, +running boards, and other impedimenta. As he wallowed past me, swaying +to this side and that, sometimes pointing at right angles to the way +he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> going and with his old engine buzzing away in bottom gear and +clouds of steam issuing from his radiator (it had no cap; it must have +blown off!) the driver seemed perfectly at ease. He rolled a cigar +stump from one corner of his mouth to the other and gazed nonchalantly +ahead. I don't think he even noticed me and my recumbent motor-cycle. +I could not repress a grin as his old box of tricks disappeared slowly +up the road, wagging its tail this way and that and narrowly averting a +catastrophe at every few yards. "You ragtime bunch of tin merchants!" +I mused (not so much in reference to the driver as to the nation in +general!) as his diminishing form finally side-slipped into the ditch +at a bend in the road.</p> + +<p>And then a distressing thought struck me: "They'll never believe me +when I get back home and tell them!" So I took my little camera out of +the tool-box on the top tube and snapped the worst bit of road there +and then. A five minutes' struggle followed, in which "Khaki Lizz" was +withdrawn from her ditch.</p> + +<p>By way of nourishment to sustain me in any further fights with the +road, I slowly and meditatively consumed one only orange before +proceeding once more.</p> + +<p>But things did not improve. Here and there, where the ridges of soil +and gravel had not been disturbed, grew tufts of grass and weeds. Huge +ruts, crossing and recrossing in the remaining sand, showed where cars +were wont to pass as fancy dictated, and with only two wheels it was +barely possible to maintain any progress at all.</p> + +<p>"Hang it all! This is TOO much!" I exclaimed, after a few more +precipitate dismounts,—and took another photo and ate another orange.</p> + +<p>A mile or two farther on I came to a weird-looking machine at the +side of the road. It was a sort of combination<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> of steam tractor and +automatic plough, but very much bigger and more complicated. Its main +function was to chop down <em class="italic">en masse</em> the sides and banks of the road +and shovel the debris into the middle. Grass, shrubs, bushes, and young +trees alike fell victims to its activities. Now this really was the +limit! Not satisfied with the condition of the road as it was, they +sent forth this "Heath Robinson" mechanism to improve it. I stopped and +left the bike standing in the road where it was—there was no need to +prop it up against anything—and went back to question the driver of +this implement as to its function in life.</p> + +<p>He was not perturbed in the slightest either at my question or at the +heated state of mind and body in which I approached him. Punctuated +by intervals in which he slowly masticated a worn-out chunk of +chewing-gum, he explained that all good motorists liked wide roads; +that the State Council had decided that motorists should have wide +roads; that they had provided machines for widening roads that at +present were not up to standard width; and finally that he was there to +see that this machine did its work properly!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="common_occurrence"></a> +<img src="images/i026a.jpg" width="600" height="360" alt="Man digging a car out of a rut." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">A Common Occurrence.</span><br /> +<em class="italic"><small>By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler.</small></em></div> +</div> + +<p>So I took another photograph, ate another orange, kicked the +self-starter once more, and pushed on again. The road got worse and +worse. Sometimes there were ruts and sometimes there were strips of +unploughed field in the middle of it. But I spent no more films on +it. The people at home, I decided, would have to take my word for +it after all. About ten miles farther on I came to a cross-road. +It was perfectly straight and beautifully paved with concrete and +stretched from one horizon to the other. With what joy I gazed upon its +countenance! There was a wooden shack on one corner, evidently a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +saloon. A negro sat on the doorstep, gazing indolently at me.</p> + +<p>"Is this the road to Baltimore?" I inquired, indicating the concrete +highway.</p> + +<p>No reply. But he continued to gaze at me, and spat twice.</p> + +<p>"Must be deaf," thought I. "How's this for Washington?" I shouted.</p> + +<p>Still no reply.</p> + +<p>"Say, brother, which is the road to Baltimore?" I inquired as politely +as convenient.</p> + +<p>The appellation "brother" had its effect. The negro jerked his thumb +over his shoulder, indicating that I was to go straight on (and +incidentally follow that excruciating stretch of natural gravel).</p> + +<p>Fortunately, Baltimore was not many miles away, and when I got there I +breathed many sighs of relief. There were paved roads, good and true; +macadam and concrete for miles and miles, all the way to Washington. +I picked my way by instinct through Baltimore, the capital of the +State of Maryland, not stopping for food or rest. I would reach my +destination before I gave way to such physical necessities. I certainly +had an appetite, but I always feel that more than two meals a day when +on tour are not only unnecessary, but mean a dead loss of time, money, +and distance.</p> + +<p>The reports on the state of the road ahead turned out to be true +in every detail, and throwing to the winds all respect for such +trivialities as speed limits, I made up for at least a good fraction of +the time wasted on the road.</p> + +<p>When, about 5 p.m., I pulled Lizzie on to her stand outside one of +Washington's "cafeterias," I began to feel an incipient timidity. I +doubted whether I should be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> able to get into any respectable hotel. +I was covered in dust, and dirt. Headgear of any kind I had dispensed +with altogether. My hair was dusty and knotted with the wind. Owing to +the heat, I had also found it advisable to remove my collar and tie, so +that the wind could circulate as much as possible. How could I in such +a condition maintain my self-respect in Washington, the magnificent +capital of the United States?</p> + +<p>Fortunately, it did not take long for me to overcome such scruples. +Another day or two on the road, and I was perfectly at ease during the +intervals in which I had intercourse with civilization. Occasionally I +experienced a difficulty in entering a drug-store for an iced drink, +and sometimes I felt a trifle shy at my bare, sunburnt neck, but no one +seemed to mind. I soon found that in America, and particularly when +travelling in the West, one could wear absolutely anything that one's +fancy might dictate without rousing the slightest disturbance.</p> + +<p>After satisfying my requirements at the "cafeteria," the second item on +my programme was a visit to the Post Office. This revealed the sordid +fact that there was no money awaiting me. It can easily be understood +that such a discovery might have proved most distressing. I had been +advised not to take much with me, but to cable for a draft from home at +intervals. My adviser, as I was afterwards to find out to my cost, had +overlooked the utterly chaotic state of the post-war transatlantic mail +service.</p> + +<p>I still had a little left, however, quite enough to get me comfortably +to Cincinnati, my next financial depot, so why worry? I could always +work for a living, or at any rate, if I did not feel inclined to that, +I might pawn something.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<p>I found a hotel that, from the outside, just suited my fancy. Plain, +large and unpretentious, it described itself in an illuminated sign as +the "National." I booked a room at three dollars (12<em class="italic">s.</em> 6<em class="italic">d.</em>) and +sallied forth to see the sights.</p> + +<p>I was impressed with Washington. It is truly a city of beautiful +streets and magnificent buildings. Undoubtedly it is the city <em class="italic">de luxe</em> +of America. Being the capital, wealth is lavished upon it. No factories +or barren wastes disfigure its graceful countenance. Every street or +avenue glistens at night with a bewildering multitude of illuminated +signs. This method of advertising is typically American. The first +impression of a stranger visiting a large American city at night is +that he is in a children's luminous palace. There are illuminations +and decorations of every conceivable nature. Sometimes a single sign +advertising perhaps some particular brand of chewing-gum or cigarette +or motor-car has thousands and tens of thousands of lights wonderfully +displayed in different colours and arranged in different series, one +series flashing into view as another disappears, then a few seconds +later giving place to another still more wonderful, and finally there +comes a grand climax in which all the colours and all the series and +all the figures blaze forth in an indescribable orgy of light.</p> + +<p>When I found myself finally back in my hotel I was to be the victim +of still another disillusionment. No country anywhere could rival +America for hotels, I had thought. But I had not then experienced the +"National" at Washington. The room allotted to me was literally an +outrage. It was of the very poorest that one would expect to find in +an East End boarding-house in the Old Kent Road. It had one window, +which faced on to an unimaginably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> dreary "area." The carpet was +threadbare and colourless. The furniture, consisting of one bed, one +dressing-table, one wardrobe and one chair was obviously suffering from +advanced senile decay. There was a washbasin in one corner that boasted +of two taps and a piece of wood to stop the hole up with. The door +showed signs of having been minus a lock for many a long day. I was too +tired, however, to bother about trivialities of detail, so putting my +revolver under the blanket near me in case of possible eventualities, I +laid me down in peace to sleep.</p> + +<p>Nothing occurred, however, to disturb my peace of mind or body +throughout the night. The following morning found me hot on the warpath +after a bathroom. After sundry peregrinations I unearthed a clue. It +was in the form of a very corpulent negress—evidently a chambermaid. +"Bathroom?" "No, dere am no bathroom h'yar," she informed me. But I +persisted in my inquiries, suspecting her reply to be a mere excuse +for sheer laziness. Finally, as a last resort, I absent-mindedly took +my "life preserver" from my hip pocket and looked at it vacuously. Its +effect was magical. "Yes, saar, yes, saar, come right h'yar!—I find +you bathroom!"</p> + +<p>When I came to square up that morning I paid my respects and three +dollars to the management.</p> + +<p>"See here, Mister Manager," I said in such a tone that everyone +within hearing distance had the benefit of it as well, "I've done a +bit of travelling here and there, but never in <span class="smcap">any</span> city at +<span class="smcap">any</span> time have I struck <span class="smcap">any</span> hotel that for sheer +rottenness compares with <span class="smcap">this</span> one!"</p> + +<p>I have an idea at the back of my mind that that manager-man doesn't +love Englishmen!</p> + +<p>Now that I had seen America's capital, I turned my face to the west, +and began to make rash estimates and frivolous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> promises to myself +concerning my destination for the day. Could I get to Cincinnati +next day? How long would it take to do the odd 550 miles or so? And +what would be my reception when I got there? I had some friends in +Cincinnati, friends that I had never even seen. What would they think +when they saw <span class="smcap">this</span> specimen roll up to their front door in +Clifton Avenue? Was Lizzie going to stand up to it all right? When +should I get to the coast? What kind of roads should I meet "out West"? +And so I wondered on.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br /><br /> + +EXCEEDING THE SPEED LIMIT</h2> + + +<p>I did not waste much time on the road. Fortunately there was a good +proportion of concrete road, although the inevitable natural gravel +was not by any means conspicuous by its absence. I also passed many +stretches of brick road.</p> + +<p>This variety is confined in England mainly to city streets, and is +associated nearly always with trams. Not so in America. On the main +roads of the East I have passed many a ten-mile stretch of splendidly +paved highway made solely out of good red brick, and of the correct +size and shape and camber of surface that literally made one's +tyres hum and sing as each brick was momentarily touched in endless +procession. I need hardly say that for every good stretch of brick road +there are <span class="smcap">umpteen</span> bad ones though, just to add a spice of life +<em class="italic">à la grande route</em>. Here and there one would encounter by no means +solitary patches where apparently some enterprising farmer had torn up +a few bricks from in front of some one's house to repair his cowshed +or to build a new pigsty, or maybe to help put another storey on his +house. There would seem to the lay mind such as my own to be a most +decided disadvantage in this method of road construction! To put it +mildly, it is disheartening when one is enjoying a fifty-mile-an-hour +sprint on a straight stretch of road visible almost from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> horizon to +horizon, to be rudely awakened from swift but peaceful contemplation +of the beauties of nature, the loveliness of the atmosphere and the +joys of motoring by being mercilessly thrown on top of the handlebars +with one tremendous thump. At one spot of which I have very vivid +recollections, the road took a short dip down and up again. In the +bottom of the "valley" thus formed was a young but aspiring cañon where +a wayward stream had left its prosaic path to strike out in life on its +own across the road. Its presence was unfortunately undiscernible until +close acquaintanceship was made.</p> + +<p>When I came round I was vaguely conscious of something having happened, +but as the engine was still running and the front wheel was still +fairly circular, I got up and rode on, but not until I had arrived +definitely at the conclusion that had I been doing sixty instead of +forty-five I should have jumped across the bit of road that wasn't +there and been hardly the wiser of it!</p> + +<p>Here it was that I began to scratch crosses on the top tube to keep +count of the number of times I was thrown off on the whole trip.</p> + +<p>When the top tube got too short I put them on the front down tube.</p> + +<p>When that was full I scratched them on the bottom tubes.</p> + +<p>After that I trusted to memory. But that was when I got to the "Far +West."</p> + +<p>I made good time, however, in spite of an occasional set-back, and +looked forward to completing three hundred and fifty miles that day. +With luck I should reach Cincinnati the next, and then, oh for the joys +of a good hot bath, clean clothes, well-cooked food, and last, but not +by any means least, good company. And I wasn't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> forgetting either that +I had only about twenty-five dollars in my pocket. With no mishaps I +should have enough and to spare for even three or four days' travelling.</p> + +<p>It was not yet midday, and the sun was getting very hot indeed. +Moreover, I was getting hungry. Although I believe the two-meal-a-day +system to be an excellent one, one sure gets a roaring appetite for +breakfast at the end of a hundred-mile ride. So if I had not a moral +excuse for a little real speed work I at least had a physical one. The +road surface now changed from red brick to dazzling white concrete +as in the far distance the Alleghany Mountains, that inexpressibly +beautiful range that stretches parallel with the Atlantic coastline +from Maine to Georgia, loomed gradually higher on the horizon, its +varying tints growing deeper and deeper as mile after mile flew by.</p> + +<p>There was hardly a soul on the road. Occasionally I would pass a +touring car loaded up with human freight and with luggage bags, +bandboxes and portmanteaux piled up and strapped (and sometimes I +think glued!) to every available mudguard, wing or projection that was +large enough to accommodate them and quite a lot that weren't. Then +a hay wagon flew by, and then, after a few miles, a solitary farmer +on horseback—not at all a common sight in this land of Fords and +motor-cars. And after a few more miles a tiny black speck came into +view on the horizon. It took a long time to catch up. When I got closer +I made it out to be a Buick roadster, its two occupants, a young man +and his (apparent) fiancée, evidently enjoying a little spin in the +country. And he wasn't crawling either. A touch of my electric horn +(oh, a beautiful horn it was!) aroused his soul from its soliloquy and +he drew in to the right,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> waving me on vigorously as he did so. And +as I passed him he seemed to quicken a little. I glanced sideways for +an instant and spotted a gleam in his eye. So I accepted his unspoken +challenge and glanced now and then over my shoulder. He was hanging on +well, his six cylinders to my four. A mile was passed and he was still +just a little way behind. The road was clear and straight, so I opened +out a little more.</p> + +<p>Another glance. He was still there. My speedometer hovered around fifty.</p> + +<p>Not to be outdone I twisted Lizzie's right handlebar grip as far as it +would go, and like a bolt from the blue we darted ahead. Fifty-five, +sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-five. The wind was simply screeching +in my ears.</p> + +<p>Another glance back, our friend was slowly losing distance. A minute or +two more and he was fast dwindling behind. In ten miles he was almost +back on the horizon.</p> + +<p>I had visions of breakfast in "Hagerstown," the next town of importance +not so very far ahead. And so I forgot our friend of the Buick. In ten +minutes' time I came to a village. As usual the good surface of the +highway stopped and the roads through the town turned from the perfect +concrete to an infernal hotch-potch of holes, gullies, ruts and mounds. +Ironical notice boards warned the traveller that he must reduce his +speed to fifteen miles per hour. It was purgatory even to go at four! +To plunge into a seething mass of soil-waves at speed is disconcerting. +It annoys you. But it is a custom that grows on you in Eastern America. +You flounder about from side to side; you take a hop, skip and a +jump here, there and everywhere; your very bones are shaken in their +sockets; your temper approaches a frenzy of despair; and your language!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + +<p>Time was when I would blush with shame at the sound of a word that +was bad. Then a war came along and I learnt to experience the +soothing charm of an occasional flow of language. Occasionally I met +a sergeant-major who could swear freely for five minutes without even +repeating himself!</p> + +<p>And then I motor-cycled across the States. And my heart rejoiced within +me that I had received such an excellent education. I found that with +very little provocation or practice I could, had I the desire, have +graduated to a very much higher stage of perfection in the United +States than with the British Army in France. Indeed I will go so far +as to aver that when ultimately I reached San Francisco not only could +I have put to shame the most cultured sergeant-major that ever drilled +recruits on a square, but in his moments of greatest enlightenment his +powers of speech would have appeared as the futile prattle of childhood +compared to what <em class="italic">I</em> could have taught him.</p> + +<p>So that is why I slowed down when I got to "Victorville."</p> + +<p>In a few minutes, who should come alongside but our friend with the +Buick racer. He slowed down and put up his hand. "Mind stopping here a +minute?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," I replied, thinking he wanted to ask the way or borrow a +sparking plug—or maybe beg a match.</p> + +<p>He got out of his car and came along.</p> + +<p>"Say, d'ye know what speed you were doing way back there?" he asked +casually with a kind of ten-percent.-solution smile.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know exactly, but I guess I got <span class="smcap">you</span> beat, +anyway!" I chuckled.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> + +<p>Whereat he pulled a pocket-book from his coat and opened it. (Going to +give me his card, thought I.)</p> + +<p>"I'll trouble you for your number," quoth he, as he came to a page that +was all nicely printed in columns ready for use.</p> + +<p>From that moment I saw things in a different light. Verily the workings +of the Law would seem to be getting interesting.</p> + +<p>"And your licence, please?" after he had obligingly removed a layer of +dust from my number-plate.</p> + +<p>"What licence?"</p> + +<p>"Your driving licence, of course. What y' think?"</p> + +<p>"See here. Mebbe I do look a bit of a mug, but I do know you don't have +to have a separate licence in New York State, s'long as your machine is +registered. The number-plate is the same thing as a licence."</p> + +<p>"Oh, is it? I didn't know that." (Pause) "Well, do you mind following +me a short way down the road—next block but one. It isn't far."</p> + +<p>Whereat he got in his car again and moved slowly forward, while his +lady friend protruded her arm from one side as if to stop me if I was +inclined to dash past.</p> + +<p>I did think of it in fact, because I knew I could give him a run for +his money, but America, I recollected, was noted for its telephone +service and I couldn't quite fancy having to resort to a hiding-place +near the banks of the Ohio or perchance a field of corn somewhere in +Indiana.</p> + +<p>So I followed them down to the corner.</p> + +<p>We stopped at a small wooden shanty on the door of which was a board +bearing the sign "<span class="smcap">Daniel S. Tomkin, Attorney-at-Law</span>." My +friend the "speed cop" pushed open the door and ushered me into a +passage. On the right was another marked "<span class="smcap">Justice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> Tomkin</span>." +"Come in: come in," shouted a shrill seedy voice as the "cop" knocked +at the door.</p> + +<p>"I've got a case for you, Judge," said he, when we got inside.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, oh yes!"—and then to me—"Take a seat, sir, please, and +er—make yourself at home."</p> + +<p>I'm afraid at that juncture I began to laugh. The "Judge" was just +the kind of man that we love to see "on the pictures" in England, but +who we never believe really exists. I had seen his prototype dozens +of times before. Tall and wiry, thin legs and tight trousers, "Uncle +Sam" physiognomy with the usual goat's beard and with stars and stripes +printed in indelible ink all over him. He sat at a desk bare of papers, +books, letters or other impedimenta. How long the desk had been cleared +for action I know not, but his duties as a Justice of the Peace +evidently did not involve any overtime from the look of things. The +room was small and dingy and its walls were covered with shelves piled +with books of all colours, shapes and sizes.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Judge.</span>—"And what has this gentleman been doing?"</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Speed Cop</span> (producing notebook and reading +therefrom).—"Driving a motor-cycle in excess of the legal speed limit, +namely at forty-five miles an hour."</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Judge</span> (after reaching from a bookcase a large red book marked +"Laws, Bye-Laws and Regulations existent in the State of Maryland," +or words to that effect).—"I will proceed to read Statoot number +51, article 13, section 321b, subsection 2a of the 'Regulation of +Traffic in the State of Maryland Act, 1898.'"—(Submerged chuckle +from self)—"And it is hereby enacted that anyone found guilty of +exceeding 25 miles per hour but not exceeding 30 miles per hour will +be liable to a fine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> of not less than 5 dollars for the first offence +and of 50 dollars for a second and any subsequent offence; and anyone +found guilty of exceeding 30 miles an hour but not exceeding 35 miles +per hour will be liable to a fine of not less than 10 dollars for +the first offence, etc., etc.; and anyone found guilty of exceeding +35 miles per hour but not exceeding 45 miles per hour will be liable +to a fine of not less than 25 dollars for the first offence, etc., +etc."—(Considerable amusement visible on the face of self)—"and +anyone found guilty of exceeding 60 miles per hour will be liable to a +fine of 100 dollars, etc., etc."—(Feeling of merriment subsides)—"but +anyone found guilty of exceeding 60 miles per hour will be liable to +a fine of 250 dollars for the first offence and of 1,000 dollars and +imprisonment for any subsequent offence. I am afraid, sir, in view of +the evidence and of the dictates of Statoot number 51, article 13, +section—etc., etc., I shall have to administer the minimum fine of 25 +dollars." (I breathe again).</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Self.</span>—"Say, Judge, we seem to have got a bit ahead, don't we? +Aren't I going to have a chance to say anything?"</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Judge</span> (a little "peeved." Evidently that aspect of the case +hadn't occurred to him).—"By all means, sir, by all means. Say jest +what you like."</p> + +<p>Now I have neither the eloquence of a Disraeli nor the declamation of a +Demosthenes, but I do claim to have no small power of persuasion when +it comes to an argument or a question of opinion. So I mustered up +every effort and summoned every resource to convince this malevolent +Judge that he had been reading his "Statoots" upside down and that, +far from being incriminated, I should, on the contrary, be granted a +handsome award.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> I invoked the aid of every artifice known to humanity. +Every inflexion of the voice; every modulation of speech; every appeal +for sympathy, innocence, ignorance and youth known to me was conjured +up.</p> + +<p>And to what purpose? Did the Judge budge?—I might as well have read +him Gibbon's <em class="italic">Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire</em> in five minutes for +all the good it did.</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry, sir," he said, "but the Statoot says that the minimum +fine is 25 dollars, so it must be 25 dollars."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear good Judge," said I, "I've only got about 25 dollars in +the world at the present moment."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm very sorry, but the fine is 25 dollars"—(and then an +afterthought)—"Oh! and costs as well."</p> + +<p>"Costs!" I gasped in amazement.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my costs will be 75 cents, and that makes 25 dollars 75 cents +altogether."</p> + +<p>Then ensued more argument, more persuasion, more eloquence, more +appeals, but it was all in vain. I took out my wallet and counted out +my belongings.</p> + +<p>I had just 25 dollars and a few odd "bits."</p> + +<p>And then the humour of the situation appealed to me once more, and +stronger than ever before. I laughed at the Cop and I laughed at the +Judge and I laughed at myself for laughing and paid over the 25 dollars +75 cents.</p> + +<p>"Thank you very much. Good-day, sir," said the Judge as he put the +"bucks" loosely in the drawer in his desk.</p> + +<p>Here the Cop spoke up: "I have another charge against the defendant, of +riding without his registration certificate, but it's getting late, and +I think we might as well overlook it in view of the circumstances." (He +was evidently thinking of his girl waiting outside.)</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>I suggested it <em class="italic">would</em> be as well and left the Judge to gloat over his +ill-gotten gains.</p> + +<p>The idea of that goat-faced Judge and his sleek-eyed friend the "speed +cop" having a good dinner together at my expense did not appeal to my +better self. How was I going to travel 450 miles, buy petrol, oil and +food with about tenpence in my pocket? On the opposite side of the road +stood Lizzie with her carrier piled high and dusty, waiting, patiently +waiting, for her lord and master. Ah, pathetic sight!—An idea—I +return to the sanctum of the "Attorney-at-Law."</p> + +<p>He was counting over the notes again.</p> + +<p>"Say, Judge. S'posing you give me those notes back again. What'll it +mean in imprisonment?" I had always since childhood cherished a wild +desire to spend a night in prison. "The Statoot stipulates that there +will be an equivalent of one day's imprisonment for every dollar fine." +(Depths of despair once more, then enlightenment.) "Can you show me the +statute that says that?"</p> + +<p>"Sure," and he reached for the volume.</p> + +<p>"All right, don't bother," said I, and left him once more to count his +25 dollars 75 cents.</p> + +<p>Somehow I couldn't help laughing at everything. Such interesting +sidelights into the workings of the ragtime laws of America are not met +with every day of the year, I mused. But what fun to be all alone in +America with nothing but a motor-bike and tenpence!</p> + +<p>I guess the Judge was wondering what I was laughing at as he watched me +through the fly-net at his window while I kicked the engine to a roar +and rode away.</p> + +<p>Truth to tell, I didn't quite know myself.</p> + +<p>I was wondering when the petrol would give out.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a><br /><br /> + +ACROSS THE ALLEGHANIES</h2> + + +<p>Strange to say, I felt not the slightest bit "peeved" about this +occurrence, but facts have to be faced, and anyone who has ever found +himself in a strange land 4,000 miles from home, with a motor-bike +and tenpence, will agree that something has got to be done about +it sooner or later. All sorts of ways and means of making money +quickly—the eternal problem!—occurred to me, but I dismissed them +all for one reason or another. I could hold up the next car I passed +and shoot the occupants after relieving them of their surplus cash. +But that I thought was a distasteful way of getting money. I had seen +it done in the "movies," but decided to leave that <em class="italic">modus operandi</em> +for a last extremity. What was it to be—a week's work or "trading +away" the watch? I pondered. I got very little inspiration from my +surroundings on a problem of such moment. Instead I was exhorted at +almost every hundred yards to "Say it with flowers" or to "Chew our +famous Smello'mint Gum." A huge yellow sign would then loom in sight +bearing the legend "Playtime Biscuit." Every mile or so would appear +another and more ominous inscription, "Sell it and buy a Ford." "For +all internal ailments 'Kewrit' is the Sovereign remedy," blurted forth +another placard. "The Sovereign remedy," I mused.—But say! What was +that? The <span class="smcap">Sovereign</span> remedy?—Inspiration at last. Lizzie's +throttle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> seemed to close its eyes with a snap. The brakes went on of a +sudden and in a few moments I was taking off my tunic at the roadside. +The memory had dawned upon me of a kind sister sewing some golden +sovereigns in the lining of the belt of that very same tunic months ago +way back in good old Brum. She had no doubt imagined me falling into +the hands of Mexican bandits at some period in my peregrinations. At +first I remembered I had protested against such a seemingly unnecessary +precaution. Thank Heaven that argument against a woman is never of any +avail!</p> + +<p>I searched and I found; a few stitches carefully removed with a +pocket-knife revealed two glittering "yellow boys" to my anxious gaze. +On we sped once again, bounding, spinning ever faster onward. Truly we +toiled not, but we sure did spin. If the sky was blue, it was bluer +than ever before. If the road had been good, 'twas never so good as +now. Refreshing breezes rolled down from the hills; sweet vistas sprang +into sight; charming dells and streamlets flitted by, and never did the +call of nature sound so strong.</p> + +<p>And all because of two forgotten coins.</p> + +<p>Hagerstown hardly welcomed me with open arms. A fair-sized, prosperous +little town, it boasted a tramway service and two banks. My heart went +not forth in joy at the contemplation of the tramway service. It did at +the sight of the banks.</p> + +<p>Dusty, dishevelled, and of dilapidated attire, I leant Lizzie up +against the kerb and mounted the marble steps of the "First National +Bank." The massive swing-doors frowned back as they squeaked and +groaned to my command. I stood in the midst of a gilded palace replete +with austere-looking deities in white shirt-sleeves behind marble<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +counters and fancy-work grids. Nothing daunted, I flicked my precious +sovereigns on the counter before the very quintessence of immaculate +manhood with a "Change those, please" as if it were the kind of thing I +did every day of my life.</p> + +<p>Once upon a time I had often with swelling pride expanded my chest at +the thought of a British sovereign being honoured in every country +of the world and any corner of the globe. I had reckoned without +Hagerstown. It seemed that the austere-looking deity before referred +to was not at all impressed by my view of the situation. It must have +been the personal <em class="italic">tout ensemble</em> that put him on his guard. He might +oblige me by sending it along to New York to the Head Office, he said. +"Couldn't wait a couple of days?" he supposed.</p> + +<p>It was no use. He didn't like my face and didn't want my gold.</p> + +<p>I scraped the dirt from my boots on his marble steps and crossed the +road to the "Incorporated Bank of Holland."</p> + +<p>After conducting a lengthy battle of argument and exhortation with +all the clerks in succession and all to no avail, I began to realize +that British currency was of no more worth than the little sea-shells +that in the earliest days of trade were supposed to be used by the +enterprising natives of prehistoric communities. With a gallant show of +indignation I demanded that the manager be produced forthwith. Strange +to say, he appeared. I took him on one side and into my confidence. +"Look here, old man," quoth I, "I'm in a bit of a hole. All your worthy +satellites here think I'm a sort of cross between a rubberneck and a +highway robber. Fact is, I've been rushed for speeding at the last +village and I've<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> only got two sovereigns to take me to Cincinnati. Now +don't tell me you won't change them." Whereupon he looked warily at +me and then at the gold, examining it minutely. "Guess I might fix it +for you, but just hang on a minute till I can get some one to identify +them. We never see such things as these, y'know."</p> + +<p>In a few minutes he returned with an accomplice, who glared with +amazement at the coins as they lay on the counter. "Gor' blimey!" said +he, "don't that do yer blinkin' eyes good! Strike me pink, an' you've +brought these ole yallerboys orl the way from England?" and he picked +them up reverently and gloated over their merry chinkle as he dropped +them again on the counter. "Lor', I've spent many a one on 'em! How +much d'ye want for them, gev'nor?"</p> + +<p>"Four dollars eighty each," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Done! Pass him the 'oof, boss. Nuthin' wrong wi' them."</p> + +<p>Verily is it said that music hath charms for the savage breast. Once +again Lizzie burst into a roar, and once again I turned her nose to the +west.</p> + +<p>Music? That Cockney's dialect seemed like a wonderful fragrant melody +pealing forth through the strains of a ponderous fugue. It was like a +sudden rift in the thunderclouds through which burst a cheering shaft +of sunlight. It was sacrilege even to think of those nine paper dollars +that I had thrust so anxiously into my hip-pocket. "Thank Heaven there +is at least one spot in the U.S.A. where the King's English is spoken +undefiled," I murmured to myself.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The road to Cumberland was good going. We had now to commence crossing +the Alleghany Mountains.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> This wonderful range, which also goes by +the name of the Appalachians, has, in my opinion, no rival in the +American Rockies as regards the loveliness of its scenery and the +infinite variations of colour of its slopes. "The best scenery in the +world, sir," an American would say, and he would not be so very far +wrong either. Perhaps its heights are not so majestic as those of the +Rockies; there may be no glaciers on its slopes nor crests of eternal +glistening white on its peaks, but there is an unparalleled wealth of +natural beauty in the blue and purple pine forests of its less aspiring +heights and the myriad glistening streams and rivers that find their +source in the thickly-wooded foothills clustering around its borders.</p> + +<p>"Cumberland" is a comparatively large town in the middle of the hills +and is well named. Undoubtedly the surrounding district reminded +the early settlers so forcibly of our own lake district that they +were inspired to perpetuate its memory, as they have done in so many +other districts, towns and rivers in the far-eastern or "New England" +States. Although the descent from the mountains was in places almost +precipitous, the road was excellent, and excepting the concrete +boulevards of California, afforded undoubtedly the best running that +I met in the whole country. Although I stopped several times for +considerable periods to allow the brakes to cool, there was nothing +left of the brake-linings when ultimately I arrived in Cumberland, +where I ministered adequate and well-earned refreshment to the inner +man of both Lizzie and myself.</p> + +<p>The road now lay clear of obstructions ahead and led over undulating +country for several hundred miles. Once more thoughts of Cincinnati +in the distance with a vague anticipation of something approaching +"England, Home<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> and Beauty"—and money as well—occupied the hours as +we sped along, leaving the mile-posts quickly behind us. In places +travelling was good. In places it was distinctly bad. Here and there +were stretches of several miles of brick road, and now and then would +reappear our old friend the "Natural Gravel," that so much conspired to +make life on two wheels not worth living. At times even that provided +quite a respectable surface. My firm intentions not to be baulked in my +aim to reach Cincinnati next day, however, kept up the pace even if to +our mutual discomfort, and made the going good.</p> + +<p>At Uniontown, about seventy-five miles past Cumberland, various trivial +little knocks and rattles in the engine disturbed my peace of mind. +The speedometer registered only about 800 miles, and I had hardly +expected to commence tightening things internally at that stage. A +little farther on and one cylinder, after a few peremptory misfires, +gave up the ghost altogether, and I proceeded a few miles on three +only. I changed the sparking plug, hoping for better results, but in +vain. After a few more miles I tried another plug and then another, +but always with the same result. After travelling a few dozen miles in +this unsatisfactory manner, I put Lizzie once again on her stand. This +time I examined closely and found the valves, tappets and clearances +all in good condition. There was apparently nothing wrong with the +ignition either, or the carburettor, and there seemed no reason at all +why such a trouble should arise—particularly, I reflected, as I was +anxious to lose no valuable time. On trying still another plug out of +one of the other cylinders and finding that No. 1 was still obstinate, +I got on again, determined to do the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> journey on three cylinders only. +I found I could touch well over forty-five even at that, so after all +there wasn't much to complain about. Every motorist, however, who has +a regard for his engine and can sense the "moral fitness" of even +running and good rhythm will understand that travelling under such +circumstances is decidedly unpleasant and monotonous.</p> + +<p>At Waynesburg I passed Pittsburg some miles to the right, the +"Birmingham" of America, the centre of a huge coal and iron industry +and, next to Philadelphia, the largest town in Pennsylvania. A few +miles farther on, and I crossed the borderline and entered West +Virginia once again. It was now quite dark and I had to pick out the +road as best I could by my headlight. I was getting tired and was +very hungry, not having had anything to eat for ten hours. After half +an hour the headlight flickered and went out, leaving me with only +a "dimmer," as the Americans call the small auxiliary light, with +which to keep on the road and find the way. The engine, which before +sounded pretty loose, now emitted noises signifying extreme agony of +mind. Then a thick ground mist settled over everything, making it +next to impossible to keep on the road at all, much less to keep on +the right one. Occasionally I dismounted in an endeavour to bring the +headlight back to life. Frequently I narrowly avoided being run down +by large cars with powerful searchlights that couldn't see me at all. +It generally meant pulling into the side of the road, getting off and +waving my arms frantically to signify my presence. Between time I got +more hungry and more tired, and kept asking myself the same question, +"Why, oh why did I leave England?" The answer always came: "Search me!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> + +<p>Shortly before midnight I reached the small town of "Moundsville," on +the Ohio River and on the borders of West Virginia and Ohio. Every +shop in the place was closed except that of a corpulent Italian +dealer in bananas, oranges and ice-cream sodas. I entered his door +with thanksgiving. The worthy proprietor scrutinized me open-mouthed. +Finally he gave it up. I could see he had been wondering to himself, +"What is this thing, and whence came it?" I sat on the counter in his +presence and consumed three ice-cream sodas, four bananas and two +oranges. After witnessing their consumption, he let drop his bottom jaw +and ventured, "Whare yer from?"</p> + +<p>"Doanchew worry your old think-box about where I'm from, brother, but +just tell me where I'm goin'. I wonna get to Cincinnati. Now for the +love of Mike don't tell me I'm not on the right road."</p> + +<p>His jaw dropped through a further angle of ten degrees. Finally he +volunteered the information that I was miles and miles from the road +to Cincinnati, and that he hadn't the "goldarnest notion" how I should +ever get back on it again. In disgust I filled my pockets with bananas +and oranges and presented one more ice-cream soda to the minister for +the interior and quitted his establishment.</p> + +<p>My next duty was to find somewhere to lay my weary head. I decided to +choose a spot where water was convenient, so that I could wash in the +morning. The river was quite inaccessible from the road and the only +places where there chanced to be a stream were infested with frogs +and mosquitoes. After a half-hour of weary searching and climbing of +long winding hills in the thick damp fog, I eventually gave it up in +disgust. I found an open space at the roadside sheltered by a few +trees, and here laid down my rainproof coat with the thick<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> blanket +doubled on top of it, and with my suit-case as a pillow, soon convinced +myself that I was comfortably settled down for sleep. In a few minutes +I was well in the land of dreams. I dreamed that I was journeying to +the North Pole on a twelve-cylinder Ford which went so fast that it +melted the ice as it passed and ultimately crashed into the Pole at +such a terrific velocity that the equilibrium of the earth was entirely +upset, as also my own. At this point a lusty mosquito inflicted a +tremendous bite on the very tip of my nose, and I woke up with a start. +Then I dreamed that I had undertaken a banana-eating tournament with +an army of Italians, and was just finishing off the ninety-ninth when +another bite in the middle of my left eyelid brought me again to normal +consciousness, and thus the night passed.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a><br /><br /> + +THE DIXIE HIGHWAY</h2> + + +<p>In the morning everything was wet with dew. The mist was disappearing +quickly, and I arose refreshed in body and mind. Specialists would have +prognosticated acute rheumatism. Doctors would have foretold death +within forty-eight hours. But I was never so free from rheumatism as +I am now; moreover, I live to tell the tale, with the probability +of continued existence for several years to come. Lizzie looked +disconsolate and rusty in every nut and bolt, but with a few kicks she +rattled into life once more. The driver of a passing Ford informed me +that I was twenty miles from the right road, which meant returning into +Moundsville and crossing over the broad, muddy Ohio River, spanned +by a lofty suspension bridge made almost entirely of wood. The Ohio +River, once seen, is never to be forgotten. It is verily a flowing mass +of dirty, yellow-brown mud. The natives of Ohio refer to it as the +"Golden" River, I believe, but when I first made its acquaintance, I +was in no mood to appreciate such poetic nomenclature. Instead I was +bent on reaching Wheeling and breakfast.</p> + +<p>Wheeling was reached in a couple of hours' riding along the banks of +the river. It need hardly be said that I did justice to a substantial +breakfast, which put an entirely new aspect on affairs in general. I +struck<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> the main "pike" through to Cincinnati, and continued hopefully +on three cylinders with the best of intentions of reaching it that +evening, although it meant a ride of over 300 miles.</p> + +<p>I did 150 in fairly good time and reckoned on having my +lunch-tea-dinner-supper meal at Columbus, the State capital, about +five in the afternoon. But about twenty miles from that city a most +distressing sound arose from the engine. I had previously slackened +down to a steady thirty miles an hour so as to give Lizzie the best +chance of holding out over the journey. But now a series of violent +thumps and bangs disturbed once and for all my hopeful frame of mind. +Undoubtedly there was a big breakage somewhere and it was evidently +quite impossible to continue another mile. With a final thud the engine +stopped and the machine came to a standstill near a little bridge where +a tiny streamlet trickled under the roadway. Near the bridge was, as +might be expected, the inevitable hoarding: "<span class="smcap">Sell it and buy a +Ford.</span>" Strange that Fate should at times be so ironical!</p> + +<p>I made myself comfortable on a grassy slope and proceeded to take the +engine down. This I soon discovered was no mean task. It took nearly +three hours to remove the cylinders. Woe be unto the man hereafter who +puts nuts where they cannot be loosened or places cylinders where they +cannot be removed save by an Indian sword-swallower! The result of my +investigations was that I found the front piston in fragments, mainly +in the bottom of the crank-case. The gudgeon pin was broken in half and +the connecting rod was waggling about merrily in the cylinder. All the +bearings were loose, and although there was plenty of oil in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> sump, +one was devoid of metal altogether. This was discovered at the bottom +in the form of powder. An encouraging outlook indeed!</p> + +<p>Although my motto where a refractory motor is concerned—"to get it +home somehow"—could have been ignored, I was not even in walking +distance of anywhere. There was no town or village for miles around, +and only a solitary farmhouse here and there. Further, an empty stomach +does not improve one's outlook on life under such circumstances, and +mine was very empty. I took stock of the whole situation. What should +it be? Walk to Columbus and take the train, or stick by Lizzie and get +along somehow? I counted out my money. It amounted to three dollars and +thirty-five cents, not even enough for the railway fare. "No, I've set +out to cross these infernal States on a motor-cycle, and I'll do it," I +resolved, and sat down again to patch Lizzie's engine together.</p> + +<p>The rumble of cart wheels on the brick road attracted my attention. The +cart was drawn by a weary horse in the charge of a more weary driver.</p> + +<p>"Hi, brother, got anything edible on board?" I shouted.</p> + +<p>"I gotta lot o' old boots here," he replied, evidently in ignorance of +the meaning of the word "edible."</p> + +<p>"No, thanks, I gotta good pair of my own to start on before I come to +that. Aincher got any oranges?"</p> + +<p>"Yep, I got one box left, four fer a quarter."</p> + +<p>Bang went seventy-five cents for a dozen, leaving me with two dollars +sixty. Now, thought I, I have enough provisions to last a couple of +days. Let Old Harry do his worst.</p> + +<p>The vendor of boots, furniture, and oranges went on his weary way.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> + +<p>From a bough of a willow tree I shaped a neat gudgeon pin that fitted +dead into the loose end of the connecting rod to guide it up and down +in the cylinder. I fished out all the big lumps of the broken piston +that remained in the crank-case and tightened up the bearings as well +as I could. By the time it was dark I had everything replaced ready to +start on the road once more.</p> + +<p>Before daybreak, I was up and on the road; my plan was to keep on all +day at a steady twenty miles an hour and reach Cincinnati about five +in the afternoon. The machine ran well considering its wooden gudgeon +pin, although it was not easy to avoid being reminded continually of +Lizzie's indisposition, and as time went on the rattles became worse, +the clanks became gradually louder, and I began to wonder where my next +stop would be.</p> + +<p>I passed through Columbus about breakfast-time, but did not stop for +breakfast. There was no money for breakfasts. Now, although I did not +stop at Columbus, I cannot with but a few words dismiss it entirely +from consideration. Although not by any means the largest town in Ohio, +it is the State capital. That feature, as I have pointed out before, +is not at all unique in the States. In fact, I do not think I could +name a single State capital that is the largest town of the State, +without referring to the authority of one Baedeker. Not only are there +over 125,000 people in Columbus, but it appeared to me to be a very +fine city. The streets are wider and are better paved than those of +most American cities, and in places are illuminated by large electric +arches. Although there are seven towns throughout America boasting this +title (each one in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> different State), I think Columbus, Ohio, must be +the <em class="italic">élite</em> of all the Columbuses.</p> + +<p>Outside Columbus I stopped, had lunch—three oranges—and continued. +There was really no necessity to stop, but I liked to feel that lunch +was just as important an occasion as when it wasn't oranges.</p> + +<p>The engine was by now getting rather noisy. People who passed in +cars, many of whom I had passed two days before, slowed down as they +approached and looked at me wonderingly, as if to ask if I knew +anything about it. They probably came to the conclusion that I was a +deaf-mute.</p> + +<p>Then we got to Springfield, and a noticeable feature at the side of +the road, on a special track of its own, was an electric train service +connecting up all the large towns in the district, even though the +distances amounted to thirty and forty miles, in some cases even +fifty, as is the case between Columbus and Springfield. Perhaps I am +complimenting them by referring to them as trains, as they are more +in the nature of single or double-coach trams, but I was surprised +not only by the speed at which they travelled, but also by the number +of passengers who availed themselves of the service. In a way, the +presence of that track was comforting, particularly when some new noise +or rattle emanated from my thrice-weary steed. On the other hand it is +distinctly humiliating to be astride a 10 h.p. motor-cycle de luxe, +jogging along side-saddle (to ease the growing soreness!) at fifteen or +twenty miles per hour on three crotchety cylinders, when a tram-load +of disinterested Americans flies past with a shriek at forty or fifty. +Generally the driver realized the position and sounded a piercing +whistle with a supercilious air, as if to say: "Make way for the fast +traffic, please!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + +<p>At Springfield the speedometer flicked off the 1,000th mile, and +I branched away from the "Pike's Peak" Ocean-to-Ocean Highway +(for such it appeared to be), and turned south-westward towards +Dayton, a flourishing manufacturing and business centre. "Detours" +and sub-detours were the order of the day and were conspicuous by +their presence, as also by the general looseness and rottenness of +their surface. In theory I was travelling upon the "Dixie Highway," +reputed (by advertisements thereon appearing) to be "the finest and +most luxurious highway in the States." As far as my experience was +concerned, I found it paved with good intentions and bad cobblestones. +Sometimes, when the paving blocks had been pulled up preparatory to new +ones being laid down, the surface was tolerably good, but then would +appear a "detour" heralded by an insolently-improvised notice-board +which led the unfortunate traveller miles and miles from his appointed +path and over the most disgusting road-surface imaginable.</p> + +<p>I was pleased with Dayton. As I left it behind me, I wished it +prosperity. It seemed to have the right kind of air about it. A +friendly policeman held up a bunch of traffic for two minutes for me +while he put me "wise" to the road to take. He noticed my New York +number-plate and finished his chat with "Well, good day, brother, and +the best of luck to you." I wouldn't even have killed a mosquito in +Dayton!</p> + +<p>It was now well after midday. Cincinnati was still about sixty miles +away. Would it be safe to have a meal in the next town? I had filled up +with "gas" and oil in Dayton and had about fifty cents (2<em class="italic">s.</em>) left. +With a three days' diet of oranges, I had cultivated an appetite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> of +great latent possibilities. I determined to be rash. Next stop, I told +myself, I would look around for a "bakeshop."</p> + +<p>An hour later I arrived at a little town called "Lebanon." It was +very small, very picturesque, and very unpretentious. But it boasted +an excellent "bakeshop." I leant Lizzie against the kerb outside and +pressed my nose against the window-pane. The sight of all those nice +cakes was almost as good as a feed—but not quite! I espied one, plain +and large but tasty-looking. I valued it at twenty-five cents. "Well, +it'll last a long time," I thought, and entered meekly to inquire the +price. "Five cents," replied the lady of the counter. "Done! It's mine, +<em class="italic">all of it</em>!"</p> + +<p>Long live Lebanon!</p> + +<p>A few miles out, I halted near a bridge under which ran a little stream +of crystal water. It was a treat to be out of the glare of the baking +sun, so I sat down on the bank underneath the bridge and settled down +in earnest to a sumptuous dinner. The bill of fare was as follows:—</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="menu"> +<tr><td align="left"><em class="italic">Hors d'œuvres</em></td><td align="left">Gâteau de Lebanon (varié).</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><em class="italic">Consommé</em></td><td align="left">Eau Naturelle.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><em class="italic">Entrée</em></td><td align="left">Gâteau de Lebanon.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><em class="italic">Plat du jour</em></td><td align="center">Ditto.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><em class="italic">Légumes</em></td><td align="center">Ditto.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><em class="italic">Dessert</em></td><td align="center">Ditto.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><em class="italic">Wines</em><br /> </td><td align="left">Vin blanc d'Adam<br /> (direct from the distillery).</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<p>And oh, what a meal was there, my countrymen! There was enough and to +spare. The cooking was excellent, the service irreproachable, and there +were no gratuities.</p> + +<p>After a leisurely half-hour I stuffed what little cake<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> I couldn't +contain into the tool-box, took one last, lingering draught from the +cool crystal stream, and again kicked Lizzie into a rattle.</p> + +<p>Once more towards Cincinnati! Two hours only, now, I reminded myself, +and all the trees and birds in hearing. Gradually those two hours +became shorter as mile after weary mile rattled past. Sure enough, in +about the time I had reckoned the pot-holes in the road grew larger and +the ruts deeper, a sure sign of approaching civilization. Then a huge +signboard appeared, "<span class="smcap">Cincinnati, the Queen City of the West</span>. +Make your home in Cincinnati."</p> + +<p>The Cincinnati Speedway was passed on the right, and after a couple of +miles or more I struck tram-lines. The reader can well imagine how glad +and relieved I felt when I spotted trams and tram-lines, those things +which in normal life I rightly detest and abhor. Whereas once upon +a time I considered them to be the motorist's greatest enemy, I now +smiled upon them with friendly gaze.</p> + +<p>By the time I was actually on the outskirts of the town, I was "baked +to a frizzle." And such a thirst! For three days I had been amassing a +good thirst. Ohio mud is not really a good beverage. It might perhaps +"put one over" the "near" beer that I have tasted in various American +towns, but that's not to be wondered at. The man who first called it +"near" beer wasn't much of a judge of distance! Never could I remember +having been so hot, so thirsty, and so fed up, all in one. I pulled up +at the first drug store and literally squandered twenty-five cents in +an orgy of ice-cream sodas. I took the precaution to retain ten cents, +however, "in case anything turned up."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>At about half-past four <span class="smcap">we arrived</span>. A wealth of meaning rests +in those two words. My friend Steve heard the noise as he sat reading +on the verandah of 3,450 Clifton Avenue. "That can't be Shep. That's +somebody wheeling a lawn-mower," he said to himself without looking-up, +and went on with his book. But when the lawn-mower had overrun itself +and turned round and came back and continued indefinitely to lawn-mow +outside the same 3,450, he looked up and saw that it was indeed a +motor-cycle or, at any rate, the unmistakable remnants of one. When he +saw the rider, he thought: "No, that can't be Shep after all; that's +the dustman."</p> + +<p>But fact will always triumph over fiction. In the same way soap, +thank Heaven, will always triumph over dirt. But what a relief to be +once again in a comfortable house, that could almost be considered +"home," and once more to know the joys of a good hot bath and feel the +luxurious embrace of clean clothes again!</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><br /><br /> + +CINCINNATI AND ONWARDS</h2> + + +<p>I spent in all twelve days in Cincinnati. They were twelve happy days; +days of leisure, days of interesting experiences, followed by days of +longing to be on the road again.</p> + +<p>The first of July, 1919, will live in the mind of every free-born +American citizen as the day when Prohibition became law throughout the +entire States. Not by design, but by coincidence, was it also the date +of my departure from my friends in Cincinnati to explore the "perils" +of the West. My sojourn there was brought to a sudden close by the +astounding discovery that Lizzie's overhaul was completed. I had a few +warm things to observe when I was presented with the repair bill. It +amounted to a mere seventy-five dollars, half of which represented the +alleged value of the somewhat indifferent labours of a more indifferent +mechanic and a small boy. On the various occasions when I had visited +the shop, the mechanic was generally conspicuous by his absence, and +were it not for the occasional activities of the small boy, who seemed +to delight in "salivating" at frequent intervals on every available +inch of the floor surrounding Lizzie's remains, I feel inclined to +think that I should even now be enjoying myself in Cincinnati. The +other half of the bill represented sundry replacements which, to my way +of thinking, should have been made free under<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> the firm's guarantee, +which had still three-fourths of its term to expire. After much +argument, the proprietor and myself agreed to differ on this point.</p> + +<p>The early afternoon witnessed my departure. The kindly attentions of +mine hostess had provided me with good things for the journey. Meat +sandwiches in boxes; fresh butter in tins; fruit and nuts galore. +Little packages were squeezed in here and big ones strapped on there. +Odd corners and crevices revealed an unsuspected orange or banana and +hard-boiled eggs or biscuits in twos and threes lurked amongst the +shirts and socks.</p> + +<p>With a light heart I spun down the beautiful, well-paved avenues +that set at defiance the rigid, straight-edge avenues of more modern +American cities. I hummed over the cobble-stones of the lesser streets +and swung past trams and over bridges and was soon speeding along the +road to Indianapolis, thinking like a true pessimist that Lizzie didn't +feel as well as I had hoped, and that I should be hung up again at a +not far-distant date.</p> + +<p>In America, in the east, it is the easiest thing in the world to take +the wrong road. Moreover it is generally the most difficult thing to +find out whether one is on the right road or not. I have no objection +to make when roads in towns and villages will run either north and +south or east and west, because for town life this arrangement spells +efficiency. In the country, however, the <em class="italic">raison d'être</em> of these +chess-board roads is somewhat obscure. When combined with old-time +roads that originally followed goat-paths or sheep-tracks, its effect +is confusing. But when taken to the extreme, and one finds the main +highways connecting large cities abound with sharp right-angle turns at +every few miles, sometimes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> going north to make up a little latitude, +then continuing west, then returning south to lose the latitude gained, +and afterwards continuing west again, the result is ridiculous and +sometimes exasperating; very often two, three, four, or more roads run +parallel and only a few yards distant, all leading to the same place. +Sometimes they lead to different places. Sometimes they lead nowhere at +all. Sign-posts are not popular anywhere in the United States. Instead +the roads are identified by painting every third or fourth or tenth +or <em class="italic">n</em>th telegraph pole with different colours. When properly carried +out, this principle is a very commendable one, and without it travel +would be absolutely impossible. But when followed only imperfectly, or +when the colours become faded and obliterated, so that one trail can be +easily mistaken for another, the traveller has many troubles and trials +ahead.</p> + +<p>I had ample moral consolation, therefore, for completely losing my way +only ten miles out of Cincinnati, and wasted a full hour in trying to +get on the right "pike" without going back.</p> + +<p>Incidentally the system of decorating telegraph poles in accordance +with the trail they follow has its humorous side. There are, all told, +over a hundred different trails or "National Highways" in different +parts of the States, and each one is supposed to have its distinctive +sign. Thus the "Pike's Peak Ocean-to-Ocean Highway" is identified by a +circle of scarlet above a circle of white, and the "Lincoln Highway" +by circles of red, white, and blue. Sometimes, as in the cases of the +"Blackhawk Trail" and "Mackinaw Indian Trail," the sign is of a more +or less complex nature, including the profile of an Indian's head, for +instance. The humour of the situation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> will be apparent when a single +stretch of road coincides with say four or five separate trails. Each +telegraph pole is truly a thing of beauty and a joy for ever, with its +inscriptions, circles, squares, profiles, bales of cotton, etc., etc., +painted on in various colours from top to bottom!</p> + +<p>In large towns and cities where several trails meet, it requires the +quintessence of alertness and deduction to find one's way by the +telegraph poles, which, save for a few exceptions, represent the only +means of identification. Strange, in a country using twenty times the +number of cars per head found in any other country in the world, that +facilities for using them should be so meagre as at times to be almost +prehistoric!</p> + +<p>It is strange also that some of the roads that were constructed even in +modern times were the achievement of personal enterprise and are even +now "boosted" and advertised by their "promotors." An outstanding case +is that of the "Pike's Peak Highway" just mentioned, which is one of +the three trails that cross the Continent from east to west. This road +boasts a President, three Vice-Presidents, and a Secretary-Treasurer! +Between them these worthy gentlemen are responsible for the proper +maintenance of the road (experience compels a sarcastic smile), and +for the furnishing of information to travellers thereon, etc. Where +the money comes from I wot not, unless it be from the various motoring +clubs in the country. In a booklet, published apparently by them, it is +described as "The Appian Way of America." Permit me to quote passages +from this remarkable publication:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"Increased attention is this year being focussed on the 'See America' +idea, and motorists planning a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> trans-continental trip will naturally +select the route of greatest scenic and historic interest. That is +why the discriminating tourist will travel over the Pike's Peak +Ocean-to-Ocean Highway, the improved central route from the Atlantic +to the Pacific coast. From New York it follows the National Old Trails +Road to Indianapolis; from that city to Salt Lake City, it has its +own <span class="smcap">Distinctive Organisation</span>; and west of Salt Lake City it +follows the line of the Lincoln Highway. History places the stamp of +approval on this as the <span class="smcap">Logical</span> trans-continental Highway. +Etc., etc. (pages of it).... The trip has no dreariness and no +monotony.... (More pages)."</p> +</div> + +<p>Never was such a grossly misleading impression of ease, comfort, and +luxury perpetrated upon an unsuspecting Englishman! It was well said +that the pen is mightier than the sword. If ever again I find myself +so utterly demented as to motor-cycle across the United States before +proper roads have been constructed, may Heaven preserve me from "The +Appian Way of America"!</p> + +<p>The reader may think that I am dwelling unduly on the subject of roads, +but I do so at this juncture because it was a subject which now became +of increasing magnitude. Practically the last sign of paved road of +any kind between this point and the Pacific Coast (some 2,500 miles +away) would be encountered at Indianapolis, and from there onwards +were universally the execrable "dirt" roads that so seriously threaten +not only the comfort but the safety of motor-cycling. I was not even +disappointed at the outlook, because I came to America without even +expecting any form of trail or route across its entirety to be at my +disposal. But I feel the natural resentment of the Englishman when I am +led to believe that there is a luxurious "highway" ahead, only to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> find +an aggravated series of dust-heaps, mud-pools, and cow-paths!</p> + +<p>The road, however, to Indianapolis was not of the "Appian Way" variety. +It was comparatively good in places, and ran for many miles along the +valley of the Miami River, amidst beautiful scenery of ever-changing +variety. After a few miles, the Ohio-Indiana boundary was crossed, and +here, as many times afterwards, I was struck by the apparently sudden +change of landscape, the same as the home tourist can almost always +discern by the "feel" of the country whether he is in England or Wales, +no matter if he be without his map for reference. I do not mean that +either Ohio or Indiana is particularly mountainous. On the other hand, +the latter is on the whole somewhat flat, as if in preparation for the +weary stretches of monotonous prairie that are to be encountered the +more one travels westward until the Rockies are reached.</p> + +<p>I made little headway that afternoon, and at 10.30 in the evening I +was still some distance from Indianapolis, the capital of the State. +I therefore looked around as best I could in the pitch-darkness, with +only my lights as a guide, for a likely spot for my night's abode. +Water is a <em class="italic">sine qua non</em> for the camping vagrant, and when I came +to a large steel bridge I decided that that was the place for me. It +evidently spanned a pretty big river, but it was so far below, or +seemed so far, I could not see the water. A lengthy reconnoitre from +the road led me to the edge of a field of corn whence I could hear the +river but could not see it for dense masses of vegetation.</p> + +<p>I propped Lizzie up on her stand and found to my dismay that when +the engine stopped the lights went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> out. Not feeling in the mood +for investigating the cause of the trouble, I was satisfied to keep +the engine running slowly as long as illumination was necessary in +unstrapping my baggage and "making" my bed. Then I set out to find the +river and enjoy the luxury of a wash.</p> + +<p>Easier said than done! I could find openings in the thick undergrowth +where I deemed the river should be, but could find no way of making +closer acquaintance with its waters. As I continued my search, the bank +suddenly gave way beneath me, and I was plunged up to the waist in the +river I had been so diligently seeking!</p> + +<p>My exit was more difficult to negotiate than my entrance. The bushes +and weeds on the banks were not strong enough to enable me to pull +myself out, but came away, roots and all, and left me sinking in the +muddy river-bed. I eventually extricated myself, however, and decided +to retire unwashed! Pulling off my soaking top-boots was a herculean +task, and this done, I hung my wet breeches on a tree to dry in the +warm summer night.</p> + +<p>I passed a splendid night and awoke with the dawn, only to find my +clothes wetter than they were the night before, thanks to a heavy dew. +Such conditions, I reflected, were of mere trifling importance in the +life of a bona fide tramp, and I was soon humming along once more +through the fresh, crisp morning air.</p> + +<p>We arrived in Indianapolis at breakfast time and with a hearty +appetite. I remember Indianapolis chiefly as a city with long wide +streets full of cobble-stones, tram-lines, and traffic policemen. My +first duty was to take Lizzie to see the vet. I didn't like the sound +of her at all, and she seemed but a rickety shadow of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> former self. +I was taking no chances now. As if by instinct we went "right there." +The Henderson agent took Lizzie under his protecting wing, and while I +settled down to consume a hefty breakfast of cantaloupe, puffed rice, +and coffee, he took her for a spin along the few miles of concrete road +that I had left behind with such regret.</p> + +<p>"Waal, I guess there ain't very much wrong with her, boy," was the +verdict, although he did not seem over-exuberant about it.</p> + +<p>"How far you goin'?" he added.</p> + +<p>"Just to the end of the road," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Hm, and a tidy ride too, I'll say so. I've done it, but not on one o' +them."</p> + +<p>Then, after meditation, he added, "But I think she'll take you there. +Give my love to 'Frisco, won't you, boy?"</p> + +<p>I promised, paid him a dollar, and left to track down the offices of +the local branch of the "3 A." Club, or Automobile Association of +America, whom, I was informed, I must see before going any further, to +inquire about the roads ahead. Dirt roads, it will be understood, vary +with the weather. Hardly ever does the English motorist hear of a road +being washed away with the rain, but the idea of its being borne away +on the wings of the wind would indeed appear strange to him!</p> + +<p>I found the "3 A." Club located at one of the large hotels, all alive +with "bell-boys" and commissionaires and elevators. I was greeted by +the hotel staff with haughty aloofness. "Put that gink outside," I +could imagine the desk clerk saying to the hall-porter. But I was being +whisked up the elevator to the umpteenth floor before he had the chance.</p> + +<p>At the "3 A." Club office I was greeted most cordially.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> The gentleman +at the desk was a human encyclopædia of roads and places. Beneath +the dirt and dust he believed he perceived some person of high rank, +a brigadier or something, and my brown tunic and field-boots must +have borne out this assumption. However, that may be, he certainly +did his best to give me every assistance. But when I told him I was +motor-cycling to the Pacific and wanted to know which was the best road +to take, his jaw dropped suddenly. There were two alternative routes to +Kansas City, the "Pike's Peak" through Springfield and the "National +Old Trails Highway" through St. Louis. Which should I take?</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, the National Old Trail is impossible just now. The rains +have been very heavy and there are several places where you couldn't +possibly get through. And as for the other—well, I shall have to +think."</p> + +<p>Which he did. He hummed and ha'd and stroked his chin and hummed and +ha'd again, as if struggling with some momentous problem. He spread out +maps in rows before him and followed the route with his finger. Then +silence.</p> + +<p>After a minute or two of this, in which the merits of "washouts" and +hold-ups and detours by the score were being weighed together in his +troubled brain, he spoke:</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I think you can get through"—and, more deliberately—"I +<em class="italic">think</em> you can get through. Yes, it's a good road," he added.</p> + +<p>I learnt then for the first time one outstanding principle in the +road-study of America. I confirmed it on innumerable occasions later. +There are two classes of roads and two only. They are good roads and +bad roads. Any road, <span class="smcap">anywhere</span>, in the whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> of the United +States of America (and, I presume, her Colonies as well) is a "good" +road if you can "get through." The remainder are bad.</p> + +<p>I thanked my benefactor and accepted sheaves of maps and guide-books +for which he would take no payment. He was indeed the quintessence of +obligation. I on my part was the quintessence of gratitude.</p> + +<p>"Now for the fun," I chuckled as I kicked Lizzie to a roar and set out +for the highway with red- and white-circled telegraph poles.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a><br /><br /> + +INDIANA AND ILLINOIS</h2> + + +<p>The first bit of fun was not far ahead. In places the road was passable +if one ignored the six-inch layer of loose sand and soil that covered +it. The country was flat and uninteresting. Diversion was occasionally +encountered in the form of side-slips and here and there an unexpected +spill. The quicker I went the easier I got through, as the soil did +not cling to the wheels so much and hinder steering. At thirty it was +almost impossible to maintain balance. At thirty-five it was tolerable, +and at forty it was comparatively simple.</p> + +<p>Now and then I would pass a kind of harrow the width of over half the +road and drawn along by a team of horses. The function of this was to +break up the big lumps of solid mud formed by the recent rains. After +this would follow a similar team of horses dragging a "grader"—a kind +of snow-plough arrangement which scraped the surface flat and shovelled +the surplus sand and mud-lumps into the side. In these districts the +farmers are held by law individually responsible for the condition of +the roads their farms adjoin, and the process of grading is expected +to be carried out within three or four days after the rain. When the +farmers are busy with their crops this doesn't get done, and when they +aren't, it sometimes does, according, I think, to whether the farmer +is a sheriff or a justice of the peace and has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> to set an example to +others. Fortunately all farmers are motorists as well; they have to be +able to get about, so when they wish to travel, they grade the roads +for their own use if for no more altruistic object.</p> + +<p>Once I was passing one of these road-ploughs drawn by a team of three +horses abreast, which took up most of the road and showed not the +slightest intention of drawing in to the side. In endeavouring to pass +it, I struck at too small an angle the huge ridge of solid mud-lumps +that it had formed. I was going fast, of course. The handlebar was +wrenched out of my hands and I was thrown with great force over it and +on to the bank at the side. Lizzie herself lay roaring on her side in +the dirt. The horses took fright and galloped off. The only damage done +showed itself in some nasty cuts and scratches, some small areas of +skin missing from different places, and a few bent levers and controls. +From past experience I had learnt that in all such cases the clips and +brackets and sharp corners of Lizzie's profile <span class="smcap">always</span> seemed +to be in the path of my flight over her handlebars.</p> + +<p>A handkerchief bound tightly round the cuts, a few adjustments made, +and on we go with smiling faces, only to overtake the wretched thing +again!</p> + +<p>After twenty or thirty miles of this, we came to mud in earnest—mud +measured not by the inch in depth, but by the yard. Never was it soft +and squishy and respectable, but always baked rock-hard into ugly +contorted shapes that simply defied progress on two wheels alone. +The diabolical effect had been heightened by the passing of numerous +cars through the roads when the surface was still plastic, and great +ruts and cracks and ridges were thrown up at every point between +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> road-boundaries, each one representing an eternal struggle to +"get through." When the fierce sun came out and poured down for days +unceasing upon such ugliness as this, the hideous surface was as if +petrified by its glare, and the efforts of a "grader" would be futile +to alter in the slightest degree its abominable condition.</p> + +<p>Riding was out of the question. It was haulage work that had to be +done, and many times when I got into a huge solidified "crevasse," +I had to leave the machine standing in it on the tubes of its +cradle-frame and proceed ahead to chip the edges down until the wheels +would reach to the bottom again.</p> + +<p>Anyone who has stood on the "Glacier des Bossons," looked upwards +towards the summit of Mont Blanc, and seen the contorted, fantastic +shapes that the ice assumes as it swells over the ridges in its path, +can perhaps imagine the same effect on a smaller scale applied to the +dirt roads of Indiana.</p> + +<p>Fortunately there were stretches of road, generally when there was a +slight gradient, where the surface was well-drained, hard, and flat, +and going was good. But invariably at the foot of every slope, or at +the dip between two hills, there was a stretch of excruciating "agony" +that would reduce the most defiant motor-cyclist to submission.</p> + +<p>Thus it was for eighty or ninety miles. The truth began to dawn on +me that a fellow has to be a "tough guy" to motor in these parts. +Sometimes I would stop and rest awhile to let an occasional car get by. +It was funny to see how they all went! The big heavy touring car would +roll along as if to devour all that came its way. It would meet a nasty +patch and with broken dignity would heave and sigh from side to side +as it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> slowly crawled on bottom gear over the ridges and furrows; and +then it would rear proudly into the air as it surmounted some huge lump +of solid mud and suddenly flop down with a dull thud on the bottom of +the springs as it plunged into the hollow beyond. One could hear every +joint groan under the strain and could sometimes see the bottom of the +engine scrape ridges in the chunks of earth and watch the little bits +knocked off an unfriendly obstruction as the back axle dragged its +weary way along.</p> + +<p>And then perchance would come some cheeky Ford, the essence of +impudence as opposed to the dignity of its wealthier brethren. With a +hop, skip, and a jump, it would scramble over the furrows, swinging +gaily from side to side, wagging its tail in the air and rattling in +every sinew as only a Ford knows how! But the "Flivvers" got through +easier than any.</p> + +<p>The worst patch I struck was near the small town of Hume. I have never +seen in the space of 200 yards a more apt imitation of a volcanic +lava-bed. The thick mud of two days before had been churned up into the +most fantastic shapes that ever a main highway has taken. Every square +inch of the ninety-foot-wide road bore signs of the passage of some +vehicle or other. Some of the ruts were so deep that the machine rested +on the engine and the frame and not on the wheels at all. Pushing it +anywhere but in one of the best ruts was impossible. When the rut got +too deep, I had to lift up the back of the machine bodily and wheel it +foot by foot, while the rut took the front wheel whither it listed. +Here and there were signs where car-drivers, in similar predicaments, +but a day or two before, when the mud was not yet baked quite hard, +had shovelled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> away large quantities of the road to allow the engine +and chassis to clear. Half-way through was a large hole, deep and +broad enough to allow a small car to be hidden therein from view. In +this hole the mud was still soft and plastic. A good Samaritan of the +road had procured a piece of old corrugated iron from somewhere and +propped it against two poles to warn any others who might follow of its +presence.</p> + +<p>Lifting four-cwt. Lizzie across this whole stretch took three-quarters +of an hour all told, and at the end I was faint with exhaustion. The +sun was never hotter and I never perspired more, not even in the middle +of the Mohave Desert in California, where the thermometer rises up to +140 degrees or more! I begged a glass of milk from a farmhouse a mile +farther on, and thanked God that He made cows and that I was still +alive to appreciate them!</p> + +<p>And thus we toiled and thus we spun for many miles until late in the +afternoon, when I came to parts where the sun had not yet had time to +do its work. Every inch of the road was thick, black, slimy mud; mud +that stinks with a smell peculiar to itself alone; mud that clings to +the tyres and wedges in the forks and fouls the chains and blocks the +wheels; mud indeed that sticketh closer than a brother. I stopped at +a ramshackle little village of a few dozen shops and houses, all made +of wood, and boasting the name of "Murdock," to partake of afternoon +tea. Outside an old rickety "store" (this term includes any conceivable +kind of retail shop in America), I saw a notice: "<span class="smcap">Henry T. Hodges, +Justice of the Peace; Dry Goods Store; General Merchandise; Post +Office; Real Estate; Refreshments</span>."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="awkward_stretch_road"></a> +<img src="images/i074a.jpg" width="600" height="395" alt="An awkward stretch of road in Indiana." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">An awkward stretch of road in Indiana.</span></div> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="midnight_couch"></a> +<img src="images/i074b.jpg" width="600" height="402" alt="Motorcycle under a tree." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Midnight Couch.</span></div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>Henry T. Hodges beamed on me benignly from behind a pile of preserved +fruit tins as I entered his gloomy establishment.</p> + +<p>"See here, dad, I want a good meal," I said; "money's no object. Get +me?"</p> + +<p>"Sure; an' have ye come far, brother?"</p> + +<p>"I should reckon about a thousand miles to-day. Dandy roads you've got +in these parts, dad."</p> + +<p>"Aye, but you'd 'a seen 'em when we 'ad the rains, brother; they wuz so +mighty slick the hottymobiles sunk right down in 'em and 'ad to be dug +out wi' a shovel and dragged along wi' a team of four 'osses."</p> + +<p>"Why, I shouldn't have thought there were four horses in Murdock," I +replied.</p> + +<p>"Aye, an' I know there is, brother, 'cause they're my 'osses."</p> + +<p>"Um! Guess you make a pretty good living out of them, don't you, dad?"</p> + +<p>"You've said it, brother. Ten dollars a time is my charge, and if a +chap don't pay I jest leave 'im there till 'e does!"</p> + +<p>"Well, what about this meal, dad? I'm mighty hungry—and, say, who's +the road commissioner about here?"</p> + +<p>He essayed no answer, but disappeared hurriedly to boil the tea. I had +no doubt now who the road commissioner was!</p> + +<p>After leaving the "Store" of Henry T. Hodges, J.P., I did another +twenty miles or so until dark, and sought out a comfortable secluded +spot near the road, but far enough from it to avoid the smell of +it, and settled down for the night. Mosquitoes were the only source +of worry now. Otherwise this roadside sleeping was getting quite a +commonplace event.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> + +<p>Up at dawn in the morning! On the road once again; labouring, pushing, +hauling, heaving, lifting, cleaning off the mud, speeding a mile or two +and then more labouring and more pushing.</p> + +<p>At breakfast-time I reached Decatur, a flourishing town of 20,000 or so +inhabitants, and had breakfast at a "get-fed-quick" eat-house where you +sit on a stool in front of the counter and the man at the range behind +fries you a mutton steak, bakes the "waffles," or poaches the eggs as +per your desire.</p> + +<p>Then on again towards Springfield, the capital of Illinois State. The +mud changes to sand and the sand to dust. More spills, more cuts, more +bruises. The country as flat and uninteresting as they make it. More +right-angle bends, more losing of the way and more frizzling in the +sun. Two villages are passed in forty miles. One has a population of +417 and the other 59.</p> + +<p>At 11 a.m. we draw into Springfield, hot, tired, dusty, and sore. +Springfield is a mass of roads, trams, telegraph poles, and people. I +leave Lizzie leaning against the kerb and go for an ice-cream soda; +when I return, Lizzie is no longer visible. Instead there is a large +crowd. They are all examining something. Those on the outside elbow +their way to the middle. Those in the middle try to keep them out. The +passers-by wonder what it's all about and stop to see. They in turn try +to make their way to the middle. Many are disappointed and pass on. The +traffic cop, seeing the crowd, strolls over to see what's wrong.</p> + +<p>When he had moved the crowd away, I got astride Lizzie's saddle and +rode away, amid murmurs of astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Come quite a ways, I reckon."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's the kind of bird to go travelling on."</p> + +<p>"Looks as though he's seen some mud somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Look, Bill, he's got 'igh boots on like they have in the movies!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's what 'e is, 'e's a dolgarn movie actor," etc., etc.</p> + +<p>All the trails in America seem to go through Springfield, Ill. +Consequently the telegraph poles and tram poles were a mass of +hieroglyphics. It took a few minutes to get into Springfield. But it +took the best part of two hours to get out of it satisfactorily. Once I +thought I was well away, but found that for ten miles I had followed a +trail that had white stripes on a red background instead of red stripes +on a white background, or something of the kind.</p> + +<p>Jacksonville was the next town, some forty miles away. There are six +smaller towns on the way. I don't remember passing six, but my map +vouches for this number. Their respective populations, taken from the +said map, are as follows:—Riddle Hill, 25; Berlin, 251; New Berlin, +690; Alexander, 200; Orleans, 38; and Arnold, 15. So America is not +full up yet. But fancy showing a village of fifteen inhabitants on +the map! If it were in Arizona instead of Illinois they would have +called it Arnold "City." Here are some more names, taken at random from +the map, to show the endless variety that the American cartographer +has drawn upon:—"Daisy," "Whitehall," "Quiver," "Cuba," "Golden," +"Siloam," "Time," "Pearl," "Summum," "Birmingham" (population 76), +"Illinois City" (population 80), "Bible Grove" (population 10), +"Enterprise" (population 7).</p> + +<p>After Jacksonville the road seemed to change its mind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> It refused to +be a road any longer. It turned instead into a sea-beach and dodged +in and out, here and there, to evade the approaching traveller. +Everywhere was to be seen white sand. It lay feet deep on the trail, +making progress almost impossible. It covered all the vegetation at +the roadside, and it filled the air as well. Here for the first time I +encountered the type of road that can disappear with the vagaries of +the wind. It was easy to imagine that in æons of time this self-same +road would help to form some great geological strata deposited in the +Gulf of Mexico or elsewhere. The country became hilly and thickly +wooded, and sometimes the trail would narrow down to just a few feet in +width and then just as quickly open out to fifty or sixty. The trees +grew thicker, the sand grew thinner, the trail dodged around boulders +and trees, shot up little sandy slopes, and then, all of a sudden, +without any warning whatever, stopped at the bank of a great wide +silent river.</p> + +<p>It was the Illinois River, a tributary of the great Mississippi, which +itself was only fifty miles away. About a couple of hundred yards wide, +it was navigated by a ferry-boat of unknown antiquity pulled across the +river by a cable wound round a drum. Every man, woman, and child, and +every vehicle that crosses America by the Pike's Peak Highway, swells +the funds of the man who owns that ferry-boat.</p> + +<p>"Which is the road now?" I asked him when we eventually reached the +other side. I could see no signs of any continuation of the trail. He +had better eyes than I, however.</p> + +<p>"Go straight ahead; you can't miss it."</p> + +<p>There was certainly visible a little pathway that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> scrambled up the +bank and then wound in and out among the trees, and as I could see +nothing else, I followed it. Sure enough it led to "Valley City" +(population 52), and thence onwards, through "New Salem" and "Barry" +towards "Hannibal" on the Mississippi River.</p> + +<p>The Mississippi! Long had I conjured up visions of this mighty river of +over 4,000 miles total length that cuts through the United States from +north to south, and drains nearly 1-1/2 million square miles of land! +I had imagined its vast breadth and followed in my fancy the great, +silent, moving river as it flowed from west to east and north to south +through ever-changing scenery and ever-widening banks. And here I was +within a few miles of it! The thought was almost absurd.</p> + +<p>Just when the sun was about to set the road made one more swerve to the +left. The trees and the surrounding country fell away as if by magic, +and there was nothing beyond, save a massive bridge of steel. Beneath +and from horizon to horizon flowed the majestic river.</p> + +<p>The other end of the bridge was probably some 3,000 feet away in the +town of Hannibal and the State of Missouri. Hannibal bristles with +statues, tablets, posters, placards, and picture-postcards. They all +have the same theme for a subject—"Mark Twain." The Hanniballians, if +such they are called, are just as bad. I believe it is not possible +for a stranger to be in Hannibal for five minutes without being told +that Mark Twain was born there. If the "clerk" at the refreshment +bar doesn't tell you, the man at the post office does. If the young +"fellar" who pumps a couple of gallons of "gas" into your tank forgets +to tell you, the old girl<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> at the fruit-shop doesn't. They must have a +secret code in Hannibal whereby they arrange these things. And I will +guarantee there aren't two out of every dozen picture-postcards on sale +in Hannibal that don't show Mark Twain's birthplace or his cave or his +statue or his ass or his ox or something that he either did or did not +"immortalize."</p> + +<p>Seeking a quiet little spot by the river where I could spend the night +and fulfil one of my long-cherished hopes—to bathe in the River +Mississippi, I turned down a little road that ran along the bank and +reconnoitred the country. To my dismay a railway ran between the road +and the river, almost at the very water's edge. Nothing daunted, and +hoping that it would sooner or later swerve away and leave me in peace +with my river, I continued for miles, long after it was dark, but with +no success. The road itself was on a ledge high above the railway, +and the railway was on a ledge built some six or eight feet above the +river. Eventually I left Lizzie at the roadside, camouflaged her with +leaves and branches, and scrambled down with my bags over the ledge on +to the bank below. I found a comfortable little spot about ten feet +from the rails and laid my bed. And oh, what a glorious bathe I had in +the river!</p> + +<p>It was the eve of July 4th, the American "Day of Independence." Sounds +of revellers from far away were wafted over the calm, silent waters. +Now and then would be heard the faint swish of a canoe as it glided +past in the darkness of the night, and soft music crept up the river +from time to time, now clear, now faint, as if from its dark and mystic +depths.</p> + +<p>I tucked myself under the blanket feeling like a good Christian that +night, with never a worry in the world—a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> world that was good and kind +and comfortable always.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless I should have liked to know when a train would be coming +past to disturb my slumbers.</p> + +<p>Just as I was dozing over, I heard footsteps along the rails. They came +closer and closer, but I could see nothing. The night was pitch-dark. +As the footsteps came opposite to me, I made out the form of a man +against the starlit sky. He did not see me.</p> + +<p>"Say, bo, can you tell me how many trains pass here to-night?" I asked.</p> + +<p>He jumped as if struck in the back.</p> + +<p>"Only a couple, brother," he replied to where the air had spoken, +"one of them in about half an hour and the other about one in the +morning;—but they won't worry you," he added.</p> + +<p>Sure enough in half an hour's time I heard the distant rumble of a +train. I began to wonder if I had not rolled any closer to the rails +than when I lay down. The earth shook and a red glare appeared in the +distance, and with a mighty roar the huge train came thundering through +an opening in the trees. Although I knew I was at a safe distance, the +feeling of impending annihilation swooped suddenly down upon me. "Don't +be an ass," said I, "what's the use of getting the wind up?" And the +next second it seemed that the rushing torrent of steel and fire was +but an inch from my head. Clatter bang-thump, clatter-bang-thump, for +twenty long seconds, and the intruder was gone. In another minute not a +sound broke the silence of the midsummer night.</p> + +<p>Thinking what an excellent test of self-control it would be to pitch +my bed between the rails, but disinclined to do so on account of the +possibility of a cow-catcher<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> being in front of the trains, I rolled +over into heavy slumber.</p> + +<p>In half an hour I was awake again and the same process was repeated. I +deemed then that I should be left in peace for the night. But my friend +had not reckoned on the freight trains. Only the passenger trains were +of account to him!</p> + +<p>Regularly every half-hour they thundered past. At dawn I had counted +thirteen in all. I resolved not to sleep on a railway embankment again, +even though it be in company with the Mississippi.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a><br /><br /> + +STORMY WEATHER IN MISSOURI</h2> + + +<p>Hannibal is a nice, clean, respectable place; were I an American +tourist I would call it a "cute little city."</p> + +<p>I found an eating-house with a tempting smell around it, and ordered a +hearty breakfast. After polishing off this meal, I mounted Lizzie and +started off once more.</p> + +<p>We were now in Missouri, the State of the small farmer. Not that the +farms are so very small, but they are not on so large a scale as +further on in the west, where the hundred-square-mile ranch is the +order of the day.</p> + +<p>Again the scenery experiences a quick change; the country becomes hilly +and rough; one sees maize growing almost everywhere and very often +pigs (or hogs as they are termed in the States) turned out to pasture. +Nevertheless there is much uncleared and uncultivated land to be seen; +the towns and villages are clean, modern, and well laid out, and all +give an air of prosperity and plenty. Every farmer has his car, and +it is generally a Ford; youngsters of twelve and fourteen can be seen +driving them, and generally with as much skill as their parents, if not +more.</p> + +<p>But for all its hills and vales and the luxuriance of its natural +beauty, Missouri has one great drawback. There is a very big fly in +the Missouri ointment—<span class="smcap">rain</span>. And when it rains in Missouri, +it rains properly, not in tantalizing little showers as it does in +England. It is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> as though the whole sky had burst its water-mains. It +falls not in inches but feet; not for hours but for days. Then suddenly +the sun breaks out and scorches everything with renewed vigour. If +a car is out far from home when the rain comes, it generally has to +"stay put." The rain sinks into the road and so does the car. Every +car carries a set of chains for its wheels, but although they improve +matters slightly, they are often futile in ploughing through the +thick slime. Then come the teams of horses at five and ten and twenty +dollars a time to drag the unfortunate automobile to some garage where +it "lays up" until the rain has gone and the sun has dried the roads +sufficiently for further progress.</p> + +<p>Sometimes enterprising individuals do not wait for rain to bring +in the shekels. I have often heard of perfectly authentic cases of +a farmer deliberately flooding likely patches of the road and then +waiting patiently with his horses to drag out some unfortunate victim. +This seems absurd, but care is always taken to select a spot where it +cannot be definitely proved that natural conditions are not entirely +responsible for the result!</p> + +<p>In the early afternoon, after a hard ride from Hannibal, punctuated at +every village with a stop for the consumption of ice-cream, I reached +a small town called "Bucklin." No sooner was I there than a huge black +cloud appeared suddenly in the sky and a terrific windstorm rose which +blew everything that was not fixed to something in all directions. For +half an hour it raged. The air was thick with dust, leaves and bits of +paper. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the wind subsided, and rain +commenced in torrents. So fast did it fall and so heavy were the drops +that the surface of the road was beaten into a froth which hovered +all the time a few inches above<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> the road itself. Even to walk across +it was a test of skill; so slimy was the mud that one's feet slid +aimlessly about in any direction but the one desired. For this reason +concrete pathways are invariably provided so that pedestrians can +move with comparative ease and can leave their homes and visit anyone +anywhere in the town without actually touching the mud at all. These +concrete pathways naturally have to cross the road in places, and when +the road surrounding them is washed away, as very often happens, the +result to a passing vehicle can be imagined.</p> + +<p>Further progress being out of the question that day, I hied me to the +only hotel in the place and prepared to while away the days that were +to follow in writing letters, studying an obsolete almanac, and eating +bad food.</p> + +<p>It rained in a continual deluge all that day, all night and all next +morning. At midday it stopped with a bump, the sun came out with +another, and the birds began to sing again. At three I ventured forth +with Lizzie. I had not gone a dozen yards when the back wheel slipped +sideways round to the front and left me reposing in the half-baked mud. +Back again for another hour's wait while the broiling sun did its work. +Next time I got as far as the outskirts of the town before I decided +to turn back. After another hour we started out to do or die, come +what might. During the remainder of the day until dark we covered ten +miles, going hard all the time. When I was not extricating myself from +a spicy bit of quagmire, I was poking semi-hard mud out of the wheels +and mudguards.</p> + +<p>On one occasion I came to a sudden dip in the road, followed by an +equally sudden rise. As usual there was an uninviting "slough of +despond" in the hollow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> After trying two or three different ruts in +an effort to "get through," giving up each one in turn as hopeless, +and pushing back again to where still another rut branched off from +the one I was in, I eventually worked my way through. The struggle up +the slope on the other side was a formidable one and was being slowly +accomplished by a combination of bottom-gear driving, pushing, lifting, +and "paddling." Just before the summit was reached I was thrown by a +steep furrow into the ditch at the roadside, breathless, exhausted, and +extremely bad-tempered.</p> + +<p>As I was extracting myself, a young man in shirt-sleeves strolled +leisurely over, hands in pockets, from a stationary car a little +further on. When I had safely extricated my right leg from under the +machine and hauled Lizzie on to her wheels again, the stranger spoke.</p> + +<p>"Say, fella, does that front cylinder get hot? I've heard say that's +the weak point about them four-cylinder motorsickles."</p> + +<p>Here follows a flow of language from self entirely unprintable. The +stranger opens his eyes, whistles softly, then adds, as if to turn the +subject:</p> + +<p>"Where you from?"</p> + +<p>He remained with his hands in his pockets staring at my diminishing +form. He was still there when I looked over my shoulder half a mile +further on. He is probably there now!</p> + +<p>As time went on, black clouds appeared in the sky; the sun went in; the +wind rose, and a repetition of the events of the day before commenced +just as I arrived in the small town of "Wheeling." The only thing to +do was to eat ices until the climatic conditions adjusted themselves. +This took the best part of two hours. Once again I sallied forth with +Lizzie. This<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> time in the short space of five yards I reposed gently +but thoroughly in the Missouri mud, much to the amusement of the +population, who had all turned out to witness my departure. Again I +tried and again I fell. The whole machine seemed to act as though it +were made of jelly. I gave it up on the third attempt.</p> + +<p>"Try the railway," jeered the village comedian, pointing to +a level-crossing in the distance. This amused the onlookers +"considerable." For myself, I discerned a glimmer of wisdom in the +suggestion.</p> + +<p>"Look here, you guys," I retorted, "what about giving me a hand to push +this as far as the depot" (I never made the fatal mistake of referring +to it as a "station") "instead of looking on and grinning like a lot of +schoolboys?"</p> + +<p>It had its effect. Three or four volunteered at once. We all pushed; we +slithered to right and left; we slipped over each other and ourselves. +But we got there.</p> + +<p>Riding on the sleepers was hardly humorous, but it was better than the +road. They were not filled in and were very irregular. Consequently +progress was slow and a trifle disjointed. The "depot" was not far +away. The "line-boss" looked at me curiously, as though I were a +strange offshoot from some wayward train.</p> + +<p>"Many trains coming along this way?" I queried, wishing to know what I +should have to meet, as there was only a single track, double tracks +being seldom, if ever, laid in the States, and if one was unprepared +it might prove embarrassing to meet a train coming in the opposite +direction just in the middle of a tunnel or a bridge. American railway +bridges are remarkable for their narrowness. Very often the sleepers +themselves project into space, and never is there any track beyond +them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You said it, brother," he replied, "dozens of 'em." "And what's more, +there's a couple of long tunnels just a mile away—look, you can see +the beginning—and beyond them there's a bridge pretty nigh half a mile +long—and trains is mighty funny things to play hide and seek with, y' +know!"</p> + +<p>I was of that opinion myself. As I looked, I saw a train emerge from +the tunnel ahead. I reflected that I should have been just about there +by now if I hadn't stopped. I went back to Wheeling.</p> + +<p>The next day I covered twenty miles in four hours and found myself back +in Wheeling again, but this time by another road. Nothing daunted, I +said nothing, clenched my teeth, and polished off another twenty until +dark.</p> + +<p>The day after I did better. The nett progress at the end of the +day's work was twenty-five miles instead of twenty. I arrived at the +conclusion that Missouri had one great advantage that I had hitherto +overlooked. It was an excellent place to get out of!</p> + +<p>On the next day I covered five miles in six hours, and although only +forty miles or so from Kansas City, which marks the commencement of the +historic Santa Fé Trail leading to the Pacific Coast, I made a solemn +vow that I would "ship" everything there by train at the next town. +The next town happened to be "Excelsior Springs," twenty miles further +on. The road improved considerably, and the comforting thought of +civilization at so short a distance urged me on and I broke that solemn +vow. I rode into Kansas City late that afternoon, a mass of bruises +from head to foot, just as the speedometer showed 1,919 miles from New +York. I ferreted out the Henderson agent and left Lizzie in his tender +keeping.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a><br /><br /> + +RESULTS OF A BREAKDOWN</h2> + + +<p>It took three days for me to find that the Kansas City I was in was not +the Kansas City I thought I was in. I took it for granted that Kansas +City would be in Kansas State. But it was not. <em class="italic">My</em> Kansas City was in +Missouri, but after searching diligently at the post office for mail +that wasn't there, I found there was another Kansas City on the other +bank of the river. All good citizens of Kansas City, Mo., turn up their +noses at the mention of Kansas City, Kan.,—"no connection with the +firm opposite" sort of thing.</p> + +<p>Of the two, Kansas City, Mo., is by far the more commendable town. It +hustles and bustles just as every good American city should do. It is +exactly "one hundred per cent American." The advertisements in the +papers said so. I believe it, because any city that boasts of being +four times larger than it really is must be 100 per cent. American! +But I must give Kansas City its due. It represents the essence of +keenness and enterprise in business and farming circles. It has that +"breezy" air that is so healthy in city life, compared with the dull, +gloomy inertness so characteristic of most manufacturing towns, +especially here in England. Kansas City has some excellent streets and +some magnificent buildings, and has undoubtedly grown at a remarkable +rate during the last ten years. Being the last city of really large<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +dimensions that one meets until the Pacific Coast is reached, it is +the connecting link between the East and the Far West. Grain and farm +produce from the vast States of the West flow unceasingly through its +warehouses and stockyards. A network of railways concentrates to a +focus at Kansas City, railways bringing in and taking out millions of +tons of produce annually.</p> + +<p>The next day, when I visited the motor-cycle agency, Lizzie was +standing disconsolately where I had left her the day before. I begged, +entreated, exhorted, and threatened that she be given immediate +attention. I lied abominably to the manager that I was putting up a +record between the coasts and every minute was important.</p> + +<p>How could I expect to beat all existing records if they kept my machine +in dock for a week? I was promised that it would be started on "right +now." That term "right now" has a significance unknown to Europeans. It +is subtle and evasive, intangible and incomprehensible. It conveys a +sense of such utter obligation on the part of the speaker that one has +not the heart to query its exact purport. As far as I can ascertain, or +at any rate as far as I have experienced its application, it is more +similar to the French "tout de suite" than any other expression I can +identify, in that it might imply anything between the immediate present +and the indefinite future.</p> + +<p>Lizzie required several replacements, including a new set of bearings, +a cylinder and two gudgeon pins, these latter being broken in half at +the middle. The agent told me that they always were liable to break. If +they were put in upside-down, as he always fitted them, so that the oil +hole was at the bottom instead of the top, they would not break at all. +Further he hinted that my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> particular machine was turned out while a +good fat strike was in progress at the factory.</p> + +<p>"Well, you can stick it together so that it will take me to the coast +all right?" I queried anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Well, yes, I guess I can," was his studied reply.</p> + +<p>"Go right ahead then, boss, but do it quick! I'm running short of money +and can't afford to stay in your metropolis right here for the benefit +of my health."</p> + +<p>Being destined then to remain in Kansas City for four or five days +more, I found myself with ample leisure in which to collect my thoughts +and prepare for the journey through the "wild west" ahead.</p> + +<p>One result of my leisure was that I paid a visit to the editor of the +<em class="italic">Kansas City Star</em>. This is one of the most progressive newspapers in +the United States, and circulates everywhere in the West. The extent of +its circulation and the results of its progressiveness I was, however, +still to learn.</p> + +<p>The editor was found as usual at his desk in the middle of a large +room, surrounded by his myrmidons in typical American style. He greeted +me with extreme cordiality. "No need to tell you I'm English, I +suppose?" I said.</p> + +<p>"See that door over there?" (pointing to the one in the far distance +through which I had entered). "Well, I spotted you were an Englishman +the minute you came in there."</p> + +<p>I explained with complete humiliation that I was travelling across the +United States of America on a motor-cycle and wondered whether his +readers would be interested in the point of view of such a despicable +object as an English motor-cyclist on this great and wonderful country. +"Not for the love of the thing, you know," I added, "I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> don't see why I +shouldn't earn a dollar or two on the wayside."</p> + +<p>He pointed to a typewriter standing idle at a desk. "Let's have the +story right now, and give us something about roads. There's a big +movement just started to get good roads, so you can just hand out the +straight dope to everybody on the subject. Get me? Something good and +snappy."</p> + +<p>I explained that while no one was more eminently capable of writing +about American roads than myself, I had never graduated as a typist in +the course of my business career. I should, therefore, have to retire +and push the modest pen.</p> + +<p>"What! a business man who can't use a typewriter? I didn't know there +was such a thing," was his rejoinder.</p> + +<p>I let them have it about roads. I referred also to their commendable +system of arresting road-hogs. This with a few pro-American +embellishments such as "wonderful country," "indescribable beauty," +"inexhaustible wealth," etc. etc., rounded off the theme.</p> + +<p>My friend the editor not only rewarded me at the noble rate of a dime +a line (5<em class="italic">d.</em>), thus assuring the hotel expenses for my stay in the +city, but also gave me about an hour of his valuable time in talking +about almost everything under the sun—mainly American. It is rather +surprising to an Englishman to find that practically any worthy +American business man, no matter how busy he may be or how valuable the +time lost thereby, will entertain a visitor for an incredible length of +time. If the visitor happens to be an Englishman, he is all the more +pleased to do so because then he can talk uninterruptedly about America +and what a wonderful country it is. All the noted men of Europe, I +learned, had been in the office and sat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> in that same chair. The editor +told me so. Lord Northcliffe spent all his leisure hours there while +in the States. So also did many other notorieties, some unknown to +me. Leastways, so the editor told me. I took his money and bade him +farewell.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a><br /><br /> + +THE SANTA FÉ TRAIL</h2> + + +<p>On the fifth day after my arrival in Kansas City all was in readiness +for my departure. There was another big bill to meet for Lizzie's +overhaul, but I had the satisfaction of knowing that the bearings had +all been replaced, as well as a few cylinders and pistons and things, +and that there was just a chance of getting to the coast before +something else went wrong. Once again I wrote polite letters to the +factory at Chicago, paid many dozen "green backs" over the counter, +and started off once more, this time with only thirty-five dollars in +pocket. Once again fate and the post office had been unkind. Not a +suggestion of anything was there at either of the post offices at any +of my calls thereon. Amid vague wonderings and oft repeated doubts +I promised myself a big cheque at Santa Fé, next stop. I was just +beginning to know the ins and outs of the postal service.</p> + +<p>The Santa Fé Trail is the oldest and most interesting highway in +America. Rather should it be said that the pioneers over what later +became known as the Santa Fé Trail were the first to leave permanent +marks on routes that have since become "highways" between the +Central-Western and the Far-Western States. In the days of the ox +team and prairie-schooner, the plains and mountains were crossed by +trails, usually along the lines of least resistance, keeping as close +as possible to bases of supplies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> and water. Travel over the Santa Fé +Trail began about 1822, starting from Little Rock, Arkansas (pronounced +Arkansaw), and following the Arkansas River west. A few years later, +this trail was superseded by a more permanent one going west from +Kansas City (then called Westport) to "Great Bend," a base situated, +as its name implies, on a great bend of the Arkansas River, and thence +to Santa Fé by a choice of two routes. An important trade with the +Spanish population of the south-west was early developed, reaching its +zenith in the '60s. This route, the one which I followed, has now been +marked a considerable part of the way by stone monuments erected by the +"Daughters of the American Revolution" and constituted the chief inroad +from the East to the Far West. Santa Fé itself, next to St. Augustine, +Florida, is the most ancient city in America, having been founded in +1605 by Spanish settlers on the site of a "pueblo" or Indian village of +far-distant origin. Naturally, therefore, it was the centre of trade +for years numbered by hundreds, and traders from afar brought their +goods and supplies in boats up the rivers as far as navigable and then +in teams across the dreary plains and over the steep Rockies to this +one destination.</p> + +<p>Later, in the gold-rush to California in 1849, emigrants reached San +Francisco, the "Golden Gate," via this same Santa Fé Trail, undergoing +indescribable hardships on the way, and at all times subjected to +frequent onslaughts by the hostile Indians.</p> + +<p>The first railroads were built across the plains alongside the old +trails. The first automobile trips (and I take off my hat to them!) +naturally followed the railroads, from the necessity of keeping near +to supplies. But the motor-car of to-day frequently makes either short +cuts or detours—leading<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> perhaps 100 or 200 miles away from the +railroad—in order to visit sections offering unusual attractions, or +places of historical interest, even when located in desert regions.</p> + +<p>Thus, with Kansas City behind me, the journey begins to be really +interesting from an historic, if not from a scenic point of view. The +hand of modern civilization at last is seen to relax its grasp. Now, +instead of the prosaic, the conventional and the luxurious, are we to +find the unique, the heterodox and the primitive. After the tainted +breath of huge cities and the seething, crushing, maddening turmoil of +wealth and modernism are to follow the pure unbounded atmosphere of the +giant plains, the mystic call of the great mountains, the vastness, the +fearfulness and the rapture of the scorching deserts. Which shall it be +for me?</p> + +<p>Before me lie 500 miles of perfectly flat and uninteresting country +before I leave the State of Kansas and enter Colorado. Then follow +another 200 equally flat, equally drear, to be crossed before the +Rockies loom into sight. Seven hundred miles of endless weary prairie, +stretching always, everywhere, as far as the eye can see, with never +a hill nor a dale nor hardly a tree in sight!—Nothing but boundless, +illimitable corn, wheat and prairie.</p> + +<p>That night, after an afternoon's run of 120 miles, I rested in a +cornfield. The road had ended abruptly. An old bridge had been +demolished and a new one was about to be erected. A heap of debris +in the middle attracted my attention, and I was fortunate. Here the +road ended; there was a little chasm some thirty feet across; beyond +was the road again. Nothing for it but to turn back. Turning back is +always objectionable. I deemed that it would be less so in the morning. +That is why I wrapped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> myself in my mosquito net behind a hedge in a +cornfield and offered up thanksgiving.</p> + +<p>The mosquito net—I have not mentioned it before! I purchased three +yards of it in a little store back in Missouri while waiting for the +road to dry up. I also bought a cap. Having worn no headgear since +leaving New York, I soon discarded the cap and later gave it away to a +little urchin who looked as though he needed one more than I. But the +mosquito net remained for a longer spell. Nightly was it unfolded and +wrapped around my unworthy self, and daily was it folded carefully up +again and packed into the bag once more.</p> + +<p>I shall never forget that mosquito net. It was white. Leastways it +was when I bought it. I tried countless ways of enveloping myself in +its folds, but never with any great measure of success. The <em class="italic">tout +ensemble</em> when struggles had subsided, with self in pyjamas surrounded +by wrappings of white chiffon on a black background (my waterproof +groundsheet) must have presented an extraordinary spectacle to the poor +birds above. No doubt they mistook me for some miscreant angel served +with an ejectment order without notice from the star-lit sky! At first +all went well. I breathed the calm midnight air unmolested. "It can't +be true," I told myself, "there is a catch in it somewhere." There +was. I discovered that whereas it was comparatively difficult for a +mosquito to get inside the net, once he did get inside it was an utter +impossibility to get him out again. One mosquito inside a mosquito net +is worth much more than two outside. He is worth at least forty!</p> + +<p>Then I tried various stunts because, when I did get properly wrapped +up, I invariably rolled out of it in my sleep. I rigged up poles and +sticks and cut little pegs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> from twigs to hold the net down like a +tent. I had it stitched up the sides like a bag and wriggled into it +nightly, only to find it wrapped around my feet in the morning and my +face and arms a mass of bites. Finally, in the heart of the Rockies I +think it was, I gave it up as a bad job and resorted to the Citronella +method once again. For aught I know that old mosquito-net is still +hanging to the fence of a cow-ranch at the foot of Pike's Peak, Colo.!</p> + +<p>Up at dawn in the morning and away. I found another road some three +miles back and continued on my way westward rejoicing. Sixty miles were +covered before breakfast. The towns and villages became very few and +far between, and Council Grove, where I enjoyed my morning repast, was +practically the first town to be encountered. I had set my mind on a +good day's run and prayed for good roads. On my map, which was said to +be the only road-map of the United States published, and was hopelessly +inaccurate and inadequate, there was a huge river, the Arkansas, a +couple of hundred miles ahead. I judged it to be about half a mile +wide. Verily, thought I, the Arkansas River shall be my resting place +to-night, and Great Bend my destination.</p> + +<p>After a long day's ride I toiled into Great Bend at sunset. The journey +had been monotonous and the road fatiguing. I longed to stretch +my weary bones on the banks of yon mighty river and bathe in its +refreshing waters. While I was devouring my evening meal, on a little +high stool in the one and only café of Great Bend, I was consoling +myself with this prospect.</p> + +<p>Outside, a little group of men were sitting on the pavement eyeing +Lizzie propped up against the kerb. It is the general thing to sit on +pavements in the Far West.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> They are much higher than those we are +accustomed to and afford adequate and comfortable accommodation for the +weary population. Often one can see a row of men sitting on the kerb +for the whole length of a "block" when the sun is in such a direction +that the sitters are sheltered by the buildings behind them. I made a +mental note: "Another good idea for importation to England." I pictured +tired Londoners sitting down in rows on the pavements of the Strand or +clustered leisurely around Piccadilly Circus chewing "shag"!</p> + +<p>My pockets bulged with bottles of "Buckeye," an imitation root beer +sold extensively in the States (since prohibition) and alleged to have +a "kick" in it. A suspicious swelling elsewhere on my person indicated +a tin of pineapple chunks (a delight of my youth).</p> + +<p>"Goin' far?" inquired one of my scrutineers.</p> + +<p>"Down to the river to-night. This the right road?"</p> + +<p>"Right slick in front of your nose half a mile away."</p> + +<p>I came to a long wooden bridge arrangement, but could find no river. +After going two or three miles and finding no Arkansas, I returned to +Great Bend to try another road. This time I inquired at the café.</p> + +<p>"Straight ahead, you can't miss the bridge."</p> + +<p>"Oh, is there a river there? I didn't see one."</p> + +<p>Back again to the bridge, but no signs of a river. Instead there was a +great stretch of white sand like a sea-beach, but with little trees and +shrubs and tufts of grass dotted here and there.</p> + +<p>"Well, this is no Arkansas River," said I to myself, "but I'm through. +This sand looks pretty comfortable, so here goes."</p> + +<p>In amongst the sand dunes I made my bed and never did traveller camp +in more delightful surroundings or rest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> in more peaceful conditions. +The stars shone out with unusual brilliancy in the heavens, and the +moon rose at the setting of the sun, enveloping all in a magic sheen +of silver. A soft cool breeze played gently over the plain and little +birds of unknown song and uncounted variety slowly sang themselves to +rest. This indeed was no night for sleep; more was it a time for quiet +contemplation of all the things that make life good and noble and +worthy of the living. How terrible, how awful it would be when I should +in the end return to the narrow beaten track of city life, and once +again be fettered to "the trivial round, the common task" that knows no +magic spell and thrills with no mystic breath. Could it ever be that +the duties that bind and numb, the needs that hamper and clog, the +tasks that chill and estrange, should once again enshroud me in their +toils? Such I suppose are the meditations of everyone who breaks away +from home to enjoy for a spell the bounties of nature and whose canopy +is the sky.</p> + +<p>In the morning I awoke as fresh as the merry sandpipers and +waterwagtails that ran and hopped about in dozens. There was no trace +of fatigue, no thought but of the glorious day that was opening, no +regret but that every day had not brought and would not bring this +rapturous dawn.</p> + +<p>I learned in the village that I had indeed slept in the middle of the +Arkansas River! The summer had been excessively dry and that part of +the river which, several hundred miles away, had risen boisterously in +the heart of the Rockies and had not been dried up with the heat, had +drained through the sandy bed, never to emerge again. This though was +one of many rivers that I was to meet with no water in them. Sometimes +even, I was to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> see fences and railways erected across would-be rivers +to prevent the cattle straying!</p> + +<p>The farther westward I travelled the fewer became the towns. +Nevertheless, albeit they were sometimes thirty and forty miles apart, +they were all prosperous, new and inviting. Of gasoline there was +always an abundant supply at 22 cents (11<em class="italic">d.</em>) per gallon. Of garages +there were enough and to spare. Indeed, it was surprising what palatial +garages were to be found everywhere. Outside each was the familiar +"Bowser" pump communicating with a 1,000-gallon tank below the pavement +from which anything from half a gallon to six gallons at a time could +be pumped up by the garage hand at one turn of the handle. A flexible +pipe with a cock at the end leads from the pump, and one's tank can be +filled in a few seconds without a drop being spilt. Not once in all my +travel through the States have I seen a petrol tin. I do not believe +they are used at all because nowhere in the States is it necessary to +travel by road with spare petrol on board, provided, of course, that +one is careful to fill up regularly at the different towns or stations +on the way. Even in the heart of New Mexico and Arizona, even in the +terrible "Death Valley" and Mohave Desert of California, stations are +found where "gas" and oil can be bought in plenty to carry one well +beyond the next to be reached.</p> + +<p>At Larned I made a hearty breakfast from canteloupe, coffee and "pie." +Now "pie" is one hundred per cent. symbolical of America. In the States +they have attained the absolute limit of perfection in the manufacture +of pies; indeed I think it must be a "key" industry. Not only can pies +of every conceivable kind of fruit (and many inconceivable ones) be +obtained, but the cooking thereof is perfection itself.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> + +<p>On the road again, ever westward, ever looking forward to the day when +from the dreadful monotony of the plains the Rocky Mountains would loom +high and faint upon the horizon.</p> + +<p>I passed a few small towns at long intervals, towns with picturesque +names such as "Cimarron," "Garden City," "Lamar," and "Las Animas." In +every case an approaching town was heralded by an unspeakable stretch +of road. With the passage of traffic of all kinds the road was ground +up into powder. Every inch of it was loose sand, sometimes a couple or +three feet deep, sand that would be impassable to any but horse-drawn +traffic. As a saving grace it was generally less deep at the edges of +the road than in the middle, and locomotion was just within the range +of possibility with frequent assistance by way of "leg-work" and with +occasional spills and crashes. The only use I had for these towns +lay in the unlimited scope for ice-cream consumption which they all +afforded. As time went on, Lizzie showed signs of further disrupture. +Gradually little noises and rattles developed and slowly her power fell +off by almost imperceptible degrees. Of course I had ample power even +at that to cover the country, which, with few exceptions, was level, +and the road, where dry, was good. I averaged no more than twenty-five, +and as there was hardly any stop to make or traffic to slow down +for, this did not mean travelling more than thirty at any time. A +good conscientious motorist, I told myself, would stop and examine +everything. I had got far beyond that stage. "Let the old crock go on +till she busts," I muttered inwardly and opened up to avoid an oncoming +thunderstorm.</p> + +<p>Thunderstorms travel quickly in U.S.A. They get a hustle on and don't +mess about generally. There's never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> any doubt about it when you +see one coming. It means business; there is none of that burbling, +gurgling, gloomy overture that hangs around for hours in England +and very often comes to nothing at all. No, no. In U.S.A. you see a +thundercloud on the horizon and before you've got "George Washington" +off your lips it's on you with a crack and a bump and a splash and woe +betide any innocent motor-cyclist who is riding in his shirt-sleeves +with his jacket strapped on the back.</p> + +<p>But that rain was good! Kansas can be hot when it likes and it's mostly +liking all the time, so that a shower-bath is a gift from the gods. +When it stopped, and fortunately before it had had time to do its foul +work on the surface of the dirt road, I arrived in Syracuse, a small +town with not much of a population to substantiate its artistic name, +and but twenty or thirty miles from the Colorado State Line. Net result +150 odd miles that day and to-morrow with luck I should behold the +Rockies. Oh, those Rockies! How I longed to see them!</p> + +<p>The rest of the evening I spent adjusting Lizzie's tappets (they had +all worked loose, hence the noise) and eating pies and ices at every +café in the place. The night was spent in a dirty inhospitable little +inn calling itself, I think, the Broadway Temperance Hotel. Heaven help +Broadway, and the Devil take all temperance hotels! I shivered as I +compared this with the night before.</p> + +<p>Westward once more. In an hour I crossed the State Line. Invariably +there is a large sign-board denoting this fact. "<span class="smcap">This is the State +of Colorado, the most Picturesque and Fertile State in the Union</span>," +it read on this occasion. This time there was not such a marked change +in the country. It was still flat, still dismally uninteresting. +Everything looked dried up.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> At times the trail, which hitherto had +followed the Arkansas "River," crossed and re-crossed it by long low +creaky wooden bridges. There was still no water flowing underneath +them. "Water? That was only meant to flow under bridges," says the +confirmed toper. The Arkansas River "puts him wise" on that point!</p> + +<p>Flagrant mistakes now appeared on the map. Roads and towns which +in reality lay on one side of the river were alleged to be on the +other. Distances became either grossly exaggerated or hopelessly +underestimated, so much so that I only expected to get to a place when +I found myself already there. If it turned out to be another place than +that I had expected—well, there, that made it all the more exciting.</p> + +<p>Later on the trail became very dishevelled and forlorn. Great waves of +sand were piled up in ridges and furrows defying all comers. Sometimes +a benevolent signpost advised all drivers of automobiles not to risk +travelling thereon, but to follow such and such a detour which would +lead back to the road ten or fifteen miles farther on. I saw many +such notices. At first I scorned them, but the sand grew so thick and +deep that it enveloped the frame of the machine and the projecting +footboards brought progress to a standstill. For several hours I pushed +and heaved and skidded and floundered about on highways and detours and +pathways that baffle description. If I averaged ten miles an hour I was +content with that. I got through many places that passing pedestrians +swore were impassable. In short I was beginning to reduce locomotion +over American roads to a science.</p> + +<p>At La Junta, the Santa Fé Trail swerves to the south-west towards New +Mexico, but another trail continues westward and northward towards +Pueblo, Colorado Springs,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> and Denver, the three "cities" of Colorado +State, and Pike's Peak, one of the highest points of the Rockies. +I decided to leave the trail for a day or two and go sightseeing +in famous Colorado. So I continued westward, scanning the horizon +all the time for a vision of a vast and rugged mountain range. The +sight of mountains would be as balm to a sore wound; as welcome as +a spring of water in the desert; or even as the sight of land to a +shipwrecked mariner, so heartily tired was I of the endless plains and +the inexhaustible flatness and monotony of the country for the past +thousand miles.</p> + +<p>Instead of mountains came a cloud. Soon the whole horizon was black. I +knew what that meant. It meant "laying up" for a day or two and looking +round for a good place to lay up at "right slick." But I was in the +midst of nowhere. Not a house or a shack could be seen anywhere. Even +as I scanned the country the rain came. The road was not sandy enough +for it to soak through. Instead it absorbed it greedily and changed to +mud. I rode as far as riding was practicable and then I pushed. In a +few miles I came to a little wooden shack at the side of the road near +a large dyke already swollen with rain. The shack looked as though it +had recently been thrown together with matchboarding and liberal use +had been made of tarpaulins as curtains instead of doors. I left Lizzie +in the road and went to explore.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a><br /><br /> + +THE ROYAL GORGE OF ARKANSAS</h2> + + +<p>There were two huts. I drew aside the tarpaulin and peered in one of +them. It was stuffy and dark and filled with beds, tables, cupboards +and piles of odd furniture and miscellaneous clothing, boots, blankets +and mattresses. In a clearing amongst the general debris sat a +middle-aged woman on the top of a trunk before a sewing machine.</p> + +<p>"Hope I'm not intruding, but is there anywhere I can get out of the +rain until it goes off?"</p> + +<p>From a heap of assorted oddments under my very nose came a voice, a +man's voice.</p> + +<p>"Sure; come right in, brother. You're welcome to any shelter we can +give you. Guess you've gotten a little wet out there? Jim, go you into +the kitchen and bring a chair for this gentleman."</p> + +<p>A pile of musty books rocked on its foundations in another corner and a +young lad of fifteen or sixteen rose as if from out of the earth.</p> + +<p>We talked for an hour, but the storm showed no signs of abating. The +wind whistled through the tarpaulin doorway and gloomy blobs of water +dropped from the ceiling from time to time on all and sundry.</p> + +<p>Strange to say I did not betray my nationality. I presume that by that +time I had unconsciously acquired in a small degree the language of the +race.</p> + +<p>"You're from the East, I suppose?" queried mine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> hostess after half an +hour, the first words I had heard her speak.</p> + +<p>"Oh, sure, I'm from the East, the far East—in fact, the <span class="smcap">very</span> +Far East!" I replied.</p> + +<p>"Boston?"</p> + +<p>"You've said it," was my rejoinder. "Ever been to Boston?" I added.</p> + +<p>"Yep, I was there I reckon fifteen fall. All I remember now was the +railway depot. What do they call it, the South Union?"</p> + +<p>"Sure, it's the South Union all right. Why, I was born only a couple of +blocks from the South Union depot."</p> + +<p>Miserable liar that I am, I have never been in Boston in my life.</p> + +<p>"Fine city, Boston," interjected the male voice from below.</p> + +<p>"The finest in the world, sir," I effused.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the rain continued, with not the slightest sign of abating.</p> + +<p>"You best bring your motor-sickle under shelter and stay the night +right here," suggested the man of the house when the shadows deepened +and still the rain went on.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure that's very good of you, sir, but I'm afraid I'd better not +trouble you any more."</p> + +<p>"No trouble at all; we're delighted to have you; we can soon make a bed +up with a few chairs and some of these blankets."</p> + +<p>I was only too pleased to avail myself of their hospitality and agreed.</p> + +<p>At supper I had a chance of studying the various members of the family. +Apart from the man and his wife, there were two boys, and quite a few +more people rolled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> in afterwards from a source unknown to me. Supper +consisted of stewed beans, with plenty of bread and water, and more +beans.</p> + +<p>That night I slept on four chairs in a row near the door. The two boys +were elsewhere in the gloomy darkness within. All through the night +I waged war upon mosquitoes and slapped myself vigorously for many +hours until the guerrilla warfare grew so tiring that sleep overcame +its anxiety. The mosquitoes then nibbled my face to their hearts' +content—if they have hearts, which is doubtful.</p> + +<p>In the morning breakfast consisted of stewed beans with plenty of bread +and water, and more beans.</p> + +<p>By lunch-time it was still raining, but slower. I stayed to lunch. It +consisted of stewed beans, with plenty of bread and water, and lots +more beans.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon the sky cleared, the sun opened his eyes with a snap +and began his work of drying up the roads. Throughout the day I had +employed my time with giving Lizzie an overhaul. I had the cylinders +off, examined the bearings, and tightened things generally. Meanwhile I +discovered that my friends were building a house on an adjoining field. +They were doing the work alone, with the help of a few friends, who +no doubt accounted for the other partakers of stewed beans. A pile of +timber lay in one corner of the field and the foundations had already +been laid and the uprights erected.</p> + +<p>It was well seen that the house was for themselves to live in. Never +have I seen a house grow so quickly or watched the progress of one so +keenly. Moreover the walls were not all out of the vertical or the +windows far from square as one generally gets in home-made houses (and +very often other kinds too!)</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You'd better stay and have something to eat, brother," said mine host +as I was strapping my bag on Lizzie's back in preparation to depart. +"We've only got stewed beans, but they're a mighty wholesome food."</p> + +<p>But I had visions of apricot pie in Pueblo, thirty miles ahead, and +urged my desire to be getting on the road "right now" while the weather +lasted.</p> + +<p>They were good folks, those house-builders of Nepesta. Not a cent would +they accept under any circumstances for their hospitality to me. They +worked hard and feared God, and every time they partook of their frugal +meals grace was said beforehand and afterwards as well, in thanksgiving +for the blessings that rewarded their toils. One could not refrain from +comparing the civilization of the West with the sordid life-scramble of +the East.</p> + +<p>Once on the road again the despondent sort of gloom that seemed to +surround everything became a thing of the past, as gradually the +Rockies loomed up on the horizon; at first faint and mysterious +they gradually deepened in colour and sharpened in outline. What a +refreshing and soul-inspiring sight after nearly 1,000 miles of travel +across the dusty, dreary, tiring plains!</p> + +<p>In the late afternoon a thin cloud of curling black smoke was seen +upon the horizon. This is invariably the forerunner of a western town. +Long before one actually draws near to one's destination, if that +destination be a town, it is discernible sometimes twenty and even +thirty miles away by the tufts and clouds of smoke that hang over it. +The sight is as that of a huge Atlantic liner no more than a fraction +above the horizon. One cannot discern its hidden size or form, but the +smoke from its funnels threads upwards into the heavens like a sentinel +in the engulfing vastness of the sea.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> + +<p>Thus does one approach a town set in the heart of a bewildering plain. +Gradually it is possible to discern here and there a chimney-stack and +sometimes the reflection of a solitary window in one of the tallest +buildings will scintillate on the distant horizon.</p> + +<p>The busy town of Pueblo drew nigh. With a rapidly increasing population +of over 50,000 and nearly 300 factories, some of which are among the +largest steel-manufacturing plants in the States, Pueblo is known as +the "Pittsburgh of the West." But let not the reader be misled by this +title into thinking that Pueblo is miserable and gloomy and odoriferous +as is the wont of most towns of its character. Its streets are wide, +clean and well-lit with electric lamps; its buildings also are clean +and of comely architecture; there are no slums or poverty-stricken +quarters, and with the giant mountains looming in the distance Pueblo +is an ideal manufacturing town in ideal surroundings, besides being the +centre of a rich mining district.</p> + +<p>From Pueblo, after ministering to the wants of the inner man, I turned +again westward towards Canyon City, some forty miles away in the heart +of the Colorado Rockies, in order to visit the famous Royal Gorge, +known also as the "Grand Canyon of the Arkansas," thence to return by +a large detour through Colorado Springs, another Western city like +Pueblo, and with perchance a side-trip up the automobile road that +has been cut to the summit of Pike's Peak (the highest highway in the +world), to return to the trail to the south into New Mexico.</p> + +<p>That rise from Pueblo into the Rockies will linger ever in my memory. +Surrounded in all directions but behind with glowering mountain +ranges, the road cut across vast rolling plains and prairies that +spoke of desolation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> immense and wonderful. As the sun set behind the +mountains they became tinged and fired with every shade of colour, +and darkness slowly crept through the valleys and filled the air with +vague wonder and glorious contentment. In front and slightly to the +right rose Pike's Peak high above its fellows, thrusting its massive +splendour 14,000 feet and more into the ruddy heavens. An eerie feeling +of intense loneliness crept through my veins as mile after mile was +passed through naked prairie in the midst of such awful surroundings, +with never a soul to be seen. I travelled thirty miles before the +chilly breezes and the growing darkness constrained me to stop. (The +headlight was <em class="italic">hors de combat</em>; only the "dimmer" would work.) In all +that distance I saw no living thing save the tufted grass and the black +pine-trees peppered over the sides of the foothills.</p> + +<p>When progress was no longer possible, I pulled Lizzie to the side of +the dusty road, propped up her stand, and unfolded my blanket on the +grass of the prairie at her side. Once again I should enjoy the sweet +luxury of Nature's bedchamber in the heart of Nature's best.</p> + +<p>But Dame Nature's bedchamber is oft a chilly and inhospitable one, and +despite the invitations she tenders to all who count themselves her +lovers. "Bring your own blankets" is the one stipulation. She will +provide the rest. She will bring the magic sleep, the fairy dreams, the +golden dawn and the thrills of ecstasy as one wakes again fresh and +strong into her lovely world of health and beauty.</p> + +<p>From rolling plains we passed to bounding foothills where the road +twisted and turned and crossed torrential streams, spanned by +picturesque stone bridges, until the delightful little town of Florence +was reached. Here<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> came a short stop for breakfast and thence on again +towards Canyon City.</p> + +<p>From Canyon City to the Royal Gorge has been built a wonderful piece +of road, winding and climbing into the very heart of Colorado's rugged +bosom. The gradient in places is terrific. Every ounce of power +was sometimes necessary to surmount certain stretches, and blind +<strong>S</strong>-bends carved from the solid face of the rocks made travelling +a danger as well as a test of skill. At every bend and every turn +some new panorama would spring to view and farther and farther away +would fade the distant horizon of the east. Whither the road led was +impossible to see. Frowning cliffs and wooded crags seemed to be the +only goal ahead. After half an hour of heavy toil we reach an opening. +There is a turn to the left, a flat plateau and a slight dip down; the +trail dies away to nothing and a sign "Royal Gorge" is announced from +a bungalow near its end. The gaunt pine-trees also end, there is a +huge gap in the earth and the plateau beyond is seen a clear half-mile +to the westward. We clamber over the rocks and boulders, carefully +and gently, where the ground has suddenly stopped, and peering down +from the brink we gaze upon a tremendous cleft in the crust of the +earth. Some 3,000 feet below we see a raging torrent like a huge white +snake lashing with a sullen roar along its tortuous path, hemmed in by +vertical walls of cold relentless granite. The rushing torrent is the +Arkansas, a mighty flood although but a few miles from its source, and +the same river whose bed 700 miles away towards its mouth had afforded +such excellent nocturnal accommodation a week before!</p> + +<p>It is as though one is peering into the very bowels of the earth. That +this gigantic chasm has been cut out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> by that river which now is over +half a mile below seems almost incredible. As we gaze there is another +surprise in store. Like a tiny plaything, a train emerges from a bend +in the cliffs and with little infantile puffs of smoke crawls along the +rails which one now sees running along the narrow river bank. Clinging +close to every twist and turn the train proceeds. There is scarcely +sufficient space between the rugged walls and the surging river for the +single track. At one point the width of the ledge is but 10 yards and +the track has been built out over the water. The river dashes madly +through; the engine sways from side to side as it drags its heavy load +onward. Down there, it is said that the sky above is but a thread of +light and the stars can be seen at midday as in a mine.</p> + +<p>One moves one's gaze and scans the rugged boulders that lie heaped and +stacked and strewn about as if but a push would suffice to send them +hurtling down into the chasm below. Here and there are stunted growths +of sage, cactus and prickly pear, or a giant fir-tree springs from a +grassy cleft in the rocks.</p> + +<p>Retracing the trail, we find ourselves soon descending the precipitous +winds and turns that lead back to Canyon City. On the left we pass +"The Famous Sky-line Drive," which announces itself by placards here +and there as "The greatest scenic highway wonder of the world." But +a little distance from here is also "the one-day trip that bankrupts +the English language" and such beauty spots as are suggested by the +names "Hell Gate," "The Frying Pan," "Roaring Fork," "The Devil's +Thousand-Foot Slide," "Cripple Creek," "The Garden of the Gods," and +other similarly euphonious and onomatopœic appellations.</p> + +<p>It would be tempting to explore all these places and to see more of +Colorado and the immense fund of natural<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> beauty which she displays +in endless variety. But impatience draws me again towards Pueblo, so +that I can once again strike the trail that leads to California. I am +already getting anxious to see the blue sea, though yet only half-way +between the oceans!</p> + +<p>That afternoon as I paused beneath a "bowser" in Pueblo while Lizzie +was filled to the brim, I inquired the condition of the road to +Trinidad, some 100 miles to the south on the Santa Fé Trail.</p> + +<p>"Trinidad? The worst road in America, sir!—ab-sol-oot-ly the worst +road in America, sir."</p> + +<p>The prospect was not pleasing. There was certainly an element of +interest about it because it would be fascinating almost to see for +oneself exactly what Americans did consider a bad road. My formula so +far had been that when an American said a road was good, it was bad. +When he said it was bad, it was damn bad! But what would the "worst" be +like?</p> + +<p>As I sped along, the sky deepened and a severe thundershower +threatened. Heavy black clouds glowered around the mountain-tops +and every moment I expected a sudden outburst from the heavens. On +my right the Rockies rose higher and higher. In the distance, but +gradually approaching, rose Blanca Peak, a dreadful, ponderous giant +amongst its brethren, its gloomy crest piercing the very vaults of the +sky and hardly visible in the sombre blackness that so often hangs +in the neighbourhood of these western mountain peaks. Now and again +a streak of lightning would flash through the heavens, and the dull +thud that followed, belated and awe-inspiring, would rumble backwards +and forwards along the valleys, reverberating from peak to peak until +finally it was lost in the depths of the firmament.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + +<p>On the left spread the rolling plains as far as the eye could reach, +like as the sea stretches up to the shores of Dover whence the cliffs +rise sheer and stubborn. In front lay the road, skirting the borderline +twixt plains and peaks.</p> + +<p>I soon came to the conclusion that that garage hand in Pueblo had +been "pulling one over me." The road was just splendid. Laid in +hard flat well-made macadam, its surface was excellent, passing all +understanding. As I sped on ever quicker to avoid the gathering storm, +the non-skid pads of the tyres hummed a merry tune. Could I be on the +right road? I asked myself once again. I must be, for in these parts +there is only one road to be taken. No others exist. There must be a +catch in it somewhere, I told myself.</p> + +<p>An hour went by and still the thunder rushed around Blanca Peak the +Mighty, now receding from view. An occasional shower just on the edge +of the storm would hasten me on my way. Still the road was perfection +itself, and still it fringed the chain of minor peaks that runs from +north to south, the boundary of the vast plateau of over 1,000,000 +square miles that includes, in those unassuming words, "The Rockies." +Another hour flew by.</p> + +<p>And then it came, like a thief in the night, sudden and unexpected. +The smooth grey macadam vanished, as though the magic wand had ceased +its power. Instead lay ahead a villainous track in the dark brown soil +of the prairie, a track beaten with sorrow and stricken with grief, +here battered into ugly patches, there heaped into fearful ridges and +seething masses of mud and rock. It had rained. Those words alone +express a world of sin and shame, when one speaks of a trail "out +West." Here<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> once more were the old agonies, the old discomforts, +the old tortures, the old haulings, heavings, pushings, joltings and +bruisings. The sky again became overcast. The rain began to fall +tormentingly. I had still twenty-five miles to go to the nearest town. +The sun sank lower behind the mountain ridge. The rain fell faster; if +I did not reach Walsenburg that night I should have to rest among the +prairie-dogs in the pelting rain. And what chance was there of reaching +Walsenburg before dark with no lights and at an average of six miles an +hour "all out," with only a paltry hour before dusk?</p> + +<p>I will not attempt to describe that ride. I feel it should not be +described. "The ride that bankrupts the English language," indeed, +thought I. Many times I left the road altogether and pursued my course +whither I listed over the rough prairie. Strewn with boulders, rocks +and ugly stones, carved here and there in fantastic shapes, with +mysterious hollows and quaint prairie-dog holes, it was just possible +to scramble along. From a distance the "road" I had left looked better +and I returned to it, only to find that the prairie still looked more +enticing. How I leapt over the smaller stones and skipped round the +larger ones always intent on nothing but the few yards that were to +follow, I shall never completely remember. Again and again I returned +to the road and endured its agony for a spell, and again I swerved away +from it, my every bone shaking in its joints and my teeth rocking in +their sockets with the vibration.</p> + +<p>Let me forget. These things are not good to gloat upon! I remember +but one amusing incident, which was but the forerunner of many more +to come. I had returned to the road for a spell. I came to a slight +dip. It was like a lake full of fluid mud where a wayward stream<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> had +swollen with the rains and encroached upon the sanctity of the road. +"Not negotiable" was the unspoken verdict. Strange to say, the prairie +was now fenced off from the road boundary, so there was no avoiding the +coming struggle. "It's got to be done, so here goes"; slowly I dived +into the yellow mass. Just half-way the back wheel turned to jelly and +seemed to crumple up to nothing. With one big splosh the whole five +hundred-weight of us flopped gaily over into the mire. Pinned down by +the weight of the machine, the mud had ample time to soak through all +my clothing, into my pockets and down my neck. Lizzie's submersion +would have been entire instead of partial had I not intervened.... +After a short struggle I ultimately succeeded in extricating my right +foot from between the brake-pedal and the engine, and heaved the bulky +mass from its repose. No sooner was this done than we slithered once +more and fell over <em class="italic">en bloc</em> on the opposite side.</p> + +<p>Oh, the joys of motor-cycling in Yankeeland!</p> + +<p>I did get to Walsenburg that night. As luck would have it, the two +hotels were full. At least the desk-clerks avowed by the bones of their +saintly grandmothers that there wasn't a room left. Probably they +were moved to anxiety lest their worthy name should be soiled by this +mud-covered intruder!</p> + +<p>I found a room after a long search at a fifth-rate "doss-house" devoid +of furniture, where the landlady demanded my money in advance before +giving me the key to my room.</p> + +<p>Thus passed another day.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a><br /><br /> + +IN SOUTHERN COLORADO</h2> + + +<p>There is only one road in the States as bad as that from Walsenburg to +Trinidad. I refer to the road from Trinidad to Walsenburg.</p> + +<p>In spite of that it was a good road; I got through. It took endless +patience, perseverance and a morning of time to do those fifty weary +miles. The scenery was strange, almost to the point of weirdness. From +the surrounding flatness would rise sudden plateaus, with dead vertical +sides and perfectly flat tops. Even the hills and mountains where they +occurred (save in the distant Rockies) were modelled on the same plan, +rising abruptly from the plain and ascending in two, three or more +sudden steps. The effect was just as though the land architecture had +been entrusted to some aspiring cubist or futurist instead of to the +well-disciplined laws of Nature.</p> + +<p>I do not profess to have attained much learning in the science of +geology, and speak, therefore, as one without authority. But it seemed +to me on many occasions that to study the geology of the Far West, the +English scientist would have to forget all he had ever learnt about +physical geography and start all over again in Southern Colorado.</p> + +<p>At first I was puzzled in the extreme to see how the mountains rose +suddenly out of the great plains, without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> any warning almost, and +without the customary foot-hills and valleys that one would expect to +see clustering around a mountain range of several thousands of feet +in height. Afterwards I became accustomed to this unusual formation, +when I found that mountains always grow that way in the Far West, and +particularly farther on in New Mexico and Arizona. All their ranges +seemed like elongated "Wrekins" set in a plain of gigantic dimensions.</p> + +<p>At Aguilar, half-way on the road to Trinidad, I met the first really +Mexican town. It will be remembered that all the south-western States +once belonged to Mexico and one by one they have been ceded or bought +or otherwise appropriated until Mexico now is only a shadow of its +former self. Nevertheless a large proportion of the population is +still Mexican, in spite of the continued influx of American settlers, +and consequently Mexican is spoken almost universally in addition to +English as the national tongue.</p> + +<p>Trinidad styles itself "The industrial and commercial centre of S. E. +Colorado." With a population of something in the region of 14,000, +it stands at the base of Fisher's Peak (10,000 feet), and it is an +admirable example of the inextricable mixtures of Old Mexico and New +America in the cities of the West. I took its picture and left its +shining well-paved streets to track down my old friend, the Santa Fé +Trail.</p> + +<p>I got one mile away from the town and then struck. The trail climbed +rapidly, skirting the Peak all the time in preparation for the Raton +Pass soon to follow, which cuts right over the Rocky Mountains into +New Mexico. That in itself was nothing. I am always game for a good +hill-climb. But I had thought better of the Santa<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> Fé Trail. After +climbing 1,000 feet in just over a mile, it changed into the most +absurd hotch-potch of ruts and mud-heaps that ever eye witnessed, and +this for as far as one could see. The condition of the road strained +my credulity to breaking point. Getting through the far-off mud-hole +at Hume in Indiana was a child's tea-party compared with this. In half +an hour I did just 100 yards and then, after resolutely determining to +return to Trinidad and take the train, I found that to go back was as +much out of the question as to go forward. It simply couldn't be done +single-handed. To turn Lizzie round would require nothing less than a +sky-hook and pulley-blocks.</p> + +<p>I left her standing in a huge rut in the middle of the road and +reconnoitred to see how far this appalling state of affairs continued.</p> + +<p>Fortunately a Flivver appeared round a bend in the road ahead, +coming in the opposite direction. It heaved and swayed and bumped +and side-slipped and hiccoughed its way along. I watched it until it +finally reached the spot where Lizzie blocked the way. Then something +had to be done. The car had two occupants, both hefty-looking men, whom +I enlisted to my aid. Together we lifted and pulled and heaved and +pushed until the worst was past, and then I struggled on alone.</p> + +<p>Farther into the mountains we travelled; higher and higher we climbed. +In places the trail was hewn out of the rugged mountain sides, and +except in a few places there was hardly room for more than one vehicle +to pass. Occasionally a "washout" would be encountered where a mountain +stream had encroached on the road and washed it away altogether. +Then would come a short<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> detour over a gap in the bank, with the +grassy slope strewn with branches and small tree-trunks to prevent +the unfortunate vehicle sinking in and thus permanently blocking all +progress that way.</p> + +<p>The ascent of the Raton Mountains by the Raton Pass is made amongst +some of the most beautiful scenery imaginable. The trail is only +visible a few yards ahead and is lost in sudden twists and turns as +gradually the mountain slopes are devoured. On the right, almost +behind, are still to be seen the famous Spanish Peaks towering like +twins in solitude above the rest of the Sangre de Cristo range, some +forty miles away. Soon we shall be leaving Colorado State behind +us—Colorado the Glorious, the Beautiful, the Great.</p> + +<p>It is said that "amongst all the mountain kingdoms, Colorado seems to +stand easily first in physical adornment: not even Switzerland and her +Alps offering more than a fair comparison." Mont Blanc, the highest +peak in the Alps, is 15,784 feet high, while Colorado has many peaks +lacking little of this height. The lowest depths of some of Colorado's +famous parks are higher than the average height of the Alpine Chain.</p> + +<p>Upward we climb, amid thickly-wooded mountain tops, round thrilling +bends and tortuous precipices and over the rockiest of roads. The end +is in sight. A depression in the sky-line ahead shows where the Raton +Pass (7,620 feet to be exact) reaches its highest point and gazes +forwards into the heart of New Mexico and behind into the vastnesses of +Colorado.</p> + +<p>A gradual bend, a sudden swerve, and then—the summit is reached. +Colorado is passed. Before us lies a great and thickly-wooded valley, +broad and deep and beautiful. Beyond lie the great plains of New +Mexico,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> plains so vast that in their utter defiance of limit and +dimension they beggar description. The eye could not follow the +great expanse. So immense were the distances that the earth merged +indefinitely into the sky at the horizon. Dotted and strewn here and +there were hills and mountain ranges that seemed to have sprung up so +suddenly out of the plateau to have really no connection with them.</p> + +<p>Here I stood at the gate of another world. Before me lay a land of +mystery and romance, a land of health for body and soul; a land of +desert and sage-bush, of cactus and strange vegetation; a land of +antiquity unparalleled by any other in the world. Here at my feet lay +New Mexico and beyond, Arizona, the two States that at the same time +are the oldest and the youngest in America. Although only admitted to +the Union in 1912, their history dates from remote ages when they were +peopled by a race unknown to-day but nevertheless well advanced on the +road to civilization, a race that built cities while Babylon was as yet +unknown, and laid down irrigation systems that puzzle the engineers of +the present day.</p> + +<p>Arizona and New Mexico, you are the pearls of great price that no human +being has ever yet valued at your true worth. When the day shall come +that man can say of you, "I have seen you in all your moods and have +discovered all your secrets," then this old earth will be a lifeless, +soulless, aimless globe, its purpose fulfilled, its course completed.</p> + +<p>A five mile descent through the scented pine-trees brought me to +Raton, another half-Mexican, half-American town, small but modern +and well-arranged. "No more 'rooming-houses' for me," I resolved and +turned my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> gaze to the far-distant plains where the darkness was slowly +gathering.</p> + +<p>Even in New Mexico, one need never go without a meal. The way to +an Englishman's heart is through his stomach (this applies also to +Americans and most human beings in general!). My heart was greatly +touched by Raton in this manner, and shortly before dusk I was speeding +on my way southwards towards Santa Fé.</p> + +<p>Ten miles out the trail crossed a river. It must have been the Canadian +River, a tributary of the Arkansas, which it joins several hundred +miles to the east. The surrounding country was desolation and solitude +itself. Half prairie, half waste, almost desert, it was a country of +new sensations. Just to the west, from horizon to horizon, stretched +the gaunt and rugged Sangre de Cristo range, dark and threatening +always in their aspect. Not a living thing was in sight, not even a +suggestion of life. I ran Lizzie off the road to the brink of the river +and laid down my bed in the silver rays of the rising moon.</p> + +<p>At 6.30 in the morning the sky was ruddy and the air pure with the +fresh breezes of the dawn. From minute to minute the myriad colours of +the mountains changed their tints as the sun rose higher in the Mexican +sky. I continued on my way.</p> + +<p>The road was broad and good, but a surprise was in store. After a few +miles there appeared a dilapidated signpost where a bedraggled pathway +joined the broad highway through a gap in the fence which now ran +alongside. It bore the legend "To Santa Fé" and pointed through the +fence to the left. My first impression was that some small boy had been +playing pranks. It was inconceivable that these two ruts but a few +inches<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> wide in the coarse green grass should lead to Santa Fé while +there, straight on, was a good broad highroad that led nowhere. It ran +clear ahead and was lost over the brow of a hill. I never found where +that road went. I have never seen it on any map and have made many +inquiries since. Some travellers, like myself, had seen that road and +wavered, but not one had gone that way and could enlighten me.</p> + +<p>New Mexico is not a nice country in which to lose oneself. Towns +are very few, and often one can go a hundred miles without seeing a +village or meeting a soul. So in spite of the temptation I swerved +to the left and entered the field that was without corn or pasture, +following those two ruts that cut deep into the prairie soil and were +not visible more than 50 or 100 yards ahead at the most. In places the +two ruts had become too deep for further use and another pair had been +started at the side, running parallel with the original ones. When +these had worn too far another pair had sprung up, and in many places +I counted eight distinct pairs of ruts running side by side across the +prairie, each representing a distinct phase in the evolution of the +Santa Fé Trail. At any point, if one looks far and long enough, one +can find the original tracks that centuries ago were formed by the old +prairie-schooners as they journeyed westward across the plains to Santa +Fé.</p> + +<p>The next town lay far across the plains beyond the horizon. I should +have to hurry if I were to get any breakfast, but the riding was rough. +Tufts of coarse grass and sharp stones covered the prairie and held +back the speed; here and there were the holes of prairie-dogs, who +respect no one in their choice of a site. If it pleases them to build +their front-door entrance where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> your favourite inter-rut strip happens +to be, well, they build it there. Their holes are generally about six +inches in diameter, the mouth being funnel-shaped. Passing vehicles +smash them in until the opening is sometimes two or three feet across. +Our friend the prairie-dog doesn't mind in the least. He continues to +live there in spite of the traffic and never a curse escapes his lips. +He is a dear little animal. One cannot help loving him. In stature +these animals have the characteristic of both a squirrel and a rabbit, +and are about a foot in length. They sit on their fat little haunches +like a squirrel, but have only a little bobbed tail like a rabbit. I +believe they are the most friendly rodents in existence, and have the +reputation of dwelling in friendship even with rattlesnakes, who never +harm them! If you surprise one when he is away from home, he watches +you, motionless, to see if he has been seen, if only a few feet from +the intruder. And when he sees that you have seen, away he runs with +his head well down and his little tail well up until he reaches his +burrow in the flat prairie. This done, he considers himself safe, turns +round, sits on his haunches and stares inquiringly at you. But if you +dare come too close he disappears in a second and is seen no more.</p> + +<p>One cannot help laughing at the antics of these amusing little animals +as they scamper off like month-old puppy dogs. Ofttimes I have chased +one to his hole in the road and watched the anxious look on his face as +for a brief moment he turns his head before flashing into the ground +below your front wheel. No true traveller could harm one of these +innocent little beasts; they are often his only companions for hundreds +of miles.</p> + +<p>Ten, twenty, thirty miles I travelled over the almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> trackless +prairie. Occasional mud-pools barred the way, but when the trail was +unfenced, these were easily avoided. Later on fences appeared, limiting +the road from some neighbouring ranch. I judged I was getting near to +Springer.</p> + +<p>An old shack of a two-seater car hove in sight, coming in the opposite +direction; I had an opportunity of studying it in detail as it came +close up. Naturally we both stopped. All travellers are friends in the +Far West, where distances are great and people are few.</p> + +<p>"Guess you'd better follow us if you want to get to Springer this +week," essayed the driver.</p> + +<p>"Why, is there any mud about?"</p> + +<p>"Mud? There's a hole down there outside the town that we've been trying +to get either in or out of these two-and-a-half hours. Had to get some +hosses to pull us backwards out of it in the end. Gosh, I've never +seen a mud-hole like it in all my days. We kin get around another way +though, I'm told. Where you headin' for, stranger?"</p> + +<p>"Santa Fé."</p> + +<p>"Oh, we was expectin' to get to Santa Fé this mornin'. We're bound for +El Paso, and must get there by to-morrow."</p> + +<p>I reflected that El Paso was in Texas on the Mexican border, some 500 +miles to the south! "Well, if you don't mind, I'll come along to Santa +Fé with you, so then we can each help dig each other out of any holes +that happen along."</p> + +<p>"Righto, glad to have your company, but we're not speed merchants like +I guess you are with that 'oss there."</p> + +<p>"Don't make any mistake, brother. I passed the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> speed craze a thousand +miles back. It doesn't pay."</p> + +<p>So we retraced our tracks, the car leading. It was shorn entirely +of mudwings and footboards to save the wheels becoming clogged or +the running boards fouling the road. On the back was strapped a +large trunk. This I found is the usual way of travel by "auto" in +the West. Seldom does one see wings on a car that is driven for any +distance from home. Running boards, if present, are generally of an +improvised variety made by planks suspended and fastened in place by +ropes around the body work. Thus the road clearance is increased and +the necessity for constant cleaning removed. By far the most popular +"machine" is the Ford. You can buy one cheap and sell it as scrap when +the journey, if a long one, is finished. Owners of large expensive +touring cars very often have a Ford as well for emergencies and for +long distance travelling. In New Mexico and Arizona I have seen scores +of huge touring cars stuck helplessly in the road and often abandoned +altogether until the seasons permit of their removal.</p> + +<p>I followed my friends from Texas along little pathways and rough +tracks strewn with boulders, through gaps in fences, across fields and +back gardens, all, to my mind, at an alarming pace. It was only with +difficulty that I kept up with them at all, owing to the many ruts and +rocks and other obstructions that are far more hindering to two wheels +than four.</p> + +<p>Arrived eventually in Springer, I resolved to postpone the promised +meal until later in the day.</p> + +<p>We passed many ranches and crossed many mud-holes, some of alarming +width across. In most I managed to fall off at least once and wallowed +in the mud. Sometimes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> the car got so far ahead as to be lost +altogether, but after each encounter with a mud-lake I managed to make +up the lost time.</p> + +<p>Thus passed nearly thirty miles in which I realized the utter absurdity +of two wheels compared with four. At one place I lost so much time that +I began to give up as hopeless the attempt to keep up with the car +ahead. After all, what was the use? Once out of the mire, however, the +trail became better and turned into loose sand for many miles.</p> + +<p>Over this sand I made good progress. It was now nearly midday, and I +had visions of a meal in Wagonmound, a small village some twenty miles +away. The appetite was there all right, and as I trimmed off mile after +mile at good speed I forgot all about mud-holes and the like.</p> + +<p>All at once the engine burst into a wild roar and Lizzie began to slow +down. What new trouble was this? A broken chain, or something worse? I +stopped as quickly as I could and proceeded to an examination of the +transmission. The chain was all right, but the engine sprocket had +almost come right off the driving shaft. The key and nut, where were +they?</p> + +<p>For an hour I searched up and down in the sand and in the grass at +the roadside for the missing parts, but without success. The sun was +almost vertically above and its rays poured down unmercifully from a +cloudless sky. There was not a sign of water or of any living thing in +any direction.</p> + +<p>I returned to another examination to discover whether I could remove a +nut from any other part of the machine to replace the defaulter. Not a +nut was there anywhere that at all approached either the size or the +thread<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> required. I searched once more, wondering in how many days' +time another vehicle would pass that way, and half resolved to walk the +next twenty miles.</p> + +<p>What! Leave Lizzie and walk! <span class="smcap">Never!</span></p> + +<p>Another hour elapsed. I had explored all the ruts and searched every +inch of the road for half a mile back. I stopped, and wondered where +I could find water to drink. Water would be even more acceptable than +the nut and key now. I scanned the sun-baked prairie in all directions. +From horizon to horizon there was nothing but the solitary distant +mountains, and here and there a lonely parched-up hill. Truly a nice +outlook! Henceforth I would carry a water-bag with me.</p> + +<p>I decided to return to Lizzie, push her off the road and try walking. +But just to think of coming 3,000 miles in her constant company, and +then having to forsake her! "Poor old Lizzie, she's a dear old crock," +I murmured to myself.</p> + +<p>What was that? I stooped down to see, and there hidden in a crack +in the hard mud was the missing key. That put a different aspect on +matters altogether. The nut would in all probability not be far away. +I set out to explore every stone and every rut and every crack. Sure +enough I found it not very far away.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes the midsummer air was whistling past my ears once +again.</p> + +<p>In ten minutes I found myself surveying the biggest thing in mud-lakes +that it has ever been my misfortune to negotiate. The road was fenced +in, naturally. There was a ranch on either side of it. The lake of mud +extended sideways to the very borders of the road, ninety feet wide. +The distance across was about fifty yards. I estimated that the mud and +water were waist-deep in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> the middle. Ridges and furrows of harder mud, +where passing cars had churned it up, in a desperate attempt to get +through, led into the sickly mass and then were lost.</p> + +<p>"This requires a scientist, not a motor-cyclist, to cross," I averred, +and, propping Lizzie upon her stand, went to reconnoitre.</p> + +<p>I then created a precedent in the art of crossing mud-holes by which +I benefited on all future occasions. I was wearing water-tight field +boots which came up to my knees. The <em class="italic">modus operandi</em> was this: I would +select a likely-looking rut and walk along it as far as I could without +the water coming over the top of my boots. If it came over I went back +and tried another one. This process was repeated until I had a good +idea how the land lay. If I could possibly get through without the mud +reaching my knees, I knew I could get Lizzie through all right. This +manner of prospecting in advance I found indispensable and at the same +time perfectly successful.</p> + +<p>I got through somehow, but prayed that I should never meet another like +<span class="smcap">that</span>.</p> + +<p>I rolled into Wagonmound about three in the afternoon a very weary +and mud-stained traveller. When I got there, it started to rain; it +naturally would.</p> + +<p>There is but one restaurant in Wagonmound, which enjoys a population +of 200 or so Mexican-Americans. Here I learnt that there had been a +"cloud-burst" near Santa Fé but a few days back; also that the oldest +inhabitants of New Mexico had never known so much rain to fall as this +summer; also that the roads ahead were almost impassable; also that +at one place on the other side of Santa Fé and at a distance of fifty +miles between two towns there were one hundred cars stranded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> in the +mud and abandoned! I was proof against it all, however. I considered +that by now I could get through anywhere. I was not to be daunted +by fancy yarns and sceptical reports. Time was when I cursed the +Americans for being optimistic about their roads. That stage had long +since been passed. Now I was proof against even their pessimisms and +discouragements.</p> + +<p>The rain stopped and I proceeded once more, determined to make a big +effort to reach Santa Fé that night, though still ninety miles away.</p> + +<p>At Wagonmound there was a station of the Santa Fé Railway, which for a +good distance ran close to the trail. I inquired at the "Depot" what +were the chances of travelling on the track. I did not want to try +conclusions with any trans-continental trains if avoidable.</p> + +<p>"What! Ride in the track!" ejaculated the line-master. "You can't do +that!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I guess I can if I'm careful," was my response.</p> + +<p>"Waal, I jest guess you <em class="italic">can't</em>, my friend," was his rejoinder. "I'll +have you arrested if you try to work that stunt."</p> + +<p>Argument was useless. "D'ye think I want to damage your bloomin' old +track?" I asked him heatedly after much discussion. We settled the +matter finally by my tendering the information that I would ride up +and down his track all day long if I wanted to (not much fear of such +a desire developing!) and if he liked he could "write to <em class="italic">John Bull</em> +about it"!</p> + +<p>The humour of the situation was lost upon him.</p> + +<p>"You'll get shot," was his reply, whereat we parted.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a><br /><br /> + +NEW MEXICO</h2> + + +<p>I set out from Wagonmound with a light heart and a heavy stomach.</p> + +<p>The road ran parallel with the rail for a mile, then crossed over by a +level crossing and continued parallel on the other side. I did not get +far. No doubt there had been unusual rain; great fields were now lakes +with the grass bottom not always visible; little streams, normally no +more than the size of a small spring, were now swollen rivers. These +crossed the road in places. The road was fenced in. And thereby hangs a +tale.</p> + +<p>After precisely half an hour I found myself just three miles advanced, +and in the midst of a hopeless chaos of sun-dried emaciated mud. I +had "explored every avenue" of the road, but found none possible +of negotiation. Bit by bit I dragged Lizzie back and returned to +the level-crossing. Come what may I would try the track. Even if +the sleepers shook my very bones to powder it would be better than +eternally forging through the mud of New Mexico.</p> + +<p>On each side of the road where it crossed the rails the track was +guarded by a satanic device in the form of spikes and knife-edges +skilfully arranged and extending to a distance of several yards. The +function of these was evidently to prevent cattle and other animals +straying on the line. Traversing these was no easy task. If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> one did +not ride on top of the spikes, one's tyres wedged in between the +knives. Once past, the rest seemed easy. But things are not what they +seem, especially on railroad tracks. The sleepers were not ballasted +and were anything but level. There was no room outside the track, for +it was steeply banked, and the sleepers projected beyond the rails into +space. At every few hundred yards the track ran over a brick bridge +spanning a bog or a stream. The bridge was just the width of the rails +apart. But when it came to riding—ugh! As every sleeper was passed, +the wheels fell momentarily into the intervening space between it and +the next, and a series of sudden, sharp shocks was hammered through +Lizzie's poor frame as each sleeper in turn was struck by the front +wheel. The faster I went the quicker and smaller were the shocks, and +above a certain speed it was quite tolerable running.</p> + +<p>I was just getting up a comfortable speed when I imagined I heard the +whistle of a locomotive behind. This was discouraging and certainly +unexpected. I stopped quickly and looked back. Sure enough there was +a train coming, but it was easily half a mile away. To go forward in +the hope of out-pacing it would be useless. There was not even room to +get off the track, for once I got down the steep bank, I knew it would +be next to impossible to get back again, or to get anywhere, for that +matter.</p> + +<p>Neither was there room to turn round and go back.</p> + +<p>More than ever before did it appear to me that discretion was better +than valour.</p> + +<p>So I commenced to push Lizzie backwards to the level crossing, prepared +to roll sideways over the bank if I found the train got there first.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> + +<p>I was just beginning to feel sure about winning the race, and judged +that I should get there with a good hundred yards to spare. I reached +the crossing, but as naturally as one would expect, the back wheel +wedged tight between the knives of the cow-guard.</p> + +<p>Would she budge? No.</p> + +<p>As I struggled and heaved (I could not look on and see Lizzie go west +in such an absurd fashion), the "California Limited" bore down upon me. +Fortunately American trains do not always go so fast as they might; at +any rate, not so fast as one thinks they should when one is travelling +in them.</p> + +<p>With a final desperate lunge, Lizzie yielded to my efforts and came +unstuck. No time was lost in getting out of the way. Fifteen seconds +afterwards the train rolled by at a modest thirty. She had evidently +not got properly under way since her stop at Wagonmound.</p> + +<p>I returned to the mud-hole like a smacked puppy with its tail between +its legs, and reflected on what might have been.</p> + +<p>But it was no use. I stuck again.</p> + +<p>This time I was well armed with refreshments. I had bought six bottles +of a ginger-pop concoction from the last village. I carried one in each +pocket and the other two as reserves, only to be used in case of great +emergency, enveloped in the blanket strapped on the carrier.</p> + +<p>I drank one bottle at the close of every engagement with the road. But +after an hour I was still no farther ahead. I reclined on the bank and +waited for something to turn up.</p> + +<p>Fact revealed itself stranger than fiction once more. Something turned +up very speedily. It came in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> form of a "Marmon" touring car, +bearing a Californian number-plate. I had taken the precaution, of +course, to leave Lizzie in the right spot, so that no disinclined +passer-by could get through if he wanted to. After all, one musn't +<span class="smcap">rely</span> on everyone playing the Good Samaritan.</p> + +<p>The two occupants of the car were courtesy itself. They not only +assisted me in lifting Lizzie over the <em class="italic">pièce de résistance</em>, but also +showed considerable interest in me. Out here, where friendship between +motorists is much more marked (almost as a matter of necessity), there +is seldom any need for anxiety, and it is remarkable how potent a +thing is this roadside courtesy. Practically every town I stopped at +afterwards had heard of the strange traveller who was coming along on a +10 h.p. motor-cycle, and awaited my arrival with interest.</p> + +<p>"Had a fella in here on his way to California told us about you," said +one garage hand, in the heart of Arizona. "Said you'd be here sooner or +later."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes? And how long ago was that?" I queried.</p> + +<p>"Um—guess well over a couple of weeks ago." (The word "fortnight" is +unknown in America.)</p> + +<p>Such little incidents happened many times, and these, coupled with the +amazing reports that had been circulated by the Western Press about +me since that inflammatory article on "Roads," etc., in the <em class="italic">Kansas +City Star</em>, had generally managed to achieve for me quite a notorious +reputation in most towns long before I ever rattled into their midst.</p> + +<p>It was now nearly fifty miles to the next town. I pushed ahead as fast +as I could to reach it before dark. Progress, however, was slow. In +places where the road<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> was not fenced, I rode upon the rocky prairie. +It was, for the most part, a considerable improvement, and one could +ride around the bogs and mud-holes instead of crossing them.</p> + +<p>Never had I been in such wild and barren country. It was quite beyond +hope of cultivation in most places, being strewn with rough stones, +rocks, and boulders, and only sparsely covered with meagre-looking +grass which, in its efforts to keep alive at all, had to arrange itself +in small tufts dotted here and there in order to derive the maximum +nutriment from the scanty, unfruitful soil. The country itself changed +from flat to hilly as the Sangre de Cristo range once more drew nearer. +When it became hilly, great rocks projected through the surface of the +trail, which seldom or never swerved to avoid them.</p> + +<p>The trail itself resolved itself later on into no more than a mere +medley of ruts and grass-bare strips of all widths, running and +crossing each other at all angles and in all directions. There was +no time to look around and enjoy the wild scenery or study the +ever-changing sky-line; it was "eyes on the road" all the time. It +was quite impossible to dodge more than a fraction of the rocks and +boulders, and one was always abruptly brought back to stern reality, +if for an instant one's thoughts diverged to other things, by a sudden +shock from one's front wheel, or a sickening crash on the bottom or +side of the crank-case.</p> + +<p>It was a slow job, and travelling was more in the line of a mountain +goat than a motor-cycle. I was ultimately satisfied if I could average +eight or ten miles an hour.</p> + +<p>After thirty miles of this, I was surprised to discern ahead something +which looked like a caravan. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> were two vehicles, apparently +joined together, but with no visible means of locomotion. Nevertheless +they moved slowly. I judged that some enthusiast of the "See America +first" order had converted a Ford into a travelling home, or maybe +a wandering tribe of gipsies had become sufficiently modernized to +appreciate the benefits of auto <em class="italic">v.</em> horse transport.</p> + +<p>I caught them up and stopped to have a chat. Both sides seemed curious +at the other's means of locomotion, and wanted to know the why and the +wherefore.</p> + +<p>The team, I found, consisted as I had surmised of a Ford chassis, on +which had been skilfully built a caravan body. Behind was a trailer, +on two wheels, and of construction similar to, but smaller than, the +other. Evidently one was the parlour, kitchen, and store-room, and the +other the bedroom.</p> + +<p>The driver stopped his engine and jumped down.</p> + +<p>"Good day, sir; how do?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"Very fit, thanks; you the same? How in Heavens'n earth d'you manage to +get along on <span class="smcap">that</span>?"</p> + +<p>"Mostly by plenty of bad language and good driving," I returned. +"And what in the world are you doing in this benighted place with +<span class="smcap">that</span>?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm goin' west...."</p> + +<p>"Shouldn't be at all surprised at that!"</p> + +<p>"I'm bound for somewhere in Arizona. Come from Chicago. Fed up with +the life there, so I'm out for a change. Looking for a likely spot to +settle down where there's plenty of fresh air."</p> + +<p>"What! You've come all the way from Chicago on <span class="smcap">that</span>?" I +inquired incredulously.</p> + +<p>"Sure enough."</p> + +<p>"How long has it taken you?" (I was already<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> becoming sufficiently +Americanized, the reader will observe.)</p> + +<p>"Best part of three months."</p> + +<p>"How many with you?"</p> + +<p>"Wife and two children. Here they are."</p> + +<p>"Well, I wish you luck, brother; but it doesn't strike me that the +roads are ideal from a furniture-removing point of view, so to speak."</p> + +<p>"Roads?" (Here he waxed furious: I had touched a sore spot.) "Don't +talk to me about roads. The gor-dem Government oughta a' bin shot that +provided roads like this. Just think that across a civilized country +like America there isn't a dem road fit to drive a cow on to!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, I've thought that way myself; but there's a fallacy in the +observation, old man."</p> + +<p>"What d'ya mean?"</p> + +<p>"Just this—who told you America was a civilized country?"</p> + +<p>Long pause.</p> + +<p>"Aye, you've said it," and he relapsed into a stony silence.</p> + +<p>I bade him farewell, and left him scrambling slowly over the rocks and +mounds, while the caravan rocked from side to side and jerked its weary +way along. I reflected also that, after all, <span class="smcap">that</span> was the way +to see the country.</p> + +<p>At dark I was but a few miles from Las Vegas. Once again heavy clouds +rolled over the sky. Rain began to fall. My spirits did likewise. I +wondered whether it was a habit. But what cared I for rain or mud? By +now surely I was proof against them. I struggled on. And ultimately I +got there.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> + +<p>Las Vegas is a fair-sized town. In order of merit it is the second +largest in New Mexico. The first is Albuquerque and the third is the +capital, Santa Fé. There are no more towns of any size in New Mexico. +Including native Indian villages there are, in addition, in the whole +of New Mexico, some seventy or eighty small towns and very small +villages, making the total population of the whole State about 50,000. +When it is understood that New Mexico is about four times the area of +England, the reader will be able to form an idea of the sparsity of its +people.</p> + +<p>Now most people would have predicted that immediately on my arrival in +Las Vegas I would have sought out the best hotel and consumed a big +square meal. I did no such thing. I went to the movies instead.</p> + +<p>Then I returned and went to bed, half wondering whether to standardize +the one-meal-per-day experiment for future requirements.</p> + +<p>In the morning it was not raining, but all the time until midday it +showed signs of just commencing.</p> + +<p>At midday I became impatient and started out for Santa Fé. I had just +left the outskirts of the town when it did finally and irrevocably +decide to rain after all. I continued for five miles, when a Ford car +hove in sight. "Here goes for a chat and some straight dope on the +subject of roads to come," said I to myself and stopped. The Ford +stopped also. It had two occupants, a man and his wife. They both +looked bored, so we made a merry party.</p> + +<p>"What's the road like back there?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"Mighty rough—mighty rough. They get better the further east we come."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you think I shall be able to get through to the coast?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it's mighty hard riding, but I guess you ought to be able to get +through. Oh, but stay a minute, there's a big wash-out before you get +to Santa Fé—big stone bridge washed clean away with the floods, not a +trace of it left. I don't know much about motor-cycles, but I guess you +could get across the river all right. You'll want to be careful though. +There was a whole cartload of people washed down the river last week, +so they say; all of 'em went west, horse and cart and all!"</p> + +<p>"Ah well, that'll add a bit of excitement to the trip. I'm good at +crossing rivers."</p> + +<p>"Ugh! Guess you'll not be looking out for any excitement time you've +gotten to Santa Fé!"</p> + +<p>I was particularly interested in these people's domestic arrangements. +Without a doubt I have never seen an ordinary touring car, much less a +Ford, equipped and arranged in such excellent style. They carried with +them a portable stove on which could be cooked any dish they required. +They carried ample supplies of vegetables, fruits, eggs, butter, bacon, +bread and tinned goods, and even tanks of fresh water for culinary and +drinking purposes. This is certainly a wise precaution, because it is +never safe to drink water from even the most tempting of rivers in the +West. Furthermore, they had two collapsible beds, which could be laid +upon the top of the seats from back to front, and which were fully +equipped with feather mattresses and blankets! One would think that +all this paraphernalia would have taken up an enormous amount of room. +Not so. Apart from the fact that the back part of the car was neatly +covered in, there was not the slightest sign that the car was anything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +but an ordinary Ford with a lot of luggage in the back.</p> + +<p>I bade them farewell only on the strict condition that if the rain +continued I should return and share their supper. They would not be far +away, they told me. The <em class="italic">plat du jour</em> was salmon and Mayonnaise sauce, +above all things!</p> + +<p>Still, it is a habit of mine never to go back, however tempting the +circumstances. At intervals I passed a few Mexicans driving teams of +horses, and once more I was alone with Lizzie. As a compensation for +the drizzling rain, the scenery was perfect. The trail had now swerved +into rugged, mountainous scenery, thickly wooded, wild and picturesque +in the extreme. It was almost ridiculous to watch how the narrow +trail dodged in and out of the trees, cutting across small forests of +cedar, aspen, and pine, curving to right and left round some awkward +prominence, now dipping down suddenly into a little valley, and then +darting up over hilly slopes all strewn with loose rocks and broken +with jutting crags.</p> + +<p>We were approaching the Pecos, the haunts of the bear and +mountain-lion, and the headquarters of numerous tourists and campers +attracted thither by the fine fishing, shooting, riding, and +mountain-climbing.</p> + +<p>Occasionally, as one took a sudden swerve around the face of a +projecting hill, one would see, away there in the valley beyond, +a Mexican village set back from the road, and would marvel at the +strange sight of the square mud buildings, congregated together in such +unique and regular formation. The brick-red hue of the houses was so +near to that of the surrounding country as almost to hide the village +altogether from view, even though it was right "under one's nose."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> + +<p>My first impression of a Mexican village was one of amazement. To think +that several hundred people can live together in those single-storied +mud huts in peace and comfort, with ne'er a sheet of glass in the +windows and seldom a door within the door-posts—well, it was absurd! +But my second impression absorbed the first entirely, and was one +of appreciation for the primitive beauty of these native dwellings. +It is a beauty that lingers in one's memory, a beauty that lies in +natural flowing forms, defying the unrelenting sharp corners of modern +architecture. And I have seen many "adobe" houses in New Mexico that +would be far more comfortable to live in than many that have sheltered +my bones in Europe!</p> + +<p>I was meditating thus when the sound of rushing waters reached my ears. +Sure enough, the road ended abruptly, like a cliff, and continued in +like fashion on the opposite side. Between, and several feet below, +swirled the River Pecos. It was still swollen with rain from the +mountains, although it had evidently been much higher recently.</p> + +<p>Not a soul was about. There was a solitary Mexican house on a hill +to one side. I contemplated the river in silence, save for the sound +of its waters as they swirled over the rocky bed and now and then +dislodged a weighty boulder.</p> + +<p>To the right two rickety planks had been erected, supported partly +by ropes and partly by vertical props from rocks in the river, for +pedestrians to cross. I wondered what pedestrian would find himself in +these parts!</p> + +<p>To the left, a detour had somehow been dug at an angle of about 20 +degrees to the water's edge. In the opposite bank a similar detour +had been dug, but at an angle of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> about 30 degrees. Evidently several +cars had already passed through the river that way. But a car is not +a motor-cycle. I meditated. A car on four wheels could not only hold +its own better in the middle of the torrent, but could also get up +the opposite bank easier. One thing was quite certain—even if I got +through the river all right, it would require a superhuman effort to +push the machine up the steep, greasy incline on the opposite side.</p> + +<p>I reconnoitred up and down the river bank in the hope of finding a +better place to cross, but the quest was in vain. The banks grew +steeper and higher and the river-bed wider and rougher than ever. I +returned to Lizzie and said a prayer for her. Then I took off my tunic +and removed the bag and blanket from the carrier.</p> + +<p>I judged that it would be expedient to rely upon momentum as far as +possible, as the engine would certainly not run for long under water, +so, starting the engine once more, I put in the bottom gear and charged +down the greasy slope into the river.</p> + +<p>There was a tremendous hiss, and a cloud of steam went heavenwards. +The engine stopped long before I reached the middle, and the smooth +nature of the loose rocks that formed the river-bed was treacherous +for two wheels. There was nothing for it when the engine stopped but +to dismount quickly and push. When I reached the middle, the water was +up to my waist, and it took most of my strength to keep the machine +upright and hold it against the force of the river, which swirled +around the cylinders and washed up against the tank. I managed to avoid +being washed away, however, thanks to the great weight of the machine, +and got her to the opposite bank.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was a relief to be out of the water, but the task still remained +of climbing up the bank. I exerted all my strength, but the slope was +so greasy that neither my feet nor the wheels would grip on anything. +Twice or thrice I got it half-way up, only to slither down to the river +again <em class="italic">tout ensemble</em>. Then I tried the expedient of wedging a huge +stone under the back wheel and pushing an inch or two at a time. But it +was no use. The grease was impossible. I laboured with it for a quarter +of an hour.</p> + +<p>I was just on the point of giving it up after we had all slid down to +the bottom once again, when a huge Mexican appeared on the scene. He +was evidently the owner of the house on the opposite bank, and looked +hefty enough to lift a tram.</p> + +<p>We pushed with our united effort. We slipped and slithered and wallowed +about, but we got to the top. I breathed a sigh of relief, rewarded the +Mexican liberally, and walked across the plank to bring my tunic and +luggage.</p> + +<p>Lizzie had never been so clean since the day she came out of the +crate. Every speck of mud and dirt had been washed clean away, and her +pristine beauty was revealed once again. It was an hour's task to dry +the carburettor and the magneto and get the engine running. It was +getting dark when I got going again. The rain had stopped, but the mud +was terrible. Every half-mile I had to stop and poke it out of the +mud-guards with a screwdriver.</p> + +<p>Eventually, just before dark, I reached the tiny Mexican village of +Pecos, called after the river in the locality. It consisted mainly +of a general store and "rooming-house" for the benefit of stranded +travellers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> A rooming-house, by the way, is a kind of boarding-house +but with no accommodation for meals.</p> + +<p>At Pecos I was surprised to see an Indian motor-cycle and side-car +"parked" on a strip of green, which in generations to come would be +the <em class="italic">plaza</em> or square. Examination revealed it to be a most remarkable +machine. It was equipped with tool-boxes galore at every available +place and, strange to remark, there was a small emery wheel mounted +skilfully on the top tube and driven by a round belt from a pulley +on the engine shaft. There was also a small hand-vice clipped to the +frame, and numerous other small tools and fitments, which, to say the +least, were not usually found in the equipment of a motor-cycle.</p> + +<p>"Well," I said to myself, "if all this paraphernalia is required to get +a motor-cycle across to the coast, I'm in for a rough time."</p> + +<p>But I was relieved to find that it was the property of a tinsmith +who, out for a holiday, combined business with pleasure, and repaired +people's tanks and pots and pans wherever he went! In this way he not +only defrayed his travelling expenses, but made a far better income +than he used to get in his home-town in Ohio.</p> + +<p>He was a tall, burly-looking chap, and greeted me with effusion. In +like manner did I welcome him. The sight of another motor-cyclist +removed my worst apprehensions.</p> + +<p>"Strike me pink!" quoth I, "I thought I was the only madman in this +part of the world!"</p> + +<p>He glanced at my number-plate.</p> + +<p>"Gee, brother, put it right there. I wuz beginnin' to think I'd never +see another motorsickle agin; you goin' to the coast?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's where I'm heading for, but of late I'm not so sure about +getting there as I was when I left New York."</p> + +<p>"Oh, boy, yew'll git there all right if yew've come this far—I said +it; but say, there's some smart bits o' travellin' to do ahead on yer!"</p> + +<p>"What? Is it worse than what I've passed?"</p> + +<p>"Waal, I've bin there an' got back—travellin' with the missus +here—an' I tell you, the road gets better the further east I come. +And what's more'n that, brother, yew've got some mighty warm times +ahead before you see California—like goin' through Hell, it is. Wait +till you find yourself in the middle o' the Mohave Desert with the +sun beatin' down at 130 in the shade, and no shade—no nothin' except +prickly pears and funny-lookin' cactuses and a bit of sage-bush here +and there. Say, boy, wait till you see piles o' bones and carcasses +by the score lyin' at the side o' the road, an' yew'll begin to think +it's warm, all right. Whatever you do, boy, take water with yer. Yew'll +drink <span class="smcap">gallons</span> of it!"</p> + +<p>"How long have you been here, then?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Nigh on a couple o' weeks, brother. We've bin waitin' fer the rain to +clear off."</p> + +<p>Truly a bright prospect.</p> + +<p>I slept well that night, in spite of the fact that my day's mileage was +only thirty, and awoke to find the sky clear and promising.</p> + +<p>I spent the morning in tuning Lizzie and making minor adjustments +and preparation. I commissioned my tinsmith friend to make me a new +accumulator box, my own having become entirely disintegrated with +the vibration. For 1,000 miles it had been held together with straps +fastened tightly round it to the frame.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> + +<p>The distance to Santa Fé was only twenty-five miles, so I judged I +should be able to reach it that day.</p> + +<p>Those twenty-five miles took four hours. I will not attempt to +describe those four hours. They were filled to the brim with mud, +rain, wash-outs, and bridgeless rivers. In many places there were +great "washes" of sand brought down from the hill-sides that nearly +completely obliterated the trail as it struggled across the mountains.</p> + +<p>It was a very weary motor-cyclist indeed who rattled into Santa Fé at +5.30 that afternoon. And that motor-cyclist had quite made up his mind +to have a few days' rest before anything else happened his way.</p> + +<p>With a deep sigh of relief I leant Lizzie up against the pavement +opposite the "Montezuma Hotel." With heavy, aching limbs and sodden, +mud-stained clothes, I walked towards the door.</p> + +<p>It opened ahead of me.</p> + +<p>"Ah! how do you do, Captain Shepherd? We've been expecting you for over +a week. Come right in. We know <span class="smcap">all</span> about you. Here, James, +take Captain Shepherd up to his room at once. No, don't bother to say +anything. Just go and have a good hot bath."</p> + +<p>It was the voice of an angel that spoke!</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a><br /><br /> + +SANTA FÉ</h2> + +<p>Santa Fé is the most delightful of places. It has a charm all its +own. It is small, quaint, and intensely old. It is far removed from +other American towns—just as far as west is from east. It represents +the quintessence of New Mexico, and at the same time—so it is +alleged—sets the standard of art in America.</p> + +<p>The first words of a mediocre Easterner when he enters the <em class="italic">plaza</em> of +Santa Fé are "Heavens'n earth! what kind of a hole have I struck now?" +But if he has a soul underlying that eastern veneer of his, if he +has an appreciation for art and beauty in architecture unimpaired by +familiarity with gigantic skyscrapers, he will repent those words. His +disdainful grin as he first catches sight of the Art Museum and sees +an edifice of mud with ne'er a corner that could be called sharp, will +fade slowly from his face, and once he has recovered from the shock of +the "sudden uniqueness" of everything, his look will turn to one of +wonder and admiration.</p> + +<p>Santa Fé is small. It contains no more than 6,000 inhabitants—a +curious mixture of Mexicans, Indians, and Americans. Its population, +moreover, is at a standstill. As the capital of a State of 160,000 +square miles, it seems ludicrous, until one reflects that there are but +50,000 people in the whole country. Of Spanish origin, it is laid out +in Spanish style, with the <em class="italic">plaza</em><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> or public square in the centre. +Around the <em class="italic">plaza</em> are arranged most of the more important buildings. +These, with few exceptions, follow closely the "adobe" architecture +of the "Pueblo" Indians, combined with the architecture of the later +"Franciscan" Missions that were instituted by the Spanish Friars, who +in the early days of colonization penetrated far into the continent.</p> + +<p>In the forefront of every march and every exploration there was always +the brown-robed Franciscan, bearing along with his crucifix the trowel +and the book. To convert, to build, and to teach—these were the +self-imposed tasks to which he consecrated his life. Especially do we +honour him as a builder. Living among a passionate people, who resented +the intrusion of strange gods among their own, often surrounded by +cruel and relentless foes, the type of his structures was determined +by the conditions of his existence. There must be a church in which to +preach the new religion, a convent in which to live, and along with +these, a school in which he might give instruction. These must be +connected and compactly placed to serve as a fortress against present +enemies; and they must be massive, to withstand the ravages of time. +There were eleven such churches in New Mexico alone prior to the +landing of the <em class="italic">Mayflower</em>—and more than fifty others were established +during the century which followed.</p> + +<p>This is the only type of architecture that can be referred to as truly +"American," saving perhaps the unenvied skyscraper of the East. This +latter, however, belongs to no school and knows no creed; it is not +indigenous to the soil or produced by environment, native material, or +climate. Instead, it defiles the heavens and cuts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> the landscape into +futuristic nightmares of edge and angle.</p> + +<p>By far the choicest flower of this renaissance style is the New +Art Museum at Santa Fé. Recently completed, it is admired by all, +architects and laymen alike. It embodies the designs of six of the +ancient Spanish Missions, three centuries old, some of which have now +disappeared. The others are fast decaying with the ravages of time. +The outlines of the Museum are plastic, smooth, and flowing, rising +in curves and terraces, without stiffness, sharpness, or repetition. +There is a noticeable lack of symmetry, contrasting so much with the +style of the Californian Missions. Consequently, there is a different +composition and an added charm with every new position or change +of aspect. Inside are paintings and sketches of Indian, Mexican, +and desert life and scenes, specimens of native handiwork, and an +exhaustive library.</p> + +<p>Across the road, on the opposite corner, is the Governor's Palace, the +oldest governmental building in the States. Its appearance would in +modern eyes hardly justify the term "Palace." It is a very unimposing +building of native architecture but contains relics, trophies, and +works of art brought from all corners of the Western world. Within its +adobe walls are housed prehistoric remains of the extinct civilization +that thousands of years ago thrived in Western America.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="art_museum"></a> +<img src="images/i150a.jpg" width="600" height="369" alt="The Art Museum at Santa Fé." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Art Museum at Santa Fé.</span></div> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="oldest_house"></a> +<img src="images/i150b.jpg" width="600" height="405" alt="The Oldest House in America, at Santa Fé." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Oldest House in America, at Santa Fé.</span></div> +</div> + +<p>But not only the public buildings of Santa Fé are of Pueblo +construction. Many of the latest private edifices, both residential and +commercial, are of this strange architecture. The offices and works of +the "Santa Fé Water and Light Company" give one the impression of its +unique application to business buildings. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> for sheer delight give +me the private dwellings. It is beyond my power to convey an adequate +impression of the soft beauty of one of these exquisitely-designed +houses, with its smooth-flowing profiles, its shady "patio," open-air +bathing pools and well-planned garden. One must go and see to +understand and feel the charm of it all.</p> + +<p>But from the Mexican houses as residences Heaven preserve me! Seldom do +they boast more than one story; the roof is flat, and very often grass +and weeds are found thriving thereon. The "adobe" walls are recovered +from year to year throughout the ages as the hand of Time and the +ravages of weather work their destructive way. It can almost be said +that a Mexican house never grows old. The sun-baked mud that forms +its walls withstands the weather to an extraordinary extent. There is +a little house in a little street in the outskirts of Santa Fé, now +uninhabited, from whose roof rises a notice-board: "This is the oldest +house in America," it reads. It was supposed to have been built over +250 years ago.</p> + +<p>The citizens of Santa Fé are not progressive. The climate is against +them. They do not run any risk of over-exertion; a considerable time +is spent in eating ices, drinking cold concoctions, and lounging about +the <em class="italic">plaza</em> in the early hours of the afternoon. Here it was that I +developed this Western habit. In almost every Western town there is a +central square shaded with many trees, or palms in the hottest places. +The good citizen and the weary traveller alike are welcome here. They +lie about on the grass, or sit on their toes as only a Westerner knows +how. Thus pass the blazing hours. It is a treat to find oneself away +from the eternal hustle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> and bustle of city life and in the midst of +languid, easy-going freedom. I had several photographs that I took to +the drug-store to be developed and printed.</p> + +<p>"Shall I call in to-night for them?" I said.</p> + +<p>"To-night? Why, We won't be able to get them through for four days," he +replied, amazed at my ridiculous presumption.</p> + +<p>"But in New York they develop and print in one day only. Surely you're +not behind New York?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we don't do things like that in this part of the country, friend; +you've made a big mistake. Nobody hurries in New Mexico!"</p> + +<p>By dint of special pleadings, I got the photographs in three days. They +were nearly all ruined with having been hurried!</p> + +<p>For three days I created quite a furore in Santa Fé. The news of +my doings and misdoings was published daily in the <em class="italic">Santa Fé New +Mexican</em> during my stay. I evidently afforded just the right kind of +newspaper fodder that New Mexico wanted. My fame had spread all the +way from Kansas City long before I actually fell upon the anxious +population. My article on Roads, etc., was reproduced immediately after +its publication in Kansas, together with several caustic editorial +comments. Here is one example:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>"SEES AMERICA BY COW-PATH."</p> + +<p>English Warrior gets little rest touring America by Motor-cycle.</p> + +<p>"Roads? What roads? I haven't seen any roads. I have been +following a place where cows had been walking...."</p></div> + +<p>Here is another heading to a two-column "article":—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>"COW-PATHS"—and not roads in America:—Verdict of British Royal +Airman here on Motor-cycle.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p></div> + +<p>And again (this headed a quarter-page "Report").</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>"BALLOON"—Only way to get over New Mexico roads, declares British +Aviator.</p></div> + +<p>I was pounced upon immediately after my arrival. No sooner was I +settled down in a good steaming hot bath (oh, joy untold!) than the +telephone bell in my room rang. I let it go on ringing for two or three +minutes. It would not stop. I jumped out and lifted the receiver.</p> + +<p>"A reporter is here to see you, sir."</p> + +<p>"Och, Hell! Tell him I'm having a bath," and I banged the receiver down +and plunged again into the tub.</p> + +<p>In a minute there was a knock at the door. "No use trying to shake off +an American reporter," I told myself.... "Come in!"</p> + +<p>The result appeared in next morning's paper—not the result of +<span class="smcap">my</span> observations, be it noted, however. Amongst other +statements the following was laid to my charge:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>"In my opinion the old Prairie-Schooner is far superior to a +motor-car (for travelling in New Mexico). If you can't get a +schooner, try horse-back travel. I really believe some horses +could get through the mud and dodge the boulders. (It was almost +funny there!)... But the ideal form of transportation over these +United States is a big dirigible, say 700 ft. in length, modelled +on Great Britain's R.34. (It had just recently crossed the +Atlantic, hence the introduction.)... I might have suggested the +use of an aeroplane, but I have been told two aviators got stuck +in Santa Fé last winter owing to the deep snow in the environs. So +then, after seeing your roads, I should recommend the R.34 type of +machine in which to travel...."</p></div> + +<p>Suffice it to say that I never mentioned Prairie-Schooners, dirigibles, +or aeroplanes! We talked (or rather our friend the reporter did) about +the many notorieties that had passed through Santa Fé of recent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> years, +and the Lowell Observatory at Flagstaff some 500 miles away.</p> + +<p>Every day during my stay our friend the reporter called in at my +hotel. Every day appeared in the press a lengthy report of an alleged +interview.</p> + +<p>What an interminable worry it must be to newspaper editors of the West +to provide adequate copy for their hungering readers!</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a><br /><br /> + +THE RIO GRANDE VALLEY</h2> + + +<p>My stay in Santa Fé was a pleasant one. At the Post Office I found +a few letters and some money, the former forwarded from Cincinnati, +and the latter from Washington (it had been cabled there two months +before). On the morning of the fourth day my weary frame was +sufficiently rested to warrant my continuing once more. I bought a +two-gallon water-bag in preparation for the 700-mile desert journey +ahead, and once more set out westward. A crowd of interested citizens +witnessed my preparations outside the hotel, plied me with questions +as to how far I was going, how long it would take, and how old I was, +and finally bade me farewell as Lizzie burst into a roar, and we moved +sadly, if noisily, away.</p> + +<p>The next town was Albuquerque, some sixty or seventy miles ahead. The +road in between lay over a barren wilderness of sand and prairie. The +blazing sun poured down upon it fierce and unrelenting; nowhere was +there a sign of any living thing. Hardly a hill or a swelling relieved +the monotonous flatness of the trail. In the distance, on my right, +rose rugged mountain ranges suddenly out of the trackless plains.</p> + +<p>After twenty miles appeared La Bajada Hill, crossing the trail at +right angles. There was not much climbing to be done, but going down +the other side was a different matter. It seemed that a great "fault" +or outcrop had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> appeared in the plain, making it much lower on the +one side than the other. No less than thirty-two acute hairpin bends +conducted the trail down the precipitous slope. The gradient in places +was terrific. At the bottom was a cemetery!</p> + +<p>Here and there we crossed the sandy wash of a one-time river, leaping +over bumps and boulders and picking the road as well as possible. +Occasionally a wooden shack was passed, with a few dirty-looking +Indians hanging around: Indians dressed not in native garb but in +pseudo-modern style. The only things that betrayed them were their +faces and lank dark hair. He that goes to the West and expects to see +the landscape decorated with Indians dressed in multicoloured garbs of +picturesque pattern, is doomed to disappointment. The first impression +of a modernized native is disheartening if one has lingering thoughts +in one's mind left from childhood's days when one read with ceaseless +delight of stalwart Indians with huge muscles and painted bodies +galloping along, bow and arrow in hand, on a fiery white mustang in +pursuit of an unfortunate "pale-face."</p> + +<p>Ah, no!—<em class="italic">Nous avons changé tout cela!</em> The Indian as a rule is +not stalwart, and decidedly not picturesque. Having had the gentle +arts of civilization thrust upon him, and being naturally of a lazy +disposition, he is content to loaf around chewing shag and disfiguring +the landscape generally with his presence.</p> + +<p>As Albuquerque was approached, things looked more flourishing. The land +was cultivated where possible, and in places corn and wheat appeared.</p> + +<p>It is very strange to find a prospering city in the midst of such +desolate surroundings as Albuquerque has. It came as a pleasant +surprise to me to see the electric trams,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> the wide streets and the +clean modern buildings. I was puzzled to know just what it was that +kept the place going. Albuquerque, however, although the largest town +in the State, has only 10,000 or so inhabitants, and is the nucleus +of a very extensive ranching district which undoubtedly largely +constitutes its <em class="italic">raison d'être</em>. I left it rather sadly, because, with +the exception of Flagstaff some 500 miles away, I should not meet +another town of anywhere near its size until I reached the Pacific +Coast.</p> + +<p>Shortly after leaving Albuquerque the trail crossed a very wide shallow +muddy river—the famous Rio Grande. It was spanned by a low wooden +bridge which creaked and rattled in its planks as we rumbled across +it. We saw quite a lot of the Rio Grande and got to look upon it as +a friendly sort of river. That is not to be wondered at, because in +a wilderness that is next to being called a desert one can become +attached to anything that has life or movement, even if it be a muddy +stream! Probably in consideration of the feelings of weary travellers, +but for no other apparent purpose, the trail from time to time crossed +and re-crossed the same old river with the same old friendly wooden +bridges until finally, eighty miles farther on, it was left to wander +southward unmolested through the plains and deserts of New Mexico and +Texas into the Gulf of Mexico.</p> + +<p>At Isleta there was a surprise in store. Isleta is a charming Indian +pueblo, built wholly of "adobe" mud and populated entirely by native +Indians. So unique, so bewitchingly attractive are these pueblos, that +I must digress awhile to describe their nature and origin.</p> + +<p>The history of the American Indians since the advent of the White Man +is an unsatisfactory one from all points of view. Different authorities +on the subject have widely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> different opinions as to the eventual +outcome of the American domination, which from generation to generation +has vacillated in its policy and, sometimes with bloodshed, sometimes +with bribery, has gradually reduced the red man to subjection, occupied +his country and enforced an unwilling civilization upon him. But +all are agreed that the Indian of to-day is in a far lower stage of +civilization than when the early settlers first drove him from his +rightful property.</p> + +<p>There are, however, a few tribes which advanced much farther along +the road to civilization than the others. Moreover theirs was a +civilization quite their own, not acquired through contact with the +whites. Chief among them are the Pueblo (pueblo-building) Indians, and +the Moqui Indians, the town-building natives of New Mexico and Arizona.</p> + +<p>The "Pueblo" Indians include several different tribes, each speaking +a different language. Each tribe, with only one exception, comprises +a number of separate "pueblos" or villages, generally built on the +"community dwelling" basis, that is, the houses are in a large and +solid mass, several stories in height, each one receding from the one +below and approached by ladders. In these houses, which look like great +pyramids, live a number of families. In some pueblos most of the houses +are on this plan and as many as 1,600 people have been known to live +in one house. The houses are built of adobe, and sometimes of stones +cemented together with adobe.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="pueblo_taos"></a> +<img src="images/i158.jpg" width="600" height="340" alt="Pueblo of Taos." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">Pueblo of Taos.</span><br /> +<em class="italic"><small>By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler.</small></em></div> +</div> + +<p>Several of these Indian villages are clustered together in the vicinity +of Santa Fé, often on the banks of the Rio Grande. Each has its own +customs and makes its own laws. All are centres of interest. Artists +flock to them from all parts of the Continent to paint and sketch +them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> Travellers tramp for miles to see the Indians in their native +costumes and conditions. Some make jewels; some make vases, ornaments, +idols, and all manner of earthenware goods; some work in silver, while +others make blankets and rugs. With hardly an exception they all make +an excellent living out of the things they make and sell.</p> + +<p>Each of the pueblos has its own feast-days, or "fiestas," when, for a +time varying from a day to over a week, the whole population devotes +its time to feasting, dancing and games. The religious rites that are +performed and the strange customs that prevail at these feasts and +dances form in themselves a vast and interesting study.</p> + +<p>At Isleta the road again crossed the Rio Grande. This done, it found +itself in a dry sandy wilderness, with the Manzano Range running from +north to south in the distance. In patches the ground was white with +sandhills, and the trail became two straggling white lines, where +the wheels of passing vehicles had left their imprint in the soft +white sand. These two white ruts were my only guides. All around was +desolation. Nothing was to be seen anywhere, save those two thin +white lines straggling aimlessly ahead, the sun-scorched desert with +its ragged stones and evil, scanty, tenacious vegetation, and on +the horizon that fiery stretch of mountain range, whose peaks rose +rugged and defiant and glistened with red as if roused to anger by +the eternally raging sun. I had never before realized the great depth +of feeling that a mountain range is capable of evoking. The Alps are +majestic beyond description. They awe the observer to a sense of his +own utter insignificance as he gazes upon that glistening majestic +sky-line, and feels the overwhelming influence of those mighty +mountains upon him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> But if it is an overwhelming influence, it is +a friendly one—at least I have found it so. Although there is an +instinct in me, as in most people, impelling me to guard and protect +myself against anything that is tremendous—a relic, I suppose, of +prehistoric days—I feel towards the Alps always like a little boy +feels towards his "big brother." The same feeling is seen reflected in +the "Sierra Madre" (Mother Mountains) of California.</p> + +<p>But in New Mexico I have seen huge ranges that one could truthfully +call nothing else but "wicked." They seem to gaze and glower with a +cruel, terrifying gleam upon the wanderer who defies their hateful +solitude. The hours of travel that followed were hours of weary +monotony. A brief lapse every thirty miles or so when a tiny Mexican +village on the Rio Grande was passed, and once more the two white ruts +came into view, the stones and cactus, and again the evil mountains.</p> + +<p>Later, the sand turned to rocks. The trail began to climb the +mountains, and the sun sank low in the sky. If ever there was a place +to starve to death, thought I, it is here. I reflected upon what the +consequences would be if I ran out of petrol or had a bad smash.</p> + +<p>I didn't run out of petrol and I didn't have a smash. Instead of that, +after about eighty miles from Isleta, the trail descended the mountain +pass, re-crossed the Rio Grande for the last time, and swerved at +right angles, to continue its course westward. Shortly before sunset +I arrived at a little Mexican town called Socorro, where both man and +machine were rested, while the man that kept the "C'fay" in the <em class="italic">plaza</em> +got busy with some "eats" for weary me.</p> + +<p>After dinner away once again we go. The sun is setting. We must find a +resting-place before dark sets in, for in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> these countries where the +air is clear and mountain ranges hem in every horizon the darkness +comes quickly and the sinking of the sun below the sky-line means +almost the final close of day.</p> + +<p>There is another range to climb: it lies right ahead of us. As we +approach, it looms its massive bulk like a wall before us. The trail +bends and turns as if hesitating before it tackles this difficult feat; +up there in front is a great gap. The road cuts through it, and is seen +no more. Beyond are much greater heights to climb. Shall we attempt it +now or leave it till the morrow?</p> + +<p>The smell of petrol, which the last few minutes was a suggestion, +became a reality. I look down in the fading light and find the precious +fluid spurting out from the carburettor union. Evidently the pipe has +broken away with the vibration. So I swerve off the road (almost easier +done than said) and stop at the flattest patch of earth that I reach.</p> + +<p>Oh, the joys of the open life once again! Never shall I forget that +night in the desert past Socorro. The sun as it set behind the range +that I had commenced to climb plunged everything around into gloomy +blackness. Across the valley, from north to south, stretched the +Manzano Range that I had already crossed. It shone like fire throughout +the whole of its length. Gradually the rugged shadow of the range +behind me crept farther and farther away, crossing the river and +mounting up the opposite side of the valley. Slowly, slowly it mounted +up, higher and higher as if a great black cloak were being drawn +by an unseen hand over that fiery ridge that glistened in its evil +splendour. In five short minutes there were but a few of the highest +peaks remaining above the inky shadow. They enjoyed their splendour for +a few brief<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> moments and then were gone, as though wiped suddenly out +of existence. All was blackness: silent, heavy blackness. The stars +appeared, one by one.</p> + +<p>I prepared my bed for the night.</p> + +<p>What was that? A faint tinkle reached my ears. It sounded like the +noise of a cow-bell, such as one hears in the Swiss valleys. Yes, there +it was again. It must be a cow! But what was a cow to live on here? No +doubt there was a well near by. I felt then that nothing in the world +would taste better than a drink of pure fresh milk. The heat of the day +had been intense, and one can always drink in New Mexico.</p> + +<p>I slipped into my field-boots, took a collapsible cup from my bag and +set out in search of the cow. I was quite determined to milk that cow, +come what may.</p> + +<p>I stumbled over the rough stones, picked my way between the cactus +plants and sage-brush. I arrived at a fence. The tinkle, tinkle seemed +to come from just the other side. Cup in hand, I climbed over, very +gingerly so as not to tear my pyjamas. Pyjamas in a desert, think of it!</p> + +<p>"Now, where are you?" Ahead I saw dimly a large black form.</p> + +<p>"Come along, girlie, come and be milked," quoth I in my most bewitching +manner. She moved not. I advanced slowly, trying to discern which was +the business end. Meanwhile I pictured the cow asking herself, "Wot's +the big idea milking me in py's at this time o' night?"</p> + +<p>I drew closer and looked....</p> + +<p>It was a bull!</p> + +<p>I returned hurriedly to my bed, and cursed when a prickly pear caught +me on the left shin!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="rio_grande"></a> +<img src="images/i162.jpg" width="600" height="339" alt="The Rio Grande, New Mexico." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Rio Grande, New Mexico.</span><br /> +<em class="italic"><small>By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler.</small></em></div> +</div> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a><br /><br /> + +THE PETRIFIED FOREST OF ARIZONA</h2> + + +<p>In the morning I patched up the broken petrol pipe as well as I could +with insulation tape, and started again on my way. I had to do forty +miles before I should see a soul—forty miles before breakfast could be +thought of.</p> + +<p>It was as well that I had stopped where I did the night before. The +road twisted around precipitous bends and climbed up rough rocky slopes +into the mountains. Down on the other side we found ourselves in a +great sandy plain, stretching due west and bounded by parallel ranges +of rugged mountains. There were frequent washouts and frequent spills. +In places the little streamlets that flowed from the mountain sides cut +great chasms across the road, sufficient to crush one's wheels if one +leapt into them at too great a speed.</p> + +<p>Magdalena is a typical cow-boy town. In the heart of ranching country +and hundreds of miles from anything but a few similar towns, it was in +the early days (before prohibition) one of the "warmest" places in the +West. Cow-boy outfits are seen advertised at all of the few "Stores," +but there has been one big change—the notorious saloons are no longer. +New Mexico adopted prohibition several years before its universal +approval. Consequently Magdalena had had ample time to settle down by +the time of my arrival.</p> + +<p>I was directed to a "C'fay" that had the reputation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> of providing the +best meal in the town. I pushed open its swing doors and beheld a +picture of cleanliness and tidiness. The tables were all spick and span +in their clean white tablecloths and not a vestige of dirt was visible +anywhere.</p> + +<p>The small boys of the town displayed a lively interest in me as +I disported myself with my camera at the expense of their public +buildings (to be exact, one wooden church). "Look at 'is boots, Jem," +said one. "Looks like as though he's a gor-dem buck-jumper." "Aye, but +'is pants don't look ter be the right stuff, Joe."</p> + +<p>I left them wondering and fell upon the trail once more. A few miles +out I came to a "round-up" of steers. There were ten or twelve cow-boys +on horseback, and some 5,000 or 6,000 steers grouped together in a +large dense mass, blocking the road altogether. "Tough guys, those +cow-boys," I remarked to myself and pretended to ignore them. But I +couldn't help thinking what MIGHT happen if I barged into one of their +animals or if for any reason they didn't like the look of my face!</p> + +<p>Slowly, very slowly, the great mass of cattle moved, like a tide +sweeping over the plain. Carefully I picked my way along and felt +relieved when I left them right behind. I opened out and prepared for a +long weary jaunt. The next town of any kind was ninety miles away.</p> + +<p>The first thirty were dead flat but hard going. There had evidently +been considerable rain recently. Emaciated mud-holes were now rock-hard +contortions in the road. Often I rode on the prairie in preference.</p> + +<p>Another thing was evident. There had been a great drought the previous +year. Ranching is impossible without water, and even now, in spite +of the recent rains, could be seen here and there a great lake-bed +completely dried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> up. Nothing remained but a great mass of sun-baked +hoof-marked mud, and here and there a skeleton lying upon it. The +ranches of New Mexico are of huge size and cover enormous areas. True, +a few good years mean a fortune to the rancher, but one bad one means +ruin. Hundreds of ranches had been ruined the previous year, I found, +and several thousand head of cattle had died from the drought. As I +passed along, their skeletons lay strewn at the roadside, sometimes +singly, sometimes in groups of a dozen or more. Hardly a refreshing +sight for a poor innocent motor-cyclist!</p> + +<p>At the end of the thirty mile stretch we entered hilly, thickly-wooded +country. The scenery was wild and rough. I met no one and saw no one. +After another fifteen miles was a shack at the side of the road. +The occupation of the owner was selling petrol and oil to passing +travellers. I opined that this was probably not an enviable vocation +from a financial point of view. I filled up, and found to my dismay +that the price, instead of being twenty-five cents per gallon, was +seventy-five. It was 100 miles from the railway, and all supplies had +to be brought by road, hence the trebled cost.</p> + +<p>I have never been through wilder country than that which followed for +100 miles. Hilly, densely-wooded, and fertile, it was most difficult +to believe that it was so thinly populated. Strange rock-formations +appeared. Grotesque boulders of leviathan size lay strewn and standing +in grass-covered openings. Wild pigeons by the score darted in and out +amongst the trees. Merry squirrels scampered up the pine trees and eyed +me from above. Huge "Jack Rabbits" and young antelopes bounded here +and there, and, seeing the intruder, disappeared. It all seemed such a +change from the desert journey of the day before.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + +<p>At Quemado, about ninety miles from Magdalena, I felt hungry. Quemado +consists of a wooden shack of an "hotel," and one "general merchandise" +store. I stopped at the "hotel" and fed. Meanwhile it commenced to +rain. My spirits sank with the barometer.</p> + +<p>The rain stopped three hours afterwards.</p> + +<p>I set out full of energy and perseverance an hour after that. We +slipped and slithered and slid in the miry road. Ten miles was enough. +All the energy and perseverance had flown to the winds. I rode up +on to a hill-side to a spot on the fringe of a forest of cedar and +yew. Propping Lizzie up on her stand, I went in search of fuel. I had +decided on the luxury of a camp fire.</p> + +<p>Fuel there was in abundance. Withered trunks and broken boughs lay +strewn about the hill-side. I soon had a roaring fire and passed away +an hour or two before dark in writing letters and ruminating on the +delights of a camp fire.</p> + +<p>As the sun sank down in the valley, I slipped under the old blanket +and watched the flames as they leapt from the burning embers. Just +ahead, almost in sight from where I lay, was the western borderline of +New Mexico. Just beyond there, where the golden sun was slowly sinking +in the valley, was Arizona; the Arizona that I longed so much to see. +I had heard much of Arizona; its wonderful climate, its ancient, +unknown ruins, its extinct volcanoes, its stupendous gorges, its great +thirsty deserts. What would Arizona have in store for me? I wondered. +And the fragrant smell of the burning cedarwood wove a magic charm +about my thoughts as they slowly drifted into the mystic realm of the +unconscious world.</p> + +<p>Morning brought a smiling dawn. I rose early and returned to the trail.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + +<p>In ten minutes I was in Arizona. A large signboard indicated the fact. +The road grew wider and better. Even the scenery seemed to change +perceptibly. I somehow felt at home in Arizona.</p> + +<p>At Springerville I breakfasted and bought picture post-cards. When +travelling the latter operation is equally as important as the former.</p> + +<p>Here the road makes a sudden turn to the north, bearing afterwards +to the north-west. After twenty miles of riding, the country became +flatter; it seemed as though it were now an immense plateau. After +another twenty, I reached a little town known as St. John. Here I +filled a half-hour in the commendable process of consuming ices. I had +now to traverse some difficult country, as the great desert of Arizona +was approached. There were more mountains to climb, but when the summit +was reached there was little or no decline on the opposite side, the +altitude grew higher and higher, and as it did so, strange as it may +seem, the earth grew flatter and flatter.</p> + +<p>There is but one ridge ahead to climb. The rocky trail bends and twists +as it slowly swallows up the gradient that connects us to the horizon. +A final swerve, and we commence a slight descent. There is a gap in the +hills; the trail skirts around one side, and behold, a vast, unbounded +plain lies before us, stretching to left and right as far as the eye +can see.</p> + +<p>But what is this strange sight? On our right, barely a half of a mile +from the road, is a gigantic mound. Its presence there, rising abruptly +out of the mathematical flatness of the plain, seems ridiculous, +absurd, uncanny. It gives the impression of having been just dropped +from the sky. It is a mud volcano—an uncommon sight, and formed by +the ejection of sand under pressure from below<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> the surface of the +earth. All around, the plain is of distinctly volcanic formation. +Indeed, we have now entered a vast volcanic region, extending for +several thousands of square miles. Many of the mountains that we shall +see, some of them giant peaks, and some only little hills, are extinct +volcanoes of other ages. They were young and active while man was in +his barbaric infancy on this weary globe, perhaps even before that.</p> + +<p>But soon is to appear a far more wondrous sight. In a few miles we +enter a country of strange shapes and magic colours—the Petrified +Forest of Arizona. The first signs of approach are chains of little +lava hills of grey and white. They also have an air of abruptness. One +wonders how they came to be there at all. Flowing down to the flat +plain in graceful, mathematical curves, they look like mounds of chalk, +although they are softer still. Composed of soft, fine lava-dust, +they weather rapidly away. Now all the plain is lava-dust and a tuft +of lean grass here and there has found a spot wherein to make a home. +Further on one notices great blocks of stone, like pillars of marble, +lying strewn about the plain, some half buried, some barely projecting, +and some perfectly naked. Here is one, there is another—they are +everywhere, in every direction, of all shades of colour and varying in +size from fragments an inch in diameter to pillars twenty or thirty +feet in girth and over 100 feet in length. Every fragment, every +massive block of marble once formed part of a great forest that spread +for hundreds of square miles. The trees of this great forest were huge +leviathans, unlike anything we know of in the Old World and similar +only to the giant Sequoias of California (but a few hundred miles +away), that send their mighty trunks hundreds of feet into the air—the +relics of a bygone race.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> + +<p>This great forest of Arizona was at its prime. The stately pine trees +rose towering into the sky. Birds of wonderful plumage lived in those +mighty branches, and wild animals roamed amongst its undergrowth. Then +something happened; no one knows exactly what—this great forest was +enveloped in volcanic dust that in time buried it completely. To the +eye, if eye there was to witness the scene, the forest was no longer +visible; it lay buried in the bowels of the earth; it had passed away; +as a mighty, living forest it would exist no more. But those monster +trees remained awhile, preserved by the all-surrounding lava. What +happened then took thousands of years to achieve, though it can be +recited in a few brief words. The trees in substance disappeared, but +their forms remained in the hardened lava, like huge moulds waiting +to be cast, their every crack and wrinkle preserved with inexorable +accuracy. In time, it may have been æons, the moulds were cast, by +some inexplicable phenomenon, and where once were timber and vegetable +tissues came fluid marble rock that filled the hollows and cracks +and wrinkles and reproduced the forms that ages before had been so +suddenly arrested in their growth. Further ages passed, and gradually +the soft lava was removed by the action of wind and rain and other +causes. Gradually the harder material was laid bare, and the giant +trees once more saw the light of day, but this time they were trunks of +solid marble instead of pine wood. The work of denudation continued. +The marble pillars, unsupported, fell to earth. Some broke into huge +blocks, while others remained more or less intact through the whole of +their length, and unless one examined them at close quarters and saw +the nature of their texture, they could not be distinguished from a +tree that had been recently felled.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> + +<p>There are hundreds of these marble pine and spruce tree trunks, whose +cross-sections, revealed where they have broken, glisten with every +colour of the rainbow. In places, where they lie tumbled and heaped +together, it is as though a whole quarry of onyx had been dynamited +out. In one place a fallen trunk of marble, nearly 200 feet in length, +has spanned a gorge and formed a natural log bridge that all who dare +can walk across.</p> + +<p>Such is the fairy tale that scientists tell. The traveller whose +privilege it is to journey across the Petrified Forest of Arizona will +be lost in amazement at this fact which is so much stranger than any +fiction.</p> + +<p>I left the wonderful scene behind me with a feeling that I was bidding +farewell to one of the prime mysteries of the world. Trunks and +fragments of trunks could be seen projecting even from the surface of +the road over which I passed, and a few blades of fine grass, with +here and there a stunted cactus plant, were the only sign of life in +any direction. I passed out as suddenly as I had entered. A double +<strong>S</strong>-bend, where strange contorted rocks lay piled up in confusion +on either side—and the Petrified Forest was left behind.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="petrified_leviathan"></a> +<img src="images/i170a.jpg" width="600" height="396" alt="Giant petrified log." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">A Petrified Leviathan.</span></div> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="lizzie_pet_forest"></a> +<img src="images/i170b.jpg" width="600" height="411" alt="Motorcycle." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">"Lizzie" in the Petrified Forest, Arizona.</span></div> +</div> + +<p>The sun was nearly setting when a couple of hours later I set out from +Holbrook, well fed and well refreshed. From my map I judged I should be +able to reach the Little Colorado River, on whose banks I could spend +the night. But in Arizona the sun sets quickly. It can almost be said +to get dark with a bump. The result was that in half an hour I was +completely lost in the outskirts of the Great Arizona Desert. The trail +had somehow disappeared, I knew not where, and but for my headlight, I +should undoubtedly have ended in difficulties amid the inky blackness. +Loth to turn back, I continued over the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> almost trackless waste +of rock, sand, and prairie. I arrived at the rocky bed of a small +stream. There were a few inches of water here and there, but it was not +perceptibly moving. It could not possibly be the Little Colorado. I +walked across to the other side. There I found a large ditch, more like +an artificial dyke, that I knew I could never get Lizzie across. There +was grass growing near, however, so I laid down my bed for the night, +resolving to leave further investigations till daylight.</p> + +<p>I should have known better than to camp by an almost stagnant stream, +but I was so utterly tired that I defied the counsel of my own +experience. Mosquitoes literally filled the air. Never have I known +them so thick and so tenacious. The vibration of millions of wings kept +the air in a constant shriek—a wild yell that never abated. I could +only obtain relief from their attacks by enveloping my face completely +with the thick blanket, and breathing through it. Then everything +became so hot—the night itself was very sultry—that sleep was next to +impossible. I snatched an hour or two of rest, but was a mass of bites +and itching lumps next day.</p> + +<p>In the morning, I returned to Holbrook, had breakfast, and searched for +information about the road. It appeared that a bridge had collapsed +somewhere, so a new trail had been formed to circumvent it. I had +missed the turning the night before. At the garage where I made +these inquiries, I took the opportunity of removing Lizzie's wheels, +and of cleaning and adjusting the spindles. I packed them with new +grease in preparation for the sandy journey to come, and removed and +re-aligned the chain sprockets; I wanted no breakdowns or searches for +missing parts in the baking, sandy desert. It was as well that I had +taken precautions. I found the lock ring of one chain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> wheel missing +altogether, and the sprocket half-way unscrewed from its shaft. The +only item for regret was the charge of one dollar for the use of the +garage! Having already had experience of American garage mechanics, I +resolved not to allow any more to learn their trade at Lizzie's expense.</p> + +<p>I had no difficulty in picking up the trail in the full light of +day. Once again I set out to cross the great Desert of Arizona. The +next town, a kind of oasis, was Winslow, about forty miles away. The +barren prairie soon gave way to bare limestone rocks and shifting +sand; vegetation disappeared altogether, save for occasional clumps +of greeny-grey sage brush dotted here and there over the rocky waste +that ever met the eye. The air was hot but clear. On an elevation one +could see for tremendous distances. The little tuft of black smoke that +hung over Winslow looked clear enough to be a mile or two away. It was +thirty; in the distance was a great silver line, threading its way +intermittently across the plain. I knew it to be the Little Colorado, +which, like its mother, the Great Colorado, flows nearly the whole of +its length in a canyon and seems deliberately to choose the path of +greatest resistance, cutting through rocks and gorges of limestone and +granite with ne'er a murmur.</p> + +<p>As Winslow drew near, the narrow sandy track gave way to a broad +concrete highway. I had not seen a made road of any description for +many days. The appearance of concrete here in the middle of a desert +seemed ridiculous. I would enjoy it to the full. Lizzie's throttle +jumped open unexpectedly and away we sailed through the breeze. +"There's a catch in this somewhere," I told myself. There was! It +nearly meant grief. The city architect had foreseen the goading lure of +that cold flat stretch of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> concrete and made up his mind that speeding +should not exist thereon. So he made several dips therein at intervals, +each dip about five or ten feet below the normal level of the road. Any +attempt to travel at more than twenty would mean damage to the vehicle +when it hit the opposite side. Unfortunately these obstructions were +absolutely invisible until but a few feet ahead. Sometimes there was a +warning. More often there was not. The first I came to quite unawares +and at a high speed. The machine with its momentum nearly leapt clean +across the space, and had I been going much slower it would have struck +the opposite side lower down and inevitably have caused a serious +crash. I went warily after that and wondered what ingeniously contrived +anti-speeding devices I should meet next.</p> + +<p>Arrived at Winslow, I ate heartily of ices. The busy modern town seemed +a most remarkable contrast to the sandy wastes that surrounded it.</p> + +<p>I now had a long journey ahead. Flagstaff, the next town, was over +eighty miles away, and the trail ran across some of the most arid +country of Arizona. For mile upon mile there was nothing to be seen +but yellow sand and, on the horizon, a rugged range of hills. Ahead, +nearly a hundred miles away, loomed up the San Francisco Peaks, dark +and threatening. Overhead the sun beat down with unrelenting fury. +One could see the shimmer of the air above the baking sand as the +tremendous heat oozed out of it into the atmosphere. Here and there, +one could see spirals of sand hundreds of feet high whisked up by some +strange whirling motion of the air, and carried for hundreds of yards +across the wilderness, gathering in volume and height as they moved, +only to collapse again and give birth to others. Not a sign of life +or vegetation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> was visible anywhere. What a place to be stranded in +without water! But I had plenty with me. I stopped to drink from the +bag on my handlebar every few miles. The heat and the glare were awful.</p> + +<p>A few miles out of Winslow one cylinder ceased to fire. I had been +wondering when the next instalment of misfortune was to arrive. Like a +true pessimist, I expected it would come in a place like this. So I was +not disheartened.</p> + +<p>I stopped two or three times to change plugs and examine the engine. +It was of no avail, and the heat grew so intense when I was not moving +that it was impossible to stop for longer than a few minutes at a time. +There was no shade, not even a rock to hide me from the fiery sun. The +frame of the machine seemed red-hot, and even the tools in the tool-box +were too hot to handle unprotected.</p> + +<p>"Another overhaul at Flagstaff," I told myself, and continued again +on three cylinders. Ploughing through the loose sand absorbed much of +the power of the engine, but I was content, so long as we kept moving. +Slowly the metal sign-posts of the "Touring Club of California" that +marked the miles were passed. They were the only items of interest in +this barren country. Many times they were missing altogether. Often +they lay prone upon the ground, the strong, eight-feet-long steel +tubing of the post bent in strange forms. They had been uprooted by +some unfortunate traveller and used as levers or crowbars to extricate +a car that had left the beaten track and sunk in the loose sand of the +desert. Some even bore conflicting particulars, and it was quite usual +to notice the distances increase instead of decrease the nearer one +drew to one's destination! Often the signs themselves had been riddled +with bullet-holes "just for fun" by some blasé traveller with a taste +for shooting. Splendid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> amusement, to shoot at a sign-post put there at +enormous expense by a private club for the benefit of all!</p> + +<p>Slowly the hours went by and, as they did, a huge thunder-storm could +be seen brewing over the San Francisco Peaks, now only forty miles +away. The whole sky became dull and overcast. The loose yellow sand +gave place to rocks and shingle, and gradually the desert was left +behind. As the altitude increased—we were climbing slowly all the +time—signs of life appeared. Lean grass, parched with thirst and brown +with the heat, was seen once more, and later a few sheep were noticed +sheltering behind rocks and boulders.</p> + +<p>I pushed forward with all haste. Flagstaff was at the foot of the San +Francisco Peaks and there would certainly be a deluge very shortly. The +road was abominable. In most places it was so rocky and the gradient +so steep that it was like riding up great flights of rugged steps. The +sharp rocks dug in the tyres down to the rims, and the vibration shook +the very sockets of one's bones.</p> + +<p>On the left, barely a mile from the trail, we passed the "Meteor +Mountain." This is a most remarkable sight. Situated in the midst of +comparatively flat or rolling country, it looks at first sight like the +crater of a great volcano. But its origin is not volcanic. It gives +the impression of having been formed by artificial and not by natural +means. The crater is half a mile across and the interior of the crater +is saucer-shaped. An air of mystery envelops its origin, and many +theories have been put forward to explain it. But the theories have +either been disproved or have never been definitely accepted.</p> + +<p>"Meteor Mountain" remains to this day a mystery of geology. In its +crater is a ranch-house and hundreds of sheep graze in its vicinity.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> + +<p>A dozen miles farther on the trail led on to a magnificent steel bridge +spanning the "Diablo Canyon"—a wonderful gorge in the limestone rocks. +Far, far below ran a little stream of clear water.</p> + +<p>The sky grew blacker still. We continued climbing over the sharp, rocky +trail. The mighty peaks ahead were almost lost in a sea of blackness. +Distant thunder rumbled and groaned across the desolate waste. Sharp +flashes of lightning lit up the heavens for a moment and revealed the +sharp, lurid outlines of the three giants around whose peaks centred +the fury of the skies. Slowly the storm abated. I thanked Heaven for +that.</p> + +<p>Then we came to the fringe of a wonderful forest that covers the +plateau and clothes the mountain sides almost to the summit of their +peaks. The sight of the trees, the sound of the breezes as they rustled +through the branches bearing with them the magic scent of the pines, +was like passing from death to life. It was a new world, a world of +new sensations and pleasant forms. The broiling wastes, the dazzling +yellow sand, the strange and sometimes ugly shapes, the grotesque, the +mysterious, the incredible: these were left behind—for a while.</p> + +<p>The storm had almost passed. Much rain had fallen, but fortunately the +trail lay through a stretch of volcanic dust. The rain when it fell did +not dissolve it, but soaked through as quickly as it fell, leaving the +surface almost as hard and dry as it was before. I thanked Heaven again +for that. Closer, closer, ever we climbed, until often the mountains +were hardly to be seen; we were amongst them, climbing them, in them. +Here and there the clustering trees grew thinner and fields of wild +flowers, mauve and purple-coloured, would burst into view, clothing +the valleys and the slopes like a great carpet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> Then a glade would +appear of fresh green grass—grass so fresh and so green that it would +seem to have been meant more for a child's fairy-book than for a real +live world. Then a beautiful mountain would appear through the trees, +its sides and its angles glistening with every colour of the rainbow +and changing with every new aspect. This would be an extinct volcanic +cone and the colours would be reflected from the loose cinders that +formed its whole. Then amongst the lofty pine trees the traveller would +see—as a last remnant of the grotesque—vast fields of lava, great +beds of solid cinder, thrown up into monstrous shapes with strange, +sinister outlines. And onwards, ever onwards, ever nearer to Flagstaff +we went, the wheels gliding noiselessly over the smooth lava-track +that wound its way in and out of the pine trees and up and over the +foothills and valleys towards the West. We enter a large valley, +from which a wonderful view of the San Francisco Peaks delights the +traveller. They are barely a half-dozen miles away now; their great +volcanic cones, over a couple of miles in height above the sea, can be +seen as sharply and as clearly as though they were but 100 yards away. +So mighty are they, and so pure is the air of Arizona, that on a clear +day they can be seen for 200 miles in any direction.</p> + +<p>At last the small town of Flagstaff is reached. It is clean, modern, +and laid out in pretentious square blocks, some with only a few +bungalows built thereon. Evening was drawing on. Not having had a +meal for over twelve hours, I hied me to a restaurant where puffed +cereals and apricot pies and mugs of good coffee effected a miraculous +disappearance. Thereafter I followed the scent of a comfortable hotel, +where once more I slept the sleep of the righteous.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a><br /><br /> + +THE GRAND CANYON</h2> + + +<p>I woke up next morning feeling very groggy, for no reason accountable +to myself. It was Sunday. My first endeavour would be to fulfil one of +the desires of my boyhood. It lay at my very door.</p> + +<p>The Lowell Observatory at Flagstaff is known throughout the whole of +the civilized world. Years ago, hundreds and thousands of people read +with unabated interest of the theories and discoveries of Professor +Lowell concerning the planet Mars. In his book, <em class="italic">Mars and its Canals</em>, +he recorded the researches of a lifetime on this most interesting of +planets. He announced his conviction that civilized life of a very high +order was present and flourishing on Mars, and supported his theory +with exhaustive data and series of beautiful photographs of the planet +at different times and under different aspects—the result of the work +carried out at the Lowell Observatory which he himself had founded, +built, and maintained at his own expense.</p> + +<p>In my boyhood's days that book read like a wonderful fairy story, +illustrated with photographs that were far more wonderful and far more +strange than the merely pretty pictures of fancy. Some day, I promised +myself, I would see the Lowell Observatory, and look through the giant +telescope that revealed to the human eye, millions of miles away, so +much of the mysterious and the unknown.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="san_fran_peaks"></a> +<img src="images/i178a.jpg" width="600" height="280" alt="San Francisco Peaks from Flagstaff." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">San Francisco Peaks from Flagstaff.</span></div> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="lowell_obs"></a> +<img src="images/i178b.jpg" width="600" height="368" alt="The Lowell Observatory, Flagstaff." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Lowell Observatory, Flagstaff.</span></div> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="trail_grand_canyon"></a> +<img src="images/i178c.jpg" width="600" height="316" alt="The Trail to the Grand Canyon." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Trail to the Grand Canyon.</span></div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> +<p>And here I stood, at the door of the hotel, but a few hundred yards +from that same Observatory. Looking up the main street I could plainly +see the white dome, perched on the summit of a hill overlooking the +town, surrounded, but unobscured, by the tall pine trees that clustered +thickly on its slopes.</p> + +<p>An hour later I was standing inside the great dome. The dream had come +true.</p> + +<p>The astronomers of "Mars Hill" treated me, like all visitors, with the +utmost hospitality. My wishes to see this and that and the other thing +had only to be expressed, and they were granted. I was shown the result +of years upon years of tireless, ceaseless research. In the library, +a magnificently designed and equipped building, I found myself in a +veritable Monte Cristo's cave. Arranged around the walls, and lit from +behind by a wonderful system of electric lights, were treasures of far +more value than would appear to the casual, disinterested sightseer. +There were transparent photographs of planets, star clusters, nebulæ, +and comets by the hundred, some but a fraction of an inch in diameter, +and others several feet across. There were volumes of records and +reports of every Observatory, besides astronomical and other scientific +works of all classes, sizes, and tongues.</p> + +<p>Hours afterwards I slowly descended the path that wound down the +hill-side through the pine trees, wrapped in thought and proudly +conscious of having at last achieved something that for so long had +been but a vague vision of the imagination.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately my indisposition of the morning did not disappear. It +increased. I surmised that somewhere or other I had drunk some poisoned +water—an easy thing to do—and must suffer the consequences.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + +<p>The consequences I suffered were those of ptomaine poisoning. The +next day was spent in the throes of it. I crept out of bed for an +hour or two, with just enough courage to visit the garage to whose +charge I had confined Lizzie for an overhaul. Finding her once again +in pieces, but with no parts broken, I returned, with a sigh of relief +and a body full of pains, to bed. I had discovered that many patrons +of a certain restaurant—the one which I had so heartily greeted upon +my arrival—had also suffered from ptomaine poisoning. I reflected +that this was an ailment that often proved fatal. But I determined +that it would not be so in my case, at any rate not until Lizzie and +I had gazed down on the deep blue waters of the Pacific Ocean. That +accomplished, anything could happen!</p> + +<p>The next day found things much brighter. The sickness was fast +disappearing, and I was consoled towards midday by the sight of +Lizzie erected, tested, and passed O.K. I was, however, sceptical of +the youth to whom, in my indisposition, I had entrusted her delicate +body. He had sworn that he had overhauled Hendersons until he could +do them blindfold. With characteristic American modesty he claimed to +be the only man between Kansas City and Los Angeles who knew anything +at all about the breed. That made me a trifle suspicious at the +outset. Furthermore, he had agreed to turn in on Sunday and commence +operations, but when Sunday came he was hardly conspicuous by his +presence—the garage door was locked.</p> + +<p>However, I paid over the required quota of dollars with Spartan +stoicism and took Lizzie once more unto my bosom. Being naturally of +a lazy disposition and a firm believer in the futility of walking +whenever there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> is the remotest opportunity of some form of mechanical +transit being available, I had deferred an extensive survey of the town +until I could execute it in comfort.</p> + +<p>Originally a stores depot on the early trail through the West, +Flagstaff soon became a ranching centre and a kind of "Mecca" for +cow-boys, globe-trotters, wasters, drifters, Indians, Mexicans, and, +of late years, speculators and East-weary business men. Although +boasting only a few thousand inhabitants, the town is growing fast, +and naturally where towns grow fast—a thing known only in the west of +America and the Colonies—the "real estate" agents flourish in their +legions. The people of Flagstaff are "boosters," and so do all they can +to encourage and quicken the growth of their neat little town. Many +come there, buy a plot of land in one of the outlying blocks, build +a bungalow and settle down for good, charmed with the climate, the +atmosphere, the surroundings, the great pine forests, and the view to +the north of the mighty Peaks that are almost always capped with snow +and seem to look down and protect the little town that lies scattered +at their feet.</p> + +<p>Next morning I had concluded all preparations for the fulfilment +of another life-long desire. My next ambition was to see the Grand +Canyon of the Colorado, of which I had read much in school-books in my +childhood.</p> + +<p>In and out through the pine trees we swung once again, darting down +sudden dips in the road and skipping up little hills all fresh with +grass and thick wild flowers. In ten or fifteen miles of exquisite +woodland scenery we had come once more to the fringe of the forest. +Ahead lay plain, prairie, and desert, with never a town or a village or +a house to be seen until the Canyon was reached<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> seventy odd miles to +the north. On the left rose the great San Francisco Peaks, clothed in +green and white. On the right lay Sunset Mountain, a volcanic cinder +cone of ruddy-brown hue, that glistened in the morning sunlight.</p> + +<p>Slowly they were left behind as we hopped, skipped, and jumped over the +rough trail that swerved and twisted untiringly through the strangest +country imaginable. Here it would be broad and sandy; there it would +narrow down almost to nothing; further on, it would make a sudden bend +and dip across a "wash" or some waterless river that had never known a +bridge; then it would enter a beautiful valley all aglow with golden +flowers that crowded thickly up its sides—there were yellow flowers +everywhere, in each direction as far as the eye could see, and at +the same time so close that they were swept aside by the machine as +it passed. Then that picture passed away and there remained just two +deep undulating ruts that struggled persistently across a wilderness +of sand, rock, and boulder. We passed on either side the remains of +ancient volcanoes, now but solitary hills rising abruptly from the +desert around. Then appeared giant heaps of stone clustered strangely +together, the ruins of ancient towns for many a thousand years +deserted. Then for miles and miles was nothing but barren, arid waste +that tired one's patience and cut one's tyres and shook one's limbs, +while thousands upon thousands of prairie-dogs were ever running, +hurrying, scurrying away from the intruder upon their solitude. Their +holes were everywhere, even in the ruts of the trail that stretched +always like a forgotten, lifeless thing through this land of scorching +loneliness.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> + +<p>Four hours and a half we had now been travelling, and not a soul, not +even a sign of a living being had we seen, save the merry little vermin +that scurried off at the sound and the sight of us. For the first time +in the whole of the trip I felt a great sense of loneliness creeping +over me. The solitude, the peace of the great barren distances at last +made itself known—it was a solitude and a peace that I had never felt +before. It took time for me to appreciate its worth. I amused myself by +bursting suddenly into song. All the old familiar refrains came to my +aid, were they hymn tunes or ridiculous rag-time airs.</p> + +<p>Feeling absurd—even positively ridiculous—in my efforts to remain +cheerful at all costs, but comforted by the thought that there was no +one to witness my insanity, I continued thus until my voice rebelled +and I relapsed once again into stony—very stony—silence!</p> + +<p>Once again the trail entered a great forest; huge pine trees and cedar +trees closed densely around and the trail branched and split here and +there to avoid them. The vegetation grew thicker. It seemed wonderful +how it could possibly thrive in such a country. Not a drop of water +had I seen for eighty miles, when suddenly a most beautiful vista +appeared directly ahead of me. There was a wonderful lake bordered with +giant pine trees, its waters still and flat like a great jewel. At its +edge a few horses were drinking. It was such a magnificent sight that +I was forced to stop to admire it to the full. I breathed a prayer +that my little pocket camera would do it justice, and convey, if only +a fraction, some of that entrancing charm that hung over its glassy +waters.</p> + +<p>On once again we rode, through avenues of pine and cedar; the further +we went, the thicker the forest grew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> and the greater the stately +trees became. It was possible only to see a few yards ahead in some +places.... "But say, we must be getting near the Canyon soon! How can +all this be?" I asked myself.</p> + +<p>Swerving now to the right, now to the left, to avoid some obstacle, now +leaving the trail altogether to ride on the soft green grass at the +side, when a boulder or a fallen branch blocked the way, it was like +exploring one of those magic forests where fairies....</p> + +<p>The thought was never finished.</p> + +<p>It seemed as if the whole earth had suddenly stopped dead. There, in +front, the great tree trunks stood silhouetted against space itself. It +was as though something dreadful had happened. Beyond was tremendous, +awful nothingness that made the observer catch his breath and sent a +shiver throughout his frame. But see, there, on the distant horizon, +like a dimly-coloured shadow, lies the opposite side of the gigantic +rift, ten, twenty—aye, in places thirty miles away. It is a sight to +enjoy in silence, with reverence and with fear. Once seen, it is never +to be forgotten, that first glimpse of the greatest of all natural +wonders—the Grand Canyon of the Colorado.</p> + +<p>The trail made a sudden swerve to the left and followed close to its +brink. There were some wooden railings; beyond, a varying strip of +broken, rocky moorland; and then, space. Leaving Lizzie, I clambered +down a narrow pathway carved in the rocks that led to a jutting +prominence known as "Grand View Point." Seated on a huge lump of +limestone that reared like a lofty pinnacle thousands of feet above +the chasm below, I surveyed in mute bewilderment the overpowering, +awe-inspiring sight.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Grand Canyon has never been described. It is too immense, too +sublime, too unearthly for mere words to convey one iota of its might +and majesty. One struggles with the futility of mere expression +by words where such a spectacle is concerned and finds that all +the known phrases and well-used artifices of speech are useless to +convey to another the sense of infinite grandeur that only sight can +appreciate—and that so feebly!</p> + +<p>The Canyon is a titanic rift in the earth, over 200 miles in length. +The Colorado River, hardly ever seen from its brinks, lies 6,000 feet +below the surface of the plain through which it has cut. Æons of +time have been taken in the making of it, and it is yet but young, +its progress still continuing. That sinister river, to reach which +takes a seven-mile walk down the trail that leads to its waters, has +cut down through strata of rock that took untold millions of years +to be deposited, has cut lower and lower until it has come to the +very beginning, the foundation of the earth, and then it has carved +its way even through the granite, the very crust of the earth, to a +depth of almost 1,000 feet. Eternal erosion by water, winds, and frost +has helped it to play its part, and now nigh on 2,000 cubic miles +of limestone, sandstone, and granite have disappeared entirely—all +carried as sediment into the Pacific Ocean by the river that for ever +swirls and rages in its bosom.</p> + +<p>The actual settlement that goes by the name of the Grand Canyon is +twenty miles further on. The trail follows closely the rim of the +Canyon, cutting through the fringe of the "Coconino National Forest," +with its stately pine trees that crowd up to the very edge of the +plateau.</p> + +<p>When the end of the trail is reached, it is as though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> the traveller +had arrived at the edge of the world. On the right is a luxurious, +low-built hotel all but toppling over the edge; on the left is a +railway station; and that is all. The road almost doubles back on +itself, swerving due south towards the Continental Trail eighty miles +away. I do not mean to imply that at the end of this world there will +be either a luxurious hotel or a railway station at the service of +the weary traveller, but the appearance of finality of all things is +complete when one is faced with that terrible chasm ahead.</p> + +<p>For three days and three nights I sojourned at the Canyon, content +to gaze upon its ever-changing colours, and to marvel at the wealth +of beauty and variation of spectacle that lay in its mighty bosom, +always changing, always fresh, always more wonderful than before. +One day after breakfast I began strolling down the narrow "Bright +Angel Trail" that leads from the summit to the river. Between two +and three feet wide in most places, it is wonderfully built and kept +in excellent repair for the mule-back parties of tourists that daily +descend its seven tortuous miles in the morning and ascend them again +in the evening. In places it is like a spiral pathway down an almost +perpendicular wall. One looks over and sees it doubling and folding and +twisting on itself like a thin white line until it is lost behind some +prominence thousands of feet below.</p> + +<p>I did not mean to walk down. Walking is not my forte; I only set out +to take a few photographs. I have the best of reasons for believing +that people never walk down the Canyon. Instead they bulge upon +diminutive mules in strings of twenty or thirty or more and make the +descent slowly, nervously, solemnly, and more or less in comfort. True, +there are places where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> the trail is so precipitous that they have to +dismount for safety's sake, but to walk the whole way would be absurd.</p> + +<p>Perhaps that was the reason I found myself tramping down the long, +steep trail. The more photographs I took, the further down I went to +take another. One view followed another with endless change. At every +turn there was some new sensation, some fresh vista that just cried out +for remembrance. In this way I gradually found myself descending into +the depths of the Canyon. Truly it is the most wonderful walk I have +ever had.</p> + +<p>It was as though the traveller were entering a new world of a new +climate, new scenery, and new sensations. Up on the plateau at the top +the altitude was 8,000 feet above sea level, and the heat there had +been intense. But as I descended thousand after thousand of feet into +the bowels of the earth, the air became more dense and the heat more +intense until at the bottom, over 6,000 feet below, the climate was +almost tropical. Further, the great "temples"—the fragments of the +plateau where the erosion had left isolated mountains remaining within +the gorge—took on a far different aspect when viewed from below. +From above one saw them as one would see hills and valleys from an +aeroplane—with hardly any relief. But from below they loomed up sharp +against the sky, each one a mighty mountain in itself. What seemed +from the brink to be a mere blotch of green mould on the bare rocks +below proved on closer acquaintance to be a luxurious coppice, dense +with trees and shrubs and tall, thick grass. Minute specks of black +scattered broadcast on the slope turned out to be trees that eked out +a scanty but sufficient livelihood on the crevices and the crags. A +brown, inconspicuous carpet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> from above developed into a huge tropical +plateau several miles across. So clear is the atmosphere and so great +are the distances that magnitudes are ridiculed and illusions raised to +the point of absurdity.</p> + +<p>It was well after midday when I reached the bottom and watched the +roaring, rushing Colorado, like a great yellow flood, lashing its angry +way between the steep walls of the granite gorge. Above, it had been +invisible, unknown, and whisperless.</p> + +<p>The walk back developed into a tiring, eternal struggle up an +interminable staircase that had no stairs. Sometimes I half decided +to rest until next day. At intervals I grasped my knees in my hands +and helped to lift the heavy, tired feet one above the other. I +abused myself heartily for not having furnished myself with reserve +refreshments before starting, and then remembered that I had only set +out to take a few pictures; I had quenched my thirst at a little creek +six hours before, but felt that a meal of some kind would be acceptable.</p> + +<p>I arrived at the top about 5.30. The mule-party had overtaken me a +quarter of an hour before. They had only stopped half an hour at the +bottom for lunch.</p> + +<p>"Waal, I've done some walkin' in my time, boss, but I guess you've +gotten the best pair o' legs that ever MY optics did see," was the +remark of one heavily-spectacled American who beamed from his mule upon +me as he passed.</p> + +<p>"Aye, that's so," echoed others in the long file with undisguised +approbation.</p> + +<p>So the reader will observe that I am already becoming Americanized, +even in true modesty!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="bottom_grand_canyon"></a> +<img src="images/i188.jpg" width="600" height="381" alt="The Bottom of the Grand Canyon." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Bottom of the Grand Canyon.</span><br /> +<em class="italic"><small>By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler.</small></em></div> +</div> + +<p>My stay at the Canyon was longer than I had anticipated. Considerable +rain had fallen on the second day,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> and a report came through that +the road in places had been washed clean away. Just what that meant I +did not know, but I did not fear it in the slightest. My experience of +the roads in Arizona was that they were much better away than present. +But I had no taste for mud, so I waited for the sun to do its work +before starting back again.</p> + +<p>I left the Grand Canyon with regret. Everything was so wonderful +and I just seemed to have begun to make friends with it. At first +it all seemed so great, so awful, so grotesque as to give one the +impression of anything but friendliness. I had begun to overcome that +feeling, as everyone does in time. The truth is that it takes a long +acquaintanceship with the giant wonders of the world to form anything +approaching a true idea of them.</p> + +<p>Mud there was in plenty on the way back. In the forest going was bad +and slow, for the sun had not had its due quota of time to play upon +the damp earth. But in the open there was a marked improvement. The +only evidence of the heavy rains was an occasional pool of water +between the tracks of the road that had not yet been completely dried +up, and this remained as a pool of muddy water within a ring of soft, +dark-brown mud.</p> + +<p>I was glad that progress was not so bad as I had expected. I was tired +of making slow progress, low averages, and big delays, so whenever I +had the chance I gave Lizzie her reins and with many bursts of speed +where the condition of the road permitted, and occasional hold-ups +where it did not, we made pretty good progress for a couple of hours.</p> + +<p>Until....</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> + +<p>We were about half-way between the Canyon and Flagstaff. The country +was bare and rocky—almost on the fringe of the "Painted Desert." I was +riding on the narrow but level track between the two large ruts that +formed the road. I was furthermore enjoying a little burst of speed, my +eyes glued on the little strip below me, for if I but once missed it +and allowed Lizzie to slip into either of those deep, treacherous ruts +that bordered it, there would be a nasty smash.</p> + +<p>I must have been too careful, for I had not noticed a fairly large and +deep mud-pool dead in the centre of the track and only a few yards +ahead of me. There were just about three or four inches between either +side of it and those terrible ruts. If I banged into it, it would mean +a nasty jar to the machine and possible damage. I judged I could steer +round all right without fouling the rut.</p> + +<p>The front wheel went through splendidly. The back one, approaching at +an angle as I swerved, did not. It just skimmed the greasy edge of the +pool and commenced momentarily to side-slip down into the hollow. That +was the beginning of the end. I was going fast, and the equilibrium +of the machine had been suddenly upset. The nightmare known as a +"speed-wobble" ensued.</p> + +<p>I did my utmost to check it, but it got worse and worse. From one side +to the other the machine swayed, like a great pendulum, swinging faster +and faster and each time through a greater distance. For some time I +managed to keep the swerves within the limits of the track without +fouling the ruts and the rocks at the side, but it was no use; I saw a +fearful crash coming.</p> + +<p>The wobble developed at an alarming speed; no doubt the heavy baggage +on the carrier helped. At the end<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> of each oscillation the machine was +at a still greater, a still more ridiculous angle to the ground. The +front wheel caught something. It had to come sooner or later. With +a wild lurch we crashed down on the loose rocks and boulders that +bordered the trail. Our momentum was soon absorbed owing to the rough +nature of the rocks and boulders aforesaid.</p> + +<p>"Here endeth the trip to the coast. Farewell, Lizzie; it might have +happened sooner, you know, old girl." That's what I was saying to +myself as I struggled from underneath her remains!</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a><br /><br /> + +THE MOHAVE DESERT</h2> + + +<p>I have often thought there must be a guardian angel watching over +mad motor-cyclists. Certainly in my case some theory of that sort is +necessary to account for the almost entire immunity from personal +damage that I have always experienced when fate has led me into crashes +of all kinds. At one time and another I have performed wonderful +acrobatic feats after a bad skid or a sudden encounter in the dark with +a stray horse or a flock of sheep. By all the laws of nature and common +sense, I should long since have ceased to labour on this earthly plane. +Instead of that, I continue to flourish like the green bay tree, the +terror of the country I inhabit, and the bane of the Company that has +the misfortune to insure my machines!</p> + +<p>Thus it happened that when I extricated myself from the debris, I found +myself still sound in wind and limb. Apart from one finger having been +crushed between the handle and the final boulder, and the absence +of one or two square inches of good epidermis here and there, I had +nothing whatever to complain of.</p> + +<p>Lizzie, however, wore a forlorn look. Her left handlebar was badly bent +and most of the controls and projections on her starboard side were +either bent backwards or swept clean away. The stand, a heavy steel +structure strong enough to make a suspension bridge, had broken<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> away +altogether, and had not the footboard been of the collapsing type, it +would undoubtedly have shared the same fate.</p> + +<p>An hour of doctoring, with frequent applications of wire and insulation +tape, and Lizzie was going again. I was relieved in the extreme to find +that after all there was a chance of continuing to the coast under her +own power. My forefinger pained a trifle, and I could not bear to bend +it. I believe always in leaving Nature to carry out her own repairs—it +saves a lot of time and bother and generally gets the job finished much +quicker in the end, so I spent no time in doctoring it.</p> + +<p>We got back to Flagstaff all right that evening and, accepting the +hospitality of one of the astronomers at Mars Hill, I spent the night +at his bungalow up amongst the pine trees. It was nearly a month before +I regained the use of my finger and over three months before the sense +of feeling came back to it. Evidently it had been broken at or near the +joint.</p> + +<p>Two days afterwards I made an unwilling exit from Flagstaff. I was so +enamoured with the spirit of the West and the cordiality of its people, +as well as the scenery and the climate, that it seemed a shame to move +away. But how could I do otherwise when in three days' good running +I should be enjoying the reality of the deep blue Pacific washing up +against the fringe of some golden Californian valley?</p> + +<p>From Flagstaff to Williams, a thirty-mile jaunt, the road traversed +the edges of the Coconino Forest. In places it was almost impassable. +Stretches of rock-hard mud, that had been cut up into fantastic shapes, +hindered progress for hundreds of yards at a stretch. I had often to +resort to the old expedient of chipping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> the edges of the ruts away in +advance to enable Lizzie's cradle frame to get through. Then for miles +there were stretches of incredible roughness where often I left the +road and scrambled over the rough prairie at the side, leaping over +gullies, mounds, cracks, and rocks in preference to the treacherous +trail. But the wild scenery compensated for everything. It was +exquisite.</p> + +<p>Town after town slowly but surely went by, and as they did so, the +country grew wilder and the climate hotter. The trail wound through +great gorges with towering cliffs that obscured most of the sky. +Mad rivers would come rushing down from mountain sides and seldom +were there bridges with which to cross them. Vegetation became less +plentiful and here and there were stretches of barren prairie land with +great boulders and masses of rock spread indiscriminately about them.</p> + +<p>Past Ashforks, some sixty miles from Flagstaff, I came upon a Ford car +by a wide, rough-bedded, unbridged river. The owner, dressed in blue +combination overalls (the standard garment of the West) was playing +round it with a "monkey-wrench."</p> + +<p>"Want anything, brother?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"No thanks, nothing wrong," he replied, eyeing Lizzie and me +curiously up and down. "Gee! What the ..." (his eye caught the number +plate)—"Well, I'll be goldarned!"</p> + +<p>"How's the road ahead?" I asked, ignoring his evident amazement at one +so young having come so far!</p> + +<p>"Pretty tough in places. You've got a fairly good run for a hundred +miles, but you've got to keep your eyes skinned for washouts. There's a +big one about ten miles further on, just before you come to Pineveta. +You can't miss it. It's just beyond a big cliff on the left side<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> where +it says '<span class="smcap">Repent Your Sins, the End is at Hand</span>.' And by G—, +you'd better repent 'em quick in case anything does happen!"</p> + +<p>Washouts there were, good and plentiful. Great gullies had been cut +across the roads by the rains. Many were not visible much before they +were felt. On the whole it was exciting running.</p> + +<p>Pineveta was a most "movie-looking" town. I could easily have imagined +myself a Gaumont operator on several occasions. Every building, whether +a house, the village church or the town hall, was of wood and of the +simplest construction possible. Everything seemed loose, ramshackle +and toppling. It was a good home for the tough guys of the West, +where towns spring up in a night, prosper awhile and then fade into +insignificance.</p> + +<p>After Seligman, another twenty miles further on, the trail showed signs +of nervous prostration. It led into a great canyon whose grey walls +towered high on either side. Then it seemed to say to the traveller, +"See here, Boss, you can go on if you like, I'm staying right here; +had enough of this." It had already dwindled down to a couple of ruts +in the sandy bed of the canyon and now it was besieged on all sides +with dense growths of grey scrub, like sage-brush. Even the ruts were +barely visible and now appeared only in white patchy blotches through +the scrub that grew a foot or a couple of feet high in dense, clustered +tufts. It seemed as though something would have to be done about it +soon.</p> + +<p>Finally we came to a wooden fence, rudely but effectively constructed +and barring the way entirely. Behind the fence was a railway track. +Evidently it was necessary to cross the track somewhere but not the +slightest opportunity did there appear of doing so. I explored awhile.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> + +<p>On the left, where the trail had ended, the fence showed signs of +having been pulled down and ruts in the ground bore witness to traffic +having gone that way at some time or another more or less remote. But +stay, what is this? A large post had been torn down from the fence and +laid right across the track of the apparent detour. In the middle of +it, and fastened on by a piece of wire, was a scrap of paper bearing +the following anonymous inscription in scrawled handwriting—"<span class="smcap">Doant +go this rode cant get thru.</span>"</p> + +<p>Now wasn't this kind of some one? I began to wonder if I would have +gone to the same trouble if I had struggled through a fence on an old +Ford car (I was sure from the writing that it was a Ford) and after +proceeding half a mile or so over interminable boulders and gullies had +found it necessary to come back again. I came to the conclusion that I +<span class="smcap">would</span>, at any rate, if I was in the West, and thus consoled, I +proceeded to search for another outlet.</p> + +<p>Yes, here were a pair of ruts leading off backwards at a tangent. Where +they went was not possible to see, for they were overgrown with scrub. +I started Lizzie once again, put her front wheel into the deeper of +the ruts and set off whither it should take me. It was faithful and +true. Brushing the bushes sideways with the machine as we passed, we +arrived in half a mile at a gate where a good wide road appeared. It +was the entrance to the "city" of Nelson, consisting of a few shacks, +a ranch-house and a railway station. After opening a few more gates we +crossed the rails at a level crossing and were going once again swiftly +westwards.</p> + +<p>"Dinner in Peach Springs," I told myself. Peach Springs on my AAA Map +was a fair-sized town fifteen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> miles ahead. Evening was drawing on and +there would not be much light left for travelling, but where dinner was +concerned it was another matter. Proceed we must, until fodder hove in +sight.</p> + +<p>Slowly the canyon was left behind. The country opened out and became +flatter. Vast rolling plains appeared, with cedar woods creeping down +their slopes. The air was sultry, hardly a breeze stirred in the trees; +wild pigeons in hundreds flew hither and thither; occasionally a young +antelope or a great jack rabbit leaped across the plains. I hardly gave +them a thought. My mind dwelt upon an imaginary tin of pineapple chunks +somewhere in the distance!</p> + +<p>Peach Springs showed no trace of materializing when required. There was +no sign of it anywhere where it should have been. I stopped at a wooden +shack near the roadside. There was a Bowser pump outside the door.</p> + +<p>An old man with a goat's beard appeared at the door.</p> + +<p>"A couple of gallons of gas, please," I shouted, and while he pumped +it in I surveyed the surroundings; there was another little shack not +far away and two dirty-looking Mexican women were sitting down outside. +Here and there, round about, lay rubbish, pieces of timber, tin cans +and other débris.</p> + +<p>"Guess you get mighty lonesome here, dad?"</p> + +<p>"Aw, dunno," he replied. "Bin here nigh on forty years. Guess I got +purty well accustomed to it now."</p> + +<p>"Forty years! I should say so!... Thanks. Say, how far's Peach Springs +from here?"</p> + +<p>"Peach Springs? This is Peach Springs. You're in it right here," and he +pointed to his shack.</p> + +<p>"<em class="italic">This</em> Peach Springs? I thought it was a big town with umpteen +thousand people in it."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And so it was, till they moved it."</p> + +<p>"Moved it?" I stood aghast at the thought of such a horrible thing.</p> + +<p>"Aye, I mind the time when there was over 40,000 people in Peach +Springs. They'd all come in a heluva sweat lookin' for gold, and what's +more, they found it. Then the gold begun to give out until in the end +there warn't none at all, an' when the gold went the people went with +it. I'm the only one as didn't go and I guess I'm not much concerned +about it neither. Provisions and gas and oil are better'n grubbin' +after gold all yer life."</p> + +<p>"Provisions?" I queried. "Got any pineapple chunks?"</p> + +<p>"Sure thing. Got everything."</p> + +<p>Overcome with emotion, I filled my pockets with tinned fruit and +biscuits.</p> + +<p>That night my camp fire burned in a glorious spot sheltered by high +cliffs. Fuel was scarce, there were just a few dried-up bushes to burn, +but it was splendid, camping there with the beautiful clear sky above, +the stars shining as I had never known them shine before.</p> + +<p>On again we went at dawn. This time it was to leave behind the cedar +forests and the towering canyons. We were getting near the fringe +of the great arid desert that stretches for nearly 300 miles to the +heart of California. Gradually the ground became flat, almost as flat +as the proverbial pancake. On it grew no vegetation at all, save the +scanty sage-brush that can flourish where all other things die. Miles +away, but clear enough to be only a few hundred yards, rose ranges of +saw-toothed, evil-looking mountains, as barren as barrenness could be. +Ahead lies the trail stretching beyond the traveller's vision<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> to the +horizon. On the left runs a fence. Beyond the fence is the Santa Fé +Railway. The telegraph poles and the distant mountains are the only +objects that break the interminable flatness. The sky is cloudless and +the heat of the sun intense. At every five or ten miles a stop is made +to drink water from the bag on the handlebar. One has a glorious thirst +in these parts.</p> + +<p>Mile after mile goes by, and hour after hour. The sun grows higher in +the heavens, its rays pour down upon my back with unrelenting fury. +When shall we get to anywhere? The inner man grows weary of fasting in +this infernal heat. A massive rock, lying all alone in the vast plain +on the right, asks: "Why will ye not repent?" Oh, the irony of it! The +man who painted that rock was a fanatic, but he knew what he was about.</p> + +<p>Kingman at last! Kingman meant breakfast. Breakfast meant water melons +and coffee and pies and other good—nay, beautiful—things. Kingman +meant drinks and ices and sundries to one's heart's content, and one's +pocket's contents.</p> + +<p>On again I pursue my way, feeling like a new man. Next stop Yucca, +thirty miles. Gee! the sun is hot. Nearly eleven. My stars, what +will it be like at one? Everything is sand now—underneath, around, +everywhere. The wheels tear it up in clouds as they skim through. +Sometimes they slip sideways in it and flounder about, trying to grip +on to something firm. Sometimes we slither over altogether but the sand +is soft and spills do not disturb one much. But the sun—I wish it +would stop working a bit!</p> + +<p>Vegetation appears once again, but of a very strange kind. It is a +vegetation that is different from any we know in Europe. It is at the +same time grotesque, mysterious,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> ridiculous, wonderful and luxurious. +It is desert vegetation. You have always thought of deserts as devoid +of every sign of vegetation? It is not so in the great deserts of +America. Life abounds but, as if in recompense for the privilege of +living, it has to take strange forms. Yet, if they are strange, it is +only in comparison with the vegetation to which in temperate climes we +are accustomed. The unnumbered varieties of cactus plants and trees are +in reality beautiful and strange beyond description. They are always +green, always fresh and always beautiful. It is a kind of "Futurist" +beauty that adorns them. The cactus trees, for instance, have their +leafless branches projecting almost at right angles to the trunk, and +they in turn branch out in a similar manner, presenting a grotesque +appearance. The tall and beautiful Ocatilla—one can almost refer to +it as a desert "shrub"—springs directly from the ground like several +long waving feelers bunched together below and spread apart above. The +prickly-pear, with its needle-covered fleshy leaves, each one joined +on to another without stem or stalk, presents a most weird aspect. +Even the modest and unassuming sage-brush, the poor down-trodden "John +Citizen" of every desert, seems to have been arranged on the barren +plain in regular rectangles and rows, spaced at mathematical distances +apart.</p> + +<p>The secret is that each one has to think of only one thing—water. Each +cactus plant or tree is provided in itself with the means of storing +a reserve of water. Moisture is the one great thing that dominates +them all. That being so, the constitution of desert vegetation has +to be altogether different from that of humid climates just as our +constitutions would have to be entirely different if we lived on Mars, +where there is hardly any water at all.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<p>This was truly a world of wild fancy. It would be ridiculous—I +thought—to try to explain a scene like this to people who had +never seen anything but ordinary trees and plants and flowers. They +would laugh in scorn when I tried to describe to them that strange +conglomeration of fanciful shapes, those mad-looking cactus trees with +every joint dislocated, those weird Ocatilla waving their long slender +arms twenty and thirty feet above the ground. And look at that great +organ-pipe cactus over there, nothing but a huge light-green fleshy +trunk, with two or three other trunks all perfectly straight and +perfectly vertical on top of it! How could one possibly describe things +like that?</p> + +<p>"With a Watch-Pocket 'Carbine,' of course. What else?" I mused and +stopped to take out my camera from the toolbox. It was not so easily +done as said. The toolbox lid seemed red-hot to my fingers. I could not +bear my hand on the top of the tank even.</p> + +<p>Oh, water, water: how beautiful thou art! Even when imbibed under +hand-pressure from a smelly canvas water-bag!</p> + +<p>Could it <span class="smcap">ever</span> get any hotter than this? The only way was to +keep going, the faster the better. Then the heat, with frequent drinks, +was just tolerable. When I stopped, it was like being plunged suddenly +into a great furnace. Never mind; there would be ice-creams at Yucca. +On again, as fast as we can, leaping over gullies, ploughing through +the loose white sand. Lower and lower we get as we travel. The gradient +is not noticeable, for there are ups and downs all the way, and ridges +of hills here and there. All the same, we are making a steady descent. +In a couple of dozen miles we shall cross the River Colorado. That +morning we were over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> a mile high above it. Now we are at its level. +That explains the increasing heat the further we go, and further on for +hundreds of miles the road lies but a few feet above the level of the +sea; in places it is actually below it.</p> + +<p>In the distance appear trees—poplars, eucalyptus and cedars. They +denote the small ramshackle town of Yucca, like an island in the plain. +The trail widens into a road. Living beings are seen, horses, carts +and motor-cars. It is the civilized world once again. What Yucca does +for a living I am at a loss to know. It cannot certainly be a ranching +town. Probably there is a little gold in the vicinity and it is a small +trading centre. Probably it is more important as a thirst-quenching +centre!</p> + +<p>A short stop and on we went again into the desert, leaving behind +us the little oasis, and plunging ahead into a still hotter region. +The strange cactus trees and desert plants gathered round once more. +Rougher and rougher the road became. The sand gave place to sharp +loose grit interspersed with rocks and jutting boulders. As it did so, +gradually the luxurious vegetation of the desert grew thinner and the +dull miserable sage-brush took its place. The trail divided up into two +deep and solitary ruts and in between them lay loose shale and grit +that absolutely defied progress. The wheels would sink in freely and +churn the road up aimlessly. It was necessary then to ride in one of +the ruts. Where they were broad this was not difficult, but when they +narrowed and deepened a spill was almost bound to occur if one wobbled +but a fraction of an inch from the dead centre of the rut. Negotiating +a road of this nature was something new in the sport of motor-cycling, +but it was exasperating. I was to find later that riding continuously +in a rut was like riding on a greasy road, in that the more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> carefully +one went and the more timid one grew, the more dangerous did the riding +become. Time and time again I was thrown off by fouling the side +of the rut and plunged headlong over the handlebars into the road. +The slower I went the more often was I thrown. If I travelled about +ten or twelve miles an hour I could maintain my balance by using my +feet where necessary. Riding at that speed, however, was out of the +question. It was better to go faster and risk the frequent spills than +to be roasted alive. So I went faster. The faster I went the easier +was it to maintain balance naturally, because the steering became more +sensitive and only a very small movement of the handlebars within the +limits of the rut would suffice to correct any deviation from perfect +balance. I found that at between thirty-five and forty miles an hour +it was moderately easy to follow the rut through the swerves in its +course. But even then, occasionally there would be a nasty spill, a +few bent levers and some scratches. (I learned a week or so later from +"Cannonball Baker," the famous American racer, that he travels in these +same ruts at between fifty and sixty!)</p> + +<p>Here and there the trail would cross a "wash" or a dried-up lake bed +and then the sand régime would reappear. And ever did death speak from +all around—desolation in bewildering intensity almost cried aloud +from the fire-swept waste that lay all about me. Often I passed the +remains of derelict cars left at the side of the road; sometimes it +was a mudguard or a spring, a tyre or a broken wheel; sometimes it was +a complete chassis, stripped of everything that could be taken away. +For what could be done in a region like this if the breakdown were too +large? Nothing but to push the car off the road and leave it to its +fate. Almost without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> exception the remains were of Ford cars. That +shows the wisdom of travelling in a machine that bears no great loss if +it is damaged or forsaken!</p> + +<p>Occasionally I passed a gigantic heap of small tins all rusty and +forlorn. I was puzzled at first. How did they get there? And why had +they been heaped up if they were the discarded food-tins of passing +travellers? But no. They are the sole remains of a "mushroom" town of +the West. In them one can picture the sudden growth and the almost +equally sudden decay of a settlement that thrived while there was gold +to be found in the vicinity.</p> + +<p>Here and there, too, were little heaps of bones, bleached white as +snow—the remains of a horse or a cow that had strayed. To lose +oneself, be it man or animal, is sure death in the Mohave Desert.</p> + +<p>It is just midday. The sun is vertically above. It beats down on my +shoulders and dries up the skin of my hands. My hair, over which I had +never worn a hat since I left New York, is bleached to a light yellow +colour and stands erect, stiff and brittle. The alkali sand and dust +have absorbed all the moisture from my fingers and gradually cracks +and cuts are developing in my finger tips and at the joints. I find +it easier to grasp the handlebars with the palms of my hands alone. +My clothes are saturated with dust and my trench boots are cut and +scratched, with the seams broken away; the right sole has pulled away +and threatens to come off altogether unless carefully used. I feel that +the sooner I get out of the Mohave Desert the better it will be for me.</p> + +<p>But the heat! It seems to know no shame, no pity. It is terrific. Every +five miles I stop and drink from the water bag. There is just enough +to carry me to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> next stop. For the first time I begin to long for +shelter from the burning rays. There is none around anywhere—not as +far as the horizon. I must push on quickly.... The rut suddenly breaks +and swerves away.... <span class="smcap">Crash!</span>... Up again, lose no time. On once +more; what matter if the footbrake doesn't work? A motor-cycle is made +to go, not to stop!</p> + +<p>In front, to the left, rise pinnacles of purple granite. They stick up +sharply into the sky like the teeth of a great monster grinning over +its prey. They are the "Needles," and they fringe the Colorado River. +What a glorious sight it will be to see a river again, with water +flowing in it.</p> + +<p>Now on the horizon appears a blotch of green. Its beauty in that yellow +wilderness is beyond description. It is the green of the stately poplar +trees that surround the railway station of Topock. That is where the +road and the railway and the river all meet, and where we leave Arizona +and enter the State of California. Thank Heaven it is not far away. The +pinnacles rise higher and higher, the little oasis grows bigger and +bigger, and the trees greener and taller.</p> + +<p>At last! Lizzie's rattle is silent. We come to rest under a great +shelter thatched with straw that has been erected by the roadside +opposite the restaurant—the only building in the town beside the +railway station. A few yards further on was a massive steel bridge 400 +yards long that spanned the Colorado. Beyond lay California, but I was +satisfied with Arizona and the straw-thatched shelter for an hour or +two.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>At two we crossed the great bridge. What good fortune<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> would California +bring, I wondered. It brought even worse roads than I had seen in +Arizona. There still remained over 200 miles of desert to be crossed. +The trail was very rough, like a mountain track at the start, full +of ups and downs and swerves and washes. Twelve miles further on I +arrived at the town of Needles, so tired and hot that I decided to +abandon travel until the evening. Then I would ride out into the desert +and make my bed under the steel-blue sky. I was too enamoured of the +wonderful sunsets and the glorious sunrises of the open plain to allow +them to pass unseen in a musty, stuffy hotel bedroom.</p> + +<p>Needles, I was surprised to find, was very much bigger than I had +expected. It is now a good-sized town and its main street a bustle of +activity. After disposing of a steak at a Chinese restaurant, I bought +a book and retired to the square. There I took off my tunic, rolled +up my shirt sleeves and lay on the grass beneath the tall, thick palm +trees and whiled away the hot afternoon hours.</p> + +<p>At evening as the setting sun was drawing a magic cloak over the +tropical sky, I stole out of Needles along the lonesome trail that I +had learnt to love. Except for low-lying mountains all around, there +was nothing but the everlasting sand and sage-brush. Behind lay the +gigantic plain and across it, like a silver snake, crept the great +silent river. It was the most impressive scene that I have ever beheld +from my bedroom window. My mattress was the sand with a waterproof +sheet laid upon it. Never did Monte Cristo with all his wealth sleep in +such luxury as that.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="mohave"></a> +<img src="images/i206a.jpg" width="600" height="372" alt="In the Mohave Desert." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">In the Mohave Desert.</span></div> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a id="cactus_trees"></a> +<img src="images/i206b.jpg" width="600" height="395" alt="Cactus Trees near San Bernardino, California." /> +<div class="caption"><span class="smcap">Cactus Trees near San Bernardino, California.</span></div> +</div> + +<p>He who all his life has associated the dawn with the soft greetings +of birds and the mellow noises of awakening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> nature, is struck at +once with the vast difference of desert countries. I have read that in +unexplored Africa and South America, the dawn is heralded by a mighty +tumult of millions of voices, a great chorus of every soul in the +great populace that lives in forest and jungle. In the Mohave Desert +the majesty of the dawn unfolds itself in deathly silence. The entire +absence of sound of any kind is awe-inspiring, almost weird, and the +observer can but watch and wonder at it as he sees the whole firmament +set ablaze with colours and shades that he never imagined existed, and +gradually the silent grandeur of the spectacle is revealed.</p> + +<p>It was with just such feelings that from my bed I watched the unfolding +of another day from the depths of the great silent plain which lay +beyond that thread of silver in the distance.</p> + +<p>And then, on again. There was a low range of mountains ahead to be +crossed. It was slow work and very tiring. The constant looseness of +the surface, the need for everlastingly keeping one's eyes glued to the +trail, and the terrible monotony of it all for mile after mile, made +me long all the more for a sight of the orange groves and the blue sea +beyond that to-morrow I might, if nothing unforeseen happened, enjoy. +Thus went fifteen, twenty, thirty miles. The first halt was reached. +It was only a railway station, a "hotel," a garage and two or three +houses, but it meant breakfast, and a good one at that, for the journey +that was ahead. Feeding over, out we went once more to brave the ruts +and the rocks and the sand, for miles and miles unending. The morning +sun grows slowly into a midday sun.</p> + +<p>We have been climbing a little. Low-lying ranges of absolutely bare, +purple-brown jagged hills seem to hem<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> us in. Soon we shall be across +them. Beyond there will be—what? More, perhaps. The road here has been +"oiled," that is, the sand has been levelled and then crude mineral oil +poured on. This hardens the crust and prevents the road from blowing +away, giving to the uninitiated the impression of well-laid macadam. It +is a relief after the loose sand, and it looks so strange for a black, +broad highway to be going across a desert! It does not last long, but +comes and goes in patches. Where it does appear it is often lumpy and +cut into grooves and slices. Nevertheless it is welcome.... The road +turns when it reaches the crest, continues for a few yards, and then....</p> + +<p>A marvellous sight has suddenly appeared, viewed from the meagre height +at which we stand. A great plain lies beneath and before us, greater +and flatter and more desolate than my imagination could ever have +conceived. All around it are mighty saw-toothed ranges of mountains +pressing close upon the horizon and fading away into nothingness. In +it is nothing, not a prominence of any kind, save the omnipresent +sage-brush that seems to stretch in streaky uniformity like a great +purple-brown veil above the cream-white sand. It is impossible to go +on—to do anything but stop and wonder that over so great an area +nature can be so desolate. It is wonderful, mystifying in its intensity.</p> + +<p>Did I say there was no prominence? What are those two minute specks +away over there in the heart of the plain? They must be a tremendous +distance away, but in their very minuteness they are conspicuous. It is +obvious that they are not there by the design of Nature.... As I look, +a tiny white speck appears further still to the left, as though it +emerged from behind the range<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> of mountains that I have just crossed. +Look! There is a short black tail behind it. It is a train!</p> + +<p>Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it moves across the great wilderness. The +black specks then are stations, small man-made oases where water has +been brought to the surface. Yes, it is true. Ten minutes elapse, and +the little white speck merges into the little black speck. Thus are +sizes and speeds dwarfed into insignificance when Nature has the mood +to show her magnitude!</p> + +<p>On again we go, spinning smoothly awhile over the smooth, oiled road. +It stops in a mile or two and leaves nothing but the old heart-rending, +twisting, wayward ruts and sand to guide us. Hours go by. They are +hours of wild effort, maddening heat, and interminable boredom. +Generally, every fifteen or twenty miles, there was a railway station +and a restaurant where one could stop for drinks, ices, and petrol.</p> + +<p>Four o'clock saw me in Ludlow, a small town, larger than the other +stops. I was dead tired. Come what may, I was not going to work myself +to death. I had done 200 miles since daybreak. That was enough for +anyone in a country like this.</p> + +<p>At eight o'clock I set out with Lizzie in the deepening twilight to +find a resting-place for the night. The road was oiled, but in most +places the sand of the desert had blown over it, covering it for +several inches in depth, and sometimes obliterating it from view for +many hundred yards.</p> + +<p>"I will sleep at the foot of yonder hill," quoth I, and saw visions of +concrete roads and orange groves beyond the horizon.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a><br /><br /> + +I REACH THE PACIFIC COAST</h2> + + +<p>I saw something else on the horizon too. It started as a little black +speck on the road, seeming to swerve now and then from one side to +another. It emitted a strange noise that at first was scarcely to be +heard, but increased until it reverberated indefinitely from the bare +angular mountain ranges.</p> + +<p>It was a motor-cycle!</p> + +<p>An inexpressible feeling of sympathy and comradeship surged through me, +as I realized that here was another fool starting to do what one fool +had already almost done. I wondered vaguely whether he knew what he was +doing.</p> + +<p>We both stopped, dismounted, and looked at each other for a few moments +before either spoke. The sight of another motor-cycle seemed to take +both of us by surprise. The stranger, a young man of twenty-four or so, +had an old twin-cylinder Excelsior that looked very much as if it had +seen better days. I led off the conversation.</p> + +<p>"Where do you reckon you're going on that?"</p> + +<p>"New York."</p> + +<p>"Ever done it before?"</p> + +<p>"Nope."</p> + +<p>"Insured?"</p> + +<p>"Nope."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Pleasure or business?"</p> + +<p>"Both." Here he fumbled around a huge bruise on his forehead. +"Leastways, that was the idea. I'm writing it up for the <em class="italic">Adventure +Magazine</em> when I'm through"—and he added guardedly, "That is, if I +don't kill meself with a few more headers like this."</p> + +<p>"How'd you get that?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Boy, I came such a crash on a bit of oiled roadway back there by +that salt-lake bed. Don't remember anything of it except being chucked +clean over the grips about fifty. My Gad, it was some crash! I came +round about half an hour after. Say, Boy, you look out for them ruts; +ride plumb in the middle of the road, and you may miss 'em, 'cause +they're filled in and blown over with sand. Jest the right width of +your wheel, they are."</p> + +<p>"Sure, I've made their acquaintance already; kind of keep a man fit, +don't they? But, say, you've got many more like that coming between +here and New York. Take my tip, old man. If you've got anyone depending +on you for a living and you don't want to knock the 'X' and yourself to +little pieces, you had better go back home right now and tootle up and +down the Californian coast for a holiday. And if you still want to get +to New York—well, all I can say is, there's a dem fine train service, +and you'll find a depot right there in Ludlow."</p> + +<p>"Don't you worry, Boy; I've done a heap of motor-cycling in my days +and I guess I don't get scared at a header or two, and s'long as I can +fix anything that happens along, I guess I'll git to Lil Ole Noo York +before a couple of weeks is gone."</p> + +<p>"Young man," said I in a fatherly tone, "you don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> know what you're +saying. You're talking blasphemy—sheer heresy. Your crash has turned +your wits a little."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, but I've made up my mind to go by road, and go by road I will."</p> + +<p>"That's the spirit, but just a few more words of advice. Sell it and +buy a Ford. Then you'll be able to take some one with you."</p> + +<p>"I'm taking some one already, Boy. He's back at Ludlow. Shipped him on +from Barstow, the road was so dog-gone bad and he got scared at the +desert."</p> + +<p>"What! You're taking him on the carrier?" I cried aghast.</p> + +<p>"Sure enough. What's against it?"</p> + +<p>I was speechless. His youth and innocence held me spellbound for a +moment. Then I burst forth:</p> + +<p>"Man, you're mad! <span class="smcap">Absolutely Mad!</span> Here, c'mon, Lizzie, before +it gets too dark and before this lunatic gets unsafe." I kicked her +into a roar. "Cheerio, old man! Give my love to the Angels to-morrow!"</p> + +<p>Then his open exhaust burst into a clatter and I saw him no more. I +often thought about him, though, and wondered how, when, and where he +ended up.</p> + +<p>Next morning I shook the desert sand from my blanket for the last +time. By hook or by crook I should be sailing through the streets of +Los Angeles before nightfall. I judged I looked pretty fierce on the +whole. I had no looking-glass, having left my suit-case to be shipped +on back at Santa Fé, but I had the best part of a week's growth on my +chin and I had not known the joy of a wash for four days. My hair, my +boots, my clothes, my everything, were saturated with sand and dust. My +tunic, which in its earlier days had been a green tweed, was now white +at the back, bleached almost colourless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> with the sun and then soaked +with alkali dust. In the front and below the sleeves it maintained +something approaching its original colour. My boots? Well, they had not +been off for four days, and the right sole, which had been threatening +revolution, had so many times nearly tripped me up by doubling +underfoot, that I had removed it near the instep with my pen-knife!</p> + +<p>And Lizzie was in no better condition. Externally she was a mass of +string, wire, insulation-tape, mud, oil, and sand. Internally she +was a bundle of rattles and strange noises. Everything was loose and +worn; the sand had invaded her at every point and had multiplied wear +a thousandfold. Latterly the tappet rods had had to be cleaned and +adjusted over a sixteenth of an inch every day until there was no more +adjustment possible. The valve rockers were worn half-way through, some +more than that. One had worn right through until it had broken in the +middle. I began to be afraid that the engine would not hold out even +for the 200 odd miles to come. By handling her carefully and giving her +ample oil, I hoped to "deliver the goods" and get across the remaining +half of the great desert tract that borders on the Sierra Madre Range +running parallel with the coast from north to south. Once across that +range, everything, I told myself, would change abruptly, the roads, the +scenery, and the climate.</p> + +<p>Mile after mile of rock and sand went by with the sweating hours. +Often little patches of oiled road appeared, stayed awhile, and then +miraculously disappeared below the white, loose surface. Nearly always +there were two ruts, beautifully sharp and well cut, sunk three or four +inches below the rest of the surface, caused by the fierce rays of +the midday sun converting the oiled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> surface into a plastic condition +easily moulded by passing cars which, once given the lead, follow +blindly in the others' "footsteps." Many a bad swerve and an occasional +spill did I have when my front wheel found such as this. But the major +portion of the road was just the bare, loose sand and gravel of the +desert.</p> + +<p>I had by now become so used to my own company that the sense of +loneliness almost disappeared, and I felt as perfectly at ease here as +anywhere else. I felt that the great wastes had a charm, nay, even a +lure, that eclipsed all past sensations and gave a mental satisfaction +that no other phase of Nature could ever reveal. I cannot describe +the ineffable something which made me love the great solitude and the +mighty spaces, but it is there nevertheless, and, like the greatest +of passions, it gives extremes. After one has lived but a few days in +the desert, either he loves it passionately or he loathes it. There is +nothing in between.</p> + +<p>On the right there lies the great "Death Valley" that stretches a +hundred miles to the north between the Armagosa and the Paramint +Mountains. Its name is suggestive of the many people who have miserably +perished of thirst in its clutches. It is the remains of a long-since +dried-up inland lake and parts of it are 150 feet below the level of +the sea. There is nothing in it save bare rock and shifting alkali +sand, with here and there a cactus or a little sage. The heat is +tremendous and the thermometer sometimes rises to 140°. In all, not a +pleasant place either to live in or to die. But there are those who in +the search for gold live here for months at a stretch.</p> + +<p>Confound it! There goes No. 1 cylinder again. Why doesn't she fire? Am +I to start overhauling the engine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> in this terrible place? I stop to +change a plug.... Nothing doing.... Try another.... Still no result. +For ten minutes I tinker with red-hot tools. Gee! the blessed machine +will be melting soon if we don't move quick. In disgust I go on again +with only three cylinders working. Past memories crowd into my mind, +but the eternal battle with the loose sand suffices to keep them out.</p> + +<p>It was too bad, to start playing pranks like this within a few hours of +the coast. The sand of the road absorbed most of the power I now had +left and often I had to change down to bottom gear to get along at all. +It was wonderful what a difference just that one cylinder made, and it +was most annoying that it should happen just here, where the earth was +nothing more than a confused mass of rocks and sand, and the sun stood +vertically above in the sky. "Thank Heaven, I've some water left, if +anything happens," thought I.</p> + +<p>"What in the world is that thing?" I asked myself. Closer acquaintance +proved it to be a motor lorry, dressed up as a caravan and minus a back +axle—a most remarkable sight in most remarkable surroundings. From the +numerous loop-tracks that swerved around it, it had evidently stood +there many days. Its owner was lying underneath on his back.</p> + +<p>"Pretty place to change a back axle, old man," I remarked intelligently.</p> + +<p>"Yep. Not the kind o' thing a feller does for the fun of it, either," +he retorted, scrambling out from his resting-place in the sand.</p> + +<p>"Well, is there anything I can do for you, anyway? I don't quite +like to see a chap stranded in a blankety-blank country like this on +blankety-blank roads like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> these." I forget just the adjectives I used, +but I know they were hardly of the drawing-room variety. Imagine my +surprise when a feminine voice from inside chirped out:</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's just about got 'em sized up! I've never heard such a +mighty cute description of 'em."</p> + +<p>Five days they had been there. The back axle had broken under the huge +strain of dragging the load through the deep, loose sand. A passing car +had taken it to San Bernardino to be repaired, and other passing cars +had kept them well supplied with water. They expected to have the axle +back the next day and then had nothing to fear. As I could do nothing +for them, I propped Lizzie up against the side of the lorry and tried +once more to persuade No. 1 cylinder to join hands with the rest.</p> + +<p>After half an hour of useless toil, I bade farewell to the caravan and +its occupants.</p> + +<p>"Quite sure I can't do anything?"</p> + +<p>"Plumb sure, thanks. Mebbe we shall be there before you, y'know,"—with +a wicked twinkle in his eye.</p> + +<p>Then followed hours and hours of ceaseless toil. We climbed hills and +crossed great lake-beds that glistened white with a dazzling glare. +In some of these there was nothing to be seen in the vast stretch of +alkali deposit where once, thousands of years ago, rested the briny +waters of lakes and inland seas—nothing, not even a plucky bush of +sage-brush, clinging valiantly to its life-hold.</p> + +<p>We came to Barstow, a growing settlement, a railway centre and with +great alkali factories. Here, after nearly 100 miles' running, I had a +substantial breakfast-lunch-dinner meal and filled my water-bag for the +last time. We were nearing the end of the Mohave Desert.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> + +<p>Here the trail turns sharply to the south to "San Berdoo," the +colloquial abbreviation of San Bernardino. At one time the trail had +crossed the desert by a different route altogether, in places almost +100 miles from the railway line. So many souls had perished with the +heat and lack of water—perchance through some breakdown or through +losing their way—that later a new road was "constructed" following +closely the track of the railway so that travellers by road need never +be in difficulties for long. It is an unwritten law in any of the +American deserts that anyone can hold up a train anywhere if he needs +water or supplies or other help. It is willingly given, whether it be a +freight train or the "California Limited" express from New York to San +Francisco!</p> + +<p>The San Gabriel Mountains now rose high on the horizon. They had but to +be crossed, and then all our troubles would be over.</p> + +<p>So I thought.</p> + +<p>At Victorville, a growing town at the north base of the range, the +desert had almost disappeared. Eucalyptus trees became strangely +intermixed with cactus trees, and the aroma of their long, grey-green +leaves filled the air with a new sensation. It was the approach of +civilization once again.</p> + +<p>And then followed the long, winding climb up to the Cajon Pass. In the +thick sand and with only three cylinders, it was hard work and slow +work. I thought we should never get to the top. Looking back, I beheld +a wonderful panorama of desert plain, and a glistening sea of sand; +looking forward, I saw just a gap in the great black wall and a rocky +pathway winding through it.</p> + +<p>Are we <span class="smcap">never</span> going to reach the summit? We must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> have climbed +nearly a mile high already, I argued with myself, when, of a sudden, +the twisting, rocky trail ceased to exist. It vanished like magic, and +instead there was before us a magnificent, broad highway of smooth, +flat concrete that made me yell with delight. It was wonderful. I +laughed and sang with childish glee to think that after 4,000 miles +of mud and sand and soil and rock and rut and unspeakable goat-track, +I was at last on a concrete road once again, with a surface like a +billiard table. I swerved madly from side to side to make sure those +two haunting ruts had really disappeared, and laughed again when I +found I was not thrown off. It was just glorious.</p> + +<p>One more turn, and a great valley lay at my feet. It was green with +grass and the mountain sides were clothed in pine trees. Pine trees! +How beautiful they looked! It was surely a dream, a vision, a trick +of the imagination. There was a long, winding gradient down into the +valley. I shut the engine off and we coasted down the smooth concrete +without even a whisper or a jar of any kind. It was like a sudden entry +into heaven—and almost as silent.</p> + +<p>There were now seventy miles of concrete leading between avenues of +eucalyptus and groves of orange trees into Los Angeles. Further, the +road was almost perfectly flat, although bordered by the San Gabriel +range, and, with a few right-angle bends here and there, cut straight +across from east to west, with hardly a swerve from the straight line.</p> + +<p>Truly it was like a new world, this fruit garden of California. For +miles unbroken save by little avenues, one passed row upon row of +orange trees laid out in perfect symmetry and exactitude in the rich +flat soil. A narrow ditch, dug parallel with each row and having<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> small +branches to each individual tree, communicated with larger ditches +along which flowed a constant stream of fresh water led from the +mountain sides.</p> + +<p>Interspersed would be groves of prunes, peaches, and apples, then a +plantation of water-melons and cantaloupes of all shapes and sizes.</p> + +<p>And then, as if to snatch away the enjoyment of all these pleasant +things, a great clatter arose from the engine. Something had broken at +last, and it seemed that the whole was a revolving mass of loose pieces +all knocking up against each other. Then, before I had been able to +slow down—it all happened in a few seconds—there was a metallic thud, +the back wheel locked dead, and the machine dry-skidded itself to rest. +Once again Fate had decreed against me, angry that I should have got so +far in spite of all her efforts.</p> + +<p>Well, well! There was plenty of time to spare now; no need to hurry. +I sat down on the grass at the roadside in the shade of an orange +tree, ate two oranges—from the tool-box—and smoked a pipe. Feeling +refreshed in every sense, I then proceeded to take the engine to pieces.</p> + +<p>No. 1 piston had broken in fragments and a large piece had jammed +between the big end of one of the connecting rods and the crank-case. +It was strange that it had not punched a hole through it.</p> + +<p>It was far too long a job to take off the sump at the roadside—it +would have meant taking the whole engine out of the frame—nearly a +day's work—so I removed as many of the pieces of piston as I could get +at through the inspection window. The piston-head was floating loose +like a flat disc above the small end. This I removed and packed the two +halves of the broken gudgeon pin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> apart, so as to guide the small end +up and down in the cylinder. It was impossible to remove the connecting +rod entirely, even with the cylinder off, without removing the whole +engine from the frame and taking off the sump.</p> + +<p>In a couple of hours I was going again, but very very gingerly, lest +another piece of piston should be caught up and cause another jamb. +The noise of the rattle too was terrific, and I could hear the warning +of passing cars (of which there were now several) only when they were +right behind me. Sometimes it would get suddenly worse and a further +disrupture would appear imminent, and then it would go suddenly back +again to its normal. Thus we toiled for thirty miles, at an average +speed of twelve miles an hour.</p> + +<p>At Ontario—the towns were as numerous as they were prosperous—I +feared another and final episode. A Ford car that was passing slowed +down to offer me assistance, and putting Lizzie in "free engine" I +hung on to his hoodstays with my right arm as a tow-rope. This lasted +for ten miles, but I could stand it no longer; my arms were stiff and +aching with the uneven strain. I thanked my benefactor and let go.</p> + +<p>The remaining twenty miles into Los Angeles were endured and +accomplished under our own power at about eight miles an hour. The +attention I attracted was considerable. Hundreds upon hundreds of cars, +buses, and motor-cycles passed, hurrying here and there, their tyres +making a continuous low hum on the concrete road. Luxury, wealth, and +happiness abounded on every hand. No greater antithesis to the aching +void of the desert back behind the mountains could be imagined.</p> + +<p>Every house was a picture, a model of cleanliness and homeliness. The +art of building bungalows is reduced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> in California to the irreducible. +It is amazing to see the variety of design and the characteristic +beauty of them all. They made the modern English bungalows of my memory +seem like enlarged dog-kennels by comparison.</p> + +<p>At five o'clock in the afternoon we rattled into Los Angeles, the New +York of the Far West. Lizzie's clatter rose above the noise of the +trolley cars that thronged the busy streets. Here at last was the +long-sought-for goal—the goal that for nearly three months had urged +me westward! And my steed? Poor Lizzie, she cried aloud for a respite +from the long, weary journey!</p> + +<p>Had I known where the Henderson Agency was I could not have found my +way there quicker. It seemed as if Lizzie's instincts had taken her +there just as a lost cat, transported hundreds of miles from home, +slowly, painfully and perseveringly drags its tired body back again.</p> + +<p>A quarter of an hour later I was sailing in a side-car towards the +"Clark Hotel." That was where my hotel at Santa Fé had recommended me +to go and had forwarded my baggage.</p> + +<p>We drew up at the door of a palatial establishment—the "posh" hotel +of Los Angeles. Once again, after many a long day, my knees began +to quake. Brushing by the magnificent door-porter, I swung into the +luxurious lounge. Afternoon tea was just finishing. I strolled across +to the reception desk, trying hard to maintain an air of complete +innocence as regards my personal appearance. I endeavoured to assume an +attitude of perfect congruity with my surroundings.</p> + +<p>To say the least, I was lamentably unsuccessful! Little groups of +people chatting together stopped and gazed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> at the dishevelled +intruder. Imperfectly disguised smirks were evident on all sides. +Pages, bell-boys, and porters quickly brought their grinning faces to +attention as I glowered upon them in turn. At last I reached the desk.</p> + +<p>"You've got some baggage for me, I believe—a couple of grips—sent +from the 'Montezuma' at Santa Fé. Shepherd is my name."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the manager appeared on the scene. Resting himself with both +hands on the desk as if to steady himself against any possible shock +that he might receive from the contemplation of so strange a spectacle, +he gazed at me in silence. Then, below his breath, he found words to +convey his astonishment:</p> + +<p>"My Gad!" he said, and paused deliberately. Then he continued +explosively, "I've seen some sunburnt faces in my time, but never, +<span class="smcap">never</span>, <span class="smcap">never</span> have I seen a man anywhere with a face +like yours!"</p> + +<p>"It's nice of you to say so," I retorted.</p> + +<p>"Heavens, man!" he continued, ignoring the interruption, "your hair's +nearly white and your chest is nearly black. Where in hell have you +been?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I didn't stay there long," I replied, "no longer than was +necessary to get here from New York."</p> + +<p>"New York!" (I was quite expecting him to say "Whar's that?" but +evidently its existence was known in well-informed circles in Los +Angeles). "Have you walked it or swum it or what?"</p> + +<p>"Only motor-cycled it, Old Bean!"</p> + +<p>"Well, now, if that's not.... Here; I'll give you your key. Go and have +a good bath <span class="smcap">right now</span>."</p> + +<p>I thanked him. A porter had got my bags and stood waiting. His face was +the essence of staid immobility when I looked at him. Together we went +in the elevator<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> to the <em class="italic">n</em>th floor. Eager to see what I really did +look like, my first indulgence was to look at myself in the glass, a +thing I had not done for many a day.</p> + +<p>It certainly was a shock. I could barely recognize myself. I really +was the most remarkable creature I had ever seen. I could not refrain +from bursting into uncontrollable laughter. The hitherto straight-faced +porter did likewise, and we both felt the better for it.</p> + +<p>A hot bath! Wonder of wonders! I tumbled into it and the past was +forgotten in the inexpressible ecstasy of the present.</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a><br /><br /> + +LOS ANGELES TO SAN FRANCISCO</h2> + + +<p>In full, the real name of Los Angeles is "La Puebla de Nuestra Señora +la Reina de los Angeles"—"The City of our Lady the Queen of the +Angels." Founded by Spanish settlers about 1780, it is built upon the +plains that roll from the foothills of the Sierra Madre down to the +sea. It represents the very last word in the civilization of the Far +West.</p> + +<p>Los Angeles is a city of which to be proud. It is a hustling +metropolis, but not too hustling. Its streets are wide and well-laid, +its buildings clean, and its residences are just too wonderful for any +words of mine. It is moreover the "movie centre" <em class="italic">par excellence</em> of +the world. "Duggie" and "Mary" and "Charlie" are not merely familiar +characters on the screen. They are your neighbours. You see them pass +in the streets and go shopping with them in the stores, like ordinary +human beings. Undoubtedly the development of Los Angeles in recent +years is due largely to this industry. So also is the amazing beauty +of its feminine population. Going deeper still, we find that the +secret of its success lies in the wonderful climate. There is but one +rainy season in Los Angeles during the year, and that is the month of +December.</p> + +<p>Strange to say, Los Angeles is not on the sea-coast. It is twelve miles +to the nearest part of the beach. This<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> seemed rather extraordinary +to me, particularly as San Francisco, with whom they are so eagerly +competing, stands on one of the finest and largest harbours in the +world. I remarked so to the <em class="italic">Times</em> reporter one day. "But why," I +asked, "did they build Los Angeles so far from the sea?" "Oh well, you +see," he replied in all seriousness, "they had a mighty good idea about +things. They reckoned that by the time Los Angeles had really started +growing she'd be right on top of the Pacific, so they gave her a chance +and laid the place out twelve miles away." "Oh, was that it? I see," +was my innocent retort.</p> + +<p>Be that as it may, there is a network of beautiful, straight, concrete +roads leading from the city down to the coast in all directions. +Dozens of small residential towns are springing up amid this network +of roads—towns that some day will be suburbs of Los Angeles. At least +that is the way to think of them. And the roads themselves? On Saturday +afternoons and Sundays they are like great living arteries along which +flows an endless stream of motor-cars. The Californians know how to +enjoy themselves. There is not one fragment of the art of exterminating +boredom that they have not studied. They frivol <em class="italic">en masse</em>, and to do +it they naturally choose the sea-beach as a habitat. Consequently the +coast is strung with dozens of seaside resorts of every type and shade +of description, and with only a mile or two between them.</p> + +<p>A trip to one of these "Los Angeles Beaches" is essential to the +education of the true student of Southern Californian civilization. +Never at any time have I seen public highways so completely covered +with motor-cars. The number seen approaches the incredible, in the eyes +of the astonished European. Frequently there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> were two almost endless +rows of cars with but a few feet between them, moving slowly along like +a gigantic procession several miles in length. Occasionally there would +be a hold-up, and the whole string of cars, one after the other, would +pull up, each car close upon its forerunner. Without exception, all +American cars are provided with buffers at front and rear so that the +car does not suffer any damage when one touches another even with quite +a severe impact. The obstruction is removed, and on the procession goes +again. Perhaps some unfortunate is changing a wheel at the roadside. +Then there is a big curve in the long, straight line where the more +fortunate Fords and Maxwells and Buicks and Overlands, etc., etc., +swerve round him. And thus we carry on until the coast is reached.</p> + +<p>Naturally the first glimpse I had of the Pacific Ocean gave me feelings +of unbounded joy. I even confess to having obeyed the childish instinct +to pick up shells and seaweed on the beach. It was a sight to look upon +until the majesty of the breakers and the infinite expanse of the deep +blue ocean eclipsed one's sense of magnitude altogether and one became +lost in a world of vision and fantasy.</p> + +<p>I spent over a week in Los Angeles. During that time I was almost +overwhelmed with hospitality. The Californians I found easily the most +hospitable people in America. At every hand I found people, whom I had +neither seen nor heard of before, inviting me to dinner, and taking me +rides in their cars. Further, I found I was friends with the police, +and that without any difficulty either! In fact, the very air of +California is charged with friendliness. Consequently, I was sorry when +the day came when I should leave it behind.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lizzie was finished. She had had a complete overhaul and several parts +of the engine replaced. Numerous telegrams and letters had been flashed +across the States to the works at Chicago. They were in vain. Although +still under the makers' guarantee, they would accept no responsibility. +I paid the last bill that made Lizzie's repair account just exceed the +amount I originally paid for her three months before and started out +to complete the journey to San Francisco. I cannot, however, omit to +mention the extreme courtesy and hospitality with which I was met at +the Henderson Agency itself. I could never at any time wish for better +attention or hope to make better friends in foreign countries than I +was fortunate enough to do in the "City of Angels." I left it with a +pang of regret.</p> + +<p>It was late in the evening when I started. I found to my annoyance that +the lights were defective. The headlight was <em class="italic">hors de combat</em>. Only the +"dimmer" remained to light me on my way. I had about sixty dollars in +my pocket, though, so I was the perfection of happiness withal.</p> + +<p>I am afraid those sixty dollars need some explanation. I arrived in +Los Angeles a week before with about twenty. The Post Office, as ever, +maintained an inexplicable silence. Having now quite reconciled myself +to being mailless wherever I went, save for a letter or two forwarded +through my friends in Cincinnati, I decided to direct my energies to a +profitable purpose while waiting for Lizzie's return from hospital.</p> + +<p>I scanned the newspapers night and day. Had I been a tram-driver or +a page-boy I could have made a hit at once without any difficulty. +There was also a big demand for boot-blacks, but for anything that +suited my tastes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> and inclinations there was nothing. My small stock +of "greenbacks" (paper dollars) was slowly diminishing the while. +Something had to be done.</p> + +<p>So I started in on journalism. Strange to say, I made money at it. With +the one exception of Kansas City, it is the only time I ever have. +Americans seemed interested in the impressions of stray Englishmen +through "God's own country." Better still, Californians seemed +interested to learn what one stray Englishman in particular had to say +about California on the one hand, and all the other States on the other!</p> + +<p>I have the best of reasons for believing that they were perfectly +satisfied with my report. So that is how, after paying for Lizzie's +operation, I still had sixty odd dollars left to my credit.</p> + +<p>The broad, well-lighted city streets with their trolley-cars soon were +left behind, and we rode for miles along boulevards of wondrous surface +through the residential quarters of Los Angeles. There were magnificent +bungalows of countless variety, the homes of both poor and rich. +Further on, we passed through Hollywood, the home of the homes of the +"movie" people. Occasionally would be seen a great block of buildings, +unpretentious in architecture but palatial in extent. These were the +"studios" where the films are made that instruct, amuse, and annoy the +world's population.</p> + +<p>Finally, the last bungalow receded into the background and ahead was +inky blackness, a beautiful concrete highway, and the faint forms of +mountain ranges. In the darkness, dispelled only within a radius of a +few feet by the small pea-lamp that remained in service, everything +looked mystic, shadowy, and strange. It seemed just the night, just the +surroundings for adventure, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> kind of environment that makes the +vagrant life so much worth living.</p> + +<p>The road ran parallel with the coastline, some ten or more miles away, +but in between lay the Santa Monica Mountains, whose feet the highway +skirted. Sometimes the hill-sides were barren and rocky; other times +they were clothed in gloomy cedar forests. I wondered what strange +animals lurked in them and whether I should make the acquaintance of +any mountain lions, bears, wolves, wild cats and other animals that +still are plentiful in the mountain regions of California. Occasionally +a car passed, the glare of its headlights transforming the sombre +surroundings into a still stranger world of silver and gold. The road +for a few moments changed to a path of glistening white leading to +the unknown. And then, when the car dashed by, everything plunged +instantaneously into a sea of blackness so intense that it could almost +be felt.</p> + +<p>I had intended to polish off a couple of hundred miles before morning. +I love nothing better than a long night ride on a good road. But lack +of illumination defied my intentions. After thirty miles I pulled in to +the side of the road where a great beech tree overhung its branches, +and laid down my ground-sheet upon the soft bed of dead leaves and nuts +that lay beneath.</p> + +<p>It was the softest mattress that I have ever lain upon in the open. In +a few minutes I was fast asleep.</p> + +<p>In the early hours of the morning I began to dream. I dreamt that some +great animal was walking slowly around me as I lay. It snuffled about, +grunting at intervals in a most dissatisfied manner. It is not a habit +of mine to dream about anything. I remember reflecting subconsciously +that I had ceased to dream of bears and such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> like when I reached the +age of four. Why then should I dream about them now? Oh, hang the +fellow! What is he making that confounded noise for?</p> + +<p>A few minutes later I discovered that I was not dreaming at all. I +was wide awake. Without moving anything but my eyes I peered into the +darkness that still enshrouded everything. Sure enough I could make out +a huge black mass somewhere near my feet, but could not discern its +actual form.... Slowly, gently, I slipped my hand underneath my pillow. +At last, I thought, I shall have a chance of shooting at something +bigger than prairie-dogs! And then the thought struck me, how strange +it was that in all these thousands of miles of travelling through +plains and deserts and forests, my slumbers had never been interrupted +by any nocturnal visitor—I had not even <span class="smcap">seen</span> anything that +could possibly annoy the most domesticated young person who loves his +feather-bed.</p> + +<p>The big black thing became more distinct as I looked. His head was down +and he was engaged in wondering just exactly what my feet were and who +put them there; whether they'd be nice to eat if vegetable, and if not, +whether they were animal or mineral, and if so, why? I waited my time. +He put his head closer to smell the offending object. With a sudden +kick I landed out straight for his nose with my right foot. A yell rent +the air and the big black thing leapt away squealing into the darkness. +A 33 bullet followed him there just for luck.</p> + +<p>His squeaks gradually died down as he scampered helter-skelter down the +road. It was only a poor harmless pig looking for nuts—but he had no +right to disturb my slumbers!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> + +<p>In the morning we continued towards the west. The end of the Santa +Monica Range came in sight and soon the road descended in long winding +"grades" towards the sea-coast. For the first time by daylight I saw +California in its true colours. Here I should mention that the height +of summer is not the best time to explore California. It is in the +winter and the spring that the country is arrayed in its greatest +glory. The lack of rain, even near the sea-coast, is so marked that +by the time summer is reaching its zenith, there is not a green +blade of grass to be seen. The face of the country, where it remains +uncultivated and unirrigated, is an eternal brown. At first this +brings a sense of disappointment to the traveller who has heard so +much of California's meadows of wonderful green mingled with the hues +of countless kinds of wild flowers. In summer-time there are none. +But in spring-time, when the sun has not started to blaze and the +rain has worked its miracles, the charm of the country must be beyond +description.</p> + +<p>At Ventura, a pretty town on the sea-coast, Lizzie's speedometer ticked +off the 4,500th mile. There remained another 450 to be done, and the +journey would be at an end. I had little doubt now of getting there. +The roads were so good that motor-cycling was child's play. Indeed it +often became monotonous. At most times one could travel at almost any +speed of which one's machine was capable, and still the straight, flat +roads would be tiring to the point of boredom.</p> + +<p>The towns and villages one passed, however, were full of charm. The +most famous road through California, El Camino Real—which means +"The Highway of the King"—was one which I was following and had its +origin in the old trail which the historic padres followed in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +romantic days of the Spanish occupation two and three hundred years +ago. This trail, blazed by the padres "by God's will for the reigning +monarch of Spain," stretches for 900 miles from Mexico to Oregon, +and along it there still stand the old Mission Houses that are so +prominent a feature of Californian history. There are nineteen of them, +each "a day's journey apart," and each of an entirely distinct and +characteristic type of architecture.</p> + +<p>These Missions stand to-day, having with few exceptions been maintained +intact in their original form, and they serve as beautiful testimonies +to the genius of their builders. So admired is their style of +architecture that they are religiously copied, more so now than ever +before, in public buildings and sometimes private dwellings in all +parts of the West. One even sees railway stations and tramway termini +modelled in the form of one of these ancient Franciscan Missions!</p> + +<p>If I was charmed with Ventura, I was thrice charmed with Santa Barbara, +another wonderful coast town of modern style built on an ancient site. +The old Santa Barbara Mission stands away up on the hill-sides of the +Santa Ynez Range above the town and looks over the blue waters of the +Pacific towards the craggy islands of Santa Cruz that lie beyond. For +sheer delight of climate, scenery, and surroundings I would forsake any +home in any town in any country that I have yet seen to live in Santa +Barbara, had I the wherewithal to do so.</p> + +<p>Following the coastline, and in many places separated from it only +by a ridge of stones or a strip of vegetation, the road continues on +its happy way for many miles. On the left splash the deep blue waters +of the Pacific. On the right rise steeply the Santa Ynez Mountains, +which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> like a link in a great chain form, with many others, more or +less disjointed, the "coast range" that fringes the sea from Mexico +to Oregon. Sometimes the road is bordered with Yucca palms, sometimes +with pepper trees, and sometimes with eucalyptus. One even sees, almost +simultaneously, cactus plants and prickly pears growing amid the +parched-up grass on the sun-swept side of some unfriendly hill!</p> + +<p>At Caviota, a few miles south of the famous "Point Conception," the +road leaves the coast and swerves inland. Across the tip of the Santa +Ynez Range it goes, swerving now to the left, then to the right, +climbing, dipping, and swerving again for sixty or seventy miles until +once more it catches a glimpse of the Pacific at El Pismo beach.</p> + +<p>Near here I left the beaten track and followed a narrow pathway that +led around a hill-side to the cliffs. Here I made my bed down once +again in the long, dry grass that clothed the top. I could say with +tolerable certainty that never before had a motor-cycle followed that +path. It was soon no more than a little rut scarcely visible in the +grassy slope. But I achieved my objective. With the murmur of the sea, +as it dashed against the rocks a few hundred feet below, singing always +in my ears, I passed one more night of exquisite repose and magic charm.</p> + +<p>I awoke in the morning and sniffed the sea air. It was very attractive +certainly, but was there not something the matter with it somehow? Or +was it my imagination? I wriggled half out of bed and peered over the +edge of the cliff. I stopped; I looked; I listened. Down there, on a +little bed of white sand, lay a dead seal stretched out flat, as one +would lay a tablecloth. He looked a dismal sight, poor fellow.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ten miles more, inland again, and it was breakfast-time. We were at San +Luis Obispo, a fine little town at the foot of the Santa Margarita—one +more link in the coast range. San Luis Obispo took its name from an old +Mission founded in 1772, and once was the centre of wealth among the +Spaniards of the country.</p> + +<p>Afterwards we cross the hills and continue northward. Always the +Southern Pacific Railroad is on our right, sometimes just a few feet +from the highway. The concrete has stopped and at intervals we have +our old friend, the natural gravel. The laying of concrete is being +proceeded with at many places, a hundred yards or so at a time, and +detours running parallel at the side connect us up with the road ahead. +Many little seedling towns are passed—all of them well planned and +well advertised—and at last we come to Paso Robles (Pass of the Oaks), +a larger town which derives its name from a great natural oak park. I +should mention that oak trees are abundant in California and they grow +often to a very great size.</p> + +<p>We are now in the Salinas Valley, in proportion like a long, narrow +groove 100 miles long cut in the face of the country. Through it runs +the Salinas River, winding and bending with great sweeps through its +sandy bed. At midsummer it is dried up completely, and, from the +long wooden bridges that cross and re-cross it, looks like a sandy +sea-beach, with fences across from one bank to the other to stop the +cattle straying!</p> + +<p>Along this valley blows a constant cool wind from the sea in the +north. All day long it blows, week in, week out. The further north one +proceeds the stronger it becomes, until it approaches almost a gale +that whistles down the narrow channel like a cold blast, even in the +broiling heat of the cloudless sun. Where, here and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> there, were to +be seen bunches of poplar trees and eucalyptus, they were invariably +leaning distinctly to the south, their gaunt trunks permanently moulded +by the inexorable wind. On the smaller trees, the sycamores and the +cedars, there was often not a branch nor a leaf to be seen on the +northern side of the trunk, the foliage almost touching the ground on +the southern side. Those hundred miles were the coldest I had known in +the whole journey, and always I found the head wind so strong that the +power of the machine seemed half absorbed in merely combating it.</p> + +<p>San Miguel, San Ardo, King City, Soledad, Gonzales, and finally, at +five in the afternoon, Salinas was reached at the end of the valley. +San Francisco was now but little more than 100 miles beyond. To-morrow +would be the last day. The end was in sight.</p> + +<p>But what of Lizzie? Alas, she was in a sorry condition. Gradually since +we left Los Angeles two days before she had fallen off in power. The +old rattles and noises had recurred with astonishing alacrity. I had +had many stops for minor adjustments and examinations, and even feared +another breakdown before the skyscrapers of 'Frisco loomed in sight. +The reader may be in as good a position as I to judge of the merits of +American compared with English motor-cycles, but he will admit that +seldom could occur a worse combination of bad luck and pig-headed +pertinacity than is witnessed in the wanderings of Lizzie and me +through the United States of America.</p> + +<p>At Salinas I ate and drank right heartily, and drowned my sorrows in +wistful contemplation of the blue eyes of the gentle damsel who served +apple pie across the counter of the "quick-meal" luncheon bar.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Lizzie, would you like to sleep by the sea to-night for the last +time? Think we can get there, old girl? It's twenty miles there and +twenty back, y' know!—Righto, c'mon!" and she burst once again into an +animated confusion of noise and life.</p> + +<p>Monterey is on the coast. It stands surrounded by hills on a +magnificent bay which, with its yachts, motor-launches, and +fishing-boats, is one of the most famous beauty-spots of the +Californian coast. Monterey was once an important centre of history in +the early days of Spanish and Mexican sovereignty. Later, it enjoyed +the distinction of being the first spot in California where the +American flag was hoisted. Now it is little more than a seaside resort, +but as famous in California as is Naples in Italy.</p> + +<p>A splendid highway leads from Salinas and cuts through beautiful hills +clothed in cedar and oak. The journey was worth doing, if only to +breathe the sea air again and sleep to its murmur.</p> + +<p>It was rather a pathetic affair—that last night out. I hated to +leave Lizzie propped up on her stand on the low cliffs while I made a +comfortable bed in the sand on the beach. The tide was out, but I was +determined to get as near to the sea as possible. I chose a spot where, +nestled in a sandy cove in the rocks, I could see the breakers just a +score of yards from my feet.</p> + +<p>I awoke in the early morning to find the sea barely a foot from my +feet. The tide rose higher than I had expected, but I had time to enjoy +a few delightful minutes of lying half awake in bed before I finally +proved discretion to be better than damp bedclothes and dragged my +belongings to a less obtrusive spot.</p> + +<p>Thus dawned another day, the day that was to see the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> end. I had ample +time and lingered on the way, now administering friendly attention to +Lizzie, now stopping for a light refreshment or to take a leisurely +photograph. It was all too glorious—that last day.</p> + +<p>But poor old Lizzie again showed signs of exhaustion. I nursed her +tenderly and rode as slowly as I felt inclined throughout the day.</p> + +<p>Monterey was left behind after breakfast. Then Salinas was reached once +more, and now we were again on the road to 'Frisco.</p> + +<p>Over the mountains to the east once again, down the San Juan Grade, +that wound and screwed itself round the rocky slopes, and we got to San +Juan, where the tall eucalyptus and waving pepper trees gave an air of +majesty to the fine old Mexican town it proved to be.</p> + +<p>Then we turn to the north once more and enter another valley, the +valley of Santa Clara. The towns become larger and more frequent, the +country more developed. Orchards and fruit-groves are frequently seen. +At the roadsides, built up on trestles, are great water-tanks that are +used for irrigation. I notice that here and there, where the pipes that +lead to them have leaked a little, the dark brown soil below has burst +into great masses of fresh green grass, while all around is parched and +lifeless.</p> + +<p>At San José we find a great fruit-growing centre, and at the same time +a beautiful city of many thousand inhabitants. Its streets are lined +with palms and its suburbs extend into the orange groves that abound on +every hand.</p> + +<p>Simultaneously one cylinder starts to misfire, and then another. Soon +they are all missing. At intervals they would all chip in for a second +or two, and as suddenly chip out again. I smelt magneto trouble.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> + +<p>I also smelt prunes, millions of them. O Californian Prune, how often +have I eaten of thy tasty endocarp in far-off England! And here thou +art in myriads about me!</p> + +<p>I stopped a dozen times, changed plugs, examined leads, and tinkered +with the magneto. Evidently there was something the matter inside the +magneto. I would trust to luck to get to 'Frisco—only forty miles more.</p> + +<p>And thus we continued, sometimes dawdling along at fifteen and then +suddenly bursting into full power and shooting along at forty for +a minute or two, as Lizzie's peculiar whim would have it. It was +annoying, tiring, disheartening, but I felt I should get there. I had +long since planned a trip to the Yosemite National Park, returning +thence to the north across the border and eastward through Canada back +to New York. That little project would certainly never come off. I had +had enough already. I made one great big oath to sell Lizzie's carcase +for what it would bring in San Francisco. Poor old Lizzie! I pitied her +in a way. She must have been born with a curse on her head. But she +would have to go, if only for 100 dollars. Already I began wondering +who would get her after we had parted.</p> + +<p>After ten miles appeared the southern tip of the great harbour that +stretches inland to north and south from San Francisco. This bay is +fifty miles long and ten miles wide and forms one of the grandest +harbours in the world. All the navies of all the nations of the earth +could be comfortably tucked away in a corner of it. The road follows +within a few miles of the western shore of this inland sea, and at +every few miles are small, fast-growing cities comparable with nothing +but their prototypes that cluster around Los Angeles. For here we +are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> absolutely in the centre of the wine-making district. Sixty +years ago cuttings and rooted vines of every variety found in Europe +were brought to California and planted, mostly around this great bay +of San Francisco, where the frequent sea-fogs contribute so much to +the maintenance of perfect conditions for the growing of vines. They +flourished, and now we have Médocs and Sauternes and Moselles and +countless others from California, as well as from France.</p> + +<p>For miles and miles we see nothing but vineyards and fruit-groves. +There is no fence, no ditch, no railing. The orange trees and plum +trees fringe the very road. It is not possible to say where one estate +ends and another begins. The owners probably know.</p> + +<p>The towns are now so thick that with them also it is difficult to say +where one ends and another begins. Only another fifteen miles! Poor old +Lizzie, she may peg out altogether.</p> + +<p>But no. She keeps at it. Sometimes she ceases firing altogether, +but only for a moment. On she goes again, now on one, now on four +cylinders. Hey ho! We shall get there all right.</p> + +<p>'Buses and cars in hundreds pass in both directions. We shall soon be +in 'Frisco now.</p> + +<p>Tram-lines appear and then trams. Trolley-cars, they call them in +America. 'Frisco at last!</p> + +<p>I dodge in and out of the traffic as best I may. It is very thick +indeed, and in very much of a hurry. I sail down Market Street, the +"Strand" of San Francisco. What matter if Lizzie clatters and rattles +and stops and shoots on again? She has brought me here. And as I say +so, the little indicator on the speedometer moves to 4,950. Just 50 +miles short of 5,000 from New York!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> Gee! it seems like an extract from +another life, that departure from far-off New York. And how long? Three +months? It feels like twelve at the least!</p> + +<p>I found the post office and sang out for mail. Sure enough there was +some—forwarded from Cincinnati. I learnt for the first time that the +detailed "Schedules" that I had dispatched three months ago at New +York had not yet reached England. Hence the reason for the seeming +unkindliness of the Post Office en route. But where were they? I was +not to know until a week after my return to England, when they arrived +suddenly, without any warning, and simultaneously, to all my friends +and relatives there. They had been all round British East Africa; +Heaven and the New York postal authorities alone know why! I had not +counted on such waywardness on their part when in my innocence of +American ways I had dropped them in the post-box at New York.</p> + +<p>Thus ends my tale of woe. It is a strange thing, but nevertheless true, +that now I have done with it and written about it and done with writing +about it, I still think what a glorious trip it was and what a perfect +ass I was to do it, and what a still greater ass I was to say anything +about it!</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="EPILOGUE" id="EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE</a></h2> + + +<h3>SCENE I</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Scene</span>.—<em class="italic">Outside the Post Office, San Francisco, Cal.</em></p> + +<p class="center">TIME.—<em class="italic">August</em>, 1919.</p> + + + + +<p class="ph3">CHARACTERS</p> + + +<ul class="list"> +<li><span class="smcap">Lizzie.</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Myself.</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">An Armenian.</span></li> +<li><span class="smcap">Crowd of Loungers, Small Boys, and Women of various Nationalities.</span></li> +</ul> + + +<p class="center"> +(<span class="smcap">Self</span> <em class="italic">emerges from portals of Post Office. Chorus of +voices from crowd.</em>)</p> + +<p>"'Ere'e is; look at his face; look at his chest. You're one +globe-trotter, I'll reckon. How long did it take? How much has it cost? +What did you do it for? How'd you like San Francisco?" etc., etc., etc.</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Myself</span> (<em class="italic">dangerously ruffled at not having received a +cheque</em>). "Well, and what are you all gaping at, like a lot of +half-witted school-kids? Never seen a motor-cycle before? Here, you (to +<span class="smcap">Armenian</span>), where's the Clift Hotel?"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian</span>. "Do you vont to zell zis machine?"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Myself</span> (<em class="italic">successfully concealing rapture at the suggestion</em>). +"Sell her, after she's brought me all the way from New York? <span class="smcap">Sell +Her?</span> Why, I'd sooner sell my mother-in-law."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "I vill gif you 'undred dollar right 'ere."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Myself.</span> "Hundred dollars be damned, and you with 'em! Where's +the Clift?"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Chorus of Voices.</span> "Up the hill here and second on the right. +Von 'undred dollar. Follow the trams. Give us yer water-bag, boss. Look +at his boots. There's a cop on the corner. Von 'undred ten dollar, +right now. Look at 'is 'air," etc., etc.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="center">(<em class="italic">Exit slowly in procession</em>, <span class="smcap">Self</span> <em class="italic">leading; Alarums and +Excursions.</em>)</p></div> + + +<h3>SCENE II</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Scene.</span>—<em class="italic">My room at the Clift Hotel.</em></p> + +<p class="center"><em class="italic">Half an hour has elapsed.</em></p> + +<p class="center">(<span class="smcap">Self</span> <em class="italic">discovered, washing face. There is a knock at the +door.</em>)</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Come in."</p> + +<p class="center">(<em class="italic">Enter</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span>.)</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Ah, 'ere you vos. Ze manager tolt me your room. I +come right up."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Apparently."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "I vont to buy your motorsickle; vot you vont for +'im?"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Speak respectfully, please. I want 500 dollars for +<span class="smcap">her</span>."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian</span> (<em class="italic">throwing up his hands in horror</em>). "Ah, zat vos too +much, my frent! Dot vos more zan you give for 'im—for <span class="smcap">'er</span>."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "And how the devil do you know what I gave for her?"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "I haf made enquiries, jhust. I af bin to ze aghency +'ere. Zey say it vos 480 dollars."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Well, any fool knows a machine improves with running +(the blush is unnoticed beneath my Indian complexion); and what's more, +if a machine can stick it all the way across <span class="smcap">The United States of +America</span> it must be a dem good one. I should have asked 600, but I +like your face (<em class="italic">cold shivers down spine</em>), so I only want 500."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Ah, zat vos far too much. I vill gif you von +'undred fifteen—no more."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Nothin' doin', bo. Five hundred. Here's my card; you +can call round any time between now and to-morrow midday with the +money. If you can't do it by then, you can drop in and see me at +Salt Lake City after next Wednesday, or Chicago after next Saturday. +Cheerio; close the door as you go out."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian</span> (<em class="italic">reading card and much awed by same</em>). "Ah, you vos +Mistaire Sh—— Captin Sheffer, R.A.F.? I tink you vos vaire rich man. +You could afford to <span class="smcap">gif</span> me ze machine! Not so? Me vaire poor +man, Captain Sheffer, R.A.F."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "If you knew as much about the Air Force as I do, you'd +know better, my friend. Now, for Heaven's sake, <span class="smcap">buzz off</span>, and +don't worry me."</p> + +<p class="center">(<em class="italic">Exit</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span> <em class="italic">with bows, shuffles of the feet, and +salaams</em>.)</p> + + +<h3>SCENE III</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Scene.</span>—<em class="italic">The same.</em> <em class="italic">Half an hour later.</em> <em class="italic">A knock.</em></p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Come right in."</p> + +<p class="center">(<em class="italic">Enter</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span>.)</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "What, again? Got the 500?"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p> +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Grieved to trouble you vonce more, Captin Sheffer, +R.A.F., but all ze money I 'af in ze world vos von 'undred twenty-five +dollar. Me vaire poor man, Capt——"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Yes, I've heard you say so. I believe you. Now we're +both liars."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Ah no, you insult me, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F. I am +poor, but I am 'onorable man. I tell always ze truth. Zat vos all I 'af +in all ze vorld."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Look here, Mister—I don't know what your name is, but +I guess you're a Hebrew of some kind——"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "My name is Mistaire Karachan, and I come from +Armenia."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self</span> (<em class="italic">aside</em>—"I might have guessed it."). "Well, Mr. +Karachan, I'll take your word for it. Give me 125 right now and you +can take the machine away with you. She's outside on the pavement. But +mind, I shall never want to see your face again."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian</span> (<em class="italic">moved almost to tears</em>). "Ah, you vos a torough +zhentleman, Mistaire Sheffer; all ze Englishmen are zhentlemen. Zer is +only von contry in all ze vorld vaire zer are such zhentlemen."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Well, you can hand over the wealth right now, here."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Ah, but I 'af not got it wiz me, Mistaire Sheffer. +It is too much to carry about in my pocket. But I can gif you fifty +dollar and bring ze rest zis afternoon. Zat vos alright? I can take ze +machine now, yes no?"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "You can take the machine when you've paid me 125 +dollars <span class="smcap">in Cash</span>, and not till then. Get me? I shall be in +again at two this afternoon. You can meet me in the hall with the +money. Good-bye till then."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Vell, you vill gif me written undertaking not to +sell it to anyvon till then, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F.?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>SCENE IV</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Scene.</span>—<em class="italic">The same.</em></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Time.</span>—<em class="italic">3 p.m.</em></p> + +<p class="center">(<em class="italic">A knock on the door, followed by</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span>.)</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Mistaire Sheffer, I 'af come to make you a good +bargain. You see zis gold votch? It vos giffen me by my fazer and it is +solid gold wiz twenty-von jewels. You could sell it anywhere for fifty +dollar. Now you 'af bin zhentleman to me, I vill be zhentleman to you. +I vill give you ze votch and von 'undred dollar for your motorsickle! +Is it not a bargain, Mistaire Sheffer?"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Get out!"</p> + + +<h3>SCENE V</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Scene</span>.—<em class="italic">The same.</em></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Time.</span>—<em class="italic">An hour later.</em> <em class="italic">A knock on the door.</em></p> + +<p class="center">(<em class="italic">Enter</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span>.)</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Oh, Mistaire Sheffer, I 'af jhust von more offer +to——"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Look here, Mr. Karachan, I'm getting fed up with you. +Better quit before I bang this water-jug on your head. You've wasted +all my day as it is."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Ah, you vill not do zat. I know you vill not do +zat. You are too much zhentleman. But wait, Mistaire Sheffer. Hear me +vot I say. I 'af von great big suggestion to make for you. I make my +living viz growing fruit. I 'af small plantation only five mile from +'ere. I vill pay you for your motorsickle viz grapes. I vill gif you +five ton of beautiful grapes and send them wherever you like in United +States. Or if you not like zat, I vill gif you 'undred dollar and von +ton of grapes. Is zat not good offer, yes no?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p> +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self</span> (<em class="italic">recovering from momentary speechlessness at the thought +of swapping Lizzie for five tons of grapes</em>). "Look here, Mr. Karachan, +I've had enough of this fooling. I've undertaken to sell you the +machine for 125 dollars, and if you don't bring me the money, and all +of it, right now, I'll report you to the police. Now there's an end of +it. Get out."</p> + +<p class="center">(<em class="italic">Exit</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span> <em class="italic">amid more alarums and excursions</em>.)</p> + + +<h3>SCENE VI</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Scene.</span>—<em class="italic">The same.</em></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Time.</span>—<em class="italic">7 p.m. A knock.</em> (<em class="italic">Enter</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span>.)</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Oh, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F., I 'af got your money +'ere, but I 'af bin to ze police to register ze machine and zey say I +'af stolen it and vould not let me come away. After much trouble we +telephone a big frend of mine who know police and zey let me come away. +But zey vont your address and ze registration certificate you 'af in +New York."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "But, Good Lord, man, who the devil said you could +register it? It isn't yours yet! Give me the money."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian</span> (<em class="italic">handing me fifty dollars and a cheque for +seventy-five</em>). "'Ere it vos, but you vos not angry, Captin Sheffer, +R.A.F? I vonted only to save time, because I vont to use ze machine +to-morrow."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Yes, but this is no good (<em class="italic">showing the cheque</em>). This +isn't <span class="smcap">Cash</span>. How do I know this'll be honoured? Besides, the +banks are closed now and won't be open till Monday, and I'm leaving +to-morrow."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Ah, but no, zey vill 'onour ze cheque. Mistaire +---- is vaire well known in San Francisco. You can speak to 'im on ze +telephone if you like and 'e vill tell you ze cheque is all right."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self</span>. "No doubt, but all the same I'll see if the hotel +manager here will cash it. If he won't, that's good enough for me. Come +along, and we'll see him together."</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian</span>. "But you vill gif me receipt now, yes no? Ah, but +vot is zis? <em class="italic">(picking up a small adjustable spanner that lay on the +dressing-table).</em> It is part of ze machine! You vould not surely make +me pay for a motor-sickle vizout no tools? Ah, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F., +it is not jhust; I must 'ave everyzing. Are zer any more——" (<em class="italic">At +this juncture</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span> <em class="italic">is successfully extruded through the +doorway, still protesting volubly.</em>)</p> + + +<h3>SCENE VII</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Scene</span>.—<em class="italic">In the hall of the Hotel. Manager behind desk.</em></p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self</span>. "Excuse me, but I have a favour to ask. I have just +done a deal with this gentleman, but as all the banks are closed till +Monday, I am wondering if you would be good enough to cash this cheque +for me as I am leaving for the East to-morrow."</p> + +<p class="center">(<span class="smcap">Manager</span> <em class="italic">looks closely at me and proceeds to open till; then, +looking at</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span>, <em class="italic">pauses for a moment. Ultimately the +money is paid over.</em>)</p> + +<p class="center">(<span class="smcap">Armenian</span> <em class="italic">and</em> <span class="smcap">Self</span> <em class="italic">walk toward door opening on to +street</em>.)</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self</span>. "What the blazes! Where's Lizzie? I left her up against +the pavement. She's gone!"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian</span>. "Oh, zat vos alright. I move 'er zis afternoon to a +garage round ze corner. Jhust zink how terrible it would be if some one +stole 'im!"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self</span>. "Well, I'll be goldarned!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>SCENE VIII</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Scene.</span>—<em class="italic">Garage "round the corner." Lizzie stands surrounded +by darkness</em>, <span class="smcap">Armenian</span>, <em class="italic">and</em> <span class="smcap">Self</span>. <span class="smcap">Self</span> +<em class="italic">discovered explaining to</em> <span class="smcap">Armenian</span> <em class="italic">how the wheels go round +and why.</em></p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Self.</span> "Well, good-bye, Lizzie, old girl. I grieve to let you +go into the hands of this being, but it is all for the best. We've had +some jolly times together, but the time is come to part. Good-bye, once +and for all; good-bye, <span class="smcap">good-bye</span>——"</p> + +<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Armenian.</span> "Ah, Mistaire Sheffer, you 'av forgot ze adjustable +spanner!"</p> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p class="transnote"><b>Transcriber's Notes</b><br /><br /> + + +Minor punctuation errors have been silently corrected.<br /><br /> + +Page <a href="#Page_39">39</a>: In the sentence: "and anyone found guilty of exceeding 60 +miles per hour will be liable to a fine of 100 dollars, etc., etc." +"60" may be a typo for "50" because the following sentence says the +fine for exceeding 60 miles per hour is "250 dollars for the first +offence...."<br /><br /> + +Page <a href="#Page_48">48</a>: "Pittsburg" may be typo for "Pittsburgh."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(At Waynesburg I passed Pittsburg some miles to the right,)</span><br /> +</p> + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Across America by Motor-cycle, by C. K. 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K. Shepherd + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Across America by Motor-cycle + +Author: C. K. Shepherd + +Release Date: December 25, 2013 [EBook #44505] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ACROSS AMERICA BY MOTOR-CYCLE *** + + + + +Produced by Diane Monico and The Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + + + +ACROSS AMERICA BY MOTOR-CYCLE + +[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR.] + + + + +ACROSS AMERICA +BY MOTOR-CYCLE + +BY +C. K. SHEPHERD + +ILLUSTRATED + +NEW YORK +LONGMANS, GREEN & CO. +LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD & CO. +1922 +_All rights reserved_ + + +_Made in Great Britain +by_ Butler & Tanner, _Frome and London_ + + + + +PREFACE + + +A few months after the Armistice of 1918 was signed, when the talk of +everyone concerned was either WHEN they would be demobilized +or what they would do when they WERE demobilized, two young +men were exchanging views on this same subject in the heavy atmosphere +of a very ordinary hotel somewhere in London. + +One was wondering how near, or how far, were the days when he would see +the old home-folks once again "way back in Dixieland." + +The other was wondering what form of dissipation would be best suited +to remove that haunting feeling of unrest, which as a result of three +or four years of active service was so common amongst the youth of +England at that time. + +"How about getting married?" suggested the one. + +Then followed a long pause, wherein the other was evidently considering +the pros and cons of such a unique proposition. + +"Nothing doing," he replied eventually--"not exciting enough, old +man." Another pause--"And when I come to think, I don't know of any +girl who'd want to marry me even if I wanted to marry her." And as +if to give a final decision to any proposal of _that_ nature, he +added--"Besides, I couldn't afford it!" + +"But I tell you what I will do, Steve," said he, "I'll go back with you +across yon herring-pond and have a trot round America." + +So that was how it happened. + +Two or three months later, when I arrived at New York from Canada, +I purchased a motor-cycle and set out to cross the continent to the +Pacific, and I have it on the best authority that this was the first +time an Englishman had ever accomplished the trip on a motor-cycle. If +it is so, I don't wonder at it! + +The whole trip, which covered just fifty miles short of 5,000, was +undertaken quite alone, and although spread over about three months, +constituted a day or two short of a month's actual riding. For the +benefit of brother motor-cyclists who may be interested in such +details I may add that I dispensed entirely with the use of goggles +from beginning to end, and except at stops in large towns on the way +I wore no hat. I think that when the motor-cyclist gets accustomed to +doing without these encumbrances he will find the joys of motor-cycling +considerably enhanced. + +The total number of replacements to the engine alone comprised the +following: Five new cylinders; three pistons; five gudgeon pins; three +complete sets of bearings; two connecting rods, and eleven sparking +plugs. + +The machine was entirely overhauled on four occasions between the +Atlantic and the Pacific, and on three of these by the recognized +agents of the manufacturers. The engine cut-out switch was the only +part of the machine that did not break, come loose, or go wrong +sooner or later. I was thrown off 142 times, and after that I stopped +counting! Apart from that I had no trouble. + +Contrary to what the reader may think, I paid considerable care to +the machine, particularly in the early stages. For the first three +hundred miles I barely exceeded twenty to twenty-five miles per hour +in order to give the machine a good "running-in" before submitting it +to harder work. At the end of the trip I had spent more in repairs and +replacements than the original cost of the machine, and I sold it at +San Francisco for just over a quarter of the amount I paid for it three +months before. + +And I am still as keen a motor-cyclist as ever! + +The machine was of the four-cylinder, air-cooled type, and I have +nothing but praise for the smooth running that this type affords. I +have ridden scores of machines at one time and another, but never have +I driven any motor-cycle that for luxurious travel could I even compare +with the one mentioned in this narrative. As regards reliability, +however, I must leave the reader to form his own opinion from the +facts, which occurred exactly as I have stated them. Nothing in this +book is set down in malice, and I can only hope that my case was +exceptional so far as the frequent breakdowns were concerned. I must +admit that the conditions were exceptional and that anyone crossing the +United States on a motor-cycle might expect trouble sooner or later. + +The reader may observe that I say little of tyre trouble throughout the +story. That is for two reasons: the first is that there is nothing at +all interesting in the narrative of repairing a puncture, for instance; +the second is that I had very little trouble indeed to complain of. +With the smooth, even torque that is so characteristic of four-cylinder +engines, tyre trouble is easily halved, and practically all that one +has to fear is the terrible condition of most of the roads. I arrived +in San Francisco with the same tyres as I had when I started, and they +were still good for several hundreds of miles more. + +Petrol consumption, too, was excellent. Those who have not known +high-powered, four-cylinder motor-cycles would probably think the +consumption would be about forty miles to the gallon. On the contrary, +I found my machine much more economical than the same-powered V-twin. +As far as I know I averaged about 75 m.p.g. "all on." + +The journey was comparatively uneventful. I never had to shoot anybody +and nobody shot me! In spite of the relative wildness and barrenness +of the West, there were always food and petrol available in plenty. +I spent most nights at the side of the road and experienced neither +rheumatism nor rattlesnakes. + +In the following pages I have endeavoured to portray America and +Americans exactly as I found them and as they appealed to me. If at +times I perchance may give offence to any who are lovers of all and +anything American, I do it without intent. Suffice it to say that +before I went I had the highest opinion of anything that came from that +worthy country, so that it cannot be claimed that I am one of those +"Pro-British-every-time" individuals who delight in criticizing other +countries and other peoples in order to gratify their own sense of +national or other superiority. + +Finally, I will ask the reader to be patient, or at any rate, not +over-critical when he or she may confess to being bored. For the sake +of making this a complete record of my wanderings I have included that +which may lack interest, and as I can lay claim to no graceful diction, +I may, I am sure, rely on the reader's indulgence towards the narrative +of quite an ordinary, unaspiring, British motor-cyclist. + + C. K. S. + +BIRMINGHAM, 1922. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + +PROLOGUE 1 + + + I. TRAFFIC IN NEW YORK + +My Efforts to Become Americanized--Reflections on New +York Traffic--Dissertation on American Roads--Coney +Island--Equipment for the Journey 5 + + + II. NEW YORK TO PHILADELPHIA + +Companions in Distress--"The Playground of the World"--American +Proclivities towards the Superlative--A Lapse into +Philosophy--Introduction to the "Detour"--The Good Samaritan +Rewarded--Philadelphia--Adventures with a Garage Proprietor 12 + + + III. PHILADELPHIA TO WASHINGTON + +Prosperity in New England Villages--Motor-cycling de +Luxe--Peregrinations of a "Tin Lizzie"--Insights into the Inner +Life of an American Highway--Humouring a Negro--Self-conscious +Scruples--Illuminated Signs--Hotel Life in Washington 22 + + + IV. EXCEEDING THE SPEED LIMIT + +Experiences of Brick Roads--Approaching the Alleghanies--The +Lust for Speed--And Its Consequences--Queer Methods of Enforcing +the Law--Stranded 32 + + + V. ACROSS THE ALLEGHANIES + +Soliloquies of the Humble Poor--The Subtleties of Advertisement +Hoardings--Corn in Egypt--The Peregrinations of an English +Sovereign--A Whiff of Good Old London--Appreciation of +Nature in America--Lizzie Reports Sick--Lead, kindly +Light--Auto-suggestion as an Aid to Sleep 42 + + + VI. THE DIXIE HIGHWAY + +I Make the Acquaintance of the Ohio River--Lizzie develops +Acute Indigestion--The Irony of Henry Ford--I administer +First-aid--Hero-worship to a Rag-and-bone Merchant--A New +Use for an Old Tree--The Ubiquitous Columbus--The Friendly +Tram--The Dixie Highway--Eulogy to the City of Dayton--My +Extravagant Taste for Cake--An alfresco Meal--A Final Burst +of Extravagance--Home Once More 51 + + + VII. CINCINNATI AND ONWARDS + +Cincinnati--A Memorable Day--Aspersions on an American +Repair Shop--Chess-board Roads--The Humour of Decorated +Telegraph Poles--Soliloquy on the Pike's Peak Highway--Effects +of State Boundary Lines--Indian Corn--A Luxurious +Bathe--Indianapolis--The 3 A Club--What Constitutes a Good Road 60 + + + VIII. INDIANA AND ILLINOIS + +How Dirt Roads are Cultivated--A Brush with a Road-plough--How +Flivvers "get through"--A Bad Patch and a Good Samaritan--The +Subtleties of General Merchandise--I attract a Crowd in +Springfield--Taken for a Movie Actor--Future Cities of +Illinois--Illinois River--The Mississippi at Last--I sleep on +a Railway Embankment 70 + + + IX. STORMY WEATHER IN MISSOURI + +Hannibal--Infantile Automobilation--Rain in Missouri--I get +Annoyed--Railroads v. Highways--Kansas City 83 + + + X. RESULTS OF A BREAKDOWN + +Kansas City--I visit Lizzie on her Sick-bed--I visit an Editor +in his Lair--Kansas City gets My Story 89 + + + XI. THE SANTA FE TRAIL + +Westward Again--The Santa Fe Trail--Mosquito Nets--Into the +Great Prairies--I sleep in a River--Pie--Prairie Towns--In a +Thunderstorm--Colorado Reached--The Map proves not Infallible--A +Detour to the Heart of the Rockies--Rain Again 94 + + + XII. THE ROYAL GORGE OF ARKANSAS + +A Strange Dwelling--I am Taken for an American--Supper in +Style--Sleep in Style--Breakfast and Lunch in Style--The Sun +Once Again--Housebuilding at Speed--An Appreciation--The +Rockies--Pueblo--Pike's Peak--The Royal Gorge--The Lust +for Taking Pictures--Picturesque Names--The Worst Road in +America--A Mud Bath--The End of a Perfect Day 106 + + + XIII. IN SOUTHERN COLORADO + +Strange Mountain Forms--Trinidad--A Flivver to the Rescue--The +Raton Pass--A Wonderful View--At the Feet of the Rockies--A +Phantom Road--Prairie-dogs--Companions--Lizzie sheds a +Sprocket--A Tiring Search--The Biggest Thing in Mud +Lakes--Wagonmound--Argument with a Linemaster 118 + + + XIV. NEW MEXICO + +Adventures with a Railway--Stuck Once Again--Assistance +from California--House-hunting by Caravan--Las Vegas--A +Wonderful Ford--A Mexican Village--Lizzie Clean Again--The +Travelling Tinsmith--Santa Fe at Last 132 + + + XV. SANTA FE + +Santa Fe--Adobe Architecture--The Art Museum--Where +Americans Hustle Not--In the Limelight Again 148 + + + XVI. THE RIO GRANDE VALLEY + +Departure from Santa Fe--La Bajada Hill--Albuquerque--The +Rio Grande--Indians--The Morals of Mountains--Socorro--Camping +in the Mountains: A Farmyard Episode 155 + + + XVII. THE PETRIFIED FOREST OF ARIZONA + +Magdalena--A Strange Metamorphosis--I Sport a Camp Fire--A +Strange Sight--The Petrified Forest of Arizona--Holbrook--Lost +in the Arizona Desert--Mosquitoes Again--Winslow--An Ingenious +Anti-speeding Stunt--That Cylinder Again!--A New Use for Old +Sign-posts--Meteor Mountain--The San Francisco +Peaks--Fairy-land--Flagstaff 163 + + + XVIII. THE GRAND CANYON + +The Lowell Observatory--Wonders of Mars Hill--Ptomaine +Poisoning--Flagstaff Dwellings--Towards the Grand Canyon--A +Wonderful Ride--The First Approach of Loneliness--The End of +the World--The Greatest of all Natural Wonders 178 + + + XIX. THE MOHAVE DESERT + +Lizzie Comes to Grief--Etiquette of the Road--The Tragedy +of Peach Springs--Kingman--Desert Vegetation--Yucca--The Art +of Rut-riding--The Tomb of a Town--The Colorado Needles--A +Marvellous View--Oiled Roads--Ludlow 192 + + + XX. I REACH THE PACIFIC COAST + +Comrades in Arms--Lizzie begins to Complain--Death Valley--An +Unfortunate Caravan--The End of the Desert--The Cajon +Pass--Los Angeles is Startled 210 + + + XXI. LOS ANGELES TO SAN FRANCISCO + +Los Angeles--Friendly California--Towards 'Frisco by Night--I +Dream a Dream--The Californian Missions--The Salinas +Valley--The Last Sleep--Lizzie gives it up Again--The Struggle +for 'Frisco--4,950 at last! 224 + + +EPILOGUE 241 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + TO FACE + PAGE + +Portrait of the Author _Frontispiece_ + +A Common Occurrence 26 + +An Awkward Stretch of Road in Indiana 74 + +The Midnight Couch 74 + +The Oldest House in America, at Santa Fe 150 + +The Art Museum at Santa Fe 150 + +Pueblo of Taos 158 + +The Rio Grande, New Mexico 162 + +A Petrified Leviathan 170 + +Lizzie in the Petrified Forest, Arizona 170 + +The Trail to the Grand Canyon 178 + +The Lowell Observatory, Flagstaff 178 + +San Francisco Peaks from Flagstaff 178 + +The Bottom of the Grand Canyon 188 + +Cactus Trees near San Bernardino 206 + +In the Mohave Desert 206 + + + + +PROLOGUE + + +One bright morning in June--to be exact, the thirteenth (the +significance of that number will be apparent later), in the year of Our +Lord 1919 and in the year of American Prohibition 1, a small assembly +of mechanics, passers-by, and urchins witnessed my departure from a +well-known Motor Cycle Agency in New York. + +The machine, a perfectly new and very powerful motor-cycle, was +dazzling in her pristine beauty. No spot or blemish could be seen on +her enamel of khaki hue. No ungainly scratch or speck of rust marred +her virgin form. Her four little cylinders, gaily murmuring as the +engine joyfully sprang into life, seemed to hide a world of romance +as if they were whispering to each other of the days that were to +come, the adventures and experiences they were to encounter, and the +strange lands they were to see. The purr of her exhaust, healthy though +muffled, smooth and even in its rhythm, was music in my ears. A thing +of beauty is a joy for ever, and to those who know the call of the +open road and who love to feel the rush of the wind and the glamour +of speed, such was this machine. Although she was in reality but an +organized combination of various pieces of unfeeling, soulless metal, +without even a name, and known only by a sordid number embossed on a +tinplate provided by the Law, she was soon to develop a character and +personality of her own. She was to play the role of sole companion in +the weeks and months to follow. There would be times when I should +curse her profanely and at the same time love her passionately. I +pictured vast prairies and deserts where we should be alone together, +far from the haunts of man or animal or perhaps of any living +thing--times when it would depend upon HER to bear me on to +civilization. So I trust, reader, that you will not think I was waxing +too sentimental on that memorable day in June. + + * * * * * + +The mileage indicator just flicked to 4,422. + +I was hungry, hungry as a dog. I was thirsty too, and tired--oh, so +tired! The skin on my face was tanned dark with the desert sun and bore +the dirt of many days' accumulation. The growth of the previous week +was upon my chin. My hair was bleached and dishevelled, my clothes and +boots laden with the sand and dust of Arizona and California. With a +bandaged, broken finger, and the rest skin-cracked and bloodstained +with the alkali sand, I held the handles with the palms of my hands. +The sole was missing altogether from my right boot, and the left +contained many a piece of stone or gravel from far away. A couple of +empty water-bags flapped up and down on the handlebar, and as the +old bus dragged her weary way on three cylinders through the crowded +streets of Los Angeles her hideous clatter told many a tale of woe. I +decided at that moment that the best thing in all the world was to get +something to eat and drink. + +"What's the day of the month?" I asked, when with a final "clank" of +the engine we drove into the Agency Garage. + +"The seventh." + +"The month?" + +"August." + +"And what's the year?" + +"Nineteen nineteen." + +"The seventh of August nineteen nineteen," I mused, and relapsed into +contemplative silence.... + +Some one spotted the registration plate "N.Y.8844" and "rumbled" that I +had come from New York. + +"When did you start?" they asked in curious tones. The question +pulled me up with a jerk and brought me back to normal existence, so +inadequately measured by time. + +"Oh, seems like ten years ago!" I replied, and relapsed once more into +reverie. + + + + +CHAPTER I + +TRAFFIC IN NEW YORK + + +I spent the better part of two days in the survey of New York City +from all points of view. In the Pullman from Niagara I had decided +that America would probably be just as bad as any European country +for robbing the alien. I would therefore simulate the gentle habits +and customs of these (hitherto) worthy people. Having some slight +knowledge of their language I would endeavour to acquire perfection in +the art of American self-expression. I would cultivate the correct pose +of the hat and wear boots with knobbly toes. Only a little practice +would be required before I should be able to gyrate a cigar at the +accepted velocity from one corner of my mouth to the other. In a little +while, methought, I should feel much more at ease in tight-fitting +clothes with ridiculously small sleeves and three inches of projecting +shirt-cuffs. Maybe I should improve my outlook on the world if I viewed +it through a pair of large, round, ebony-rimmed spectacles. There was +just a possibility that I should some day appreciate the soothing charm +of a much-overworked morsel of chewing-gum. With all these splendid +accomplishments I could no doubt dispense with the less attractive +habits of Modern America. + +Let me say at the outset that I proved a dismal failure. I would sooner +master the Chinese than the American lingo. The infinite variations of +nasal accomplishment outnumber by far the tribal dialects of India +and leave the poor student to wonder and despair. Why! the number of +orthodox ways of translating the plain English word "Yes" is probably +beyond the scope of mathematical deduction! The shades and blends +between "Yep" and "Ye-oh" alone are sufficient to put a spectrograph of +the sun to shame. + +For four months I travelled through the wilds of New York, Ohio, and +Illinois, and even into the civilized states of Colorado, New Mexico, +and Arizona, in a vain search for the man who pronounced "Yes" with a +final "s." In the end I found him, lurking in a little restaurant in +Los Angeles. I gazed in wonderment intense and rapturous when I heard +it. I have his pedigree. He said he came from Boston. Boston, according +to all well-informed Bostonians, represents the acme of perfection in +all things relating to education, etiquette, and propriety. As such it +is unassailable by any other city in America. + +There was a time early on when I thought I was succeeding well. I found +that I did better by dispensing with speech altogether. If I dressed in +a "Palm Beach" suit, walked on people's feet, elbowed my way through +passers-by, and continually repeated to myself "The earth is mine +and all that therein is," there was never any doubt but that I was a +"Native Son." + +It is superfluous for me to say, however, that after many trials and +more rebuffs, I ultimately abandoned the idea of becoming Americanized. +"After all," thought I, "what sane Englishman wants to be an American?" +The project had been but a brain-wave to combat the "H.C. of L." To +the uninitiated, that is the recognized "Hearst" abbreviation for the +"High Cost of Living," a topic which so frequently appears in American +newspapers that editors were forced to face the question of either +referring to it in symbols or of cutting out the "Want-Ads." Finally, +therefore, I consoled myself that it was better for hotel bills, +cinemas, ice-cream sodas, petrol, and other necessities to rise 200 per +cent. on my approach than for me to lose my own soul. Incidentally, +virtue does not always have its own reward. On my return to England I +heard many accusations against me. "What an awful American accent you +have!" was the greeting of many one-time friends. + +... Some have recovered. Others are still in hospital! + + * * * * * + +It took me some time to get accustomed to the traffic of New +York--rather should I say, to its habits and practices. New York itself +consists of a network of streets and avenues ingeniously arranged on +an island which is about five or six times longer than it is broad. +The avenues run the length of the island and the streets run at right +angles across them. In addition, "Broadway" wobbles across from one end +of the island to the other, cutting the avenues at a weird angle of +anything between nothing and twenty degrees. + +At all the important street crossings was stationed a "traffic cop" +whose duty was apparently to hold up at the most inconvenient intervals +all the traffic going one way until all the traffic going the other way +had passed. Then he blew his whistle and Hey, presto! the traffic in +the other street began to move. It was fatal to move before the whistle +was blown. I didn't know that! + +I had been sailing down Sixth Avenue, just trying the machine for the +first time, as a matter of fact. Everything went smoothly. I felt at +peace with all the world. Here was I on my iron steed of ten little +horses, about to begin a long holiday wherein I should forget the +Kaiser and his deeds and the four or more years of my existence that +had gone in helping to bring about his everlasting undoing. But all of +a sudden: + +"Why the jooce don't yer stop, yer Goldarn young son of a gun?" +bellowed an irate "cop" who gesticulated but a few feet from my front +wheel. + +"Well, why the blankety blank SHOULD I blankety well stop, +anyway?" I returned, not to be outdone, as I pulled up in the exact +centre of 34th Street, Sixth Avenue, and Broadway. + +I could see a crowd beginning to collect. I don't like crowds at any +time. I have a keen antipathy for publicity. My friend the "cop" +drew nigh. "See here, young fellar: whar yer from?" he inquired, +evidently anxious to investigate further the mental condition of this +unique defier of the Law.... To cut a long story short, I was finally +constrained by good judgment to avoid further constabulary hostilities +and, in accordance with the somewhat over-ardent desire of the "cop," +retired like a whipped schoolboy to the corner where there was already +a long queue of waiting automobiles and taxis. In a few seconds the +whistle was blown and the procession sailed across 34th Street, headed +by a much-humbled motor-cyclist. + +I should explain at this juncture that a motor-cyclist is an altogether +despised individual in America. Motor-cycles are not popular over +there. With few exceptions they are owned by delivery men, newspaper +boys, "traffic-cops" and sundry other undesirables. Personally I do +not wonder at it. The roads and streets in the cities are bad enough +to ruin the constitution of any but the most confirmed young "blood" +who does not mind risking a few broken bones. I have seen places +in Broadway where the tram-lines wander six or seven inches above +the surface of the road and where the pot-holes would accommodate +comfortably quite a family of dead dogs within their depths. + +So much for the cities. The roads that traverse the country are with +few exceptions nothing better than our fifth-rate country roads on +which no self-respecting Englishman would ride. + +Here and there, in the far East and the far West, are found stretches +of concrete or macadam. Somehow, the Americans think they are great +road-builders. A couple of inches of concrete laid over a garden-path +or a sheep-track, with the cracks filled in with tar, represents the +zenith of road construction in this country of ninety odd million +inhabitants. I should like to see some of those concrete roads when +they have had a few years' solid wear with heavy lorries and occasional +traction engines. + +Ninety-five per cent. or more, however, of America's highways are dirt +roads, or what they are pleased to call "Natural Gravel." In many cases +they comprise merely a much worn trail, and as often as not a pair of +ruts worn in the prairie. Very often, instead of being a single pair +of ruts, there are five or six or perhaps ten, where individual cars +have manifested their own personality. When this multiplicity of ruts +crosses and re-crosses in a desperate attempt to achieve the survival +of the fittest, the resultant effect on the poor motor-cyclist is +somewhat disconcerting. But of this more anon. Suffice it to say that +on the whole journey of 4,500 miles from one coast to the other, I only +saw FOUR other motor-cyclists on the road anywhere. So the +reader will perhaps understand why the poor human who travels in this +fashion is to be pitied, and why his associates in the towns and cities +are despised by the rest of the community. + +When I had acclimatized myself to the traffic of New York and could +worm my way successfully in and out of the "hold-ups" or dart between +trams, taxis, cars, and other impedimenta without danger either to the +community or to myself, I felt that it was time for me to commence my +peregrinations in earnest. + +I decided first, however, to visit Coney Island, which is within easy +reach of New York (it is only a few miles away), and, with a plentiful +supply of trains, trams, and 'buses, is fed with a never-ending stream +of pleasure-seeking humanity. It has one avenue of perhaps a couple +of miles' length running parallel with the beach, and every nook and +corner on both sides accommodates a "fun palace" of some kind. There +are dancing-halls by the dozen; mountain railways, switchbacks, and +roundabouts by the score; soda fountains by the hundred. Fronting +the beach are hotels, boarding-houses, and restaurants of all types +save the best. Coney Island is decidedly not a place for the _elite_. +Hither flock young couples, married or single, representatives of the +American democracy, for a week-end of frivolity. The beach is at all +times sprinkled, as by a human pepper-box, with specimens of the "genus +anthropomorpha" of all sizes, of all ages, of all shapes, and in all +stages of dress and undress. I opined that indeed 'twas no place for +me, and with one push of the starting pedal the motor was a living +thing. "Enough is as good as a feast," and an hour at the Playground +of New York was an hour well spent; but I left it for ever behind me +without the slightest desire or intention of ever returning to its +whirl of plebeian gaiety. + +Arrived once more at New York City, I prepared to make my adieux. I had +two handbags only, one a beautiful new dressing-case, resplendent with +pig-skin writing pads, ebony brushes, and glass bottles, and the other, +a slightly larger one, which accommodated my spare clothing, boots, +etc., and the miscellaneous collection of junk that every globe-trotter +inevitably carries around with him. + +Now I have an inherent contempt for side-cars, although had one been +available at New York when I bought the machine I should have taken +it and carried all my luggage with me. That would have been the acme +of luxury. As it was, however, I contented myself with a good strong +carrier and with many straps; the dressing-case, surrounded by a good +thick blanket, was securely attached to the back of the machine. The +other bag I "shipped" on by train to my predetermined stops across the +country. + +That dressing-case must have weighed fifty or sixty pounds, and with +the blanket around it looked an alarming size when _in situ_. There +was no hope for it. I'm that kind of individual who always likes +plenty of silk shirts and pyjamas and things, so it didn't occasion me +the slightest worry if the people did stare wildly at me as I passed +through their towns and villages. + +And they "sure" did! + + + + +CHAPTER II + +NEW YORK TO PHILADELPHIA + + +"Gotter match?" he inquired as I pulled up near him. + +I had left my palatial sky-scraper hotel only fifteen minutes before. +Soon, I contemplated, my experiences in and around New York would +be past history. Happy and light-hearted, I was humming along that +boulevard with the truly wonderful surface which runs along the edge +of Manhattan Island. It is known as "Riverside Drive," and here dwell +many of America's millionaires. A young fellow and his companion with +a Harley-Davidson and side-car at the side of the road attracted my +attention. Neither of them looked as though he were a resident of that +district. A khaki-coloured shirt, thick corduroy breeches, leggings, +and boots were their only attire. One of them held up his hand when he +saw me. + +"Maybe these fellows know something about the roads," thought I; so I +stopped. + +To stop a motor-cyclist and ask him for a match seemed quite a unique +departure from the well-established English customs with which I was +familiar. Feeling benevolent, I silently proffered a box of "England's +Glory" wax vestas. Without a word he took one, scrutinized it closely +as though it were something wonderful in the art of match-manufacture, +and slowly lit his pipe. A dozen puffs ensued. He broke the silence. + +"Where you from?" + +"When I left it they called it 'England,'" I replied. + +Another dozen puffs. + +"Where you goin'?" + +"I may get to San Francisco some day." + +"You sure got some bit of pavement in front of you. I said it." + +"Well, I guess it's never so bad but what it might be worse," I hinted. + +He spat twice, puffed a few clouds, spat again; took another look at +me, then glanced at my machine. + +"You got SOME bird there," he ventured, and then added, as if +to place the assertion beyond all doubt,-- + +"I said it." + +I agreed that it ought to be able to get along. + +"Yew said it.--See that bird thar?" he asked, pointing to his machine. +"Waal, I guess she can move some too; she done eight thousand miles on +them roads, an' I guess they warn't mos'ly booleyvards neither." + +In the conversation which followed, mainly in reference to many +inquiries on my part as to the various "National Highways" which I +had learnt were occasionally to be found throughout the country, I +gleaned from this worthy native son that it would be better for me to +"go back 'ome and pick strawberries" than to continue farther with +such an obviously insane desire as to cross the American Continent. +I persisted, however, that having come thus far, I would at any rate +continue while sanity remained, although I should certainly bear his +good advice in mind for future reference. + +With a final injunction from him that I should know him when next I saw +him if I were fortunate enough to subsist in the land of the living, we +parted, and after a trip on the Ferry across the Jersey River, I was +soon winding my way out of the drab and dreary suburbs of Newark. + +It would be incorrect to say that the best people do not go to Atlantic +City. Americans, I believe, reckon this well-known seaside resort to be +one of the nine wonders of the world. No free-born American citizen, I +do not doubt, would give the credit of the other eight, whatever they +may be, to any foreign country. On this assumption I felt I should have +no difficulty in identifying the other eight when I had seen more of +"God's Own Country." + +Now Atlantic City is just one hundred per cent. American. It would be +impossible to associate it with any other country but America. To begin +with, it has the inevitable "million-dollar" pier. Let me explain that +nothing in America is worthy of popular patronage unless it costs at +least a million dollars. When I was at Niagara I was told how many +million gallons of water flowed over the falls in a year. No one (on +the American side) seemed to worry very much about the magnificence +of the falls or the grandeur of the river. Such sordid interests do +not appeal to them. But ask someone how many million horse-power will +be developed in a year, and see with what eagerness he relieves you +of your ignorance! The American public WILL have millions in +their calculations and their lust for the superlative MUST be +appeased. + +In Atlantic City there are naturally many objects of interest to the +budding student of modern life like myself, but, on the whole, the +amusements of this nation do not differ considerably from the modest +efforts of our own. There one can see the usual bashful maidens whose +main delight is to recline on the sand or parade the beach in the +latest thing in bathing costumes,--but never under any circumstances to +get them wet. Also we find the usual stores where every conceivable +variety of picture post card or "present from ..." can be bought. + +In two hours I was aweary of Atlantic City. In a very superior frame +of mind I trod on my feelings and the kick-starter of "Khaki Lizz" +(my soubriquet for the machine, which was finished entirely in that +delightfully-reminiscent hue) and turned her nose towards the west. +Philadelphia, I decided, was to be my resting-place that night. + +To be hot on the scent of Philadelphia was one thing; but to get there +was quite another. A glorious three-mile stretch of macadamized road +out of Atlantic City was indeed a tempting bait, and I admit for a +few luscious but brief moments I set at defiance all limits of speed +imposed for the general welfare of the public by worthy law-makers upon +the motoring population of New York State. I have always contended +(privately, not in public!) that laws are only made to be broken. I +might perhaps add that I was destined afterwards to supplement this +somewhat outrageous dictum with a further--"He only is entitled to +break laws who thoroughly knows and understands them!" + +As every wanderer in this vale of tears discovers, all good things +come to an end some time. That three-mile stretch of macadamized +road very soon came to an end. It ended, as far as I remember, in an +abrupt right-angle corner where in an endeavour to get round at about +forty-five miles an hour I nearly met myself coming back, and from that +point the road gradually bore resemblance to an elongated dust-heap. +They call it "natural gravel," which means that in the opinion of the +road engineers of that time the natural surface of the road did not +need any reinforcement in the way of metal. I should imagine that about +99 per cent. of all the roads in America are of this construction, the +remaining 1 per cent. being either covered with a layer of concrete, or +macadam, as in any civilized European country. At times, very few and +far between, this natural gravel forms quite a tolerable surface where +there is not much traffic, but it must be remembered that motor-cars +are used in the States on a far greater scale than is ever dreamt of +in England. I was, in fact, simply amazed at the tremendous number +of cars in the various towns and villages through which I passed. I +have sometimes been in a town, and quite a large one too, where it was +almost impossible to find a place at the side of the pavement where +I could leave my machine. Every available space was taken up with a +car, and in some towns, Salt Lake City for instance, I have seen cars +"parked" along the side of the road two-deep, so that to cross from one +side of the road to the other one has to traverse four separate ranges +of automobiles. In the summer, thousands of cars are travelling all day +long between Atlantic City and the adjacent large cities, so that the +reader can perhaps imagine the state of all the main highways in that +direction. + +I was here introduced to a diversion which at first seemed quite an +interesting one, but which continued familiarity certainly turned to +contempt. I refer to the "detour." The unfortunate motorist is perhaps +ploughing his way steadily along through the gravel, dust, and sand. +He encounters a barrier across the road bearing a notice that repairs +are going on and that he must follow the detour indicated. The road +selected, I believe, is generally the one with the most pot-holes, +ruts, mountains, canyons, etc., in its formation in the surrounding +district. Sometimes in these detours one finds further auxiliary +detours until finally one has to use the utmost intelligence and a +compass in order to get back to the main highway. + +I did not, therefore, arrive in Philadelphia strictly to schedule. +I was many times tempted to take up my abode at a convenient spot +on the side of the road. Several times I dismounted and examined a +promising spot, but always there was some very serious objection. This +objection either took the form of frogs or of mosquitoes or of both. +As we used to read in the days of the War, "the enemy was present in +large numbers." I did not relish either the prospect of being kept +awake indefinitely with the objectionable gurgling of a battalion of +bullfrogs or of being eaten to death in my slumbers by a nation of +bloodthirsty mosquitoes. + +So I spun onwards, ever onwards towards Philadelphia. Meanwhile the +sun was sinking lower and lower in the west. The nearer I got to +Philadelphia the more numerous became the cars on the road. It seemed +as though the whole of Philadelphia frivolled at Atlantic City on +a Sunday afternoon. I was working my way along, dodging tremendous +pot-holes and ruts, imagining myself in an hour or two's time reposing +comfortably between clean white sheets. All of a sudden a most +distressing noise came across my ear. It appeared to be a motor-cycle +in pain. At times there was only one cylinder firing. Sometimes there +were two. At other times there was none at all. I drew in to the side +of the road and waited for the unfortunate author of this disturbance +to arrive. + +He soon emerged from the darkness. He had no lights, and was only too +pleased to stop at the sight of another motor-cyclist. + +"Why, I thought I was the only madman about here," I greeted him, +surprised but gratified to know that there really were other seemingly +sane people who rode motor-cycles in America. + +How delighted he was to meet another Englishman! He had, he explained, +been in America only a year or two, having come from my old home town +of Birmingham during the War. He had got so "fed up" with Americans +that it was a treat to set eyes on anyone from the Old Country. + +He was a youth of eighteen or nineteen years, and after I had fixed him +up with a couple of sparking plugs and attended to a few other urgent +requirements, he asked me abruptly, but quite politely, the inevitable +question, just as I might have expected. "Where you from, an' where you +goin'?" + +I explained that I was making for Philadelphia, where I hoped to find +somewhere to lay my weary head. + +"Well, if you don't want anything very luxurious," said he, "I think I +can fix you up all right, if you don't mind going on ahead to light the +way." + +I gladly assented, and by this means, with my brilliant headlight +illuminating the road, it did not take us long to reach the Delaware +River, on the opposite bank of which stood the fine old city of +Philadelphia. It took a quarter of an hour to cross the river by the +ferry, but once in Philadelphia my friend was happy. "Now you follow +me," he said. + +He had no lights whatever, but his engine was running well, so I agreed +and followed. This was not in itself very easy. I am perfectly certain +that I have never seen ANY motor-cycle ANYWHERE +dash along at such a rate through a city. Although it was dark and I +could not see my speedometer, I am sure that he must have travelled +about forty-five miles per hour through the streets of Philadelphia. +They were certainly good and straight and wide. There was a little +traffic here and there, but this did not seem to worry our friend in +the slightest. Occasionally we saw a "cop" or two standing on a street +corner make a half-hearted attempt to step into the road to hold us up. +Our friend, however, was desperate and would stop for no one. After +about a quarter of an hour's riding, dodging round corners and shooting +past obstructions at a tremendous pace, he pulled up at a small corner +house in a secluded portion of the town and we dismounted. He lived +with his mother, he explained, but she was away in New York. Also he +had lost his latchkey. Also it was really a florist's shop, but he was +sure I wouldn't mind. "There is nothing for it," he said, "but to climb +the fire escape and get in through the front window." + +I shouldered him up to an iron frame projecting from the house. Thence +he clambered on to a rickety fire escape leading up the wall into +blackness, and he was soon lost to sight. A few moments later the front +door opened and we pushed our muddy, dirty machines on to the clean +linoleum of the front room, where they remained overnight surrounded by +pots of roses, carnations, palms, and ferns. This, he explained, was +quite the usual procedure and his mother would not mind a bit! + +It was then about 11.30, and when we had washed some of the dirt from +our faces we sallied forth in quest of a meal. We had no difficulty in +picking up the scent of a flourishing cafeteria. Neither did we have +any difficulty in disposing of disgusting quantities of hot coffee and +"waffles," a commodity peculiar to America, resembling pancakes and +eaten with jugfuls of maple syrup. + +Well after midnight we returned to our domicile, and I laid me down +to sleep the sleep of the righteous. At seven o'clock in the morning +I bade farewell to mine host. Not a cent would he accept in payment +for my night's lodgings. So, with the parting assurance that he would +drop in and see me when he was next in England, we each took our +several roads--he in the direction of a neighbouring works where he was +employed as a mechanic, and I towards Washington, drifting meekly along +the streets at certainly nothing like the speed of the night before. + +The road for some distance was good, the sun came out, and the day +promised to turn out fine and hot. I soon began to feel an inward +content. Everything was going smoothly. I was expecting some money to +be waiting for me at Washington, and then I should have nothing to +worry about for a long time to come. + +As it usually happens when one begins to pat oneself on the back, +I immediately had a puncture. It was of course in the back wheel. +Meanwhile the sun was rising higher and higher, and when, after about +half an hour, I had repaired the wheel, I was feeling very thirsty. +Another five miles further on I had another puncture. This time it +happened to be exactly outside a garage. + +I have known places in England where a certain amount of trade is +always guaranteed by the ingenuity of some of the garage proprietors +who regularly and systematically throw tacks and nails along the road +in their vicinity. It occurred to me that this was a practice not +confined to England, as examination revealed the cause of the puncture +to be a nice long nail driven through from one side of the tube to the +other. Not feeling of a very arduous disposition at the time, I wheeled +it into the garage to be repaired. + +I am afraid I was rather annoyed at the result. In the first place, I +had to supply the mechanic with solution. In the second place, I had +to take off the tyre for him. In the third place, I supplied a patch; +and in the fourth place, I actually had to do the job for him. After +settling his account, I finally explained in language as polite as I +could muster that in my opinion the practice of strewing discarded +nails and other implements on the highway, while not being exactly +meritorious in itself, was just as commendable a method of obtaining a +business connection as many that were frequently resorted to in other +trades or professions of a higher standing. I explained, however, that +after having been so successfully victimized by such an artifice, one +would consider oneself justified in expecting a much higher standard of +workmanship than was apparently forthcoming in his establishment. + +Then we parted, the mechanic expressing the hope that he would never +(crimson) well see me again, and that if I ever did happen to be coming +back that way and got a nail in my (unspeakable) tyre that he would see +me in (Arizona) before he would (smoking) well repair it for me! + + + + +CHAPTER III + +PHILADELPHIA TO WASHINGTON + + +The scenery now began to look charming. Rolling ranges of hills +extending into the distance clustered around as we drew nearer to the +Chesapeake River, which flows into the well-known bay to which it gives +its name. + +"All aboard for Chesapeake Bay." + +... I hummed the air to myself as the road abruptly ended and a +suspension bridge continued the course across the broad, peaceful mouth +of the river. The whole country around seemed to be permeated with a +comfortable, wholesome vigour. Nothing seemed shabby, discontented, or +poverty-stricken. I passed through many small towns and embryo cities. +All were prosperous and all extended a hearty welcome to the traveller +or visitor. Stretched across the road between two poles, just before I +entered one little town, was a huge white banner bearing the words:-- + + "CONWAY CITY WELCOMES YOU. +WE LIKE TRAVELLERS TO VISIT US. +HAVE A GOOD LOOK AT OUR CITY." + +Conway "City" did not prove to be exactly a metropolis. It was probably +nothing more than a well-to-do farm town. But the houses were clean and +neat, indeed some of them were very beautiful, perfectly up-to-date but +never objectionably modern. The roads were a bit bumpy in places but +not at all bad as American roads go. As I passed out of the town I saw +another notice similar to the first:-- + +"THANK YOU FOR COMING. + WE HOPE YOU LIKE US. + COME AGAIN." + +I got so used to being welcomed to every town I came to that I forgot I +was a "stranger" in a "foreign land." There was not a town or village +that did not publish its welcome in some form or other. In the main it +was by advertisements. But if I stopped at a wayside store to quench +my thirst (oh, the sun was hot!) I was met neither with scowls nor +incivility. I am reminded of the old joke of _Punch_ many years ago:-- + +"Oo's that bloke over theer, Bill?" + +"Dunno; stranger, I think." + +"'Eave 'arf a brick at 'im." + +That is typical of what we _English_ think of strangers. The man +of better education or more refinement perhaps expresses himself +differently, but he feels just the same as a rule. + +At this juncture in my reveries the macadam road stopped and gave +way to "natural gravel." That was quite sufficient to postpone any +soliloquies I may have been indulging in until a later date. The +entire sixty seconds in every minute were employed in keeping myself +substantially upright. Small pot-holes gave place to larger ones, +and they in turn to larger still. The loose sand, which was an inch +or two deep at the start, soon assumed more considerable depths. As +the detective books of our youth used to say, "The plot grew thicker +and thicker." I was floundering about from right to left, prodding +energetically on the ground each side with my feet to maintain some +kind of balance. At times the back wheel churned up the sand aimlessly +in an endeavour to get a grip on something solid. Here and there the +sand and gravel were heaped into great ridges as if a mighty plough +had been along that way. Getting through this stuff, thought I, was +no joke. Furthermore, it was warm work; very warm work. Now and then +I would find myself directed absolutely without control from one side +of the road to the other, and only with the greatest strain could +I keep the machine on its wheels. And with all this the "highway" +still maintained its regulation width of 90 feet! The casual observer +from an aeroplane above would in all probability be attracted by its +straightness, its whiteness, and its apparent uniformity. "What a +splendid road!" he would think. + +Not so I. I was on the point of physical exhaustion with the +seemingly-endless paddling and pushing and heaving (and don't forget +the half-hundred-weight bag on my back!) when I was thrown on to a +steeply-cambered part of the road at the side. The back wheel just slid +limply sideways down the slope and left everything reposing peacefully +in the natural gravel of Maryland. + +When I had extricated myself from under the machine, I surveyed the +position with a critical eye. What a road for a civilized country! +These Yanks must be jolly-well mad to tolerate such roads as this! + + * * * * * + +Just then an old Ford came by. It was shorn entirely of mudguards, +running boards, and other impedimenta. As he wallowed past me, swaying +to this side and that, sometimes pointing at right angles to the way +he was going and with his old engine buzzing away in bottom gear and +clouds of steam issuing from his radiator (it had no cap; it must have +blown off!) the driver seemed perfectly at ease. He rolled a cigar +stump from one corner of his mouth to the other and gazed nonchalantly +ahead. I don't think he even noticed me and my recumbent motor-cycle. +I could not repress a grin as his old box of tricks disappeared slowly +up the road, wagging its tail this way and that and narrowly averting a +catastrophe at every few yards. "You ragtime bunch of tin merchants!" +I mused (not so much in reference to the driver as to the nation in +general!) as his diminishing form finally side-slipped into the ditch +at a bend in the road. + +And then a distressing thought struck me: "They'll never believe me +when I get back home and tell them!" So I took my little camera out of +the tool-box on the top tube and snapped the worst bit of road there +and then. A five minutes' struggle followed, in which "Khaki Lizz" was +withdrawn from her ditch. + +By way of nourishment to sustain me in any further fights with the +road, I slowly and meditatively consumed one only orange before +proceeding once more. + +But things did not improve. Here and there, where the ridges of soil +and gravel had not been disturbed, grew tufts of grass and weeds. Huge +ruts, crossing and recrossing in the remaining sand, showed where cars +were wont to pass as fancy dictated, and with only two wheels it was +barely possible to maintain any progress at all. + +"Hang it all! This is TOO much!" I exclaimed, after a few more +precipitate dismounts,--and took another photo and ate another orange. + +A mile or two farther on I came to a weird-looking machine at the +side of the road. It was a sort of combination of steam tractor and +automatic plough, but very much bigger and more complicated. Its main +function was to chop down _en masse_ the sides and banks of the road +and shovel the debris into the middle. Grass, shrubs, bushes, and young +trees alike fell victims to its activities. Now this really was the +limit! Not satisfied with the condition of the road as it was, they +sent forth this "Heath Robinson" mechanism to improve it. I stopped and +left the bike standing in the road where it was--there was no need to +prop it up against anything--and went back to question the driver of +this implement as to its function in life. + +He was not perturbed in the slightest either at my question or at the +heated state of mind and body in which I approached him. Punctuated +by intervals in which he slowly masticated a worn-out chunk of +chewing-gum, he explained that all good motorists liked wide roads; +that the State Council had decided that motorists should have wide +roads; that they had provided machines for widening roads that at +present were not up to standard width; and finally that he was there to +see that this machine did its work properly! + +[Illustration: A COMMON OCCURRENCE. + +_By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler._] + +So I took another photograph, ate another orange, kicked the +self-starter once more, and pushed on again. The road got worse and +worse. Sometimes there were ruts and sometimes there were strips of +unploughed field in the middle of it. But I spent no more films on +it. The people at home, I decided, would have to take my word for +it after all. About ten miles farther on I came to a cross-road. +It was perfectly straight and beautifully paved with concrete and +stretched from one horizon to the other. With what joy I gazed upon its +countenance! There was a wooden shack on one corner, evidently a +saloon. A negro sat on the doorstep, gazing indolently at me. + +"Is this the road to Baltimore?" I inquired, indicating the concrete +highway. + +No reply. But he continued to gaze at me, and spat twice. + +"Must be deaf," thought I. "How's this for Washington?" I shouted. + +Still no reply. + +"Say, brother, which is the road to Baltimore?" I inquired as politely +as convenient. + +The appellation "brother" had its effect. The negro jerked his thumb +over his shoulder, indicating that I was to go straight on (and +incidentally follow that excruciating stretch of natural gravel). + +Fortunately, Baltimore was not many miles away, and when I got there I +breathed many sighs of relief. There were paved roads, good and true; +macadam and concrete for miles and miles, all the way to Washington. +I picked my way by instinct through Baltimore, the capital of the +State of Maryland, not stopping for food or rest. I would reach my +destination before I gave way to such physical necessities. I certainly +had an appetite, but I always feel that more than two meals a day when +on tour are not only unnecessary, but mean a dead loss of time, money, +and distance. + +The reports on the state of the road ahead turned out to be true +in every detail, and throwing to the winds all respect for such +trivialities as speed limits, I made up for at least a good fraction of +the time wasted on the road. + +When, about 5 p.m., I pulled Lizzie on to her stand outside one of +Washington's "cafeterias," I began to feel an incipient timidity. I +doubted whether I should be able to get into any respectable hotel. +I was covered in dust, and dirt. Headgear of any kind I had dispensed +with altogether. My hair was dusty and knotted with the wind. Owing to +the heat, I had also found it advisable to remove my collar and tie, so +that the wind could circulate as much as possible. How could I in such +a condition maintain my self-respect in Washington, the magnificent +capital of the United States? + +Fortunately, it did not take long for me to overcome such scruples. +Another day or two on the road, and I was perfectly at ease during the +intervals in which I had intercourse with civilization. Occasionally I +experienced a difficulty in entering a drug-store for an iced drink, +and sometimes I felt a trifle shy at my bare, sunburnt neck, but no one +seemed to mind. I soon found that in America, and particularly when +travelling in the West, one could wear absolutely anything that one's +fancy might dictate without rousing the slightest disturbance. + +After satisfying my requirements at the "cafeteria," the second item on +my programme was a visit to the Post Office. This revealed the sordid +fact that there was no money awaiting me. It can easily be understood +that such a discovery might have proved most distressing. I had been +advised not to take much with me, but to cable for a draft from home at +intervals. My adviser, as I was afterwards to find out to my cost, had +overlooked the utterly chaotic state of the post-war transatlantic mail +service. + +I still had a little left, however, quite enough to get me comfortably +to Cincinnati, my next financial depot, so why worry? I could always +work for a living, or at any rate, if I did not feel inclined to that, +I might pawn something. + +I found a hotel that, from the outside, just suited my fancy. Plain, +large and unpretentious, it described itself in an illuminated sign as +the "National." I booked a room at three dollars (12_s._ 6_d._) and +sallied forth to see the sights. + +I was impressed with Washington. It is truly a city of beautiful +streets and magnificent buildings. Undoubtedly it is the city _de luxe_ +of America. Being the capital, wealth is lavished upon it. No factories +or barren wastes disfigure its graceful countenance. Every street or +avenue glistens at night with a bewildering multitude of illuminated +signs. This method of advertising is typically American. The first +impression of a stranger visiting a large American city at night is +that he is in a children's luminous palace. There are illuminations +and decorations of every conceivable nature. Sometimes a single sign +advertising perhaps some particular brand of chewing-gum or cigarette +or motor-car has thousands and tens of thousands of lights wonderfully +displayed in different colours and arranged in different series, one +series flashing into view as another disappears, then a few seconds +later giving place to another still more wonderful, and finally there +comes a grand climax in which all the colours and all the series and +all the figures blaze forth in an indescribable orgy of light. + +When I found myself finally back in my hotel I was to be the victim +of still another disillusionment. No country anywhere could rival +America for hotels, I had thought. But I had not then experienced the +"National" at Washington. The room allotted to me was literally an +outrage. It was of the very poorest that one would expect to find in +an East End boarding-house in the Old Kent Road. It had one window, +which faced on to an unimaginably dreary "area." The carpet was +threadbare and colourless. The furniture, consisting of one bed, one +dressing-table, one wardrobe and one chair was obviously suffering from +advanced senile decay. There was a washbasin in one corner that boasted +of two taps and a piece of wood to stop the hole up with. The door +showed signs of having been minus a lock for many a long day. I was too +tired, however, to bother about trivialities of detail, so putting my +revolver under the blanket near me in case of possible eventualities, I +laid me down in peace to sleep. + +Nothing occurred, however, to disturb my peace of mind or body +throughout the night. The following morning found me hot on the warpath +after a bathroom. After sundry peregrinations I unearthed a clue. It +was in the form of a very corpulent negress--evidently a chambermaid. +"Bathroom?" "No, dere am no bathroom h'yar," she informed me. But I +persisted in my inquiries, suspecting her reply to be a mere excuse +for sheer laziness. Finally, as a last resort, I absent-mindedly took +my "life preserver" from my hip pocket and looked at it vacuously. Its +effect was magical. "Yes, saar, yes, saar, come right h'yar!--I find +you bathroom!" + +When I came to square up that morning I paid my respects and three +dollars to the management. + +"See here, Mister Manager," I said in such a tone that everyone +within hearing distance had the benefit of it as well, "I've done a +bit of travelling here and there, but never in ANY city at +ANY time have I struck ANY hotel that for sheer +rottenness compares with THIS one!" + +I have an idea at the back of my mind that that manager-man doesn't +love Englishmen! + +Now that I had seen America's capital, I turned my face to the west, +and began to make rash estimates and frivolous promises to myself +concerning my destination for the day. Could I get to Cincinnati +next day? How long would it take to do the odd 550 miles or so? And +what would be my reception when I got there? I had some friends in +Cincinnati, friends that I had never even seen. What would they think +when they saw THIS specimen roll up to their front door in +Clifton Avenue? Was Lizzie going to stand up to it all right? When +should I get to the coast? What kind of roads should I meet "out West"? +And so I wondered on. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +EXCEEDING THE SPEED LIMIT + + +I did not waste much time on the road. Fortunately there was a good +proportion of concrete road, although the inevitable natural gravel +was not by any means conspicuous by its absence. I also passed many +stretches of brick road. + +This variety is confined in England mainly to city streets, and is +associated nearly always with trams. Not so in America. On the main +roads of the East I have passed many a ten-mile stretch of splendidly +paved highway made solely out of good red brick, and of the correct +size and shape and camber of surface that literally made one's +tyres hum and sing as each brick was momentarily touched in endless +procession. I need hardly say that for every good stretch of brick road +there are UMPTEEN bad ones though, just to add a spice of life +_a la grande route_. Here and there one would encounter by no means +solitary patches where apparently some enterprising farmer had torn up +a few bricks from in front of some one's house to repair his cowshed +or to build a new pigsty, or maybe to help put another storey on his +house. There would seem to the lay mind such as my own to be a most +decided disadvantage in this method of road construction! To put it +mildly, it is disheartening when one is enjoying a fifty-mile-an-hour +sprint on a straight stretch of road visible almost from horizon to +horizon, to be rudely awakened from swift but peaceful contemplation +of the beauties of nature, the loveliness of the atmosphere and the +joys of motoring by being mercilessly thrown on top of the handlebars +with one tremendous thump. At one spot of which I have very vivid +recollections, the road took a short dip down and up again. In the +bottom of the "valley" thus formed was a young but aspiring canyon where +a wayward stream had left its prosaic path to strike out in life on its +own across the road. Its presence was unfortunately undiscernible until +close acquaintanceship was made. + +When I came round I was vaguely conscious of something having happened, +but as the engine was still running and the front wheel was still +fairly circular, I got up and rode on, but not until I had arrived +definitely at the conclusion that had I been doing sixty instead of +forty-five I should have jumped across the bit of road that wasn't +there and been hardly the wiser of it! + +Here it was that I began to scratch crosses on the top tube to keep +count of the number of times I was thrown off on the whole trip. + +When the top tube got too short I put them on the front down tube. + +When that was full I scratched them on the bottom tubes. + +After that I trusted to memory. But that was when I got to the "Far +West." + +I made good time, however, in spite of an occasional set-back, and +looked forward to completing three hundred and fifty miles that day. +With luck I should reach Cincinnati the next, and then, oh for the joys +of a good hot bath, clean clothes, well-cooked food, and last, but not +by any means least, good company. And I wasn't forgetting either that +I had only about twenty-five dollars in my pocket. With no mishaps I +should have enough and to spare for even three or four days' travelling. + +It was not yet midday, and the sun was getting very hot indeed. +Moreover, I was getting hungry. Although I believe the two-meal-a-day +system to be an excellent one, one sure gets a roaring appetite for +breakfast at the end of a hundred-mile ride. So if I had not a moral +excuse for a little real speed work I at least had a physical one. The +road surface now changed from red brick to dazzling white concrete +as in the far distance the Alleghany Mountains, that inexpressibly +beautiful range that stretches parallel with the Atlantic coastline +from Maine to Georgia, loomed gradually higher on the horizon, its +varying tints growing deeper and deeper as mile after mile flew by. + +There was hardly a soul on the road. Occasionally I would pass a +touring car loaded up with human freight and with luggage bags, +bandboxes and portmanteaux piled up and strapped (and sometimes I +think glued!) to every available mudguard, wing or projection that was +large enough to accommodate them and quite a lot that weren't. Then +a hay wagon flew by, and then, after a few miles, a solitary farmer +on horseback--not at all a common sight in this land of Fords and +motor-cars. And after a few more miles a tiny black speck came into +view on the horizon. It took a long time to catch up. When I got closer +I made it out to be a Buick roadster, its two occupants, a young man +and his (apparent) fiancee, evidently enjoying a little spin in the +country. And he wasn't crawling either. A touch of my electric horn +(oh, a beautiful horn it was!) aroused his soul from its soliloquy and +he drew in to the right, waving me on vigorously as he did so. And +as I passed him he seemed to quicken a little. I glanced sideways for +an instant and spotted a gleam in his eye. So I accepted his unspoken +challenge and glanced now and then over my shoulder. He was hanging on +well, his six cylinders to my four. A mile was passed and he was still +just a little way behind. The road was clear and straight, so I opened +out a little more. + +Another glance. He was still there. My speedometer hovered around fifty. + +Not to be outdone I twisted Lizzie's right handlebar grip as far as it +would go, and like a bolt from the blue we darted ahead. Fifty-five, +sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-five. The wind was simply screeching +in my ears. + +Another glance back, our friend was slowly losing distance. A minute or +two more and he was fast dwindling behind. In ten miles he was almost +back on the horizon. + +I had visions of breakfast in "Hagerstown," the next town of importance +not so very far ahead. And so I forgot our friend of the Buick. In ten +minutes' time I came to a village. As usual the good surface of the +highway stopped and the roads through the town turned from the perfect +concrete to an infernal hotch-potch of holes, gullies, ruts and mounds. +Ironical notice boards warned the traveller that he must reduce his +speed to fifteen miles per hour. It was purgatory even to go at four! +To plunge into a seething mass of soil-waves at speed is disconcerting. +It annoys you. But it is a custom that grows on you in Eastern America. +You flounder about from side to side; you take a hop, skip and a +jump here, there and everywhere; your very bones are shaken in their +sockets; your temper approaches a frenzy of despair; and your language! + +Time was when I would blush with shame at the sound of a word that +was bad. Then a war came along and I learnt to experience the +soothing charm of an occasional flow of language. Occasionally I met +a sergeant-major who could swear freely for five minutes without even +repeating himself! + +And then I motor-cycled across the States. And my heart rejoiced within +me that I had received such an excellent education. I found that with +very little provocation or practice I could, had I the desire, have +graduated to a very much higher stage of perfection in the United +States than with the British Army in France. Indeed I will go so far +as to aver that when ultimately I reached San Francisco not only could +I have put to shame the most cultured sergeant-major that ever drilled +recruits on a square, but in his moments of greatest enlightenment his +powers of speech would have appeared as the futile prattle of childhood +compared to what _I_ could have taught him. + +So that is why I slowed down when I got to "Victorville." + +In a few minutes, who should come alongside but our friend with the +Buick racer. He slowed down and put up his hand. "Mind stopping here a +minute?" he asked. + +"Not at all," I replied, thinking he wanted to ask the way or borrow a +sparking plug--or maybe beg a match. + +He got out of his car and came along. + +"Say, d'ye know what speed you were doing way back there?" he asked +casually with a kind of ten-percent.-solution smile. + +"Well, I don't know exactly, but I guess I got YOU beat, +anyway!" I chuckled. + +Whereat he pulled a pocket-book from his coat and opened it. (Going to +give me his card, thought I.) + +"I'll trouble you for your number," quoth he, as he came to a page that +was all nicely printed in columns ready for use. + +From that moment I saw things in a different light. Verily the workings +of the Law would seem to be getting interesting. + +"And your licence, please?" after he had obligingly removed a layer of +dust from my number-plate. + +"What licence?" + +"Your driving licence, of course. What y' think?" + +"See here. Mebbe I do look a bit of a mug, but I do know you don't have +to have a separate licence in New York State, s'long as your machine is +registered. The number-plate is the same thing as a licence." + +"Oh, is it? I didn't know that." (Pause) "Well, do you mind following +me a short way down the road--next block but one. It isn't far." + +Whereat he got in his car again and moved slowly forward, while his +lady friend protruded her arm from one side as if to stop me if I was +inclined to dash past. + +I did think of it in fact, because I knew I could give him a run for +his money, but America, I recollected, was noted for its telephone +service and I couldn't quite fancy having to resort to a hiding-place +near the banks of the Ohio or perchance a field of corn somewhere in +Indiana. + +So I followed them down to the corner. + +We stopped at a small wooden shanty on the door of which was a board +bearing the sign "DANIEL S. TOMKIN, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW." My +friend the "speed cop" pushed open the door and ushered me into a +passage. On the right was another marked "JUSTICE TOMKIN." +"Come in: come in," shouted a shrill seedy voice as the "cop" knocked +at the door. + +"I've got a case for you, Judge," said he, when we got inside. + +"Oh yes, oh yes!"--and then to me--"Take a seat, sir, please, and +er--make yourself at home." + +I'm afraid at that juncture I began to laugh. The "Judge" was just +the kind of man that we love to see "on the pictures" in England, but +who we never believe really exists. I had seen his prototype dozens +of times before. Tall and wiry, thin legs and tight trousers, "Uncle +Sam" physiognomy with the usual goat's beard and with stars and stripes +printed in indelible ink all over him. He sat at a desk bare of papers, +books, letters or other impedimenta. How long the desk had been cleared +for action I know not, but his duties as a Justice of the Peace +evidently did not involve any overtime from the look of things. The +room was small and dingy and its walls were covered with shelves piled +with books of all colours, shapes and sizes. + +JUDGE.--"And what has this gentleman been doing?" + +SPEED COP (producing notebook and reading +therefrom).--"Driving a motor-cycle in excess of the legal speed limit, +namely at forty-five miles an hour." + +JUDGE (after reaching from a bookcase a large red book marked +"Laws, Bye-Laws and Regulations existent in the State of Maryland," +or words to that effect).--"I will proceed to read Statoot number +51, article 13, section 321b, subsection 2a of the 'Regulation of +Traffic in the State of Maryland Act, 1898.'"--(Submerged chuckle +from self)--"And it is hereby enacted that anyone found guilty of +exceeding 25 miles per hour but not exceeding 30 miles per hour will +be liable to a fine of not less than 5 dollars for the first offence +and of 50 dollars for a second and any subsequent offence; and anyone +found guilty of exceeding 30 miles an hour but not exceeding 35 miles +per hour will be liable to a fine of not less than 10 dollars for +the first offence, etc., etc.; and anyone found guilty of exceeding +35 miles per hour but not exceeding 45 miles per hour will be liable +to a fine of not less than 25 dollars for the first offence, etc., +etc."--(Considerable amusement visible on the face of self)--"and +anyone found guilty of exceeding 60 miles per hour will be liable to a +fine of 100 dollars, etc., etc."--(Feeling of merriment subsides)--"but +anyone found guilty of exceeding 60 miles per hour will be liable to +a fine of 250 dollars for the first offence and of 1,000 dollars and +imprisonment for any subsequent offence. I am afraid, sir, in view of +the evidence and of the dictates of Statoot number 51, article 13, +section--etc., etc., I shall have to administer the minimum fine of 25 +dollars." (I breathe again). + +SELF.--"Say, Judge, we seem to have got a bit ahead, don't we? +Aren't I going to have a chance to say anything?" + +JUDGE (a little "peeved." Evidently that aspect of the case +hadn't occurred to him).--"By all means, sir, by all means. Say jest +what you like." + +Now I have neither the eloquence of a Disraeli nor the declamation of a +Demosthenes, but I do claim to have no small power of persuasion when +it comes to an argument or a question of opinion. So I mustered up +every effort and summoned every resource to convince this malevolent +Judge that he had been reading his "Statoots" upside down and that, +far from being incriminated, I should, on the contrary, be granted a +handsome award. I invoked the aid of every artifice known to humanity. +Every inflexion of the voice; every modulation of speech; every appeal +for sympathy, innocence, ignorance and youth known to me was conjured +up. + +And to what purpose? Did the Judge budge?--I might as well have read +him Gibbon's _Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_ in five minutes for +all the good it did. + +"I am very sorry, sir," he said, "but the Statoot says that the minimum +fine is 25 dollars, so it must be 25 dollars." + +"But, my dear good Judge," said I, "I've only got about 25 dollars in +the world at the present moment." + +"Well, I'm very sorry, but the fine is 25 dollars"--(and then an +afterthought)--"Oh! and costs as well." + +"Costs!" I gasped in amazement. + +"Yes, my costs will be 75 cents, and that makes 25 dollars 75 cents +altogether." + +Then ensued more argument, more persuasion, more eloquence, more +appeals, but it was all in vain. I took out my wallet and counted out +my belongings. + +I had just 25 dollars and a few odd "bits." + +And then the humour of the situation appealed to me once more, and +stronger than ever before. I laughed at the Cop and I laughed at the +Judge and I laughed at myself for laughing and paid over the 25 dollars +75 cents. + +"Thank you very much. Good-day, sir," said the Judge as he put the +"bucks" loosely in the drawer in his desk. + +Here the Cop spoke up: "I have another charge against the defendant, of +riding without his registration certificate, but it's getting late, and +I think we might as well overlook it in view of the circumstances." (He +was evidently thinking of his girl waiting outside.) + +I suggested it _would_ be as well and left the Judge to gloat over his +ill-gotten gains. + +The idea of that goat-faced Judge and his sleek-eyed friend the "speed +cop" having a good dinner together at my expense did not appeal to my +better self. How was I going to travel 450 miles, buy petrol, oil and +food with about tenpence in my pocket? On the opposite side of the road +stood Lizzie with her carrier piled high and dusty, waiting, patiently +waiting, for her lord and master. Ah, pathetic sight!--An idea--I +return to the sanctum of the "Attorney-at-Law." + +He was counting over the notes again. + +"Say, Judge. S'posing you give me those notes back again. What'll it +mean in imprisonment?" I had always since childhood cherished a wild +desire to spend a night in prison. "The Statoot stipulates that there +will be an equivalent of one day's imprisonment for every dollar fine." +(Depths of despair once more, then enlightenment.) "Can you show me the +statute that says that?" + +"Sure," and he reached for the volume. + +"All right, don't bother," said I, and left him once more to count his +25 dollars 75 cents. + +Somehow I couldn't help laughing at everything. Such interesting +sidelights into the workings of the ragtime laws of America are not met +with every day of the year, I mused. But what fun to be all alone in +America with nothing but a motor-bike and tenpence! + +I guess the Judge was wondering what I was laughing at as he watched me +through the fly-net at his window while I kicked the engine to a roar +and rode away. + +Truth to tell, I didn't quite know myself. + +I was wondering when the petrol would give out. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +ACROSS THE ALLEGHANIES + + +Strange to say, I felt not the slightest bit "peeved" about this +occurrence, but facts have to be faced, and anyone who has ever found +himself in a strange land 4,000 miles from home, with a motor-bike +and tenpence, will agree that something has got to be done about +it sooner or later. All sorts of ways and means of making money +quickly--the eternal problem!--occurred to me, but I dismissed them +all for one reason or another. I could hold up the next car I passed +and shoot the occupants after relieving them of their surplus cash. +But that I thought was a distasteful way of getting money. I had seen +it done in the "movies," but decided to leave that _modus operandi_ +for a last extremity. What was it to be--a week's work or "trading +away" the watch? I pondered. I got very little inspiration from my +surroundings on a problem of such moment. Instead I was exhorted at +almost every hundred yards to "Say it with flowers" or to "Chew our +famous Smello'mint Gum." A huge yellow sign would then loom in sight +bearing the legend "Playtime Biscuit." Every mile or so would appear +another and more ominous inscription, "Sell it and buy a Ford." "For +all internal ailments 'Kewrit' is the Sovereign remedy," blurted forth +another placard. "The Sovereign remedy," I mused.--But say! What was +that? The SOVEREIGN remedy?--Inspiration at last. Lizzie's +throttle seemed to close its eyes with a snap. The brakes went on of a +sudden and in a few moments I was taking off my tunic at the roadside. +The memory had dawned upon me of a kind sister sewing some golden +sovereigns in the lining of the belt of that very same tunic months ago +way back in good old Brum. She had no doubt imagined me falling into +the hands of Mexican bandits at some period in my peregrinations. At +first I remembered I had protested against such a seemingly unnecessary +precaution. Thank Heaven that argument against a woman is never of any +avail! + +I searched and I found; a few stitches carefully removed with a +pocket-knife revealed two glittering "yellow boys" to my anxious gaze. +On we sped once again, bounding, spinning ever faster onward. Truly we +toiled not, but we sure did spin. If the sky was blue, it was bluer +than ever before. If the road had been good, 'twas never so good as +now. Refreshing breezes rolled down from the hills; sweet vistas sprang +into sight; charming dells and streamlets flitted by, and never did the +call of nature sound so strong. + +And all because of two forgotten coins. + +Hagerstown hardly welcomed me with open arms. A fair-sized, prosperous +little town, it boasted a tramway service and two banks. My heart went +not forth in joy at the contemplation of the tramway service. It did at +the sight of the banks. + +Dusty, dishevelled, and of dilapidated attire, I leant Lizzie up +against the kerb and mounted the marble steps of the "First National +Bank." The massive swing-doors frowned back as they squeaked and +groaned to my command. I stood in the midst of a gilded palace replete +with austere-looking deities in white shirt-sleeves behind marble +counters and fancy-work grids. Nothing daunted, I flicked my precious +sovereigns on the counter before the very quintessence of immaculate +manhood with a "Change those, please" as if it were the kind of thing I +did every day of my life. + +Once upon a time I had often with swelling pride expanded my chest at +the thought of a British sovereign being honoured in every country +of the world and any corner of the globe. I had reckoned without +Hagerstown. It seemed that the austere-looking deity before referred +to was not at all impressed by my view of the situation. It must have +been the personal _tout ensemble_ that put him on his guard. He might +oblige me by sending it along to New York to the Head Office, he said. +"Couldn't wait a couple of days?" he supposed. + +It was no use. He didn't like my face and didn't want my gold. + +I scraped the dirt from my boots on his marble steps and crossed the +road to the "Incorporated Bank of Holland." + +After conducting a lengthy battle of argument and exhortation with +all the clerks in succession and all to no avail, I began to realize +that British currency was of no more worth than the little sea-shells +that in the earliest days of trade were supposed to be used by the +enterprising natives of prehistoric communities. With a gallant show of +indignation I demanded that the manager be produced forthwith. Strange +to say, he appeared. I took him on one side and into my confidence. +"Look here, old man," quoth I, "I'm in a bit of a hole. All your worthy +satellites here think I'm a sort of cross between a rubberneck and a +highway robber. Fact is, I've been rushed for speeding at the last +village and I've only got two sovereigns to take me to Cincinnati. Now +don't tell me you won't change them." Whereupon he looked warily at +me and then at the gold, examining it minutely. "Guess I might fix it +for you, but just hang on a minute till I can get some one to identify +them. We never see such things as these, y'know." + +In a few minutes he returned with an accomplice, who glared with +amazement at the coins as they lay on the counter. "Gor' blimey!" said +he, "don't that do yer blinkin' eyes good! Strike me pink, an' you've +brought these ole yallerboys orl the way from England?" and he picked +them up reverently and gloated over their merry chinkle as he dropped +them again on the counter. "Lor', I've spent many a one on 'em! How +much d'ye want for them, gev'nor?" + +"Four dollars eighty each," I replied. + +"Done! Pass him the 'oof, boss. Nuthin' wrong wi' them." + +Verily is it said that music hath charms for the savage breast. Once +again Lizzie burst into a roar, and once again I turned her nose to the +west. + +Music? That Cockney's dialect seemed like a wonderful fragrant melody +pealing forth through the strains of a ponderous fugue. It was like a +sudden rift in the thunderclouds through which burst a cheering shaft +of sunlight. It was sacrilege even to think of those nine paper dollars +that I had thrust so anxiously into my hip-pocket. "Thank Heaven there +is at least one spot in the U.S.A. where the King's English is spoken +undefiled," I murmured to myself. + + * * * * * + +The road to Cumberland was good going. We had now to commence crossing +the Alleghany Mountains. This wonderful range, which also goes by +the name of the Appalachians, has, in my opinion, no rival in the +American Rockies as regards the loveliness of its scenery and the +infinite variations of colour of its slopes. "The best scenery in the +world, sir," an American would say, and he would not be so very far +wrong either. Perhaps its heights are not so majestic as those of the +Rockies; there may be no glaciers on its slopes nor crests of eternal +glistening white on its peaks, but there is an unparalleled wealth of +natural beauty in the blue and purple pine forests of its less aspiring +heights and the myriad glistening streams and rivers that find their +source in the thickly-wooded foothills clustering around its borders. + +"Cumberland" is a comparatively large town in the middle of the hills +and is well named. Undoubtedly the surrounding district reminded +the early settlers so forcibly of our own lake district that they +were inspired to perpetuate its memory, as they have done in so many +other districts, towns and rivers in the far-eastern or "New England" +States. Although the descent from the mountains was in places almost +precipitous, the road was excellent, and excepting the concrete +boulevards of California, afforded undoubtedly the best running that +I met in the whole country. Although I stopped several times for +considerable periods to allow the brakes to cool, there was nothing +left of the brake-linings when ultimately I arrived in Cumberland, +where I ministered adequate and well-earned refreshment to the inner +man of both Lizzie and myself. + +The road now lay clear of obstructions ahead and led over undulating +country for several hundred miles. Once more thoughts of Cincinnati +in the distance with a vague anticipation of something approaching +"England, Home and Beauty"--and money as well--occupied the hours as +we sped along, leaving the mile-posts quickly behind us. In places +travelling was good. In places it was distinctly bad. Here and there +were stretches of several miles of brick road, and now and then would +reappear our old friend the "Natural Gravel," that so much conspired to +make life on two wheels not worth living. At times even that provided +quite a respectable surface. My firm intentions not to be baulked in my +aim to reach Cincinnati next day, however, kept up the pace even if to +our mutual discomfort, and made the going good. + +At Uniontown, about seventy-five miles past Cumberland, various trivial +little knocks and rattles in the engine disturbed my peace of mind. +The speedometer registered only about 800 miles, and I had hardly +expected to commence tightening things internally at that stage. A +little farther on and one cylinder, after a few peremptory misfires, +gave up the ghost altogether, and I proceeded a few miles on three +only. I changed the sparking plug, hoping for better results, but in +vain. After a few more miles I tried another plug and then another, +but always with the same result. After travelling a few dozen miles in +this unsatisfactory manner, I put Lizzie once again on her stand. This +time I examined closely and found the valves, tappets and clearances +all in good condition. There was apparently nothing wrong with the +ignition either, or the carburettor, and there seemed no reason at all +why such a trouble should arise--particularly, I reflected, as I was +anxious to lose no valuable time. On trying still another plug out of +one of the other cylinders and finding that No. 1 was still obstinate, +I got on again, determined to do the journey on three cylinders only. +I found I could touch well over forty-five even at that, so after all +there wasn't much to complain about. Every motorist, however, who has +a regard for his engine and can sense the "moral fitness" of even +running and good rhythm will understand that travelling under such +circumstances is decidedly unpleasant and monotonous. + +At Waynesburg I passed Pittsburg some miles to the right, the +"Birmingham" of America, the centre of a huge coal and iron industry +and, next to Philadelphia, the largest town in Pennsylvania. A few +miles farther on, and I crossed the borderline and entered West +Virginia once again. It was now quite dark and I had to pick out the +road as best I could by my headlight. I was getting tired and was +very hungry, not having had anything to eat for ten hours. After half +an hour the headlight flickered and went out, leaving me with only +a "dimmer," as the Americans call the small auxiliary light, with +which to keep on the road and find the way. The engine, which before +sounded pretty loose, now emitted noises signifying extreme agony of +mind. Then a thick ground mist settled over everything, making it +next to impossible to keep on the road at all, much less to keep on +the right one. Occasionally I dismounted in an endeavour to bring the +headlight back to life. Frequently I narrowly avoided being run down +by large cars with powerful searchlights that couldn't see me at all. +It generally meant pulling into the side of the road, getting off and +waving my arms frantically to signify my presence. Between time I got +more hungry and more tired, and kept asking myself the same question, +"Why, oh why did I leave England?" The answer always came: "Search me!" + +Shortly before midnight I reached the small town of "Moundsville," on +the Ohio River and on the borders of West Virginia and Ohio. Every +shop in the place was closed except that of a corpulent Italian +dealer in bananas, oranges and ice-cream sodas. I entered his door +with thanksgiving. The worthy proprietor scrutinized me open-mouthed. +Finally he gave it up. I could see he had been wondering to himself, +"What is this thing, and whence came it?" I sat on the counter in his +presence and consumed three ice-cream sodas, four bananas and two +oranges. After witnessing their consumption, he let drop his bottom jaw +and ventured, "Whare yer from?" + +"Doanchew worry your old think-box about where I'm from, brother, but +just tell me where I'm goin'. I wonna get to Cincinnati. Now for the +love of Mike don't tell me I'm not on the right road." + +His jaw dropped through a further angle of ten degrees. Finally he +volunteered the information that I was miles and miles from the road +to Cincinnati, and that he hadn't the "goldarnest notion" how I should +ever get back on it again. In disgust I filled my pockets with bananas +and oranges and presented one more ice-cream soda to the minister for +the interior and quitted his establishment. + +My next duty was to find somewhere to lay my weary head. I decided to +choose a spot where water was convenient, so that I could wash in the +morning. The river was quite inaccessible from the road and the only +places where there chanced to be a stream were infested with frogs +and mosquitoes. After a half-hour of weary searching and climbing of +long winding hills in the thick damp fog, I eventually gave it up in +disgust. I found an open space at the roadside sheltered by a few +trees, and here laid down my rainproof coat with the thick blanket +doubled on top of it, and with my suit-case as a pillow, soon convinced +myself that I was comfortably settled down for sleep. In a few minutes +I was well in the land of dreams. I dreamed that I was journeying to +the North Pole on a twelve-cylinder Ford which went so fast that it +melted the ice as it passed and ultimately crashed into the Pole at +such a terrific velocity that the equilibrium of the earth was entirely +upset, as also my own. At this point a lusty mosquito inflicted a +tremendous bite on the very tip of my nose, and I woke up with a start. +Then I dreamed that I had undertaken a banana-eating tournament with +an army of Italians, and was just finishing off the ninety-ninth when +another bite in the middle of my left eyelid brought me again to normal +consciousness, and thus the night passed. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE DIXIE HIGHWAY + + +In the morning everything was wet with dew. The mist was disappearing +quickly, and I arose refreshed in body and mind. Specialists would have +prognosticated acute rheumatism. Doctors would have foretold death +within forty-eight hours. But I was never so free from rheumatism as +I am now; moreover, I live to tell the tale, with the probability +of continued existence for several years to come. Lizzie looked +disconsolate and rusty in every nut and bolt, but with a few kicks she +rattled into life once more. The driver of a passing Ford informed me +that I was twenty miles from the right road, which meant returning into +Moundsville and crossing over the broad, muddy Ohio River, spanned +by a lofty suspension bridge made almost entirely of wood. The Ohio +River, once seen, is never to be forgotten. It is verily a flowing mass +of dirty, yellow-brown mud. The natives of Ohio refer to it as the +"Golden" River, I believe, but when I first made its acquaintance, I +was in no mood to appreciate such poetic nomenclature. Instead I was +bent on reaching Wheeling and breakfast. + +Wheeling was reached in a couple of hours' riding along the banks of +the river. It need hardly be said that I did justice to a substantial +breakfast, which put an entirely new aspect on affairs in general. I +struck the main "pike" through to Cincinnati, and continued hopefully +on three cylinders with the best of intentions of reaching it that +evening, although it meant a ride of over 300 miles. + +I did 150 in fairly good time and reckoned on having my +lunch-tea-dinner-supper meal at Columbus, the State capital, about +five in the afternoon. But about twenty miles from that city a most +distressing sound arose from the engine. I had previously slackened +down to a steady thirty miles an hour so as to give Lizzie the best +chance of holding out over the journey. But now a series of violent +thumps and bangs disturbed once and for all my hopeful frame of mind. +Undoubtedly there was a big breakage somewhere and it was evidently +quite impossible to continue another mile. With a final thud the engine +stopped and the machine came to a standstill near a little bridge where +a tiny streamlet trickled under the roadway. Near the bridge was, as +might be expected, the inevitable hoarding: "SELL IT AND BUY A +FORD." Strange that Fate should at times be so ironical! + +I made myself comfortable on a grassy slope and proceeded to take the +engine down. This I soon discovered was no mean task. It took nearly +three hours to remove the cylinders. Woe be unto the man hereafter who +puts nuts where they cannot be loosened or places cylinders where they +cannot be removed save by an Indian sword-swallower! The result of my +investigations was that I found the front piston in fragments, mainly +in the bottom of the crank-case. The gudgeon pin was broken in half and +the connecting rod was waggling about merrily in the cylinder. All the +bearings were loose, and although there was plenty of oil in the sump, +one was devoid of metal altogether. This was discovered at the bottom +in the form of powder. An encouraging outlook indeed! + +Although my motto where a refractory motor is concerned--"to get it +home somehow"--could have been ignored, I was not even in walking +distance of anywhere. There was no town or village for miles around, +and only a solitary farmhouse here and there. Further, an empty stomach +does not improve one's outlook on life under such circumstances, and +mine was very empty. I took stock of the whole situation. What should +it be? Walk to Columbus and take the train, or stick by Lizzie and get +along somehow? I counted out my money. It amounted to three dollars and +thirty-five cents, not even enough for the railway fare. "No, I've set +out to cross these infernal States on a motor-cycle, and I'll do it," I +resolved, and sat down again to patch Lizzie's engine together. + +The rumble of cart wheels on the brick road attracted my attention. The +cart was drawn by a weary horse in the charge of a more weary driver. + +"Hi, brother, got anything edible on board?" I shouted. + +"I gotta lot o' old boots here," he replied, evidently in ignorance of +the meaning of the word "edible." + +"No, thanks, I gotta good pair of my own to start on before I come to +that. Aincher got any oranges?" + +"Yep, I got one box left, four fer a quarter." + +Bang went seventy-five cents for a dozen, leaving me with two dollars +sixty. Now, thought I, I have enough provisions to last a couple of +days. Let Old Harry do his worst. + +The vendor of boots, furniture, and oranges went on his weary way. + +From a bough of a willow tree I shaped a neat gudgeon pin that fitted +dead into the loose end of the connecting rod to guide it up and down +in the cylinder. I fished out all the big lumps of the broken piston +that remained in the crank-case and tightened up the bearings as well +as I could. By the time it was dark I had everything replaced ready to +start on the road once more. + +Before daybreak, I was up and on the road; my plan was to keep on all +day at a steady twenty miles an hour and reach Cincinnati about five +in the afternoon. The machine ran well considering its wooden gudgeon +pin, although it was not easy to avoid being reminded continually of +Lizzie's indisposition, and as time went on the rattles became worse, +the clanks became gradually louder, and I began to wonder where my next +stop would be. + +I passed through Columbus about breakfast-time, but did not stop for +breakfast. There was no money for breakfasts. Now, although I did not +stop at Columbus, I cannot with but a few words dismiss it entirely +from consideration. Although not by any means the largest town in Ohio, +it is the State capital. That feature, as I have pointed out before, +is not at all unique in the States. In fact, I do not think I could +name a single State capital that is the largest town of the State, +without referring to the authority of one Baedeker. Not only are there +over 125,000 people in Columbus, but it appeared to me to be a very +fine city. The streets are wider and are better paved than those of +most American cities, and in places are illuminated by large electric +arches. Although there are seven towns throughout America boasting this +title (each one in a different State), I think Columbus, Ohio, must be +the _elite_ of all the Columbuses. + +Outside Columbus I stopped, had lunch--three oranges--and continued. +There was really no necessity to stop, but I liked to feel that lunch +was just as important an occasion as when it wasn't oranges. + +The engine was by now getting rather noisy. People who passed in +cars, many of whom I had passed two days before, slowed down as they +approached and looked at me wonderingly, as if to ask if I knew +anything about it. They probably came to the conclusion that I was a +deaf-mute. + +Then we got to Springfield, and a noticeable feature at the side of +the road, on a special track of its own, was an electric train service +connecting up all the large towns in the district, even though the +distances amounted to thirty and forty miles, in some cases even +fifty, as is the case between Columbus and Springfield. Perhaps I am +complimenting them by referring to them as trains, as they are more +in the nature of single or double-coach trams, but I was surprised +not only by the speed at which they travelled, but also by the number +of passengers who availed themselves of the service. In a way, the +presence of that track was comforting, particularly when some new noise +or rattle emanated from my thrice-weary steed. On the other hand it is +distinctly humiliating to be astride a 10 h.p. motor-cycle de luxe, +jogging along side-saddle (to ease the growing soreness!) at fifteen or +twenty miles per hour on three crotchety cylinders, when a tram-load +of disinterested Americans flies past with a shriek at forty or fifty. +Generally the driver realized the position and sounded a piercing +whistle with a supercilious air, as if to say: "Make way for the fast +traffic, please!" + +At Springfield the speedometer flicked off the 1,000th mile, and +I branched away from the "Pike's Peak" Ocean-to-Ocean Highway +(for such it appeared to be), and turned south-westward towards +Dayton, a flourishing manufacturing and business centre. "Detours" +and sub-detours were the order of the day and were conspicuous by +their presence, as also by the general looseness and rottenness of +their surface. In theory I was travelling upon the "Dixie Highway," +reputed (by advertisements thereon appearing) to be "the finest and +most luxurious highway in the States." As far as my experience was +concerned, I found it paved with good intentions and bad cobblestones. +Sometimes, when the paving blocks had been pulled up preparatory to new +ones being laid down, the surface was tolerably good, but then would +appear a "detour" heralded by an insolently-improvised notice-board +which led the unfortunate traveller miles and miles from his appointed +path and over the most disgusting road-surface imaginable. + +I was pleased with Dayton. As I left it behind me, I wished it +prosperity. It seemed to have the right kind of air about it. A +friendly policeman held up a bunch of traffic for two minutes for me +while he put me "wise" to the road to take. He noticed my New York +number-plate and finished his chat with "Well, good day, brother, and +the best of luck to you." I wouldn't even have killed a mosquito in +Dayton! + +It was now well after midday. Cincinnati was still about sixty miles +away. Would it be safe to have a meal in the next town? I had filled up +with "gas" and oil in Dayton and had about fifty cents (2_s._) left. +With a three days' diet of oranges, I had cultivated an appetite of +great latent possibilities. I determined to be rash. Next stop, I told +myself, I would look around for a "bakeshop." + +An hour later I arrived at a little town called "Lebanon." It was +very small, very picturesque, and very unpretentious. But it boasted +an excellent "bakeshop." I leant Lizzie against the kerb outside and +pressed my nose against the window-pane. The sight of all those nice +cakes was almost as good as a feed--but not quite! I espied one, plain +and large but tasty-looking. I valued it at twenty-five cents. "Well, +it'll last a long time," I thought, and entered meekly to inquire the +price. "Five cents," replied the lady of the counter. "Done! It's mine, +_all of it_!" + +Long live Lebanon! + +A few miles out, I halted near a bridge under which ran a little stream +of crystal water. It was a treat to be out of the glare of the baking +sun, so I sat down on the bank underneath the bridge and settled down +in earnest to a sumptuous dinner. The bill of fare was as follows:-- + +_Hors d'oeuvres_ Gateau de Lebanon (varie). +_Consomme_ Eau Naturelle. +_Entree_ Gateau de Lebanon. +_Plat du jour_ Ditto. +_Legumes_ Ditto. +_Dessert_ Ditto. +_Wines_ Vin blanc d'Adam (direct + from the distillery). + +And oh, what a meal was there, my countrymen! There was enough and to +spare. The cooking was excellent, the service irreproachable, and there +were no gratuities. + +After a leisurely half-hour I stuffed what little cake I couldn't +contain into the tool-box, took one last, lingering draught from the +cool crystal stream, and again kicked Lizzie into a rattle. + +Once more towards Cincinnati! Two hours only, now, I reminded myself, +and all the trees and birds in hearing. Gradually those two hours +became shorter as mile after weary mile rattled past. Sure enough, in +about the time I had reckoned the pot-holes in the road grew larger and +the ruts deeper, a sure sign of approaching civilization. Then a huge +signboard appeared, "CINCINNATI, THE QUEEN CITY OF THE WEST. +Make your home in Cincinnati." + +The Cincinnati Speedway was passed on the right, and after a couple of +miles or more I struck tram-lines. The reader can well imagine how glad +and relieved I felt when I spotted trams and tram-lines, those things +which in normal life I rightly detest and abhor. Whereas once upon +a time I considered them to be the motorist's greatest enemy, I now +smiled upon them with friendly gaze. + +By the time I was actually on the outskirts of the town, I was "baked +to a frizzle." And such a thirst! For three days I had been amassing a +good thirst. Ohio mud is not really a good beverage. It might perhaps +"put one over" the "near" beer that I have tasted in various American +towns, but that's not to be wondered at. The man who first called it +"near" beer wasn't much of a judge of distance! Never could I remember +having been so hot, so thirsty, and so fed up, all in one. I pulled up +at the first drug store and literally squandered twenty-five cents in +an orgy of ice-cream sodas. I took the precaution to retain ten cents, +however, "in case anything turned up." + +At about half-past four WE ARRIVED. A wealth of meaning rests +in those two words. My friend Steve heard the noise as he sat reading +on the verandah of 3,450 Clifton Avenue. "That can't be Shep. That's +somebody wheeling a lawn-mower," he said to himself without looking-up, +and went on with his book. But when the lawn-mower had overrun itself +and turned round and came back and continued indefinitely to lawn-mow +outside the same 3,450, he looked up and saw that it was indeed a +motor-cycle or, at any rate, the unmistakable remnants of one. When he +saw the rider, he thought: "No, that can't be Shep after all; that's +the dustman." + +But fact will always triumph over fiction. In the same way soap, +thank Heaven, will always triumph over dirt. But what a relief to be +once again in a comfortable house, that could almost be considered +"home," and once more to know the joys of a good hot bath and feel the +luxurious embrace of clean clothes again! + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +CINCINNATI AND ONWARDS + + +I spent in all twelve days in Cincinnati. They were twelve happy days; +days of leisure, days of interesting experiences, followed by days of +longing to be on the road again. + +The first of July, 1919, will live in the mind of every free-born +American citizen as the day when Prohibition became law throughout the +entire States. Not by design, but by coincidence, was it also the date +of my departure from my friends in Cincinnati to explore the "perils" +of the West. My sojourn there was brought to a sudden close by the +astounding discovery that Lizzie's overhaul was completed. I had a few +warm things to observe when I was presented with the repair bill. It +amounted to a mere seventy-five dollars, half of which represented the +alleged value of the somewhat indifferent labours of a more indifferent +mechanic and a small boy. On the various occasions when I had visited +the shop, the mechanic was generally conspicuous by his absence, and +were it not for the occasional activities of the small boy, who seemed +to delight in "salivating" at frequent intervals on every available +inch of the floor surrounding Lizzie's remains, I feel inclined to +think that I should even now be enjoying myself in Cincinnati. The +other half of the bill represented sundry replacements which, to my way +of thinking, should have been made free under the firm's guarantee, +which had still three-fourths of its term to expire. After much +argument, the proprietor and myself agreed to differ on this point. + +The early afternoon witnessed my departure. The kindly attentions of +mine hostess had provided me with good things for the journey. Meat +sandwiches in boxes; fresh butter in tins; fruit and nuts galore. +Little packages were squeezed in here and big ones strapped on there. +Odd corners and crevices revealed an unsuspected orange or banana and +hard-boiled eggs or biscuits in twos and threes lurked amongst the +shirts and socks. + +With a light heart I spun down the beautiful, well-paved avenues +that set at defiance the rigid, straight-edge avenues of more modern +American cities. I hummed over the cobble-stones of the lesser streets +and swung past trams and over bridges and was soon speeding along the +road to Indianapolis, thinking like a true pessimist that Lizzie didn't +feel as well as I had hoped, and that I should be hung up again at a +not far-distant date. + +In America, in the east, it is the easiest thing in the world to take +the wrong road. Moreover it is generally the most difficult thing to +find out whether one is on the right road or not. I have no objection +to make when roads in towns and villages will run either north and +south or east and west, because for town life this arrangement spells +efficiency. In the country, however, the _raison d'etre_ of these +chess-board roads is somewhat obscure. When combined with old-time +roads that originally followed goat-paths or sheep-tracks, its effect +is confusing. But when taken to the extreme, and one finds the main +highways connecting large cities abound with sharp right-angle turns at +every few miles, sometimes going north to make up a little latitude, +then continuing west, then returning south to lose the latitude gained, +and afterwards continuing west again, the result is ridiculous and +sometimes exasperating; very often two, three, four, or more roads run +parallel and only a few yards distant, all leading to the same place. +Sometimes they lead to different places. Sometimes they lead nowhere at +all. Sign-posts are not popular anywhere in the United States. Instead +the roads are identified by painting every third or fourth or tenth +or _n_th telegraph pole with different colours. When properly carried +out, this principle is a very commendable one, and without it travel +would be absolutely impossible. But when followed only imperfectly, or +when the colours become faded and obliterated, so that one trail can be +easily mistaken for another, the traveller has many troubles and trials +ahead. + +I had ample moral consolation, therefore, for completely losing my way +only ten miles out of Cincinnati, and wasted a full hour in trying to +get on the right "pike" without going back. + +Incidentally the system of decorating telegraph poles in accordance +with the trail they follow has its humorous side. There are, all told, +over a hundred different trails or "National Highways" in different +parts of the States, and each one is supposed to have its distinctive +sign. Thus the "Pike's Peak Ocean-to-Ocean Highway" is identified by a +circle of scarlet above a circle of white, and the "Lincoln Highway" +by circles of red, white, and blue. Sometimes, as in the cases of the +"Blackhawk Trail" and "Mackinaw Indian Trail," the sign is of a more +or less complex nature, including the profile of an Indian's head, for +instance. The humour of the situation will be apparent when a single +stretch of road coincides with say four or five separate trails. Each +telegraph pole is truly a thing of beauty and a joy for ever, with its +inscriptions, circles, squares, profiles, bales of cotton, etc., etc., +painted on in various colours from top to bottom! + +In large towns and cities where several trails meet, it requires the +quintessence of alertness and deduction to find one's way by the +telegraph poles, which, save for a few exceptions, represent the only +means of identification. Strange, in a country using twenty times the +number of cars per head found in any other country in the world, that +facilities for using them should be so meagre as at times to be almost +prehistoric! + +It is strange also that some of the roads that were constructed even in +modern times were the achievement of personal enterprise and are even +now "boosted" and advertised by their "promotors." An outstanding case +is that of the "Pike's Peak Highway" just mentioned, which is one of +the three trails that cross the Continent from east to west. This road +boasts a President, three Vice-Presidents, and a Secretary-Treasurer! +Between them these worthy gentlemen are responsible for the proper +maintenance of the road (experience compels a sarcastic smile), and +for the furnishing of information to travellers thereon, etc. Where +the money comes from I wot not, unless it be from the various motoring +clubs in the country. In a booklet, published apparently by them, it is +described as "The Appian Way of America." Permit me to quote passages +from this remarkable publication:-- + +"Increased attention is this year being focussed on the 'See America' +idea, and motorists planning a trans-continental trip will naturally +select the route of greatest scenic and historic interest. That is +why the discriminating tourist will travel over the Pike's Peak +Ocean-to-Ocean Highway, the improved central route from the Atlantic +to the Pacific coast. From New York it follows the National Old Trails +Road to Indianapolis; from that city to Salt Lake City, it has its +own DISTINCTIVE ORGANISATION; and west of Salt Lake City it +follows the line of the Lincoln Highway. History places the stamp of +approval on this as the LOGICAL trans-continental Highway. +Etc., etc. (pages of it).... The trip has no dreariness and no +monotony.... (More pages)." + +Never was such a grossly misleading impression of ease, comfort, and +luxury perpetrated upon an unsuspecting Englishman! It was well said +that the pen is mightier than the sword. If ever again I find myself +so utterly demented as to motor-cycle across the United States before +proper roads have been constructed, may Heaven preserve me from "The +Appian Way of America"! + +The reader may think that I am dwelling unduly on the subject of roads, +but I do so at this juncture because it was a subject which now became +of increasing magnitude. Practically the last sign of paved road of +any kind between this point and the Pacific Coast (some 2,500 miles +away) would be encountered at Indianapolis, and from there onwards +were universally the execrable "dirt" roads that so seriously threaten +not only the comfort but the safety of motor-cycling. I was not even +disappointed at the outlook, because I came to America without even +expecting any form of trail or route across its entirety to be at my +disposal. But I feel the natural resentment of the Englishman when I am +led to believe that there is a luxurious "highway" ahead, only to find +an aggravated series of dust-heaps, mud-pools, and cow-paths! + +The road, however, to Indianapolis was not of the "Appian Way" variety. +It was comparatively good in places, and ran for many miles along the +valley of the Miami River, amidst beautiful scenery of ever-changing +variety. After a few miles, the Ohio-Indiana boundary was crossed, and +here, as many times afterwards, I was struck by the apparently sudden +change of landscape, the same as the home tourist can almost always +discern by the "feel" of the country whether he is in England or Wales, +no matter if he be without his map for reference. I do not mean that +either Ohio or Indiana is particularly mountainous. On the other hand, +the latter is on the whole somewhat flat, as if in preparation for the +weary stretches of monotonous prairie that are to be encountered the +more one travels westward until the Rockies are reached. + +I made little headway that afternoon, and at 10.30 in the evening I +was still some distance from Indianapolis, the capital of the State. +I therefore looked around as best I could in the pitch-darkness, with +only my lights as a guide, for a likely spot for my night's abode. +Water is a _sine qua non_ for the camping vagrant, and when I came +to a large steel bridge I decided that that was the place for me. It +evidently spanned a pretty big river, but it was so far below, or +seemed so far, I could not see the water. A lengthy reconnoitre from +the road led me to the edge of a field of corn whence I could hear the +river but could not see it for dense masses of vegetation. + +I propped Lizzie up on her stand and found to my dismay that when +the engine stopped the lights went out. Not feeling in the mood +for investigating the cause of the trouble, I was satisfied to keep +the engine running slowly as long as illumination was necessary in +unstrapping my baggage and "making" my bed. Then I set out to find the +river and enjoy the luxury of a wash. + +Easier said than done! I could find openings in the thick undergrowth +where I deemed the river should be, but could find no way of making +closer acquaintance with its waters. As I continued my search, the bank +suddenly gave way beneath me, and I was plunged up to the waist in the +river I had been so diligently seeking! + +My exit was more difficult to negotiate than my entrance. The bushes +and weeds on the banks were not strong enough to enable me to pull +myself out, but came away, roots and all, and left me sinking in the +muddy river-bed. I eventually extricated myself, however, and decided +to retire unwashed! Pulling off my soaking top-boots was a herculean +task, and this done, I hung my wet breeches on a tree to dry in the +warm summer night. + +I passed a splendid night and awoke with the dawn, only to find my +clothes wetter than they were the night before, thanks to a heavy dew. +Such conditions, I reflected, were of mere trifling importance in the +life of a bona fide tramp, and I was soon humming along once more +through the fresh, crisp morning air. + +We arrived in Indianapolis at breakfast time and with a hearty +appetite. I remember Indianapolis chiefly as a city with long wide +streets full of cobble-stones, tram-lines, and traffic policemen. My +first duty was to take Lizzie to see the vet. I didn't like the sound +of her at all, and she seemed but a rickety shadow of her former self. +I was taking no chances now. As if by instinct we went "right there." +The Henderson agent took Lizzie under his protecting wing, and while I +settled down to consume a hefty breakfast of cantaloupe, puffed rice, +and coffee, he took her for a spin along the few miles of concrete road +that I had left behind with such regret. + +"Waal, I guess there ain't very much wrong with her, boy," was the +verdict, although he did not seem over-exuberant about it. + +"How far you goin'?" he added. + +"Just to the end of the road," I replied. + +"Hm, and a tidy ride too, I'll say so. I've done it, but not on one o' +them." + +Then, after meditation, he added, "But I think she'll take you there. +Give my love to 'Frisco, won't you, boy?" + +I promised, paid him a dollar, and left to track down the offices of +the local branch of the "3 A." Club, or Automobile Association of +America, whom, I was informed, I must see before going any further, to +inquire about the roads ahead. Dirt roads, it will be understood, vary +with the weather. Hardly ever does the English motorist hear of a road +being washed away with the rain, but the idea of its being borne away +on the wings of the wind would indeed appear strange to him! + +I found the "3 A." Club located at one of the large hotels, all alive +with "bell-boys" and commissionaires and elevators. I was greeted by +the hotel staff with haughty aloofness. "Put that gink outside," I +could imagine the desk clerk saying to the hall-porter. But I was being +whisked up the elevator to the umpteenth floor before he had the chance. + +At the "3 A." Club office I was greeted most cordially. The gentleman +at the desk was a human encyclopaedia of roads and places. Beneath +the dirt and dust he believed he perceived some person of high rank, +a brigadier or something, and my brown tunic and field-boots must +have borne out this assumption. However, that may be, he certainly +did his best to give me every assistance. But when I told him I was +motor-cycling to the Pacific and wanted to know which was the best road +to take, his jaw dropped suddenly. There were two alternative routes to +Kansas City, the "Pike's Peak" through Springfield and the "National +Old Trails Highway" through St. Louis. Which should I take? + +"Well, sir, the National Old Trail is impossible just now. The rains +have been very heavy and there are several places where you couldn't +possibly get through. And as for the other--well, I shall have to +think." + +Which he did. He hummed and ha'd and stroked his chin and hummed and +ha'd again, as if struggling with some momentous problem. He spread out +maps in rows before him and followed the route with his finger. Then +silence. + +After a minute or two of this, in which the merits of "washouts" and +hold-ups and detours by the score were being weighed together in his +troubled brain, he spoke: + +"Yes, sir, I think you can get through"--and, more deliberately--"I +_think_ you can get through. Yes, it's a good road," he added. + +I learnt then for the first time one outstanding principle in the +road-study of America. I confirmed it on innumerable occasions later. +There are two classes of roads and two only. They are good roads and +bad roads. Any road, ANYWHERE, in the whole of the United +States of America (and, I presume, her Colonies as well) is a "good" +road if you can "get through." The remainder are bad. + +I thanked my benefactor and accepted sheaves of maps and guide-books +for which he would take no payment. He was indeed the quintessence of +obligation. I on my part was the quintessence of gratitude. + +"Now for the fun," I chuckled as I kicked Lizzie to a roar and set out +for the highway with red- and white-circled telegraph poles. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +INDIANA AND ILLINOIS + + +The first bit of fun was not far ahead. In places the road was passable +if one ignored the six-inch layer of loose sand and soil that covered +it. The country was flat and uninteresting. Diversion was occasionally +encountered in the form of side-slips and here and there an unexpected +spill. The quicker I went the easier I got through, as the soil did +not cling to the wheels so much and hinder steering. At thirty it was +almost impossible to maintain balance. At thirty-five it was tolerable, +and at forty it was comparatively simple. + +Now and then I would pass a kind of harrow the width of over half the +road and drawn along by a team of horses. The function of this was to +break up the big lumps of solid mud formed by the recent rains. After +this would follow a similar team of horses dragging a "grader"--a kind +of snow-plough arrangement which scraped the surface flat and shovelled +the surplus sand and mud-lumps into the side. In these districts the +farmers are held by law individually responsible for the condition of +the roads their farms adjoin, and the process of grading is expected +to be carried out within three or four days after the rain. When the +farmers are busy with their crops this doesn't get done, and when they +aren't, it sometimes does, according, I think, to whether the farmer +is a sheriff or a justice of the peace and has to set an example to +others. Fortunately all farmers are motorists as well; they have to be +able to get about, so when they wish to travel, they grade the roads +for their own use if for no more altruistic object. + +Once I was passing one of these road-ploughs drawn by a team of three +horses abreast, which took up most of the road and showed not the +slightest intention of drawing in to the side. In endeavouring to pass +it, I struck at too small an angle the huge ridge of solid mud-lumps +that it had formed. I was going fast, of course. The handlebar was +wrenched out of my hands and I was thrown with great force over it and +on to the bank at the side. Lizzie herself lay roaring on her side in +the dirt. The horses took fright and galloped off. The only damage done +showed itself in some nasty cuts and scratches, some small areas of +skin missing from different places, and a few bent levers and controls. +From past experience I had learnt that in all such cases the clips and +brackets and sharp corners of Lizzie's profile ALWAYS seemed +to be in the path of my flight over her handlebars. + +A handkerchief bound tightly round the cuts, a few adjustments made, +and on we go with smiling faces, only to overtake the wretched thing +again! + +After twenty or thirty miles of this, we came to mud in earnest--mud +measured not by the inch in depth, but by the yard. Never was it soft +and squishy and respectable, but always baked rock-hard into ugly +contorted shapes that simply defied progress on two wheels alone. +The diabolical effect had been heightened by the passing of numerous +cars through the roads when the surface was still plastic, and great +ruts and cracks and ridges were thrown up at every point between +the road-boundaries, each one representing an eternal struggle to +"get through." When the fierce sun came out and poured down for days +unceasing upon such ugliness as this, the hideous surface was as if +petrified by its glare, and the efforts of a "grader" would be futile +to alter in the slightest degree its abominable condition. + +Riding was out of the question. It was haulage work that had to be +done, and many times when I got into a huge solidified "crevasse," +I had to leave the machine standing in it on the tubes of its +cradle-frame and proceed ahead to chip the edges down until the wheels +would reach to the bottom again. + +Anyone who has stood on the "Glacier des Bossons," looked upwards +towards the summit of Mont Blanc, and seen the contorted, fantastic +shapes that the ice assumes as it swells over the ridges in its path, +can perhaps imagine the same effect on a smaller scale applied to the +dirt roads of Indiana. + +Fortunately there were stretches of road, generally when there was a +slight gradient, where the surface was well-drained, hard, and flat, +and going was good. But invariably at the foot of every slope, or at +the dip between two hills, there was a stretch of excruciating "agony" +that would reduce the most defiant motor-cyclist to submission. + +Thus it was for eighty or ninety miles. The truth began to dawn on +me that a fellow has to be a "tough guy" to motor in these parts. +Sometimes I would stop and rest awhile to let an occasional car get by. +It was funny to see how they all went! The big heavy touring car would +roll along as if to devour all that came its way. It would meet a nasty +patch and with broken dignity would heave and sigh from side to side +as it slowly crawled on bottom gear over the ridges and furrows; and +then it would rear proudly into the air as it surmounted some huge lump +of solid mud and suddenly flop down with a dull thud on the bottom of +the springs as it plunged into the hollow beyond. One could hear every +joint groan under the strain and could sometimes see the bottom of the +engine scrape ridges in the chunks of earth and watch the little bits +knocked off an unfriendly obstruction as the back axle dragged its +weary way along. + +And then perchance would come some cheeky Ford, the essence of +impudence as opposed to the dignity of its wealthier brethren. With a +hop, skip, and a jump, it would scramble over the furrows, swinging +gaily from side to side, wagging its tail in the air and rattling in +every sinew as only a Ford knows how! But the "Flivvers" got through +easier than any. + +The worst patch I struck was near the small town of Hume. I have never +seen in the space of 200 yards a more apt imitation of a volcanic +lava-bed. The thick mud of two days before had been churned up into the +most fantastic shapes that ever a main highway has taken. Every square +inch of the ninety-foot-wide road bore signs of the passage of some +vehicle or other. Some of the ruts were so deep that the machine rested +on the engine and the frame and not on the wheels at all. Pushing it +anywhere but in one of the best ruts was impossible. When the rut got +too deep, I had to lift up the back of the machine bodily and wheel it +foot by foot, while the rut took the front wheel whither it listed. +Here and there were signs where car-drivers, in similar predicaments, +but a day or two before, when the mud was not yet baked quite hard, +had shovelled away large quantities of the road to allow the engine +and chassis to clear. Half-way through was a large hole, deep and +broad enough to allow a small car to be hidden therein from view. In +this hole the mud was still soft and plastic. A good Samaritan of the +road had procured a piece of old corrugated iron from somewhere and +propped it against two poles to warn any others who might follow of its +presence. + +Lifting four-cwt. Lizzie across this whole stretch took three-quarters +of an hour all told, and at the end I was faint with exhaustion. The +sun was never hotter and I never perspired more, not even in the middle +of the Mohave Desert in California, where the thermometer rises up to +140 degrees or more! I begged a glass of milk from a farmhouse a mile +farther on, and thanked God that He made cows and that I was still +alive to appreciate them! + +And thus we toiled and thus we spun for many miles until late in the +afternoon, when I came to parts where the sun had not yet had time to +do its work. Every inch of the road was thick, black, slimy mud; mud +that stinks with a smell peculiar to itself alone; mud that clings to +the tyres and wedges in the forks and fouls the chains and blocks the +wheels; mud indeed that sticketh closer than a brother. I stopped at +a ramshackle little village of a few dozen shops and houses, all made +of wood, and boasting the name of "Murdock," to partake of afternoon +tea. Outside an old rickety "store" (this term includes any conceivable +kind of retail shop in America), I saw a notice: "HENRY T. HODGES, +JUSTICE OF THE PEACE; DRY GOODS STORE; GENERAL MERCHANDISE; POST +OFFICE; REAL ESTATE; REFRESHMENTS." + +[Illustration: AN AWKWARD STRETCH OF ROAD IN INDIANA.] + +[Illustration: THE MIDNIGHT COUCH.] + +Henry T. Hodges beamed on me benignly from behind a pile of preserved +fruit tins as I entered his gloomy establishment. + +"See here, dad, I want a good meal," I said; "money's no object. Get +me?" + +"Sure; an' have ye come far, brother?" + +"I should reckon about a thousand miles to-day. Dandy roads you've got +in these parts, dad." + +"Aye, but you'd 'a seen 'em when we 'ad the rains, brother; they wuz so +mighty slick the hottymobiles sunk right down in 'em and 'ad to be dug +out wi' a shovel and dragged along wi' a team of four 'osses." + +"Why, I shouldn't have thought there were four horses in Murdock," I +replied. + +"Aye, an' I know there is, brother, 'cause they're my 'osses." + +"Um! Guess you make a pretty good living out of them, don't you, dad?" + +"You've said it, brother. Ten dollars a time is my charge, and if a +chap don't pay I jest leave 'im there till 'e does!" + +"Well, what about this meal, dad? I'm mighty hungry--and, say, who's +the road commissioner about here?" + +He essayed no answer, but disappeared hurriedly to boil the tea. I had +no doubt now who the road commissioner was! + +After leaving the "Store" of Henry T. Hodges, J.P., I did another +twenty miles or so until dark, and sought out a comfortable secluded +spot near the road, but far enough from it to avoid the smell of +it, and settled down for the night. Mosquitoes were the only source +of worry now. Otherwise this roadside sleeping was getting quite a +commonplace event. + +Up at dawn in the morning! On the road once again; labouring, pushing, +hauling, heaving, lifting, cleaning off the mud, speeding a mile or two +and then more labouring and more pushing. + +At breakfast-time I reached Decatur, a flourishing town of 20,000 or so +inhabitants, and had breakfast at a "get-fed-quick" eat-house where you +sit on a stool in front of the counter and the man at the range behind +fries you a mutton steak, bakes the "waffles," or poaches the eggs as +per your desire. + +Then on again towards Springfield, the capital of Illinois State. The +mud changes to sand and the sand to dust. More spills, more cuts, more +bruises. The country as flat and uninteresting as they make it. More +right-angle bends, more losing of the way and more frizzling in the +sun. Two villages are passed in forty miles. One has a population of +417 and the other 59. + +At 11 a.m. we draw into Springfield, hot, tired, dusty, and sore. +Springfield is a mass of roads, trams, telegraph poles, and people. I +leave Lizzie leaning against the kerb and go for an ice-cream soda; +when I return, Lizzie is no longer visible. Instead there is a large +crowd. They are all examining something. Those on the outside elbow +their way to the middle. Those in the middle try to keep them out. The +passers-by wonder what it's all about and stop to see. They in turn try +to make their way to the middle. Many are disappointed and pass on. The +traffic cop, seeing the crowd, strolls over to see what's wrong. + +When he had moved the crowd away, I got astride Lizzie's saddle and +rode away, amid murmurs of astonishment. + +"Come quite a ways, I reckon." + +"That's the kind of bird to go travelling on." + +"Looks as though he's seen some mud somewhere." + +"Look, Bill, he's got 'igh boots on like they have in the movies!" + +"Ah, that's what 'e is, 'e's a dolgarn movie actor," etc., etc. + +All the trails in America seem to go through Springfield, Ill. +Consequently the telegraph poles and tram poles were a mass of +hieroglyphics. It took a few minutes to get into Springfield. But it +took the best part of two hours to get out of it satisfactorily. Once I +thought I was well away, but found that for ten miles I had followed a +trail that had white stripes on a red background instead of red stripes +on a white background, or something of the kind. + +Jacksonville was the next town, some forty miles away. There are six +smaller towns on the way. I don't remember passing six, but my map +vouches for this number. Their respective populations, taken from the +said map, are as follows:--Riddle Hill, 25; Berlin, 251; New Berlin, +690; Alexander, 200; Orleans, 38; and Arnold, 15. So America is not +full up yet. But fancy showing a village of fifteen inhabitants on +the map! If it were in Arizona instead of Illinois they would have +called it Arnold "City." Here are some more names, taken at random from +the map, to show the endless variety that the American cartographer +has drawn upon:--"Daisy," "Whitehall," "Quiver," "Cuba," "Golden," +"Siloam," "Time," "Pearl," "Summum," "Birmingham" (population 76), +"Illinois City" (population 80), "Bible Grove" (population 10), +"Enterprise" (population 7). + +After Jacksonville the road seemed to change its mind. It refused to +be a road any longer. It turned instead into a sea-beach and dodged +in and out, here and there, to evade the approaching traveller. +Everywhere was to be seen white sand. It lay feet deep on the trail, +making progress almost impossible. It covered all the vegetation at +the roadside, and it filled the air as well. Here for the first time I +encountered the type of road that can disappear with the vagaries of +the wind. It was easy to imagine that in aeons of time this self-same +road would help to form some great geological strata deposited in the +Gulf of Mexico or elsewhere. The country became hilly and thickly +wooded, and sometimes the trail would narrow down to just a few feet in +width and then just as quickly open out to fifty or sixty. The trees +grew thicker, the sand grew thinner, the trail dodged around boulders +and trees, shot up little sandy slopes, and then, all of a sudden, +without any warning whatever, stopped at the bank of a great wide +silent river. + +It was the Illinois River, a tributary of the great Mississippi, which +itself was only fifty miles away. About a couple of hundred yards wide, +it was navigated by a ferry-boat of unknown antiquity pulled across the +river by a cable wound round a drum. Every man, woman, and child, and +every vehicle that crosses America by the Pike's Peak Highway, swells +the funds of the man who owns that ferry-boat. + +"Which is the road now?" I asked him when we eventually reached the +other side. I could see no signs of any continuation of the trail. He +had better eyes than I, however. + +"Go straight ahead; you can't miss it." + +There was certainly visible a little pathway that scrambled up the +bank and then wound in and out among the trees, and as I could see +nothing else, I followed it. Sure enough it led to "Valley City" +(population 52), and thence onwards, through "New Salem" and "Barry" +towards "Hannibal" on the Mississippi River. + +The Mississippi! Long had I conjured up visions of this mighty river of +over 4,000 miles total length that cuts through the United States from +north to south, and drains nearly 1-1/2 million square miles of land! +I had imagined its vast breadth and followed in my fancy the great, +silent, moving river as it flowed from west to east and north to south +through ever-changing scenery and ever-widening banks. And here I was +within a few miles of it! The thought was almost absurd. + +Just when the sun was about to set the road made one more swerve to the +left. The trees and the surrounding country fell away as if by magic, +and there was nothing beyond, save a massive bridge of steel. Beneath +and from horizon to horizon flowed the majestic river. + +The other end of the bridge was probably some 3,000 feet away in the +town of Hannibal and the State of Missouri. Hannibal bristles with +statues, tablets, posters, placards, and picture-postcards. They all +have the same theme for a subject--"Mark Twain." The Hanniballians, if +such they are called, are just as bad. I believe it is not possible +for a stranger to be in Hannibal for five minutes without being told +that Mark Twain was born there. If the "clerk" at the refreshment +bar doesn't tell you, the man at the post office does. If the young +"fellar" who pumps a couple of gallons of "gas" into your tank forgets +to tell you, the old girl at the fruit-shop doesn't. They must have a +secret code in Hannibal whereby they arrange these things. And I will +guarantee there aren't two out of every dozen picture-postcards on sale +in Hannibal that don't show Mark Twain's birthplace or his cave or his +statue or his ass or his ox or something that he either did or did not +"immortalize." + +Seeking a quiet little spot by the river where I could spend the night +and fulfil one of my long-cherished hopes--to bathe in the River +Mississippi, I turned down a little road that ran along the bank and +reconnoitred the country. To my dismay a railway ran between the road +and the river, almost at the very water's edge. Nothing daunted, and +hoping that it would sooner or later swerve away and leave me in peace +with my river, I continued for miles, long after it was dark, but with +no success. The road itself was on a ledge high above the railway, +and the railway was on a ledge built some six or eight feet above the +river. Eventually I left Lizzie at the roadside, camouflaged her with +leaves and branches, and scrambled down with my bags over the ledge on +to the bank below. I found a comfortable little spot about ten feet +from the rails and laid my bed. And oh, what a glorious bathe I had in +the river! + +It was the eve of July 4th, the American "Day of Independence." Sounds +of revellers from far away were wafted over the calm, silent waters. +Now and then would be heard the faint swish of a canoe as it glided +past in the darkness of the night, and soft music crept up the river +from time to time, now clear, now faint, as if from its dark and mystic +depths. + +I tucked myself under the blanket feeling like a good Christian that +night, with never a worry in the world--a world that was good and kind +and comfortable always. + +Nevertheless I should have liked to know when a train would be coming +past to disturb my slumbers. + +Just as I was dozing over, I heard footsteps along the rails. They came +closer and closer, but I could see nothing. The night was pitch-dark. +As the footsteps came opposite to me, I made out the form of a man +against the starlit sky. He did not see me. + +"Say, bo, can you tell me how many trains pass here to-night?" I asked. + +He jumped as if struck in the back. + +"Only a couple, brother," he replied to where the air had spoken, +"one of them in about half an hour and the other about one in the +morning;--but they won't worry you," he added. + +Sure enough in half an hour's time I heard the distant rumble of a +train. I began to wonder if I had not rolled any closer to the rails +than when I lay down. The earth shook and a red glare appeared in the +distance, and with a mighty roar the huge train came thundering through +an opening in the trees. Although I knew I was at a safe distance, the +feeling of impending annihilation swooped suddenly down upon me. "Don't +be an ass," said I, "what's the use of getting the wind up?" And the +next second it seemed that the rushing torrent of steel and fire was +but an inch from my head. Clatter bang-thump, clatter-bang-thump, for +twenty long seconds, and the intruder was gone. In another minute not a +sound broke the silence of the midsummer night. + +Thinking what an excellent test of self-control it would be to pitch +my bed between the rails, but disinclined to do so on account of the +possibility of a cow-catcher being in front of the trains, I rolled +over into heavy slumber. + +In half an hour I was awake again and the same process was repeated. I +deemed then that I should be left in peace for the night. But my friend +had not reckoned on the freight trains. Only the passenger trains were +of account to him! + +Regularly every half-hour they thundered past. At dawn I had counted +thirteen in all. I resolved not to sleep on a railway embankment again, +even though it be in company with the Mississippi. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +STORMY WEATHER IN MISSOURI + + +Hannibal is a nice, clean, respectable place; were I an American +tourist I would call it a "cute little city." + +I found an eating-house with a tempting smell around it, and ordered a +hearty breakfast. After polishing off this meal, I mounted Lizzie and +started off once more. + +We were now in Missouri, the State of the small farmer. Not that the +farms are so very small, but they are not on so large a scale as +further on in the west, where the hundred-square-mile ranch is the +order of the day. + +Again the scenery experiences a quick change; the country becomes hilly +and rough; one sees maize growing almost everywhere and very often +pigs (or hogs as they are termed in the States) turned out to pasture. +Nevertheless there is much uncleared and uncultivated land to be seen; +the towns and villages are clean, modern, and well laid out, and all +give an air of prosperity and plenty. Every farmer has his car, and +it is generally a Ford; youngsters of twelve and fourteen can be seen +driving them, and generally with as much skill as their parents, if not +more. + +But for all its hills and vales and the luxuriance of its natural +beauty, Missouri has one great drawback. There is a very big fly in +the Missouri ointment--RAIN. And when it rains in Missouri, +it rains properly, not in tantalizing little showers as it does in +England. It is as though the whole sky had burst its water-mains. It +falls not in inches but feet; not for hours but for days. Then suddenly +the sun breaks out and scorches everything with renewed vigour. If +a car is out far from home when the rain comes, it generally has to +"stay put." The rain sinks into the road and so does the car. Every +car carries a set of chains for its wheels, but although they improve +matters slightly, they are often futile in ploughing through the +thick slime. Then come the teams of horses at five and ten and twenty +dollars a time to drag the unfortunate automobile to some garage where +it "lays up" until the rain has gone and the sun has dried the roads +sufficiently for further progress. + +Sometimes enterprising individuals do not wait for rain to bring +in the shekels. I have often heard of perfectly authentic cases of +a farmer deliberately flooding likely patches of the road and then +waiting patiently with his horses to drag out some unfortunate victim. +This seems absurd, but care is always taken to select a spot where it +cannot be definitely proved that natural conditions are not entirely +responsible for the result! + +In the early afternoon, after a hard ride from Hannibal, punctuated at +every village with a stop for the consumption of ice-cream, I reached +a small town called "Bucklin." No sooner was I there than a huge black +cloud appeared suddenly in the sky and a terrific windstorm rose which +blew everything that was not fixed to something in all directions. For +half an hour it raged. The air was thick with dust, leaves and bits of +paper. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the wind subsided, and rain +commenced in torrents. So fast did it fall and so heavy were the drops +that the surface of the road was beaten into a froth which hovered +all the time a few inches above the road itself. Even to walk across +it was a test of skill; so slimy was the mud that one's feet slid +aimlessly about in any direction but the one desired. For this reason +concrete pathways are invariably provided so that pedestrians can +move with comparative ease and can leave their homes and visit anyone +anywhere in the town without actually touching the mud at all. These +concrete pathways naturally have to cross the road in places, and when +the road surrounding them is washed away, as very often happens, the +result to a passing vehicle can be imagined. + +Further progress being out of the question that day, I hied me to the +only hotel in the place and prepared to while away the days that were +to follow in writing letters, studying an obsolete almanac, and eating +bad food. + +It rained in a continual deluge all that day, all night and all next +morning. At midday it stopped with a bump, the sun came out with +another, and the birds began to sing again. At three I ventured forth +with Lizzie. I had not gone a dozen yards when the back wheel slipped +sideways round to the front and left me reposing in the half-baked mud. +Back again for another hour's wait while the broiling sun did its work. +Next time I got as far as the outskirts of the town before I decided +to turn back. After another hour we started out to do or die, come +what might. During the remainder of the day until dark we covered ten +miles, going hard all the time. When I was not extricating myself from +a spicy bit of quagmire, I was poking semi-hard mud out of the wheels +and mudguards. + +On one occasion I came to a sudden dip in the road, followed by an +equally sudden rise. As usual there was an uninviting "slough of +despond" in the hollow. After trying two or three different ruts in +an effort to "get through," giving up each one in turn as hopeless, +and pushing back again to where still another rut branched off from +the one I was in, I eventually worked my way through. The struggle up +the slope on the other side was a formidable one and was being slowly +accomplished by a combination of bottom-gear driving, pushing, lifting, +and "paddling." Just before the summit was reached I was thrown by a +steep furrow into the ditch at the roadside, breathless, exhausted, and +extremely bad-tempered. + +As I was extracting myself, a young man in shirt-sleeves strolled +leisurely over, hands in pockets, from a stationary car a little +further on. When I had safely extricated my right leg from under the +machine and hauled Lizzie on to her wheels again, the stranger spoke. + +"Say, fella, does that front cylinder get hot? I've heard say that's +the weak point about them four-cylinder motorsickles." + +Here follows a flow of language from self entirely unprintable. The +stranger opens his eyes, whistles softly, then adds, as if to turn the +subject: + +"Where you from?" + +He remained with his hands in his pockets staring at my diminishing +form. He was still there when I looked over my shoulder half a mile +further on. He is probably there now! + +As time went on, black clouds appeared in the sky; the sun went in; the +wind rose, and a repetition of the events of the day before commenced +just as I arrived in the small town of "Wheeling." The only thing to +do was to eat ices until the climatic conditions adjusted themselves. +This took the best part of two hours. Once again I sallied forth with +Lizzie. This time in the short space of five yards I reposed gently +but thoroughly in the Missouri mud, much to the amusement of the +population, who had all turned out to witness my departure. Again I +tried and again I fell. The whole machine seemed to act as though it +were made of jelly. I gave it up on the third attempt. + +"Try the railway," jeered the village comedian, pointing to +a level-crossing in the distance. This amused the onlookers +"considerable." For myself, I discerned a glimmer of wisdom in the +suggestion. + +"Look here, you guys," I retorted, "what about giving me a hand to push +this as far as the depot" (I never made the fatal mistake of referring +to it as a "station") "instead of looking on and grinning like a lot of +schoolboys?" + +It had its effect. Three or four volunteered at once. We all pushed; we +slithered to right and left; we slipped over each other and ourselves. +But we got there. + +Riding on the sleepers was hardly humorous, but it was better than the +road. They were not filled in and were very irregular. Consequently +progress was slow and a trifle disjointed. The "depot" was not far +away. The "line-boss" looked at me curiously, as though I were a +strange offshoot from some wayward train. + +"Many trains coming along this way?" I queried, wishing to know what I +should have to meet, as there was only a single track, double tracks +being seldom, if ever, laid in the States, and if one was unprepared +it might prove embarrassing to meet a train coming in the opposite +direction just in the middle of a tunnel or a bridge. American railway +bridges are remarkable for their narrowness. Very often the sleepers +themselves project into space, and never is there any track beyond +them. + +"You said it, brother," he replied, "dozens of 'em." "And what's more, +there's a couple of long tunnels just a mile away--look, you can see +the beginning--and beyond them there's a bridge pretty nigh half a mile +long--and trains is mighty funny things to play hide and seek with, y' +know!" + +I was of that opinion myself. As I looked, I saw a train emerge from +the tunnel ahead. I reflected that I should have been just about there +by now if I hadn't stopped. I went back to Wheeling. + +The next day I covered twenty miles in four hours and found myself back +in Wheeling again, but this time by another road. Nothing daunted, I +said nothing, clenched my teeth, and polished off another twenty until +dark. + +The day after I did better. The nett progress at the end of the +day's work was twenty-five miles instead of twenty. I arrived at the +conclusion that Missouri had one great advantage that I had hitherto +overlooked. It was an excellent place to get out of! + +On the next day I covered five miles in six hours, and although only +forty miles or so from Kansas City, which marks the commencement of the +historic Santa Fe Trail leading to the Pacific Coast, I made a solemn +vow that I would "ship" everything there by train at the next town. +The next town happened to be "Excelsior Springs," twenty miles further +on. The road improved considerably, and the comforting thought of +civilization at so short a distance urged me on and I broke that solemn +vow. I rode into Kansas City late that afternoon, a mass of bruises +from head to foot, just as the speedometer showed 1,919 miles from New +York. I ferreted out the Henderson agent and left Lizzie in his tender +keeping. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +RESULTS OF A BREAKDOWN + + +It took three days for me to find that the Kansas City I was in was not +the Kansas City I thought I was in. I took it for granted that Kansas +City would be in Kansas State. But it was not. _My_ Kansas City was in +Missouri, but after searching diligently at the post office for mail +that wasn't there, I found there was another Kansas City on the other +bank of the river. All good citizens of Kansas City, Mo., turn up their +noses at the mention of Kansas City, Kan.,--"no connection with the +firm opposite" sort of thing. + +Of the two, Kansas City, Mo., is by far the more commendable town. It +hustles and bustles just as every good American city should do. It is +exactly "one hundred per cent American." The advertisements in the +papers said so. I believe it, because any city that boasts of being +four times larger than it really is must be 100 per cent. American! +But I must give Kansas City its due. It represents the essence of +keenness and enterprise in business and farming circles. It has that +"breezy" air that is so healthy in city life, compared with the dull, +gloomy inertness so characteristic of most manufacturing towns, +especially here in England. Kansas City has some excellent streets and +some magnificent buildings, and has undoubtedly grown at a remarkable +rate during the last ten years. Being the last city of really large +dimensions that one meets until the Pacific Coast is reached, it is +the connecting link between the East and the Far West. Grain and farm +produce from the vast States of the West flow unceasingly through its +warehouses and stockyards. A network of railways concentrates to a +focus at Kansas City, railways bringing in and taking out millions of +tons of produce annually. + +The next day, when I visited the motor-cycle agency, Lizzie was +standing disconsolately where I had left her the day before. I begged, +entreated, exhorted, and threatened that she be given immediate +attention. I lied abominably to the manager that I was putting up a +record between the coasts and every minute was important. + +How could I expect to beat all existing records if they kept my machine +in dock for a week? I was promised that it would be started on "right +now." That term "right now" has a significance unknown to Europeans. It +is subtle and evasive, intangible and incomprehensible. It conveys a +sense of such utter obligation on the part of the speaker that one has +not the heart to query its exact purport. As far as I can ascertain, or +at any rate as far as I have experienced its application, it is more +similar to the French "tout de suite" than any other expression I can +identify, in that it might imply anything between the immediate present +and the indefinite future. + +Lizzie required several replacements, including a new set of bearings, +a cylinder and two gudgeon pins, these latter being broken in half at +the middle. The agent told me that they always were liable to break. If +they were put in upside-down, as he always fitted them, so that the oil +hole was at the bottom instead of the top, they would not break at all. +Further he hinted that my particular machine was turned out while a +good fat strike was in progress at the factory. + +"Well, you can stick it together so that it will take me to the coast +all right?" I queried anxiously. + +"Well, yes, I guess I can," was his studied reply. + +"Go right ahead then, boss, but do it quick! I'm running short of money +and can't afford to stay in your metropolis right here for the benefit +of my health." + +Being destined then to remain in Kansas City for four or five days +more, I found myself with ample leisure in which to collect my thoughts +and prepare for the journey through the "wild west" ahead. + +One result of my leisure was that I paid a visit to the editor of the +_Kansas City Star_. This is one of the most progressive newspapers in +the United States, and circulates everywhere in the West. The extent of +its circulation and the results of its progressiveness I was, however, +still to learn. + +The editor was found as usual at his desk in the middle of a large +room, surrounded by his myrmidons in typical American style. He greeted +me with extreme cordiality. "No need to tell you I'm English, I +suppose?" I said. + +"See that door over there?" (pointing to the one in the far distance +through which I had entered). "Well, I spotted you were an Englishman +the minute you came in there." + +I explained with complete humiliation that I was travelling across the +United States of America on a motor-cycle and wondered whether his +readers would be interested in the point of view of such a despicable +object as an English motor-cyclist on this great and wonderful country. +"Not for the love of the thing, you know," I added, "I don't see why I +shouldn't earn a dollar or two on the wayside." + +He pointed to a typewriter standing idle at a desk. "Let's have the +story right now, and give us something about roads. There's a big +movement just started to get good roads, so you can just hand out the +straight dope to everybody on the subject. Get me? Something good and +snappy." + +I explained that while no one was more eminently capable of writing +about American roads than myself, I had never graduated as a typist in +the course of my business career. I should, therefore, have to retire +and push the modest pen. + +"What! a business man who can't use a typewriter? I didn't know there +was such a thing," was his rejoinder. + +I let them have it about roads. I referred also to their commendable +system of arresting road-hogs. This with a few pro-American +embellishments such as "wonderful country," "indescribable beauty," +"inexhaustible wealth," etc. etc., rounded off the theme. + +My friend the editor not only rewarded me at the noble rate of a dime +a line (5_d._), thus assuring the hotel expenses for my stay in the +city, but also gave me about an hour of his valuable time in talking +about almost everything under the sun--mainly American. It is rather +surprising to an Englishman to find that practically any worthy +American business man, no matter how busy he may be or how valuable the +time lost thereby, will entertain a visitor for an incredible length of +time. If the visitor happens to be an Englishman, he is all the more +pleased to do so because then he can talk uninterruptedly about America +and what a wonderful country it is. All the noted men of Europe, I +learned, had been in the office and sat in that same chair. The editor +told me so. Lord Northcliffe spent all his leisure hours there while +in the States. So also did many other notorieties, some unknown to +me. Leastways, so the editor told me. I took his money and bade him +farewell. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE SANTA FE TRAIL + + +On the fifth day after my arrival in Kansas City all was in readiness +for my departure. There was another big bill to meet for Lizzie's +overhaul, but I had the satisfaction of knowing that the bearings had +all been replaced, as well as a few cylinders and pistons and things, +and that there was just a chance of getting to the coast before +something else went wrong. Once again I wrote polite letters to the +factory at Chicago, paid many dozen "green backs" over the counter, +and started off once more, this time with only thirty-five dollars in +pocket. Once again fate and the post office had been unkind. Not a +suggestion of anything was there at either of the post offices at any +of my calls thereon. Amid vague wonderings and oft repeated doubts +I promised myself a big cheque at Santa Fe, next stop. I was just +beginning to know the ins and outs of the postal service. + +The Santa Fe Trail is the oldest and most interesting highway in +America. Rather should it be said that the pioneers over what later +became known as the Santa Fe Trail were the first to leave permanent +marks on routes that have since become "highways" between the +Central-Western and the Far-Western States. In the days of the ox +team and prairie-schooner, the plains and mountains were crossed by +trails, usually along the lines of least resistance, keeping as close +as possible to bases of supplies and water. Travel over the Santa Fe +Trail began about 1822, starting from Little Rock, Arkansas (pronounced +Arkansaw), and following the Arkansas River west. A few years later, +this trail was superseded by a more permanent one going west from +Kansas City (then called Westport) to "Great Bend," a base situated, +as its name implies, on a great bend of the Arkansas River, and thence +to Santa Fe by a choice of two routes. An important trade with the +Spanish population of the south-west was early developed, reaching its +zenith in the '60s. This route, the one which I followed, has now been +marked a considerable part of the way by stone monuments erected by the +"Daughters of the American Revolution" and constituted the chief inroad +from the East to the Far West. Santa Fe itself, next to St. Augustine, +Florida, is the most ancient city in America, having been founded in +1605 by Spanish settlers on the site of a "pueblo" or Indian village of +far-distant origin. Naturally, therefore, it was the centre of trade +for years numbered by hundreds, and traders from afar brought their +goods and supplies in boats up the rivers as far as navigable and then +in teams across the dreary plains and over the steep Rockies to this +one destination. + +Later, in the gold-rush to California in 1849, emigrants reached San +Francisco, the "Golden Gate," via this same Santa Fe Trail, undergoing +indescribable hardships on the way, and at all times subjected to +frequent onslaughts by the hostile Indians. + +The first railroads were built across the plains alongside the old +trails. The first automobile trips (and I take off my hat to them!) +naturally followed the railroads, from the necessity of keeping near +to supplies. But the motor-car of to-day frequently makes either short +cuts or detours--leading perhaps 100 or 200 miles away from the +railroad--in order to visit sections offering unusual attractions, or +places of historical interest, even when located in desert regions. + +Thus, with Kansas City behind me, the journey begins to be really +interesting from an historic, if not from a scenic point of view. The +hand of modern civilization at last is seen to relax its grasp. Now, +instead of the prosaic, the conventional and the luxurious, are we to +find the unique, the heterodox and the primitive. After the tainted +breath of huge cities and the seething, crushing, maddening turmoil of +wealth and modernism are to follow the pure unbounded atmosphere of the +giant plains, the mystic call of the great mountains, the vastness, the +fearfulness and the rapture of the scorching deserts. Which shall it be +for me? + +Before me lie 500 miles of perfectly flat and uninteresting country +before I leave the State of Kansas and enter Colorado. Then follow +another 200 equally flat, equally drear, to be crossed before the +Rockies loom into sight. Seven hundred miles of endless weary prairie, +stretching always, everywhere, as far as the eye can see, with never +a hill nor a dale nor hardly a tree in sight!--Nothing but boundless, +illimitable corn, wheat and prairie. + +That night, after an afternoon's run of 120 miles, I rested in a +cornfield. The road had ended abruptly. An old bridge had been +demolished and a new one was about to be erected. A heap of debris +in the middle attracted my attention, and I was fortunate. Here the +road ended; there was a little chasm some thirty feet across; beyond +was the road again. Nothing for it but to turn back. Turning back is +always objectionable. I deemed that it would be less so in the morning. +That is why I wrapped myself in my mosquito net behind a hedge in a +cornfield and offered up thanksgiving. + +The mosquito net--I have not mentioned it before! I purchased three +yards of it in a little store back in Missouri while waiting for the +road to dry up. I also bought a cap. Having worn no headgear since +leaving New York, I soon discarded the cap and later gave it away to a +little urchin who looked as though he needed one more than I. But the +mosquito net remained for a longer spell. Nightly was it unfolded and +wrapped around my unworthy self, and daily was it folded carefully up +again and packed into the bag once more. + +I shall never forget that mosquito net. It was white. Leastways it +was when I bought it. I tried countless ways of enveloping myself in +its folds, but never with any great measure of success. The _tout +ensemble_ when struggles had subsided, with self in pyjamas surrounded +by wrappings of white chiffon on a black background (my waterproof +groundsheet) must have presented an extraordinary spectacle to the poor +birds above. No doubt they mistook me for some miscreant angel served +with an ejectment order without notice from the star-lit sky! At first +all went well. I breathed the calm midnight air unmolested. "It can't +be true," I told myself, "there is a catch in it somewhere." There +was. I discovered that whereas it was comparatively difficult for a +mosquito to get inside the net, once he did get inside it was an utter +impossibility to get him out again. One mosquito inside a mosquito net +is worth much more than two outside. He is worth at least forty! + +Then I tried various stunts because, when I did get properly wrapped +up, I invariably rolled out of it in my sleep. I rigged up poles and +sticks and cut little pegs from twigs to hold the net down like a +tent. I had it stitched up the sides like a bag and wriggled into it +nightly, only to find it wrapped around my feet in the morning and my +face and arms a mass of bites. Finally, in the heart of the Rockies I +think it was, I gave it up as a bad job and resorted to the Citronella +method once again. For aught I know that old mosquito-net is still +hanging to the fence of a cow-ranch at the foot of Pike's Peak, Colo.! + +Up at dawn in the morning and away. I found another road some three +miles back and continued on my way westward rejoicing. Sixty miles were +covered before breakfast. The towns and villages became very few and +far between, and Council Grove, where I enjoyed my morning repast, was +practically the first town to be encountered. I had set my mind on a +good day's run and prayed for good roads. On my map, which was said to +be the only road-map of the United States published, and was hopelessly +inaccurate and inadequate, there was a huge river, the Arkansas, a +couple of hundred miles ahead. I judged it to be about half a mile +wide. Verily, thought I, the Arkansas River shall be my resting place +to-night, and Great Bend my destination. + +After a long day's ride I toiled into Great Bend at sunset. The journey +had been monotonous and the road fatiguing. I longed to stretch +my weary bones on the banks of yon mighty river and bathe in its +refreshing waters. While I was devouring my evening meal, on a little +high stool in the one and only cafe of Great Bend, I was consoling +myself with this prospect. + +Outside, a little group of men were sitting on the pavement eyeing +Lizzie propped up against the kerb. It is the general thing to sit on +pavements in the Far West. They are much higher than those we are +accustomed to and afford adequate and comfortable accommodation for the +weary population. Often one can see a row of men sitting on the kerb +for the whole length of a "block" when the sun is in such a direction +that the sitters are sheltered by the buildings behind them. I made a +mental note: "Another good idea for importation to England." I pictured +tired Londoners sitting down in rows on the pavements of the Strand or +clustered leisurely around Piccadilly Circus chewing "shag"! + +My pockets bulged with bottles of "Buckeye," an imitation root beer +sold extensively in the States (since prohibition) and alleged to have +a "kick" in it. A suspicious swelling elsewhere on my person indicated +a tin of pineapple chunks (a delight of my youth). + +"Goin' far?" inquired one of my scrutineers. + +"Down to the river to-night. This the right road?" + +"Right slick in front of your nose half a mile away." + +I came to a long wooden bridge arrangement, but could find no river. +After going two or three miles and finding no Arkansas, I returned to +Great Bend to try another road. This time I inquired at the cafe. + +"Straight ahead, you can't miss the bridge." + +"Oh, is there a river there? I didn't see one." + +Back again to the bridge, but no signs of a river. Instead there was a +great stretch of white sand like a sea-beach, but with little trees and +shrubs and tufts of grass dotted here and there. + +"Well, this is no Arkansas River," said I to myself, "but I'm through. +This sand looks pretty comfortable, so here goes." + +In amongst the sand dunes I made my bed and never did traveller camp +in more delightful surroundings or rest in more peaceful conditions. +The stars shone out with unusual brilliancy in the heavens, and the +moon rose at the setting of the sun, enveloping all in a magic sheen +of silver. A soft cool breeze played gently over the plain and little +birds of unknown song and uncounted variety slowly sang themselves to +rest. This indeed was no night for sleep; more was it a time for quiet +contemplation of all the things that make life good and noble and +worthy of the living. How terrible, how awful it would be when I should +in the end return to the narrow beaten track of city life, and once +again be fettered to "the trivial round, the common task" that knows no +magic spell and thrills with no mystic breath. Could it ever be that +the duties that bind and numb, the needs that hamper and clog, the +tasks that chill and estrange, should once again enshroud me in their +toils? Such I suppose are the meditations of everyone who breaks away +from home to enjoy for a spell the bounties of nature and whose canopy +is the sky. + +In the morning I awoke as fresh as the merry sandpipers and +waterwagtails that ran and hopped about in dozens. There was no trace +of fatigue, no thought but of the glorious day that was opening, no +regret but that every day had not brought and would not bring this +rapturous dawn. + +I learned in the village that I had indeed slept in the middle of the +Arkansas River! The summer had been excessively dry and that part of +the river which, several hundred miles away, had risen boisterously in +the heart of the Rockies and had not been dried up with the heat, had +drained through the sandy bed, never to emerge again. This though was +one of many rivers that I was to meet with no water in them. Sometimes +even, I was to see fences and railways erected across would-be rivers +to prevent the cattle straying! + +The farther westward I travelled the fewer became the towns. +Nevertheless, albeit they were sometimes thirty and forty miles apart, +they were all prosperous, new and inviting. Of gasoline there was +always an abundant supply at 22 cents (11_d._) per gallon. Of garages +there were enough and to spare. Indeed, it was surprising what palatial +garages were to be found everywhere. Outside each was the familiar +"Bowser" pump communicating with a 1,000-gallon tank below the pavement +from which anything from half a gallon to six gallons at a time could +be pumped up by the garage hand at one turn of the handle. A flexible +pipe with a cock at the end leads from the pump, and one's tank can be +filled in a few seconds without a drop being spilt. Not once in all my +travel through the States have I seen a petrol tin. I do not believe +they are used at all because nowhere in the States is it necessary to +travel by road with spare petrol on board, provided, of course, that +one is careful to fill up regularly at the different towns or stations +on the way. Even in the heart of New Mexico and Arizona, even in the +terrible "Death Valley" and Mohave Desert of California, stations are +found where "gas" and oil can be bought in plenty to carry one well +beyond the next to be reached. + +At Larned I made a hearty breakfast from canteloupe, coffee and "pie." +Now "pie" is one hundred per cent. symbolical of America. In the States +they have attained the absolute limit of perfection in the manufacture +of pies; indeed I think it must be a "key" industry. Not only can pies +of every conceivable kind of fruit (and many inconceivable ones) be +obtained, but the cooking thereof is perfection itself. + +On the road again, ever westward, ever looking forward to the day when +from the dreadful monotony of the plains the Rocky Mountains would loom +high and faint upon the horizon. + +I passed a few small towns at long intervals, towns with picturesque +names such as "Cimarron," "Garden City," "Lamar," and "Las Animas." In +every case an approaching town was heralded by an unspeakable stretch +of road. With the passage of traffic of all kinds the road was ground +up into powder. Every inch of it was loose sand, sometimes a couple or +three feet deep, sand that would be impassable to any but horse-drawn +traffic. As a saving grace it was generally less deep at the edges of +the road than in the middle, and locomotion was just within the range +of possibility with frequent assistance by way of "leg-work" and with +occasional spills and crashes. The only use I had for these towns +lay in the unlimited scope for ice-cream consumption which they all +afforded. As time went on, Lizzie showed signs of further disrupture. +Gradually little noises and rattles developed and slowly her power fell +off by almost imperceptible degrees. Of course I had ample power even +at that to cover the country, which, with few exceptions, was level, +and the road, where dry, was good. I averaged no more than twenty-five, +and as there was hardly any stop to make or traffic to slow down +for, this did not mean travelling more than thirty at any time. A +good conscientious motorist, I told myself, would stop and examine +everything. I had got far beyond that stage. "Let the old crock go on +till she busts," I muttered inwardly and opened up to avoid an oncoming +thunderstorm. + +Thunderstorms travel quickly in U.S.A. They get a hustle on and don't +mess about generally. There's never any doubt about it when you +see one coming. It means business; there is none of that burbling, +gurgling, gloomy overture that hangs around for hours in England +and very often comes to nothing at all. No, no. In U.S.A. you see a +thundercloud on the horizon and before you've got "George Washington" +off your lips it's on you with a crack and a bump and a splash and woe +betide any innocent motor-cyclist who is riding in his shirt-sleeves +with his jacket strapped on the back. + +But that rain was good! Kansas can be hot when it likes and it's mostly +liking all the time, so that a shower-bath is a gift from the gods. +When it stopped, and fortunately before it had had time to do its foul +work on the surface of the dirt road, I arrived in Syracuse, a small +town with not much of a population to substantiate its artistic name, +and but twenty or thirty miles from the Colorado State Line. Net result +150 odd miles that day and to-morrow with luck I should behold the +Rockies. Oh, those Rockies! How I longed to see them! + +The rest of the evening I spent adjusting Lizzie's tappets (they had +all worked loose, hence the noise) and eating pies and ices at every +cafe in the place. The night was spent in a dirty inhospitable little +inn calling itself, I think, the Broadway Temperance Hotel. Heaven help +Broadway, and the Devil take all temperance hotels! I shivered as I +compared this with the night before. + +Westward once more. In an hour I crossed the State Line. Invariably +there is a large sign-board denoting this fact. "THIS IS THE STATE +OF COLORADO, THE MOST PICTURESQUE AND FERTILE STATE IN THE UNION," +it read on this occasion. This time there was not such a marked change +in the country. It was still flat, still dismally uninteresting. +Everything looked dried up. At times the trail, which hitherto had +followed the Arkansas "River," crossed and re-crossed it by long low +creaky wooden bridges. There was still no water flowing underneath +them. "Water? That was only meant to flow under bridges," says the +confirmed toper. The Arkansas River "puts him wise" on that point! + +Flagrant mistakes now appeared on the map. Roads and towns which +in reality lay on one side of the river were alleged to be on the +other. Distances became either grossly exaggerated or hopelessly +underestimated, so much so that I only expected to get to a place when +I found myself already there. If it turned out to be another place than +that I had expected--well, there, that made it all the more exciting. + +Later on the trail became very dishevelled and forlorn. Great waves of +sand were piled up in ridges and furrows defying all comers. Sometimes +a benevolent signpost advised all drivers of automobiles not to risk +travelling thereon, but to follow such and such a detour which would +lead back to the road ten or fifteen miles farther on. I saw many +such notices. At first I scorned them, but the sand grew so thick and +deep that it enveloped the frame of the machine and the projecting +footboards brought progress to a standstill. For several hours I pushed +and heaved and skidded and floundered about on highways and detours and +pathways that baffle description. If I averaged ten miles an hour I was +content with that. I got through many places that passing pedestrians +swore were impassable. In short I was beginning to reduce locomotion +over American roads to a science. + +At La Junta, the Santa Fe Trail swerves to the south-west towards New +Mexico, but another trail continues westward and northward towards +Pueblo, Colorado Springs, and Denver, the three "cities" of Colorado +State, and Pike's Peak, one of the highest points of the Rockies. +I decided to leave the trail for a day or two and go sightseeing +in famous Colorado. So I continued westward, scanning the horizon +all the time for a vision of a vast and rugged mountain range. The +sight of mountains would be as balm to a sore wound; as welcome as +a spring of water in the desert; or even as the sight of land to a +shipwrecked mariner, so heartily tired was I of the endless plains and +the inexhaustible flatness and monotony of the country for the past +thousand miles. + +Instead of mountains came a cloud. Soon the whole horizon was black. I +knew what that meant. It meant "laying up" for a day or two and looking +round for a good place to lay up at "right slick." But I was in the +midst of nowhere. Not a house or a shack could be seen anywhere. Even +as I scanned the country the rain came. The road was not sandy enough +for it to soak through. Instead it absorbed it greedily and changed to +mud. I rode as far as riding was practicable and then I pushed. In a +few miles I came to a little wooden shack at the side of the road near +a large dyke already swollen with rain. The shack looked as though it +had recently been thrown together with matchboarding and liberal use +had been made of tarpaulins as curtains instead of doors. I left Lizzie +in the road and went to explore. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE ROYAL GORGE OF ARKANSAS + + +There were two huts. I drew aside the tarpaulin and peered in one of +them. It was stuffy and dark and filled with beds, tables, cupboards +and piles of odd furniture and miscellaneous clothing, boots, blankets +and mattresses. In a clearing amongst the general debris sat a +middle-aged woman on the top of a trunk before a sewing machine. + +"Hope I'm not intruding, but is there anywhere I can get out of the +rain until it goes off?" + +From a heap of assorted oddments under my very nose came a voice, a +man's voice. + +"Sure; come right in, brother. You're welcome to any shelter we can +give you. Guess you've gotten a little wet out there? Jim, go you into +the kitchen and bring a chair for this gentleman." + +A pile of musty books rocked on its foundations in another corner and a +young lad of fifteen or sixteen rose as if from out of the earth. + +We talked for an hour, but the storm showed no signs of abating. The +wind whistled through the tarpaulin doorway and gloomy blobs of water +dropped from the ceiling from time to time on all and sundry. + +Strange to say I did not betray my nationality. I presume that by that +time I had unconsciously acquired in a small degree the language of the +race. + +"You're from the East, I suppose?" queried mine hostess after half an +hour, the first words I had heard her speak. + +"Oh, sure, I'm from the East, the far East--in fact, the VERY +Far East!" I replied. + +"Boston?" + +"You've said it," was my rejoinder. "Ever been to Boston?" I added. + +"Yep, I was there I reckon fifteen fall. All I remember now was the +railway depot. What do they call it, the South Union?" + +"Sure, it's the South Union all right. Why, I was born only a couple of +blocks from the South Union depot." + +Miserable liar that I am, I have never been in Boston in my life. + +"Fine city, Boston," interjected the male voice from below. + +"The finest in the world, sir," I effused. + +Meanwhile the rain continued, with not the slightest sign of abating. + +"You best bring your motor-sickle under shelter and stay the night +right here," suggested the man of the house when the shadows deepened +and still the rain went on. + +"I'm sure that's very good of you, sir, but I'm afraid I'd better not +trouble you any more." + +"No trouble at all; we're delighted to have you; we can soon make a bed +up with a few chairs and some of these blankets." + +I was only too pleased to avail myself of their hospitality and agreed. + +At supper I had a chance of studying the various members of the family. +Apart from the man and his wife, there were two boys, and quite a few +more people rolled in afterwards from a source unknown to me. Supper +consisted of stewed beans, with plenty of bread and water, and more +beans. + +That night I slept on four chairs in a row near the door. The two boys +were elsewhere in the gloomy darkness within. All through the night +I waged war upon mosquitoes and slapped myself vigorously for many +hours until the guerrilla warfare grew so tiring that sleep overcame +its anxiety. The mosquitoes then nibbled my face to their hearts' +content--if they have hearts, which is doubtful. + +In the morning breakfast consisted of stewed beans with plenty of bread +and water, and more beans. + +By lunch-time it was still raining, but slower. I stayed to lunch. It +consisted of stewed beans, with plenty of bread and water, and lots +more beans. + +In the afternoon the sky cleared, the sun opened his eyes with a snap +and began his work of drying up the roads. Throughout the day I had +employed my time with giving Lizzie an overhaul. I had the cylinders +off, examined the bearings, and tightened things generally. Meanwhile I +discovered that my friends were building a house on an adjoining field. +They were doing the work alone, with the help of a few friends, who +no doubt accounted for the other partakers of stewed beans. A pile of +timber lay in one corner of the field and the foundations had already +been laid and the uprights erected. + +It was well seen that the house was for themselves to live in. Never +have I seen a house grow so quickly or watched the progress of one so +keenly. Moreover the walls were not all out of the vertical or the +windows far from square as one generally gets in home-made houses (and +very often other kinds too!) + +"You'd better stay and have something to eat, brother," said mine host +as I was strapping my bag on Lizzie's back in preparation to depart. +"We've only got stewed beans, but they're a mighty wholesome food." + +But I had visions of apricot pie in Pueblo, thirty miles ahead, and +urged my desire to be getting on the road "right now" while the weather +lasted. + +They were good folks, those house-builders of Nepesta. Not a cent would +they accept under any circumstances for their hospitality to me. They +worked hard and feared God, and every time they partook of their frugal +meals grace was said beforehand and afterwards as well, in thanksgiving +for the blessings that rewarded their toils. One could not refrain from +comparing the civilization of the West with the sordid life-scramble of +the East. + +Once on the road again the despondent sort of gloom that seemed to +surround everything became a thing of the past, as gradually the +Rockies loomed up on the horizon; at first faint and mysterious +they gradually deepened in colour and sharpened in outline. What a +refreshing and soul-inspiring sight after nearly 1,000 miles of travel +across the dusty, dreary, tiring plains! + +In the late afternoon a thin cloud of curling black smoke was seen +upon the horizon. This is invariably the forerunner of a western town. +Long before one actually draws near to one's destination, if that +destination be a town, it is discernible sometimes twenty and even +thirty miles away by the tufts and clouds of smoke that hang over it. +The sight is as that of a huge Atlantic liner no more than a fraction +above the horizon. One cannot discern its hidden size or form, but the +smoke from its funnels threads upwards into the heavens like a sentinel +in the engulfing vastness of the sea. + +Thus does one approach a town set in the heart of a bewildering plain. +Gradually it is possible to discern here and there a chimney-stack and +sometimes the reflection of a solitary window in one of the tallest +buildings will scintillate on the distant horizon. + +The busy town of Pueblo drew nigh. With a rapidly increasing population +of over 50,000 and nearly 300 factories, some of which are among the +largest steel-manufacturing plants in the States, Pueblo is known as +the "Pittsburgh of the West." But let not the reader be misled by this +title into thinking that Pueblo is miserable and gloomy and odoriferous +as is the wont of most towns of its character. Its streets are wide, +clean and well-lit with electric lamps; its buildings also are clean +and of comely architecture; there are no slums or poverty-stricken +quarters, and with the giant mountains looming in the distance Pueblo +is an ideal manufacturing town in ideal surroundings, besides being the +centre of a rich mining district. + +From Pueblo, after ministering to the wants of the inner man, I turned +again westward towards Canyon City, some forty miles away in the heart +of the Colorado Rockies, in order to visit the famous Royal Gorge, +known also as the "Grand Canyon of the Arkansas," thence to return by +a large detour through Colorado Springs, another Western city like +Pueblo, and with perchance a side-trip up the automobile road that +has been cut to the summit of Pike's Peak (the highest highway in the +world), to return to the trail to the south into New Mexico. + +That rise from Pueblo into the Rockies will linger ever in my memory. +Surrounded in all directions but behind with glowering mountain +ranges, the road cut across vast rolling plains and prairies that +spoke of desolation immense and wonderful. As the sun set behind the +mountains they became tinged and fired with every shade of colour, +and darkness slowly crept through the valleys and filled the air with +vague wonder and glorious contentment. In front and slightly to the +right rose Pike's Peak high above its fellows, thrusting its massive +splendour 14,000 feet and more into the ruddy heavens. An eerie feeling +of intense loneliness crept through my veins as mile after mile was +passed through naked prairie in the midst of such awful surroundings, +with never a soul to be seen. I travelled thirty miles before the +chilly breezes and the growing darkness constrained me to stop. (The +headlight was _hors de combat_; only the "dimmer" would work.) In all +that distance I saw no living thing save the tufted grass and the black +pine-trees peppered over the sides of the foothills. + +When progress was no longer possible, I pulled Lizzie to the side of +the dusty road, propped up her stand, and unfolded my blanket on the +grass of the prairie at her side. Once again I should enjoy the sweet +luxury of Nature's bedchamber in the heart of Nature's best. + +But Dame Nature's bedchamber is oft a chilly and inhospitable one, and +despite the invitations she tenders to all who count themselves her +lovers. "Bring your own blankets" is the one stipulation. She will +provide the rest. She will bring the magic sleep, the fairy dreams, the +golden dawn and the thrills of ecstasy as one wakes again fresh and +strong into her lovely world of health and beauty. + +From rolling plains we passed to bounding foothills where the road +twisted and turned and crossed torrential streams, spanned by +picturesque stone bridges, until the delightful little town of Florence +was reached. Here came a short stop for breakfast and thence on again +towards Canyon City. + +From Canyon City to the Royal Gorge has been built a wonderful piece +of road, winding and climbing into the very heart of Colorado's rugged +bosom. The gradient in places is terrific. Every ounce of power +was sometimes necessary to surmount certain stretches, and blind +=S=-bends carved from the solid face of the rocks made travelling +a danger as well as a test of skill. At every bend and every turn +some new panorama would spring to view and farther and farther away +would fade the distant horizon of the east. Whither the road led was +impossible to see. Frowning cliffs and wooded crags seemed to be the +only goal ahead. After half an hour of heavy toil we reach an opening. +There is a turn to the left, a flat plateau and a slight dip down; the +trail dies away to nothing and a sign "Royal Gorge" is announced from +a bungalow near its end. The gaunt pine-trees also end, there is a +huge gap in the earth and the plateau beyond is seen a clear half-mile +to the westward. We clamber over the rocks and boulders, carefully +and gently, where the ground has suddenly stopped, and peering down +from the brink we gaze upon a tremendous cleft in the crust of the +earth. Some 3,000 feet below we see a raging torrent like a huge white +snake lashing with a sullen roar along its tortuous path, hemmed in by +vertical walls of cold relentless granite. The rushing torrent is the +Arkansas, a mighty flood although but a few miles from its source, and +the same river whose bed 700 miles away towards its mouth had afforded +such excellent nocturnal accommodation a week before! + +It is as though one is peering into the very bowels of the earth. That +this gigantic chasm has been cut out by that river which now is over +half a mile below seems almost incredible. As we gaze there is another +surprise in store. Like a tiny plaything, a train emerges from a bend +in the cliffs and with little infantile puffs of smoke crawls along the +rails which one now sees running along the narrow river bank. Clinging +close to every twist and turn the train proceeds. There is scarcely +sufficient space between the rugged walls and the surging river for the +single track. At one point the width of the ledge is but 10 yards and +the track has been built out over the water. The river dashes madly +through; the engine sways from side to side as it drags its heavy load +onward. Down there, it is said that the sky above is but a thread of +light and the stars can be seen at midday as in a mine. + +One moves one's gaze and scans the rugged boulders that lie heaped and +stacked and strewn about as if but a push would suffice to send them +hurtling down into the chasm below. Here and there are stunted growths +of sage, cactus and prickly pear, or a giant fir-tree springs from a +grassy cleft in the rocks. + +Retracing the trail, we find ourselves soon descending the precipitous +winds and turns that lead back to Canyon City. On the left we pass +"The Famous Sky-line Drive," which announces itself by placards here +and there as "The greatest scenic highway wonder of the world." But +a little distance from here is also "the one-day trip that bankrupts +the English language" and such beauty spots as are suggested by the +names "Hell Gate," "The Frying Pan," "Roaring Fork," "The Devil's +Thousand-Foot Slide," "Cripple Creek," "The Garden of the Gods," and +other similarly euphonious and onomatopoeic appellations. + +It would be tempting to explore all these places and to see more of +Colorado and the immense fund of natural beauty which she displays +in endless variety. But impatience draws me again towards Pueblo, so +that I can once again strike the trail that leads to California. I am +already getting anxious to see the blue sea, though yet only half-way +between the oceans! + +That afternoon as I paused beneath a "bowser" in Pueblo while Lizzie +was filled to the brim, I inquired the condition of the road to +Trinidad, some 100 miles to the south on the Santa Fe Trail. + +"Trinidad? The worst road in America, sir!--ab-sol-oot-ly the worst +road in America, sir." + +The prospect was not pleasing. There was certainly an element of +interest about it because it would be fascinating almost to see for +oneself exactly what Americans did consider a bad road. My formula so +far had been that when an American said a road was good, it was bad. +When he said it was bad, it was damn bad! But what would the "worst" be +like? + +As I sped along, the sky deepened and a severe thundershower +threatened. Heavy black clouds glowered around the mountain-tops +and every moment I expected a sudden outburst from the heavens. On +my right the Rockies rose higher and higher. In the distance, but +gradually approaching, rose Blanca Peak, a dreadful, ponderous giant +amongst its brethren, its gloomy crest piercing the very vaults of the +sky and hardly visible in the sombre blackness that so often hangs +in the neighbourhood of these western mountain peaks. Now and again +a streak of lightning would flash through the heavens, and the dull +thud that followed, belated and awe-inspiring, would rumble backwards +and forwards along the valleys, reverberating from peak to peak until +finally it was lost in the depths of the firmament. + +On the left spread the rolling plains as far as the eye could reach, +like as the sea stretches up to the shores of Dover whence the cliffs +rise sheer and stubborn. In front lay the road, skirting the borderline +twixt plains and peaks. + +I soon came to the conclusion that that garage hand in Pueblo had +been "pulling one over me." The road was just splendid. Laid in +hard flat well-made macadam, its surface was excellent, passing all +understanding. As I sped on ever quicker to avoid the gathering storm, +the non-skid pads of the tyres hummed a merry tune. Could I be on the +right road? I asked myself once again. I must be, for in these parts +there is only one road to be taken. No others exist. There must be a +catch in it somewhere, I told myself. + +An hour went by and still the thunder rushed around Blanca Peak the +Mighty, now receding from view. An occasional shower just on the edge +of the storm would hasten me on my way. Still the road was perfection +itself, and still it fringed the chain of minor peaks that runs from +north to south, the boundary of the vast plateau of over 1,000,000 +square miles that includes, in those unassuming words, "The Rockies." +Another hour flew by. + +And then it came, like a thief in the night, sudden and unexpected. +The smooth grey macadam vanished, as though the magic wand had ceased +its power. Instead lay ahead a villainous track in the dark brown soil +of the prairie, a track beaten with sorrow and stricken with grief, +here battered into ugly patches, there heaped into fearful ridges and +seething masses of mud and rock. It had rained. Those words alone +express a world of sin and shame, when one speaks of a trail "out +West." Here once more were the old agonies, the old discomforts, +the old tortures, the old haulings, heavings, pushings, joltings and +bruisings. The sky again became overcast. The rain began to fall +tormentingly. I had still twenty-five miles to go to the nearest town. +The sun sank lower behind the mountain ridge. The rain fell faster; if +I did not reach Walsenburg that night I should have to rest among the +prairie-dogs in the pelting rain. And what chance was there of reaching +Walsenburg before dark with no lights and at an average of six miles an +hour "all out," with only a paltry hour before dusk? + +I will not attempt to describe that ride. I feel it should not be +described. "The ride that bankrupts the English language," indeed, +thought I. Many times I left the road altogether and pursued my course +whither I listed over the rough prairie. Strewn with boulders, rocks +and ugly stones, carved here and there in fantastic shapes, with +mysterious hollows and quaint prairie-dog holes, it was just possible +to scramble along. From a distance the "road" I had left looked better +and I returned to it, only to find that the prairie still looked more +enticing. How I leapt over the smaller stones and skipped round the +larger ones always intent on nothing but the few yards that were to +follow, I shall never completely remember. Again and again I returned +to the road and endured its agony for a spell, and again I swerved away +from it, my every bone shaking in its joints and my teeth rocking in +their sockets with the vibration. + +Let me forget. These things are not good to gloat upon! I remember +but one amusing incident, which was but the forerunner of many more +to come. I had returned to the road for a spell. I came to a slight +dip. It was like a lake full of fluid mud where a wayward stream had +swollen with the rains and encroached upon the sanctity of the road. +"Not negotiable" was the unspoken verdict. Strange to say, the prairie +was now fenced off from the road boundary, so there was no avoiding the +coming struggle. "It's got to be done, so here goes"; slowly I dived +into the yellow mass. Just half-way the back wheel turned to jelly and +seemed to crumple up to nothing. With one big splosh the whole five +hundred-weight of us flopped gaily over into the mire. Pinned down by +the weight of the machine, the mud had ample time to soak through all +my clothing, into my pockets and down my neck. Lizzie's submersion +would have been entire instead of partial had I not intervened.... +After a short struggle I ultimately succeeded in extricating my right +foot from between the brake-pedal and the engine, and heaved the bulky +mass from its repose. No sooner was this done than we slithered once +more and fell over _en bloc_ on the opposite side. + +Oh, the joys of motor-cycling in Yankeeland! + +I did get to Walsenburg that night. As luck would have it, the two +hotels were full. At least the desk-clerks avowed by the bones of their +saintly grandmothers that there wasn't a room left. Probably they +were moved to anxiety lest their worthy name should be soiled by this +mud-covered intruder! + +I found a room after a long search at a fifth-rate "doss-house" devoid +of furniture, where the landlady demanded my money in advance before +giving me the key to my room. + +Thus passed another day. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +IN SOUTHERN COLORADO + + +There is only one road in the States as bad as that from Walsenburg to +Trinidad. I refer to the road from Trinidad to Walsenburg. + +In spite of that it was a good road; I got through. It took endless +patience, perseverance and a morning of time to do those fifty weary +miles. The scenery was strange, almost to the point of weirdness. From +the surrounding flatness would rise sudden plateaus, with dead vertical +sides and perfectly flat tops. Even the hills and mountains where they +occurred (save in the distant Rockies) were modelled on the same plan, +rising abruptly from the plain and ascending in two, three or more +sudden steps. The effect was just as though the land architecture had +been entrusted to some aspiring cubist or futurist instead of to the +well-disciplined laws of Nature. + +I do not profess to have attained much learning in the science of +geology, and speak, therefore, as one without authority. But it seemed +to me on many occasions that to study the geology of the Far West, the +English scientist would have to forget all he had ever learnt about +physical geography and start all over again in Southern Colorado. + +At first I was puzzled in the extreme to see how the mountains rose +suddenly out of the great plains, without any warning almost, and +without the customary foot-hills and valleys that one would expect to +see clustering around a mountain range of several thousands of feet +in height. Afterwards I became accustomed to this unusual formation, +when I found that mountains always grow that way in the Far West, and +particularly farther on in New Mexico and Arizona. All their ranges +seemed like elongated "Wrekins" set in a plain of gigantic dimensions. + +At Aguilar, half-way on the road to Trinidad, I met the first really +Mexican town. It will be remembered that all the south-western States +once belonged to Mexico and one by one they have been ceded or bought +or otherwise appropriated until Mexico now is only a shadow of its +former self. Nevertheless a large proportion of the population is +still Mexican, in spite of the continued influx of American settlers, +and consequently Mexican is spoken almost universally in addition to +English as the national tongue. + +Trinidad styles itself "The industrial and commercial centre of S. E. +Colorado." With a population of something in the region of 14,000, +it stands at the base of Fisher's Peak (10,000 feet), and it is an +admirable example of the inextricable mixtures of Old Mexico and New +America in the cities of the West. I took its picture and left its +shining well-paved streets to track down my old friend, the Santa Fe +Trail. + +I got one mile away from the town and then struck. The trail climbed +rapidly, skirting the Peak all the time in preparation for the Raton +Pass soon to follow, which cuts right over the Rocky Mountains into +New Mexico. That in itself was nothing. I am always game for a good +hill-climb. But I had thought better of the Santa Fe Trail. After +climbing 1,000 feet in just over a mile, it changed into the most +absurd hotch-potch of ruts and mud-heaps that ever eye witnessed, and +this for as far as one could see. The condition of the road strained +my credulity to breaking point. Getting through the far-off mud-hole +at Hume in Indiana was a child's tea-party compared with this. In half +an hour I did just 100 yards and then, after resolutely determining to +return to Trinidad and take the train, I found that to go back was as +much out of the question as to go forward. It simply couldn't be done +single-handed. To turn Lizzie round would require nothing less than a +sky-hook and pulley-blocks. + +I left her standing in a huge rut in the middle of the road and +reconnoitred to see how far this appalling state of affairs continued. + +Fortunately a Flivver appeared round a bend in the road ahead, +coming in the opposite direction. It heaved and swayed and bumped +and side-slipped and hiccoughed its way along. I watched it until it +finally reached the spot where Lizzie blocked the way. Then something +had to be done. The car had two occupants, both hefty-looking men, whom +I enlisted to my aid. Together we lifted and pulled and heaved and +pushed until the worst was past, and then I struggled on alone. + +Farther into the mountains we travelled; higher and higher we climbed. +In places the trail was hewn out of the rugged mountain sides, and +except in a few places there was hardly room for more than one vehicle +to pass. Occasionally a "washout" would be encountered where a mountain +stream had encroached on the road and washed it away altogether. +Then would come a short detour over a gap in the bank, with the +grassy slope strewn with branches and small tree-trunks to prevent +the unfortunate vehicle sinking in and thus permanently blocking all +progress that way. + +The ascent of the Raton Mountains by the Raton Pass is made amongst +some of the most beautiful scenery imaginable. The trail is only +visible a few yards ahead and is lost in sudden twists and turns as +gradually the mountain slopes are devoured. On the right, almost +behind, are still to be seen the famous Spanish Peaks towering like +twins in solitude above the rest of the Sangre de Cristo range, some +forty miles away. Soon we shall be leaving Colorado State behind +us--Colorado the Glorious, the Beautiful, the Great. + +It is said that "amongst all the mountain kingdoms, Colorado seems to +stand easily first in physical adornment: not even Switzerland and her +Alps offering more than a fair comparison." Mont Blanc, the highest +peak in the Alps, is 15,784 feet high, while Colorado has many peaks +lacking little of this height. The lowest depths of some of Colorado's +famous parks are higher than the average height of the Alpine Chain. + +Upward we climb, amid thickly-wooded mountain tops, round thrilling +bends and tortuous precipices and over the rockiest of roads. The end +is in sight. A depression in the sky-line ahead shows where the Raton +Pass (7,620 feet to be exact) reaches its highest point and gazes +forwards into the heart of New Mexico and behind into the vastnesses of +Colorado. + +A gradual bend, a sudden swerve, and then--the summit is reached. +Colorado is passed. Before us lies a great and thickly-wooded valley, +broad and deep and beautiful. Beyond lie the great plains of New +Mexico, plains so vast that in their utter defiance of limit and +dimension they beggar description. The eye could not follow the +great expanse. So immense were the distances that the earth merged +indefinitely into the sky at the horizon. Dotted and strewn here and +there were hills and mountain ranges that seemed to have sprung up so +suddenly out of the plateau to have really no connection with them. + +Here I stood at the gate of another world. Before me lay a land of +mystery and romance, a land of health for body and soul; a land of +desert and sage-bush, of cactus and strange vegetation; a land of +antiquity unparalleled by any other in the world. Here at my feet lay +New Mexico and beyond, Arizona, the two States that at the same time +are the oldest and the youngest in America. Although only admitted to +the Union in 1912, their history dates from remote ages when they were +peopled by a race unknown to-day but nevertheless well advanced on the +road to civilization, a race that built cities while Babylon was as yet +unknown, and laid down irrigation systems that puzzle the engineers of +the present day. + +Arizona and New Mexico, you are the pearls of great price that no human +being has ever yet valued at your true worth. When the day shall come +that man can say of you, "I have seen you in all your moods and have +discovered all your secrets," then this old earth will be a lifeless, +soulless, aimless globe, its purpose fulfilled, its course completed. + +A five mile descent through the scented pine-trees brought me to +Raton, another half-Mexican, half-American town, small but modern +and well-arranged. "No more 'rooming-houses' for me," I resolved and +turned my gaze to the far-distant plains where the darkness was slowly +gathering. + +Even in New Mexico, one need never go without a meal. The way to +an Englishman's heart is through his stomach (this applies also to +Americans and most human beings in general!). My heart was greatly +touched by Raton in this manner, and shortly before dusk I was speeding +on my way southwards towards Santa Fe. + +Ten miles out the trail crossed a river. It must have been the Canadian +River, a tributary of the Arkansas, which it joins several hundred +miles to the east. The surrounding country was desolation and solitude +itself. Half prairie, half waste, almost desert, it was a country of +new sensations. Just to the west, from horizon to horizon, stretched +the gaunt and rugged Sangre de Cristo range, dark and threatening +always in their aspect. Not a living thing was in sight, not even a +suggestion of life. I ran Lizzie off the road to the brink of the river +and laid down my bed in the silver rays of the rising moon. + +At 6.30 in the morning the sky was ruddy and the air pure with the +fresh breezes of the dawn. From minute to minute the myriad colours of +the mountains changed their tints as the sun rose higher in the Mexican +sky. I continued on my way. + +The road was broad and good, but a surprise was in store. After a few +miles there appeared a dilapidated signpost where a bedraggled pathway +joined the broad highway through a gap in the fence which now ran +alongside. It bore the legend "To Santa Fe" and pointed through the +fence to the left. My first impression was that some small boy had been +playing pranks. It was inconceivable that these two ruts but a few +inches wide in the coarse green grass should lead to Santa Fe while +there, straight on, was a good broad highroad that led nowhere. It ran +clear ahead and was lost over the brow of a hill. I never found where +that road went. I have never seen it on any map and have made many +inquiries since. Some travellers, like myself, had seen that road and +wavered, but not one had gone that way and could enlighten me. + +New Mexico is not a nice country in which to lose oneself. Towns +are very few, and often one can go a hundred miles without seeing a +village or meeting a soul. So in spite of the temptation I swerved +to the left and entered the field that was without corn or pasture, +following those two ruts that cut deep into the prairie soil and were +not visible more than 50 or 100 yards ahead at the most. In places the +two ruts had become too deep for further use and another pair had been +started at the side, running parallel with the original ones. When +these had worn too far another pair had sprung up, and in many places +I counted eight distinct pairs of ruts running side by side across the +prairie, each representing a distinct phase in the evolution of the +Santa Fe Trail. At any point, if one looks far and long enough, one +can find the original tracks that centuries ago were formed by the old +prairie-schooners as they journeyed westward across the plains to Santa +Fe. + +The next town lay far across the plains beyond the horizon. I should +have to hurry if I were to get any breakfast, but the riding was rough. +Tufts of coarse grass and sharp stones covered the prairie and held +back the speed; here and there were the holes of prairie-dogs, who +respect no one in their choice of a site. If it pleases them to build +their front-door entrance where your favourite inter-rut strip happens +to be, well, they build it there. Their holes are generally about six +inches in diameter, the mouth being funnel-shaped. Passing vehicles +smash them in until the opening is sometimes two or three feet across. +Our friend the prairie-dog doesn't mind in the least. He continues to +live there in spite of the traffic and never a curse escapes his lips. +He is a dear little animal. One cannot help loving him. In stature +these animals have the characteristic of both a squirrel and a rabbit, +and are about a foot in length. They sit on their fat little haunches +like a squirrel, but have only a little bobbed tail like a rabbit. I +believe they are the most friendly rodents in existence, and have the +reputation of dwelling in friendship even with rattlesnakes, who never +harm them! If you surprise one when he is away from home, he watches +you, motionless, to see if he has been seen, if only a few feet from +the intruder. And when he sees that you have seen, away he runs with +his head well down and his little tail well up until he reaches his +burrow in the flat prairie. This done, he considers himself safe, turns +round, sits on his haunches and stares inquiringly at you. But if you +dare come too close he disappears in a second and is seen no more. + +One cannot help laughing at the antics of these amusing little animals +as they scamper off like month-old puppy dogs. Ofttimes I have chased +one to his hole in the road and watched the anxious look on his face as +for a brief moment he turns his head before flashing into the ground +below your front wheel. No true traveller could harm one of these +innocent little beasts; they are often his only companions for hundreds +of miles. + +Ten, twenty, thirty miles I travelled over the almost trackless +prairie. Occasional mud-pools barred the way, but when the trail was +unfenced, these were easily avoided. Later on fences appeared, limiting +the road from some neighbouring ranch. I judged I was getting near to +Springer. + +An old shack of a two-seater car hove in sight, coming in the opposite +direction; I had an opportunity of studying it in detail as it came +close up. Naturally we both stopped. All travellers are friends in the +Far West, where distances are great and people are few. + +"Guess you'd better follow us if you want to get to Springer this +week," essayed the driver. + +"Why, is there any mud about?" + +"Mud? There's a hole down there outside the town that we've been trying +to get either in or out of these two-and-a-half hours. Had to get some +hosses to pull us backwards out of it in the end. Gosh, I've never +seen a mud-hole like it in all my days. We kin get around another way +though, I'm told. Where you headin' for, stranger?" + +"Santa Fe." + +"Oh, we was expectin' to get to Santa Fe this mornin'. We're bound for +El Paso, and must get there by to-morrow." + +I reflected that El Paso was in Texas on the Mexican border, some 500 +miles to the south! "Well, if you don't mind, I'll come along to Santa +Fe with you, so then we can each help dig each other out of any holes +that happen along." + +"Righto, glad to have your company, but we're not speed merchants like +I guess you are with that 'oss there." + +"Don't make any mistake, brother. I passed the speed craze a thousand +miles back. It doesn't pay." + +So we retraced our tracks, the car leading. It was shorn entirely +of mudwings and footboards to save the wheels becoming clogged or +the running boards fouling the road. On the back was strapped a +large trunk. This I found is the usual way of travel by "auto" in +the West. Seldom does one see wings on a car that is driven for any +distance from home. Running boards, if present, are generally of an +improvised variety made by planks suspended and fastened in place by +ropes around the body work. Thus the road clearance is increased and +the necessity for constant cleaning removed. By far the most popular +"machine" is the Ford. You can buy one cheap and sell it as scrap when +the journey, if a long one, is finished. Owners of large expensive +touring cars very often have a Ford as well for emergencies and for +long distance travelling. In New Mexico and Arizona I have seen scores +of huge touring cars stuck helplessly in the road and often abandoned +altogether until the seasons permit of their removal. + +I followed my friends from Texas along little pathways and rough +tracks strewn with boulders, through gaps in fences, across fields and +back gardens, all, to my mind, at an alarming pace. It was only with +difficulty that I kept up with them at all, owing to the many ruts and +rocks and other obstructions that are far more hindering to two wheels +than four. + +Arrived eventually in Springer, I resolved to postpone the promised +meal until later in the day. + +We passed many ranches and crossed many mud-holes, some of alarming +width across. In most I managed to fall off at least once and wallowed +in the mud. Sometimes the car got so far ahead as to be lost +altogether, but after each encounter with a mud-lake I managed to make +up the lost time. + +Thus passed nearly thirty miles in which I realized the utter absurdity +of two wheels compared with four. At one place I lost so much time that +I began to give up as hopeless the attempt to keep up with the car +ahead. After all, what was the use? Once out of the mire, however, the +trail became better and turned into loose sand for many miles. + +Over this sand I made good progress. It was now nearly midday, and I +had visions of a meal in Wagonmound, a small village some twenty miles +away. The appetite was there all right, and as I trimmed off mile after +mile at good speed I forgot all about mud-holes and the like. + +All at once the engine burst into a wild roar and Lizzie began to slow +down. What new trouble was this? A broken chain, or something worse? I +stopped as quickly as I could and proceeded to an examination of the +transmission. The chain was all right, but the engine sprocket had +almost come right off the driving shaft. The key and nut, where were +they? + +For an hour I searched up and down in the sand and in the grass at +the roadside for the missing parts, but without success. The sun was +almost vertically above and its rays poured down unmercifully from a +cloudless sky. There was not a sign of water or of any living thing in +any direction. + +I returned to another examination to discover whether I could remove a +nut from any other part of the machine to replace the defaulter. Not a +nut was there anywhere that at all approached either the size or the +thread required. I searched once more, wondering in how many days' +time another vehicle would pass that way, and half resolved to walk the +next twenty miles. + +What! Leave Lizzie and walk! NEVER! + +Another hour elapsed. I had explored all the ruts and searched every +inch of the road for half a mile back. I stopped, and wondered where +I could find water to drink. Water would be even more acceptable than +the nut and key now. I scanned the sun-baked prairie in all directions. +From horizon to horizon there was nothing but the solitary distant +mountains, and here and there a lonely parched-up hill. Truly a nice +outlook! Henceforth I would carry a water-bag with me. + +I decided to return to Lizzie, push her off the road and try walking. +But just to think of coming 3,000 miles in her constant company, and +then having to forsake her! "Poor old Lizzie, she's a dear old crock," +I murmured to myself. + +What was that? I stooped down to see, and there hidden in a crack +in the hard mud was the missing key. That put a different aspect on +matters altogether. The nut would in all probability not be far away. +I set out to explore every stone and every rut and every crack. Sure +enough I found it not very far away. + +In a few minutes the midsummer air was whistling past my ears once +again. + +In ten minutes I found myself surveying the biggest thing in mud-lakes +that it has ever been my misfortune to negotiate. The road was fenced +in, naturally. There was a ranch on either side of it. The lake of mud +extended sideways to the very borders of the road, ninety feet wide. +The distance across was about fifty yards. I estimated that the mud and +water were waist-deep in the middle. Ridges and furrows of harder mud, +where passing cars had churned it up, in a desperate attempt to get +through, led into the sickly mass and then were lost. + +"This requires a scientist, not a motor-cyclist, to cross," I averred, +and, propping Lizzie upon her stand, went to reconnoitre. + +I then created a precedent in the art of crossing mud-holes by which +I benefited on all future occasions. I was wearing water-tight field +boots which came up to my knees. The _modus operandi_ was this: I would +select a likely-looking rut and walk along it as far as I could without +the water coming over the top of my boots. If it came over I went back +and tried another one. This process was repeated until I had a good +idea how the land lay. If I could possibly get through without the mud +reaching my knees, I knew I could get Lizzie through all right. This +manner of prospecting in advance I found indispensable and at the same +time perfectly successful. + +I got through somehow, but prayed that I should never meet another like +THAT. + +I rolled into Wagonmound about three in the afternoon a very weary +and mud-stained traveller. When I got there, it started to rain; it +naturally would. + +There is but one restaurant in Wagonmound, which enjoys a population +of 200 or so Mexican-Americans. Here I learnt that there had been a +"cloud-burst" near Santa Fe but a few days back; also that the oldest +inhabitants of New Mexico had never known so much rain to fall as this +summer; also that the roads ahead were almost impassable; also that +at one place on the other side of Santa Fe and at a distance of fifty +miles between two towns there were one hundred cars stranded in the +mud and abandoned! I was proof against it all, however. I considered +that by now I could get through anywhere. I was not to be daunted +by fancy yarns and sceptical reports. Time was when I cursed the +Americans for being optimistic about their roads. That stage had long +since been passed. Now I was proof against even their pessimisms and +discouragements. + +The rain stopped and I proceeded once more, determined to make a big +effort to reach Santa Fe that night, though still ninety miles away. + +At Wagonmound there was a station of the Santa Fe Railway, which for a +good distance ran close to the trail. I inquired at the "Depot" what +were the chances of travelling on the track. I did not want to try +conclusions with any trans-continental trains if avoidable. + +"What! Ride in the track!" ejaculated the line-master. "You can't do +that!" + +"Oh, I guess I can if I'm careful," was my response. + +"Waal, I jest guess you _can't_, my friend," was his rejoinder. "I'll +have you arrested if you try to work that stunt." + +Argument was useless. "D'ye think I want to damage your bloomin' old +track?" I asked him heatedly after much discussion. We settled the +matter finally by my tendering the information that I would ride up +and down his track all day long if I wanted to (not much fear of such +a desire developing!) and if he liked he could "write to _John Bull_ +about it"! + +The humour of the situation was lost upon him. + +"You'll get shot," was his reply, whereat we parted. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +NEW MEXICO + + +I set out from Wagonmound with a light heart and a heavy stomach. + +The road ran parallel with the rail for a mile, then crossed over by a +level crossing and continued parallel on the other side. I did not get +far. No doubt there had been unusual rain; great fields were now lakes +with the grass bottom not always visible; little streams, normally no +more than the size of a small spring, were now swollen rivers. These +crossed the road in places. The road was fenced in. And thereby hangs a +tale. + +After precisely half an hour I found myself just three miles advanced, +and in the midst of a hopeless chaos of sun-dried emaciated mud. I +had "explored every avenue" of the road, but found none possible +of negotiation. Bit by bit I dragged Lizzie back and returned to +the level-crossing. Come what may I would try the track. Even if +the sleepers shook my very bones to powder it would be better than +eternally forging through the mud of New Mexico. + +On each side of the road where it crossed the rails the track was +guarded by a satanic device in the form of spikes and knife-edges +skilfully arranged and extending to a distance of several yards. The +function of these was evidently to prevent cattle and other animals +straying on the line. Traversing these was no easy task. If one did +not ride on top of the spikes, one's tyres wedged in between the +knives. Once past, the rest seemed easy. But things are not what they +seem, especially on railroad tracks. The sleepers were not ballasted +and were anything but level. There was no room outside the track, for +it was steeply banked, and the sleepers projected beyond the rails into +space. At every few hundred yards the track ran over a brick bridge +spanning a bog or a stream. The bridge was just the width of the rails +apart. But when it came to riding--ugh! As every sleeper was passed, +the wheels fell momentarily into the intervening space between it and +the next, and a series of sudden, sharp shocks was hammered through +Lizzie's poor frame as each sleeper in turn was struck by the front +wheel. The faster I went the quicker and smaller were the shocks, and +above a certain speed it was quite tolerable running. + +I was just getting up a comfortable speed when I imagined I heard the +whistle of a locomotive behind. This was discouraging and certainly +unexpected. I stopped quickly and looked back. Sure enough there was +a train coming, but it was easily half a mile away. To go forward in +the hope of out-pacing it would be useless. There was not even room to +get off the track, for once I got down the steep bank, I knew it would +be next to impossible to get back again, or to get anywhere, for that +matter. + +Neither was there room to turn round and go back. + +More than ever before did it appear to me that discretion was better +than valour. + +So I commenced to push Lizzie backwards to the level crossing, prepared +to roll sideways over the bank if I found the train got there first. + +I was just beginning to feel sure about winning the race, and judged +that I should get there with a good hundred yards to spare. I reached +the crossing, but as naturally as one would expect, the back wheel +wedged tight between the knives of the cow-guard. + +Would she budge? No. + +As I struggled and heaved (I could not look on and see Lizzie go west +in such an absurd fashion), the "California Limited" bore down upon me. +Fortunately American trains do not always go so fast as they might; at +any rate, not so fast as one thinks they should when one is travelling +in them. + +With a final desperate lunge, Lizzie yielded to my efforts and came +unstuck. No time was lost in getting out of the way. Fifteen seconds +afterwards the train rolled by at a modest thirty. She had evidently +not got properly under way since her stop at Wagonmound. + +I returned to the mud-hole like a smacked puppy with its tail between +its legs, and reflected on what might have been. + +But it was no use. I stuck again. + +This time I was well armed with refreshments. I had bought six bottles +of a ginger-pop concoction from the last village. I carried one in each +pocket and the other two as reserves, only to be used in case of great +emergency, enveloped in the blanket strapped on the carrier. + +I drank one bottle at the close of every engagement with the road. But +after an hour I was still no farther ahead. I reclined on the bank and +waited for something to turn up. + +Fact revealed itself stranger than fiction once more. Something turned +up very speedily. It came in the form of a "Marmon" touring car, +bearing a Californian number-plate. I had taken the precaution, of +course, to leave Lizzie in the right spot, so that no disinclined +passer-by could get through if he wanted to. After all, one musn't +RELY on everyone playing the Good Samaritan. + +The two occupants of the car were courtesy itself. They not only +assisted me in lifting Lizzie over the _piece de resistance_, but also +showed considerable interest in me. Out here, where friendship between +motorists is much more marked (almost as a matter of necessity), there +is seldom any need for anxiety, and it is remarkable how potent a +thing is this roadside courtesy. Practically every town I stopped at +afterwards had heard of the strange traveller who was coming along on a +10 h.p. motor-cycle, and awaited my arrival with interest. + +"Had a fella in here on his way to California told us about you," said +one garage hand, in the heart of Arizona. "Said you'd be here sooner or +later." + +"Oh yes? And how long ago was that?" I queried. + +"Um--guess well over a couple of weeks ago." (The word "fortnight" is +unknown in America.) + +Such little incidents happened many times, and these, coupled with the +amazing reports that had been circulated by the Western Press about +me since that inflammatory article on "Roads," etc., in the _Kansas +City Star_, had generally managed to achieve for me quite a notorious +reputation in most towns long before I ever rattled into their midst. + +It was now nearly fifty miles to the next town. I pushed ahead as fast +as I could to reach it before dark. Progress, however, was slow. In +places where the road was not fenced, I rode upon the rocky prairie. +It was, for the most part, a considerable improvement, and one could +ride around the bogs and mud-holes instead of crossing them. + +Never had I been in such wild and barren country. It was quite beyond +hope of cultivation in most places, being strewn with rough stones, +rocks, and boulders, and only sparsely covered with meagre-looking +grass which, in its efforts to keep alive at all, had to arrange itself +in small tufts dotted here and there in order to derive the maximum +nutriment from the scanty, unfruitful soil. The country itself changed +from flat to hilly as the Sangre de Cristo range once more drew nearer. +When it became hilly, great rocks projected through the surface of the +trail, which seldom or never swerved to avoid them. + +The trail itself resolved itself later on into no more than a mere +medley of ruts and grass-bare strips of all widths, running and +crossing each other at all angles and in all directions. There was +no time to look around and enjoy the wild scenery or study the +ever-changing sky-line; it was "eyes on the road" all the time. It +was quite impossible to dodge more than a fraction of the rocks and +boulders, and one was always abruptly brought back to stern reality, +if for an instant one's thoughts diverged to other things, by a sudden +shock from one's front wheel, or a sickening crash on the bottom or +side of the crank-case. + +It was a slow job, and travelling was more in the line of a mountain +goat than a motor-cycle. I was ultimately satisfied if I could average +eight or ten miles an hour. + +After thirty miles of this, I was surprised to discern ahead something +which looked like a caravan. There were two vehicles, apparently +joined together, but with no visible means of locomotion. Nevertheless +they moved slowly. I judged that some enthusiast of the "See America +first" order had converted a Ford into a travelling home, or maybe +a wandering tribe of gipsies had become sufficiently modernized to +appreciate the benefits of auto _v._ horse transport. + +I caught them up and stopped to have a chat. Both sides seemed curious +at the other's means of locomotion, and wanted to know the why and the +wherefore. + +The team, I found, consisted as I had surmised of a Ford chassis, on +which had been skilfully built a caravan body. Behind was a trailer, +on two wheels, and of construction similar to, but smaller than, the +other. Evidently one was the parlour, kitchen, and store-room, and the +other the bedroom. + +The driver stopped his engine and jumped down. + +"Good day, sir; how do?" I inquired. + +"Very fit, thanks; you the same? How in Heavens'n earth d'you manage to +get along on THAT?" + +"Mostly by plenty of bad language and good driving," I returned. +"And what in the world are you doing in this benighted place with +THAT?" + +"Oh, I'm goin' west...." + +"Shouldn't be at all surprised at that!" + +"I'm bound for somewhere in Arizona. Come from Chicago. Fed up with +the life there, so I'm out for a change. Looking for a likely spot to +settle down where there's plenty of fresh air." + +"What! You've come all the way from Chicago on THAT?" I +inquired incredulously. + +"Sure enough." + +"How long has it taken you?" (I was already becoming sufficiently +Americanized, the reader will observe.) + +"Best part of three months." + +"How many with you?" + +"Wife and two children. Here they are." + +"Well, I wish you luck, brother; but it doesn't strike me that the +roads are ideal from a furniture-removing point of view, so to speak." + +"Roads?" (Here he waxed furious: I had touched a sore spot.) "Don't +talk to me about roads. The gor-dem Government oughta a' bin shot that +provided roads like this. Just think that across a civilized country +like America there isn't a dem road fit to drive a cow on to!" + +"Ah, I've thought that way myself; but there's a fallacy in the +observation, old man." + +"What d'ya mean?" + +"Just this--who told you America was a civilized country?" + +Long pause. + +"Aye, you've said it," and he relapsed into a stony silence. + +I bade him farewell, and left him scrambling slowly over the rocks and +mounds, while the caravan rocked from side to side and jerked its weary +way along. I reflected also that, after all, THAT was the way +to see the country. + +At dark I was but a few miles from Las Vegas. Once again heavy clouds +rolled over the sky. Rain began to fall. My spirits did likewise. I +wondered whether it was a habit. But what cared I for rain or mud? By +now surely I was proof against them. I struggled on. And ultimately I +got there. + +Las Vegas is a fair-sized town. In order of merit it is the second +largest in New Mexico. The first is Albuquerque and the third is the +capital, Santa Fe. There are no more towns of any size in New Mexico. +Including native Indian villages there are, in addition, in the whole +of New Mexico, some seventy or eighty small towns and very small +villages, making the total population of the whole State about 50,000. +When it is understood that New Mexico is about four times the area of +England, the reader will be able to form an idea of the sparsity of its +people. + +Now most people would have predicted that immediately on my arrival in +Las Vegas I would have sought out the best hotel and consumed a big +square meal. I did no such thing. I went to the movies instead. + +Then I returned and went to bed, half wondering whether to standardize +the one-meal-per-day experiment for future requirements. + +In the morning it was not raining, but all the time until midday it +showed signs of just commencing. + +At midday I became impatient and started out for Santa Fe. I had just +left the outskirts of the town when it did finally and irrevocably +decide to rain after all. I continued for five miles, when a Ford car +hove in sight. "Here goes for a chat and some straight dope on the +subject of roads to come," said I to myself and stopped. The Ford +stopped also. It had two occupants, a man and his wife. They both +looked bored, so we made a merry party. + +"What's the road like back there?" I inquired. + +"Mighty rough--mighty rough. They get better the further east we come." + +"Do you think I shall be able to get through to the coast?" + +"Well, it's mighty hard riding, but I guess you ought to be able to get +through. Oh, but stay a minute, there's a big wash-out before you get +to Santa Fe--big stone bridge washed clean away with the floods, not a +trace of it left. I don't know much about motor-cycles, but I guess you +could get across the river all right. You'll want to be careful though. +There was a whole cartload of people washed down the river last week, +so they say; all of 'em went west, horse and cart and all!" + +"Ah well, that'll add a bit of excitement to the trip. I'm good at +crossing rivers." + +"Ugh! Guess you'll not be looking out for any excitement time you've +gotten to Santa Fe!" + +I was particularly interested in these people's domestic arrangements. +Without a doubt I have never seen an ordinary touring car, much less a +Ford, equipped and arranged in such excellent style. They carried with +them a portable stove on which could be cooked any dish they required. +They carried ample supplies of vegetables, fruits, eggs, butter, bacon, +bread and tinned goods, and even tanks of fresh water for culinary and +drinking purposes. This is certainly a wise precaution, because it is +never safe to drink water from even the most tempting of rivers in the +West. Furthermore, they had two collapsible beds, which could be laid +upon the top of the seats from back to front, and which were fully +equipped with feather mattresses and blankets! One would think that +all this paraphernalia would have taken up an enormous amount of room. +Not so. Apart from the fact that the back part of the car was neatly +covered in, there was not the slightest sign that the car was anything +but an ordinary Ford with a lot of luggage in the back. + +I bade them farewell only on the strict condition that if the rain +continued I should return and share their supper. They would not be far +away, they told me. The _plat du jour_ was salmon and Mayonnaise sauce, +above all things! + +Still, it is a habit of mine never to go back, however tempting the +circumstances. At intervals I passed a few Mexicans driving teams of +horses, and once more I was alone with Lizzie. As a compensation for +the drizzling rain, the scenery was perfect. The trail had now swerved +into rugged, mountainous scenery, thickly wooded, wild and picturesque +in the extreme. It was almost ridiculous to watch how the narrow +trail dodged in and out of the trees, cutting across small forests of +cedar, aspen, and pine, curving to right and left round some awkward +prominence, now dipping down suddenly into a little valley, and then +darting up over hilly slopes all strewn with loose rocks and broken +with jutting crags. + +We were approaching the Pecos, the haunts of the bear and +mountain-lion, and the headquarters of numerous tourists and campers +attracted thither by the fine fishing, shooting, riding, and +mountain-climbing. + +Occasionally, as one took a sudden swerve around the face of a +projecting hill, one would see, away there in the valley beyond, +a Mexican village set back from the road, and would marvel at the +strange sight of the square mud buildings, congregated together in such +unique and regular formation. The brick-red hue of the houses was so +near to that of the surrounding country as almost to hide the village +altogether from view, even though it was right "under one's nose." + +My first impression of a Mexican village was one of amazement. To think +that several hundred people can live together in those single-storied +mud huts in peace and comfort, with ne'er a sheet of glass in the +windows and seldom a door within the door-posts--well, it was absurd! +But my second impression absorbed the first entirely, and was one +of appreciation for the primitive beauty of these native dwellings. +It is a beauty that lingers in one's memory, a beauty that lies in +natural flowing forms, defying the unrelenting sharp corners of modern +architecture. And I have seen many "adobe" houses in New Mexico that +would be far more comfortable to live in than many that have sheltered +my bones in Europe! + +I was meditating thus when the sound of rushing waters reached my ears. +Sure enough, the road ended abruptly, like a cliff, and continued in +like fashion on the opposite side. Between, and several feet below, +swirled the River Pecos. It was still swollen with rain from the +mountains, although it had evidently been much higher recently. + +Not a soul was about. There was a solitary Mexican house on a hill +to one side. I contemplated the river in silence, save for the sound +of its waters as they swirled over the rocky bed and now and then +dislodged a weighty boulder. + +To the right two rickety planks had been erected, supported partly +by ropes and partly by vertical props from rocks in the river, for +pedestrians to cross. I wondered what pedestrian would find himself in +these parts! + +To the left, a detour had somehow been dug at an angle of about 20 +degrees to the water's edge. In the opposite bank a similar detour +had been dug, but at an angle of about 30 degrees. Evidently several +cars had already passed through the river that way. But a car is not +a motor-cycle. I meditated. A car on four wheels could not only hold +its own better in the middle of the torrent, but could also get up +the opposite bank easier. One thing was quite certain--even if I got +through the river all right, it would require a superhuman effort to +push the machine up the steep, greasy incline on the opposite side. + +I reconnoitred up and down the river bank in the hope of finding a +better place to cross, but the quest was in vain. The banks grew +steeper and higher and the river-bed wider and rougher than ever. I +returned to Lizzie and said a prayer for her. Then I took off my tunic +and removed the bag and blanket from the carrier. + +I judged that it would be expedient to rely upon momentum as far as +possible, as the engine would certainly not run for long under water, +so, starting the engine once more, I put in the bottom gear and charged +down the greasy slope into the river. + +There was a tremendous hiss, and a cloud of steam went heavenwards. +The engine stopped long before I reached the middle, and the smooth +nature of the loose rocks that formed the river-bed was treacherous +for two wheels. There was nothing for it when the engine stopped but +to dismount quickly and push. When I reached the middle, the water was +up to my waist, and it took most of my strength to keep the machine +upright and hold it against the force of the river, which swirled +around the cylinders and washed up against the tank. I managed to avoid +being washed away, however, thanks to the great weight of the machine, +and got her to the opposite bank. + +It was a relief to be out of the water, but the task still remained +of climbing up the bank. I exerted all my strength, but the slope was +so greasy that neither my feet nor the wheels would grip on anything. +Twice or thrice I got it half-way up, only to slither down to the river +again _tout ensemble_. Then I tried the expedient of wedging a huge +stone under the back wheel and pushing an inch or two at a time. But it +was no use. The grease was impossible. I laboured with it for a quarter +of an hour. + +I was just on the point of giving it up after we had all slid down to +the bottom once again, when a huge Mexican appeared on the scene. He +was evidently the owner of the house on the opposite bank, and looked +hefty enough to lift a tram. + +We pushed with our united effort. We slipped and slithered and wallowed +about, but we got to the top. I breathed a sigh of relief, rewarded the +Mexican liberally, and walked across the plank to bring my tunic and +luggage. + +Lizzie had never been so clean since the day she came out of the +crate. Every speck of mud and dirt had been washed clean away, and her +pristine beauty was revealed once again. It was an hour's task to dry +the carburettor and the magneto and get the engine running. It was +getting dark when I got going again. The rain had stopped, but the mud +was terrible. Every half-mile I had to stop and poke it out of the +mud-guards with a screwdriver. + +Eventually, just before dark, I reached the tiny Mexican village of +Pecos, called after the river in the locality. It consisted mainly +of a general store and "rooming-house" for the benefit of stranded +travellers. A rooming-house, by the way, is a kind of boarding-house +but with no accommodation for meals. + +At Pecos I was surprised to see an Indian motor-cycle and side-car +"parked" on a strip of green, which in generations to come would be +the _plaza_ or square. Examination revealed it to be a most remarkable +machine. It was equipped with tool-boxes galore at every available +place and, strange to remark, there was a small emery wheel mounted +skilfully on the top tube and driven by a round belt from a pulley +on the engine shaft. There was also a small hand-vice clipped to the +frame, and numerous other small tools and fitments, which, to say the +least, were not usually found in the equipment of a motor-cycle. + +"Well," I said to myself, "if all this paraphernalia is required to get +a motor-cycle across to the coast, I'm in for a rough time." + +But I was relieved to find that it was the property of a tinsmith +who, out for a holiday, combined business with pleasure, and repaired +people's tanks and pots and pans wherever he went! In this way he not +only defrayed his travelling expenses, but made a far better income +than he used to get in his home-town in Ohio. + +He was a tall, burly-looking chap, and greeted me with effusion. In +like manner did I welcome him. The sight of another motor-cyclist +removed my worst apprehensions. + +"Strike me pink!" quoth I, "I thought I was the only madman in this +part of the world!" + +He glanced at my number-plate. + +"Gee, brother, put it right there. I wuz beginnin' to think I'd never +see another motorsickle agin; you goin' to the coast?" + +"That's where I'm heading for, but of late I'm not so sure about +getting there as I was when I left New York." + +"Oh, boy, yew'll git there all right if yew've come this far--I said +it; but say, there's some smart bits o' travellin' to do ahead on yer!" + +"What? Is it worse than what I've passed?" + +"Waal, I've bin there an' got back--travellin' with the missus +here--an' I tell you, the road gets better the further east I come. +And what's more'n that, brother, yew've got some mighty warm times +ahead before you see California--like goin' through Hell, it is. Wait +till you find yourself in the middle o' the Mohave Desert with the +sun beatin' down at 130 in the shade, and no shade--no nothin' except +prickly pears and funny-lookin' cactuses and a bit of sage-bush here +and there. Say, boy, wait till you see piles o' bones and carcasses +by the score lyin' at the side o' the road, an' yew'll begin to think +it's warm, all right. Whatever you do, boy, take water with yer. Yew'll +drink GALLONS of it!" + +"How long have you been here, then?" I asked. + +"Nigh on a couple o' weeks, brother. We've bin waitin' fer the rain to +clear off." + +Truly a bright prospect. + +I slept well that night, in spite of the fact that my day's mileage was +only thirty, and awoke to find the sky clear and promising. + +I spent the morning in tuning Lizzie and making minor adjustments +and preparation. I commissioned my tinsmith friend to make me a new +accumulator box, my own having become entirely disintegrated with +the vibration. For 1,000 miles it had been held together with straps +fastened tightly round it to the frame. + +The distance to Santa Fe was only twenty-five miles, so I judged I +should be able to reach it that day. + +Those twenty-five miles took four hours. I will not attempt to +describe those four hours. They were filled to the brim with mud, +rain, wash-outs, and bridgeless rivers. In many places there were +great "washes" of sand brought down from the hill-sides that nearly +completely obliterated the trail as it struggled across the mountains. + +It was a very weary motor-cyclist indeed who rattled into Santa Fe at +5.30 that afternoon. And that motor-cyclist had quite made up his mind +to have a few days' rest before anything else happened his way. + +With a deep sigh of relief I leant Lizzie up against the pavement +opposite the "Montezuma Hotel." With heavy, aching limbs and sodden, +mud-stained clothes, I walked towards the door. + +It opened ahead of me. + +"Ah! how do you do, Captain Shepherd? We've been expecting you for over +a week. Come right in. We know ALL about you. Here, James, +take Captain Shepherd up to his room at once. No, don't bother to say +anything. Just go and have a good hot bath." + +It was the voice of an angel that spoke! + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +SANTA FE + + +Santa Fe is the most delightful of places. It has a charm all its +own. It is small, quaint, and intensely old. It is far removed from +other American towns--just as far as west is from east. It represents +the quintessence of New Mexico, and at the same time--so it is +alleged--sets the standard of art in America. + +The first words of a mediocre Easterner when he enters the _plaza_ of +Santa Fe are "Heavens'n earth! what kind of a hole have I struck now?" +But if he has a soul underlying that eastern veneer of his, if he +has an appreciation for art and beauty in architecture unimpaired by +familiarity with gigantic skyscrapers, he will repent those words. His +disdainful grin as he first catches sight of the Art Museum and sees +an edifice of mud with ne'er a corner that could be called sharp, will +fade slowly from his face, and once he has recovered from the shock of +the "sudden uniqueness" of everything, his look will turn to one of +wonder and admiration. + +Santa Fe is small. It contains no more than 6,000 inhabitants--a +curious mixture of Mexicans, Indians, and Americans. Its population, +moreover, is at a standstill. As the capital of a State of 160,000 +square miles, it seems ludicrous, until one reflects that there are but +50,000 people in the whole country. Of Spanish origin, it is laid out +in Spanish style, with the _plaza_ or public square in the centre. +Around the _plaza_ are arranged most of the more important buildings. +These, with few exceptions, follow closely the "adobe" architecture +of the "Pueblo" Indians, combined with the architecture of the later +"Franciscan" Missions that were instituted by the Spanish Friars, who +in the early days of colonization penetrated far into the continent. + +In the forefront of every march and every exploration there was always +the brown-robed Franciscan, bearing along with his crucifix the trowel +and the book. To convert, to build, and to teach--these were the +self-imposed tasks to which he consecrated his life. Especially do we +honour him as a builder. Living among a passionate people, who resented +the intrusion of strange gods among their own, often surrounded by +cruel and relentless foes, the type of his structures was determined +by the conditions of his existence. There must be a church in which to +preach the new religion, a convent in which to live, and along with +these, a school in which he might give instruction. These must be +connected and compactly placed to serve as a fortress against present +enemies; and they must be massive, to withstand the ravages of time. +There were eleven such churches in New Mexico alone prior to the +landing of the _Mayflower_--and more than fifty others were established +during the century which followed. + +This is the only type of architecture that can be referred to as truly +"American," saving perhaps the unenvied skyscraper of the East. This +latter, however, belongs to no school and knows no creed; it is not +indigenous to the soil or produced by environment, native material, or +climate. Instead, it defiles the heavens and cuts the landscape into +futuristic nightmares of edge and angle. + +By far the choicest flower of this renaissance style is the New +Art Museum at Santa Fe. Recently completed, it is admired by all, +architects and laymen alike. It embodies the designs of six of the +ancient Spanish Missions, three centuries old, some of which have now +disappeared. The others are fast decaying with the ravages of time. +The outlines of the Museum are plastic, smooth, and flowing, rising +in curves and terraces, without stiffness, sharpness, or repetition. +There is a noticeable lack of symmetry, contrasting so much with the +style of the Californian Missions. Consequently, there is a different +composition and an added charm with every new position or change +of aspect. Inside are paintings and sketches of Indian, Mexican, +and desert life and scenes, specimens of native handiwork, and an +exhaustive library. + +Across the road, on the opposite corner, is the Governor's Palace, the +oldest governmental building in the States. Its appearance would in +modern eyes hardly justify the term "Palace." It is a very unimposing +building of native architecture but contains relics, trophies, and +works of art brought from all corners of the Western world. Within its +adobe walls are housed prehistoric remains of the extinct civilization +that thousands of years ago thrived in Western America. + +[Illustration: THE ART MUSEUM AT SANTA FE.] + +[Illustration: THE OLDEST HOUSE IN AMERICA, AT SANTA FE.] + +But not only the public buildings of Santa Fe are of Pueblo +construction. Many of the latest private edifices, both residential and +commercial, are of this strange architecture. The offices and works of +the "Santa Fe Water and Light Company" give one the impression of its +unique application to business buildings. But for sheer delight give +me the private dwellings. It is beyond my power to convey an adequate +impression of the soft beauty of one of these exquisitely-designed +houses, with its smooth-flowing profiles, its shady "patio," open-air +bathing pools and well-planned garden. One must go and see to +understand and feel the charm of it all. + +But from the Mexican houses as residences Heaven preserve me! Seldom do +they boast more than one story; the roof is flat, and very often grass +and weeds are found thriving thereon. The "adobe" walls are recovered +from year to year throughout the ages as the hand of Time and the +ravages of weather work their destructive way. It can almost be said +that a Mexican house never grows old. The sun-baked mud that forms +its walls withstands the weather to an extraordinary extent. There is +a little house in a little street in the outskirts of Santa Fe, now +uninhabited, from whose roof rises a notice-board: "This is the oldest +house in America," it reads. It was supposed to have been built over +250 years ago. + +The citizens of Santa Fe are not progressive. The climate is against +them. They do not run any risk of over-exertion; a considerable time +is spent in eating ices, drinking cold concoctions, and lounging about +the _plaza_ in the early hours of the afternoon. Here it was that I +developed this Western habit. In almost every Western town there is a +central square shaded with many trees, or palms in the hottest places. +The good citizen and the weary traveller alike are welcome here. They +lie about on the grass, or sit on their toes as only a Westerner knows +how. Thus pass the blazing hours. It is a treat to find oneself away +from the eternal hustle and bustle of city life and in the midst of +languid, easy-going freedom. I had several photographs that I took to +the drug-store to be developed and printed. + +"Shall I call in to-night for them?" I said. + +"To-night? Why, We won't be able to get them through for four days," he +replied, amazed at my ridiculous presumption. + +"But in New York they develop and print in one day only. Surely you're +not behind New York?" + +"Oh, we don't do things like that in this part of the country, friend; +you've made a big mistake. Nobody hurries in New Mexico!" + +By dint of special pleadings, I got the photographs in three days. They +were nearly all ruined with having been hurried! + +For three days I created quite a furore in Santa Fe. The news of +my doings and misdoings was published daily in the _Santa Fe New +Mexican_ during my stay. I evidently afforded just the right kind of +newspaper fodder that New Mexico wanted. My fame had spread all the +way from Kansas City long before I actually fell upon the anxious +population. My article on Roads, etc., was reproduced immediately after +its publication in Kansas, together with several caustic editorial +comments. Here is one example:-- + + "SEES AMERICA BY COW-PATH." + + English Warrior gets little rest touring America by Motor-cycle. + + "Roads? What roads? I haven't seen any roads. I have been + following a place where cows had been walking...." + +Here is another heading to a two-column "article":-- + + "COW-PATHS"--and not roads in America:--Verdict of British Royal + Airman here on Motor-cycle. + +And again (this headed a quarter-page "Report"). + + "BALLOON"--Only way to get over New Mexico roads, declares British + Aviator. + +I was pounced upon immediately after my arrival. No sooner was I +settled down in a good steaming hot bath (oh, joy untold!) than the +telephone bell in my room rang. I let it go on ringing for two or three +minutes. It would not stop. I jumped out and lifted the receiver. + +"A reporter is here to see you, sir." + +"Och, Hell! Tell him I'm having a bath," and I banged the receiver down +and plunged again into the tub. + +In a minute there was a knock at the door. "No use trying to shake off +an American reporter," I told myself.... "Come in!" + +The result appeared in next morning's paper--not the result of +MY observations, be it noted, however. Amongst other +statements the following was laid to my charge:-- + + "In my opinion the old Prairie-Schooner is far superior to a + motor-car (for travelling in New Mexico). If you can't get a + schooner, try horse-back travel. I really believe some horses + could get through the mud and dodge the boulders. (It was almost + funny there!)... But the ideal form of transportation over these + United States is a big dirigible, say 700 ft. in length, modelled + on Great Britain's R.34. (It had just recently crossed the + Atlantic, hence the introduction.)... I might have suggested the + use of an aeroplane, but I have been told two aviators got stuck + in Santa Fe last winter owing to the deep snow in the environs. So + then, after seeing your roads, I should recommend the R.34 type of + machine in which to travel...." + +Suffice it to say that I never mentioned Prairie-Schooners, dirigibles, +or aeroplanes! We talked (or rather our friend the reporter did) about +the many notorieties that had passed through Santa Fe of recent years, +and the Lowell Observatory at Flagstaff some 500 miles away. + +Every day during my stay our friend the reporter called in at my +hotel. Every day appeared in the press a lengthy report of an alleged +interview. + +What an interminable worry it must be to newspaper editors of the West +to provide adequate copy for their hungering readers! + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE RIO GRANDE VALLEY + + +My stay in Santa Fe was a pleasant one. At the Post Office I found +a few letters and some money, the former forwarded from Cincinnati, +and the latter from Washington (it had been cabled there two months +before). On the morning of the fourth day my weary frame was +sufficiently rested to warrant my continuing once more. I bought a +two-gallon water-bag in preparation for the 700-mile desert journey +ahead, and once more set out westward. A crowd of interested citizens +witnessed my preparations outside the hotel, plied me with questions +as to how far I was going, how long it would take, and how old I was, +and finally bade me farewell as Lizzie burst into a roar, and we moved +sadly, if noisily, away. + +The next town was Albuquerque, some sixty or seventy miles ahead. The +road in between lay over a barren wilderness of sand and prairie. The +blazing sun poured down upon it fierce and unrelenting; nowhere was +there a sign of any living thing. Hardly a hill or a swelling relieved +the monotonous flatness of the trail. In the distance, on my right, +rose rugged mountain ranges suddenly out of the trackless plains. + +After twenty miles appeared La Bajada Hill, crossing the trail at +right angles. There was not much climbing to be done, but going down +the other side was a different matter. It seemed that a great "fault" +or outcrop had appeared in the plain, making it much lower on the +one side than the other. No less than thirty-two acute hairpin bends +conducted the trail down the precipitous slope. The gradient in places +was terrific. At the bottom was a cemetery! + +Here and there we crossed the sandy wash of a one-time river, leaping +over bumps and boulders and picking the road as well as possible. +Occasionally a wooden shack was passed, with a few dirty-looking +Indians hanging around: Indians dressed not in native garb but in +pseudo-modern style. The only things that betrayed them were their +faces and lank dark hair. He that goes to the West and expects to see +the landscape decorated with Indians dressed in multicoloured garbs of +picturesque pattern, is doomed to disappointment. The first impression +of a modernized native is disheartening if one has lingering thoughts +in one's mind left from childhood's days when one read with ceaseless +delight of stalwart Indians with huge muscles and painted bodies +galloping along, bow and arrow in hand, on a fiery white mustang in +pursuit of an unfortunate "pale-face." + +Ah, no!--_Nous avons change tout cela!_ The Indian as a rule is +not stalwart, and decidedly not picturesque. Having had the gentle +arts of civilization thrust upon him, and being naturally of a lazy +disposition, he is content to loaf around chewing shag and disfiguring +the landscape generally with his presence. + +As Albuquerque was approached, things looked more flourishing. The land +was cultivated where possible, and in places corn and wheat appeared. + +It is very strange to find a prospering city in the midst of such +desolate surroundings as Albuquerque has. It came as a pleasant +surprise to me to see the electric trams, the wide streets and the +clean modern buildings. I was puzzled to know just what it was that +kept the place going. Albuquerque, however, although the largest town +in the State, has only 10,000 or so inhabitants, and is the nucleus +of a very extensive ranching district which undoubtedly largely +constitutes its _raison d'etre_. I left it rather sadly, because, with +the exception of Flagstaff some 500 miles away, I should not meet +another town of anywhere near its size until I reached the Pacific +Coast. + +Shortly after leaving Albuquerque the trail crossed a very wide shallow +muddy river--the famous Rio Grande. It was spanned by a low wooden +bridge which creaked and rattled in its planks as we rumbled across +it. We saw quite a lot of the Rio Grande and got to look upon it as +a friendly sort of river. That is not to be wondered at, because in +a wilderness that is next to being called a desert one can become +attached to anything that has life or movement, even if it be a muddy +stream! Probably in consideration of the feelings of weary travellers, +but for no other apparent purpose, the trail from time to time crossed +and re-crossed the same old river with the same old friendly wooden +bridges until finally, eighty miles farther on, it was left to wander +southward unmolested through the plains and deserts of New Mexico and +Texas into the Gulf of Mexico. + +At Isleta there was a surprise in store. Isleta is a charming Indian +pueblo, built wholly of "adobe" mud and populated entirely by native +Indians. So unique, so bewitchingly attractive are these pueblos, that +I must digress awhile to describe their nature and origin. + +The history of the American Indians since the advent of the White Man +is an unsatisfactory one from all points of view. Different authorities +on the subject have widely different opinions as to the eventual +outcome of the American domination, which from generation to generation +has vacillated in its policy and, sometimes with bloodshed, sometimes +with bribery, has gradually reduced the red man to subjection, occupied +his country and enforced an unwilling civilization upon him. But +all are agreed that the Indian of to-day is in a far lower stage of +civilization than when the early settlers first drove him from his +rightful property. + +There are, however, a few tribes which advanced much farther along +the road to civilization than the others. Moreover theirs was a +civilization quite their own, not acquired through contact with the +whites. Chief among them are the Pueblo (pueblo-building) Indians, and +the Moqui Indians, the town-building natives of New Mexico and Arizona. + +The "Pueblo" Indians include several different tribes, each speaking +a different language. Each tribe, with only one exception, comprises +a number of separate "pueblos" or villages, generally built on the +"community dwelling" basis, that is, the houses are in a large and +solid mass, several stories in height, each one receding from the one +below and approached by ladders. In these houses, which look like great +pyramids, live a number of families. In some pueblos most of the houses +are on this plan and as many as 1,600 people have been known to live +in one house. The houses are built of adobe, and sometimes of stones +cemented together with adobe. + +[Illustration: PUEBLO OF TAOS. + +_By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler._] + +Several of these Indian villages are clustered together in the vicinity +of Santa Fe, often on the banks of the Rio Grande. Each has its own +customs and makes its own laws. All are centres of interest. Artists +flock to them from all parts of the Continent to paint and sketch +them. Travellers tramp for miles to see the Indians in their native +costumes and conditions. Some make jewels; some make vases, ornaments, +idols, and all manner of earthenware goods; some work in silver, while +others make blankets and rugs. With hardly an exception they all make +an excellent living out of the things they make and sell. + +Each of the pueblos has its own feast-days, or "fiestas," when, for a +time varying from a day to over a week, the whole population devotes +its time to feasting, dancing and games. The religious rites that are +performed and the strange customs that prevail at these feasts and +dances form in themselves a vast and interesting study. + +At Isleta the road again crossed the Rio Grande. This done, it found +itself in a dry sandy wilderness, with the Manzano Range running from +north to south in the distance. In patches the ground was white with +sandhills, and the trail became two straggling white lines, where +the wheels of passing vehicles had left their imprint in the soft +white sand. These two white ruts were my only guides. All around was +desolation. Nothing was to be seen anywhere, save those two thin +white lines straggling aimlessly ahead, the sun-scorched desert with +its ragged stones and evil, scanty, tenacious vegetation, and on +the horizon that fiery stretch of mountain range, whose peaks rose +rugged and defiant and glistened with red as if roused to anger by +the eternally raging sun. I had never before realized the great depth +of feeling that a mountain range is capable of evoking. The Alps are +majestic beyond description. They awe the observer to a sense of his +own utter insignificance as he gazes upon that glistening majestic +sky-line, and feels the overwhelming influence of those mighty +mountains upon him. But if it is an overwhelming influence, it is +a friendly one--at least I have found it so. Although there is an +instinct in me, as in most people, impelling me to guard and protect +myself against anything that is tremendous--a relic, I suppose, of +prehistoric days--I feel towards the Alps always like a little boy +feels towards his "big brother." The same feeling is seen reflected in +the "Sierra Madre" (Mother Mountains) of California. + +But in New Mexico I have seen huge ranges that one could truthfully +call nothing else but "wicked." They seem to gaze and glower with a +cruel, terrifying gleam upon the wanderer who defies their hateful +solitude. The hours of travel that followed were hours of weary +monotony. A brief lapse every thirty miles or so when a tiny Mexican +village on the Rio Grande was passed, and once more the two white ruts +came into view, the stones and cactus, and again the evil mountains. + +Later, the sand turned to rocks. The trail began to climb the +mountains, and the sun sank low in the sky. If ever there was a place +to starve to death, thought I, it is here. I reflected upon what the +consequences would be if I ran out of petrol or had a bad smash. + +I didn't run out of petrol and I didn't have a smash. Instead of that, +after about eighty miles from Isleta, the trail descended the mountain +pass, re-crossed the Rio Grande for the last time, and swerved at +right angles, to continue its course westward. Shortly before sunset +I arrived at a little Mexican town called Socorro, where both man and +machine were rested, while the man that kept the "C'fay" in the _plaza_ +got busy with some "eats" for weary me. + +After dinner away once again we go. The sun is setting. We must find a +resting-place before dark sets in, for in these countries where the +air is clear and mountain ranges hem in every horizon the darkness +comes quickly and the sinking of the sun below the sky-line means +almost the final close of day. + +There is another range to climb: it lies right ahead of us. As we +approach, it looms its massive bulk like a wall before us. The trail +bends and turns as if hesitating before it tackles this difficult feat; +up there in front is a great gap. The road cuts through it, and is seen +no more. Beyond are much greater heights to climb. Shall we attempt it +now or leave it till the morrow? + +The smell of petrol, which the last few minutes was a suggestion, +became a reality. I look down in the fading light and find the precious +fluid spurting out from the carburettor union. Evidently the pipe has +broken away with the vibration. So I swerve off the road (almost easier +done than said) and stop at the flattest patch of earth that I reach. + +Oh, the joys of the open life once again! Never shall I forget that +night in the desert past Socorro. The sun as it set behind the range +that I had commenced to climb plunged everything around into gloomy +blackness. Across the valley, from north to south, stretched the +Manzano Range that I had already crossed. It shone like fire throughout +the whole of its length. Gradually the rugged shadow of the range +behind me crept farther and farther away, crossing the river and +mounting up the opposite side of the valley. Slowly, slowly it mounted +up, higher and higher as if a great black cloak were being drawn +by an unseen hand over that fiery ridge that glistened in its evil +splendour. In five short minutes there were but a few of the highest +peaks remaining above the inky shadow. They enjoyed their splendour for +a few brief moments and then were gone, as though wiped suddenly out +of existence. All was blackness: silent, heavy blackness. The stars +appeared, one by one. + +I prepared my bed for the night. + +What was that? A faint tinkle reached my ears. It sounded like the +noise of a cow-bell, such as one hears in the Swiss valleys. Yes, there +it was again. It must be a cow! But what was a cow to live on here? No +doubt there was a well near by. I felt then that nothing in the world +would taste better than a drink of pure fresh milk. The heat of the day +had been intense, and one can always drink in New Mexico. + +I slipped into my field-boots, took a collapsible cup from my bag and +set out in search of the cow. I was quite determined to milk that cow, +come what may. + +I stumbled over the rough stones, picked my way between the cactus +plants and sage-brush. I arrived at a fence. The tinkle, tinkle seemed +to come from just the other side. Cup in hand, I climbed over, very +gingerly so as not to tear my pyjamas. Pyjamas in a desert, think of it! + +"Now, where are you?" Ahead I saw dimly a large black form. + +"Come along, girlie, come and be milked," quoth I in my most bewitching +manner. She moved not. I advanced slowly, trying to discern which was +the business end. Meanwhile I pictured the cow asking herself, "Wot's +the big idea milking me in py's at this time o' night?" + +I drew closer and looked.... + +It was a bull! + +I returned hurriedly to my bed, and cursed when a prickly pear caught +me on the left shin! + +[Illustration: THE RIO GRANDE, NEW MEXICO. + +_By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler._] + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE PETRIFIED FOREST OF ARIZONA + + +In the morning I patched up the broken petrol pipe as well as I could +with insulation tape, and started again on my way. I had to do forty +miles before I should see a soul--forty miles before breakfast could be +thought of. + +It was as well that I had stopped where I did the night before. The +road twisted around precipitous bends and climbed up rough rocky slopes +into the mountains. Down on the other side we found ourselves in a +great sandy plain, stretching due west and bounded by parallel ranges +of rugged mountains. There were frequent washouts and frequent spills. +In places the little streamlets that flowed from the mountain sides cut +great chasms across the road, sufficient to crush one's wheels if one +leapt into them at too great a speed. + +Magdalena is a typical cow-boy town. In the heart of ranching country +and hundreds of miles from anything but a few similar towns, it was in +the early days (before prohibition) one of the "warmest" places in the +West. Cow-boy outfits are seen advertised at all of the few "Stores," +but there has been one big change--the notorious saloons are no longer. +New Mexico adopted prohibition several years before its universal +approval. Consequently Magdalena had had ample time to settle down by +the time of my arrival. + +I was directed to a "C'fay" that had the reputation of providing the +best meal in the town. I pushed open its swing doors and beheld a +picture of cleanliness and tidiness. The tables were all spick and span +in their clean white tablecloths and not a vestige of dirt was visible +anywhere. + +The small boys of the town displayed a lively interest in me as +I disported myself with my camera at the expense of their public +buildings (to be exact, one wooden church). "Look at 'is boots, Jem," +said one. "Looks like as though he's a gor-dem buck-jumper." "Aye, but +'is pants don't look ter be the right stuff, Joe." + +I left them wondering and fell upon the trail once more. A few miles +out I came to a "round-up" of steers. There were ten or twelve cow-boys +on horseback, and some 5,000 or 6,000 steers grouped together in a +large dense mass, blocking the road altogether. "Tough guys, those +cow-boys," I remarked to myself and pretended to ignore them. But I +couldn't help thinking what MIGHT happen if I barged into one of their +animals or if for any reason they didn't like the look of my face! + +Slowly, very slowly, the great mass of cattle moved, like a tide +sweeping over the plain. Carefully I picked my way along and felt +relieved when I left them right behind. I opened out and prepared for a +long weary jaunt. The next town of any kind was ninety miles away. + +The first thirty were dead flat but hard going. There had evidently +been considerable rain recently. Emaciated mud-holes were now rock-hard +contortions in the road. Often I rode on the prairie in preference. + +Another thing was evident. There had been a great drought the previous +year. Ranching is impossible without water, and even now, in spite +of the recent rains, could be seen here and there a great lake-bed +completely dried up. Nothing remained but a great mass of sun-baked +hoof-marked mud, and here and there a skeleton lying upon it. The +ranches of New Mexico are of huge size and cover enormous areas. True, +a few good years mean a fortune to the rancher, but one bad one means +ruin. Hundreds of ranches had been ruined the previous year, I found, +and several thousand head of cattle had died from the drought. As I +passed along, their skeletons lay strewn at the roadside, sometimes +singly, sometimes in groups of a dozen or more. Hardly a refreshing +sight for a poor innocent motor-cyclist! + +At the end of the thirty mile stretch we entered hilly, thickly-wooded +country. The scenery was wild and rough. I met no one and saw no one. +After another fifteen miles was a shack at the side of the road. +The occupation of the owner was selling petrol and oil to passing +travellers. I opined that this was probably not an enviable vocation +from a financial point of view. I filled up, and found to my dismay +that the price, instead of being twenty-five cents per gallon, was +seventy-five. It was 100 miles from the railway, and all supplies had +to be brought by road, hence the trebled cost. + +I have never been through wilder country than that which followed for +100 miles. Hilly, densely-wooded, and fertile, it was most difficult +to believe that it was so thinly populated. Strange rock-formations +appeared. Grotesque boulders of leviathan size lay strewn and standing +in grass-covered openings. Wild pigeons by the score darted in and out +amongst the trees. Merry squirrels scampered up the pine trees and eyed +me from above. Huge "Jack Rabbits" and young antelopes bounded here +and there, and, seeing the intruder, disappeared. It all seemed such a +change from the desert journey of the day before. + +At Quemado, about ninety miles from Magdalena, I felt hungry. Quemado +consists of a wooden shack of an "hotel," and one "general merchandise" +store. I stopped at the "hotel" and fed. Meanwhile it commenced to +rain. My spirits sank with the barometer. + +The rain stopped three hours afterwards. + +I set out full of energy and perseverance an hour after that. We +slipped and slithered and slid in the miry road. Ten miles was enough. +All the energy and perseverance had flown to the winds. I rode up +on to a hill-side to a spot on the fringe of a forest of cedar and +yew. Propping Lizzie up on her stand, I went in search of fuel. I had +decided on the luxury of a camp fire. + +Fuel there was in abundance. Withered trunks and broken boughs lay +strewn about the hill-side. I soon had a roaring fire and passed away +an hour or two before dark in writing letters and ruminating on the +delights of a camp fire. + +As the sun sank down in the valley, I slipped under the old blanket +and watched the flames as they leapt from the burning embers. Just +ahead, almost in sight from where I lay, was the western borderline of +New Mexico. Just beyond there, where the golden sun was slowly sinking +in the valley, was Arizona; the Arizona that I longed so much to see. +I had heard much of Arizona; its wonderful climate, its ancient, +unknown ruins, its extinct volcanoes, its stupendous gorges, its great +thirsty deserts. What would Arizona have in store for me? I wondered. +And the fragrant smell of the burning cedarwood wove a magic charm +about my thoughts as they slowly drifted into the mystic realm of the +unconscious world. + +Morning brought a smiling dawn. I rose early and returned to the trail. + +In ten minutes I was in Arizona. A large signboard indicated the fact. +The road grew wider and better. Even the scenery seemed to change +perceptibly. I somehow felt at home in Arizona. + +At Springerville I breakfasted and bought picture post-cards. When +travelling the latter operation is equally as important as the former. + +Here the road makes a sudden turn to the north, bearing afterwards +to the north-west. After twenty miles of riding, the country became +flatter; it seemed as though it were now an immense plateau. After +another twenty, I reached a little town known as St. John. Here I +filled a half-hour in the commendable process of consuming ices. I had +now to traverse some difficult country, as the great desert of Arizona +was approached. There were more mountains to climb, but when the summit +was reached there was little or no decline on the opposite side, the +altitude grew higher and higher, and as it did so, strange as it may +seem, the earth grew flatter and flatter. + +There is but one ridge ahead to climb. The rocky trail bends and twists +as it slowly swallows up the gradient that connects us to the horizon. +A final swerve, and we commence a slight descent. There is a gap in the +hills; the trail skirts around one side, and behold, a vast, unbounded +plain lies before us, stretching to left and right as far as the eye +can see. + +But what is this strange sight? On our right, barely a half of a mile +from the road, is a gigantic mound. Its presence there, rising abruptly +out of the mathematical flatness of the plain, seems ridiculous, +absurd, uncanny. It gives the impression of having been just dropped +from the sky. It is a mud volcano--an uncommon sight, and formed by +the ejection of sand under pressure from below the surface of the +earth. All around, the plain is of distinctly volcanic formation. +Indeed, we have now entered a vast volcanic region, extending for +several thousands of square miles. Many of the mountains that we shall +see, some of them giant peaks, and some only little hills, are extinct +volcanoes of other ages. They were young and active while man was in +his barbaric infancy on this weary globe, perhaps even before that. + +But soon is to appear a far more wondrous sight. In a few miles we +enter a country of strange shapes and magic colours--the Petrified +Forest of Arizona. The first signs of approach are chains of little +lava hills of grey and white. They also have an air of abruptness. One +wonders how they came to be there at all. Flowing down to the flat +plain in graceful, mathematical curves, they look like mounds of chalk, +although they are softer still. Composed of soft, fine lava-dust, +they weather rapidly away. Now all the plain is lava-dust and a tuft +of lean grass here and there has found a spot wherein to make a home. +Further on one notices great blocks of stone, like pillars of marble, +lying strewn about the plain, some half buried, some barely projecting, +and some perfectly naked. Here is one, there is another--they are +everywhere, in every direction, of all shades of colour and varying in +size from fragments an inch in diameter to pillars twenty or thirty +feet in girth and over 100 feet in length. Every fragment, every +massive block of marble once formed part of a great forest that spread +for hundreds of square miles. The trees of this great forest were huge +leviathans, unlike anything we know of in the Old World and similar +only to the giant Sequoias of California (but a few hundred miles +away), that send their mighty trunks hundreds of feet into the air--the +relics of a bygone race. + +This great forest of Arizona was at its prime. The stately pine trees +rose towering into the sky. Birds of wonderful plumage lived in those +mighty branches, and wild animals roamed amongst its undergrowth. Then +something happened; no one knows exactly what--this great forest was +enveloped in volcanic dust that in time buried it completely. To the +eye, if eye there was to witness the scene, the forest was no longer +visible; it lay buried in the bowels of the earth; it had passed away; +as a mighty, living forest it would exist no more. But those monster +trees remained awhile, preserved by the all-surrounding lava. What +happened then took thousands of years to achieve, though it can be +recited in a few brief words. The trees in substance disappeared, but +their forms remained in the hardened lava, like huge moulds waiting +to be cast, their every crack and wrinkle preserved with inexorable +accuracy. In time, it may have been aeons, the moulds were cast, by +some inexplicable phenomenon, and where once were timber and vegetable +tissues came fluid marble rock that filled the hollows and cracks +and wrinkles and reproduced the forms that ages before had been so +suddenly arrested in their growth. Further ages passed, and gradually +the soft lava was removed by the action of wind and rain and other +causes. Gradually the harder material was laid bare, and the giant +trees once more saw the light of day, but this time they were trunks of +solid marble instead of pine wood. The work of denudation continued. +The marble pillars, unsupported, fell to earth. Some broke into huge +blocks, while others remained more or less intact through the whole of +their length, and unless one examined them at close quarters and saw +the nature of their texture, they could not be distinguished from a +tree that had been recently felled. + +There are hundreds of these marble pine and spruce tree trunks, whose +cross-sections, revealed where they have broken, glisten with every +colour of the rainbow. In places, where they lie tumbled and heaped +together, it is as though a whole quarry of onyx had been dynamited +out. In one place a fallen trunk of marble, nearly 200 feet in length, +has spanned a gorge and formed a natural log bridge that all who dare +can walk across. + +Such is the fairy tale that scientists tell. The traveller whose +privilege it is to journey across the Petrified Forest of Arizona will +be lost in amazement at this fact which is so much stranger than any +fiction. + +I left the wonderful scene behind me with a feeling that I was bidding +farewell to one of the prime mysteries of the world. Trunks and +fragments of trunks could be seen projecting even from the surface of +the road over which I passed, and a few blades of fine grass, with +here and there a stunted cactus plant, were the only sign of life in +any direction. I passed out as suddenly as I had entered. A double +=S=-bend, where strange contorted rocks lay piled up in confusion +on either side--and the Petrified Forest was left behind. + +[Illustration: A PETRIFIED LEVIATHAN.] + +[Illustration: "LIZZIE" IN THE PETRIFIED FOREST, ARIZONA.] + +The sun was nearly setting when a couple of hours later I set out from +Holbrook, well fed and well refreshed. From my map I judged I should be +able to reach the Little Colorado River, on whose banks I could spend +the night. But in Arizona the sun sets quickly. It can almost be said +to get dark with a bump. The result was that in half an hour I was +completely lost in the outskirts of the Great Arizona Desert. The trail +had somehow disappeared, I knew not where, and but for my headlight, I +should undoubtedly have ended in difficulties amid the inky blackness. +Loth to turn back, I continued over the almost trackless waste +of rock, sand, and prairie. I arrived at the rocky bed of a small +stream. There were a few inches of water here and there, but it was not +perceptibly moving. It could not possibly be the Little Colorado. I +walked across to the other side. There I found a large ditch, more like +an artificial dyke, that I knew I could never get Lizzie across. There +was grass growing near, however, so I laid down my bed for the night, +resolving to leave further investigations till daylight. + +I should have known better than to camp by an almost stagnant stream, +but I was so utterly tired that I defied the counsel of my own +experience. Mosquitoes literally filled the air. Never have I known +them so thick and so tenacious. The vibration of millions of wings kept +the air in a constant shriek--a wild yell that never abated. I could +only obtain relief from their attacks by enveloping my face completely +with the thick blanket, and breathing through it. Then everything +became so hot--the night itself was very sultry--that sleep was next to +impossible. I snatched an hour or two of rest, but was a mass of bites +and itching lumps next day. + +In the morning, I returned to Holbrook, had breakfast, and searched for +information about the road. It appeared that a bridge had collapsed +somewhere, so a new trail had been formed to circumvent it. I had +missed the turning the night before. At the garage where I made +these inquiries, I took the opportunity of removing Lizzie's wheels, +and of cleaning and adjusting the spindles. I packed them with new +grease in preparation for the sandy journey to come, and removed and +re-aligned the chain sprockets; I wanted no breakdowns or searches for +missing parts in the baking, sandy desert. It was as well that I had +taken precautions. I found the lock ring of one chain wheel missing +altogether, and the sprocket half-way unscrewed from its shaft. The +only item for regret was the charge of one dollar for the use of the +garage! Having already had experience of American garage mechanics, I +resolved not to allow any more to learn their trade at Lizzie's expense. + +I had no difficulty in picking up the trail in the full light of +day. Once again I set out to cross the great Desert of Arizona. The +next town, a kind of oasis, was Winslow, about forty miles away. The +barren prairie soon gave way to bare limestone rocks and shifting +sand; vegetation disappeared altogether, save for occasional clumps +of greeny-grey sage brush dotted here and there over the rocky waste +that ever met the eye. The air was hot but clear. On an elevation one +could see for tremendous distances. The little tuft of black smoke that +hung over Winslow looked clear enough to be a mile or two away. It was +thirty; in the distance was a great silver line, threading its way +intermittently across the plain. I knew it to be the Little Colorado, +which, like its mother, the Great Colorado, flows nearly the whole of +its length in a canyon and seems deliberately to choose the path of +greatest resistance, cutting through rocks and gorges of limestone and +granite with ne'er a murmur. + +As Winslow drew near, the narrow sandy track gave way to a broad +concrete highway. I had not seen a made road of any description for +many days. The appearance of concrete here in the middle of a desert +seemed ridiculous. I would enjoy it to the full. Lizzie's throttle +jumped open unexpectedly and away we sailed through the breeze. +"There's a catch in this somewhere," I told myself. There was! It +nearly meant grief. The city architect had foreseen the goading lure of +that cold flat stretch of concrete and made up his mind that speeding +should not exist thereon. So he made several dips therein at intervals, +each dip about five or ten feet below the normal level of the road. Any +attempt to travel at more than twenty would mean damage to the vehicle +when it hit the opposite side. Unfortunately these obstructions were +absolutely invisible until but a few feet ahead. Sometimes there was a +warning. More often there was not. The first I came to quite unawares +and at a high speed. The machine with its momentum nearly leapt clean +across the space, and had I been going much slower it would have struck +the opposite side lower down and inevitably have caused a serious +crash. I went warily after that and wondered what ingeniously contrived +anti-speeding devices I should meet next. + +Arrived at Winslow, I ate heartily of ices. The busy modern town seemed +a most remarkable contrast to the sandy wastes that surrounded it. + +I now had a long journey ahead. Flagstaff, the next town, was over +eighty miles away, and the trail ran across some of the most arid +country of Arizona. For mile upon mile there was nothing to be seen +but yellow sand and, on the horizon, a rugged range of hills. Ahead, +nearly a hundred miles away, loomed up the San Francisco Peaks, dark +and threatening. Overhead the sun beat down with unrelenting fury. +One could see the shimmer of the air above the baking sand as the +tremendous heat oozed out of it into the atmosphere. Here and there, +one could see spirals of sand hundreds of feet high whisked up by some +strange whirling motion of the air, and carried for hundreds of yards +across the wilderness, gathering in volume and height as they moved, +only to collapse again and give birth to others. Not a sign of life +or vegetation was visible anywhere. What a place to be stranded in +without water! But I had plenty with me. I stopped to drink from the +bag on my handlebar every few miles. The heat and the glare were awful. + +A few miles out of Winslow one cylinder ceased to fire. I had been +wondering when the next instalment of misfortune was to arrive. Like a +true pessimist, I expected it would come in a place like this. So I was +not disheartened. + +I stopped two or three times to change plugs and examine the engine. +It was of no avail, and the heat grew so intense when I was not moving +that it was impossible to stop for longer than a few minutes at a time. +There was no shade, not even a rock to hide me from the fiery sun. The +frame of the machine seemed red-hot, and even the tools in the tool-box +were too hot to handle unprotected. + +"Another overhaul at Flagstaff," I told myself, and continued again +on three cylinders. Ploughing through the loose sand absorbed much of +the power of the engine, but I was content, so long as we kept moving. +Slowly the metal sign-posts of the "Touring Club of California" that +marked the miles were passed. They were the only items of interest in +this barren country. Many times they were missing altogether. Often +they lay prone upon the ground, the strong, eight-feet-long steel +tubing of the post bent in strange forms. They had been uprooted by +some unfortunate traveller and used as levers or crowbars to extricate +a car that had left the beaten track and sunk in the loose sand of the +desert. Some even bore conflicting particulars, and it was quite usual +to notice the distances increase instead of decrease the nearer one +drew to one's destination! Often the signs themselves had been riddled +with bullet-holes "just for fun" by some blase traveller with a taste +for shooting. Splendid amusement, to shoot at a sign-post put there at +enormous expense by a private club for the benefit of all! + +Slowly the hours went by and, as they did, a huge thunder-storm could +be seen brewing over the San Francisco Peaks, now only forty miles +away. The whole sky became dull and overcast. The loose yellow sand +gave place to rocks and shingle, and gradually the desert was left +behind. As the altitude increased--we were climbing slowly all the +time--signs of life appeared. Lean grass, parched with thirst and brown +with the heat, was seen once more, and later a few sheep were noticed +sheltering behind rocks and boulders. + +I pushed forward with all haste. Flagstaff was at the foot of the San +Francisco Peaks and there would certainly be a deluge very shortly. The +road was abominable. In most places it was so rocky and the gradient +so steep that it was like riding up great flights of rugged steps. The +sharp rocks dug in the tyres down to the rims, and the vibration shook +the very sockets of one's bones. + +On the left, barely a mile from the trail, we passed the "Meteor +Mountain." This is a most remarkable sight. Situated in the midst of +comparatively flat or rolling country, it looks at first sight like the +crater of a great volcano. But its origin is not volcanic. It gives +the impression of having been formed by artificial and not by natural +means. The crater is half a mile across and the interior of the crater +is saucer-shaped. An air of mystery envelops its origin, and many +theories have been put forward to explain it. But the theories have +either been disproved or have never been definitely accepted. + +"Meteor Mountain" remains to this day a mystery of geology. In its +crater is a ranch-house and hundreds of sheep graze in its vicinity. + +A dozen miles farther on the trail led on to a magnificent steel bridge +spanning the "Diablo Canyon"--a wonderful gorge in the limestone rocks. +Far, far below ran a little stream of clear water. + +The sky grew blacker still. We continued climbing over the sharp, rocky +trail. The mighty peaks ahead were almost lost in a sea of blackness. +Distant thunder rumbled and groaned across the desolate waste. Sharp +flashes of lightning lit up the heavens for a moment and revealed the +sharp, lurid outlines of the three giants around whose peaks centred +the fury of the skies. Slowly the storm abated. I thanked Heaven for +that. + +Then we came to the fringe of a wonderful forest that covers the +plateau and clothes the mountain sides almost to the summit of their +peaks. The sight of the trees, the sound of the breezes as they rustled +through the branches bearing with them the magic scent of the pines, +was like passing from death to life. It was a new world, a world of +new sensations and pleasant forms. The broiling wastes, the dazzling +yellow sand, the strange and sometimes ugly shapes, the grotesque, the +mysterious, the incredible: these were left behind--for a while. + +The storm had almost passed. Much rain had fallen, but fortunately the +trail lay through a stretch of volcanic dust. The rain when it fell did +not dissolve it, but soaked through as quickly as it fell, leaving the +surface almost as hard and dry as it was before. I thanked Heaven again +for that. Closer, closer, ever we climbed, until often the mountains +were hardly to be seen; we were amongst them, climbing them, in them. +Here and there the clustering trees grew thinner and fields of wild +flowers, mauve and purple-coloured, would burst into view, clothing +the valleys and the slopes like a great carpet. Then a glade would +appear of fresh green grass--grass so fresh and so green that it would +seem to have been meant more for a child's fairy-book than for a real +live world. Then a beautiful mountain would appear through the trees, +its sides and its angles glistening with every colour of the rainbow +and changing with every new aspect. This would be an extinct volcanic +cone and the colours would be reflected from the loose cinders that +formed its whole. Then amongst the lofty pine trees the traveller would +see--as a last remnant of the grotesque--vast fields of lava, great +beds of solid cinder, thrown up into monstrous shapes with strange, +sinister outlines. And onwards, ever onwards, ever nearer to Flagstaff +we went, the wheels gliding noiselessly over the smooth lava-track +that wound its way in and out of the pine trees and up and over the +foothills and valleys towards the West. We enter a large valley, +from which a wonderful view of the San Francisco Peaks delights the +traveller. They are barely a half-dozen miles away now; their great +volcanic cones, over a couple of miles in height above the sea, can be +seen as sharply and as clearly as though they were but 100 yards away. +So mighty are they, and so pure is the air of Arizona, that on a clear +day they can be seen for 200 miles in any direction. + +At last the small town of Flagstaff is reached. It is clean, modern, +and laid out in pretentious square blocks, some with only a few +bungalows built thereon. Evening was drawing on. Not having had a +meal for over twelve hours, I hied me to a restaurant where puffed +cereals and apricot pies and mugs of good coffee effected a miraculous +disappearance. Thereafter I followed the scent of a comfortable hotel, +where once more I slept the sleep of the righteous. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE GRAND CANYON + + +I woke up next morning feeling very groggy, for no reason accountable +to myself. It was Sunday. My first endeavour would be to fulfil one of +the desires of my boyhood. It lay at my very door. + +The Lowell Observatory at Flagstaff is known throughout the whole of +the civilized world. Years ago, hundreds and thousands of people read +with unabated interest of the theories and discoveries of Professor +Lowell concerning the planet Mars. In his book, _Mars and its Canals_, +he recorded the researches of a lifetime on this most interesting of +planets. He announced his conviction that civilized life of a very high +order was present and flourishing on Mars, and supported his theory +with exhaustive data and series of beautiful photographs of the planet +at different times and under different aspects--the result of the work +carried out at the Lowell Observatory which he himself had founded, +built, and maintained at his own expense. + +In my boyhood's days that book read like a wonderful fairy story, +illustrated with photographs that were far more wonderful and far more +strange than the merely pretty pictures of fancy. Some day, I promised +myself, I would see the Lowell Observatory, and look through the giant +telescope that revealed to the human eye, millions of miles away, so +much of the mysterious and the unknown. + +[Illustration: SAN FRANCISCO PEAKS FROM FLAGSTAFF.] + +[Illustration: THE LOWELL OBSERVATORY, FLAGSTAFF.] + +[Illustration: THE TRAIL TO THE GRAND CANYON.] + +And here I stood, at the door of the hotel, but a few hundred yards +from that same Observatory. Looking up the main street I could plainly +see the white dome, perched on the summit of a hill overlooking the +town, surrounded, but unobscured, by the tall pine trees that clustered +thickly on its slopes. + +An hour later I was standing inside the great dome. The dream had come +true. + +The astronomers of "Mars Hill" treated me, like all visitors, with the +utmost hospitality. My wishes to see this and that and the other thing +had only to be expressed, and they were granted. I was shown the result +of years upon years of tireless, ceaseless research. In the library, +a magnificently designed and equipped building, I found myself in a +veritable Monte Cristo's cave. Arranged around the walls, and lit from +behind by a wonderful system of electric lights, were treasures of far +more value than would appear to the casual, disinterested sightseer. +There were transparent photographs of planets, star clusters, nebulae, +and comets by the hundred, some but a fraction of an inch in diameter, +and others several feet across. There were volumes of records and +reports of every Observatory, besides astronomical and other scientific +works of all classes, sizes, and tongues. + +Hours afterwards I slowly descended the path that wound down the +hill-side through the pine trees, wrapped in thought and proudly +conscious of having at last achieved something that for so long had +been but a vague vision of the imagination. + +Unfortunately my indisposition of the morning did not disappear. It +increased. I surmised that somewhere or other I had drunk some poisoned +water--an easy thing to do--and must suffer the consequences. + +The consequences I suffered were those of ptomaine poisoning. The +next day was spent in the throes of it. I crept out of bed for an +hour or two, with just enough courage to visit the garage to whose +charge I had confined Lizzie for an overhaul. Finding her once again +in pieces, but with no parts broken, I returned, with a sigh of relief +and a body full of pains, to bed. I had discovered that many patrons +of a certain restaurant--the one which I had so heartily greeted upon +my arrival--had also suffered from ptomaine poisoning. I reflected +that this was an ailment that often proved fatal. But I determined +that it would not be so in my case, at any rate not until Lizzie and +I had gazed down on the deep blue waters of the Pacific Ocean. That +accomplished, anything could happen! + +The next day found things much brighter. The sickness was fast +disappearing, and I was consoled towards midday by the sight of +Lizzie erected, tested, and passed O.K. I was, however, sceptical of +the youth to whom, in my indisposition, I had entrusted her delicate +body. He had sworn that he had overhauled Hendersons until he could +do them blindfold. With characteristic American modesty he claimed to +be the only man between Kansas City and Los Angeles who knew anything +at all about the breed. That made me a trifle suspicious at the +outset. Furthermore, he had agreed to turn in on Sunday and commence +operations, but when Sunday came he was hardly conspicuous by his +presence--the garage door was locked. + +However, I paid over the required quota of dollars with Spartan +stoicism and took Lizzie once more unto my bosom. Being naturally of +a lazy disposition and a firm believer in the futility of walking +whenever there is the remotest opportunity of some form of mechanical +transit being available, I had deferred an extensive survey of the town +until I could execute it in comfort. + +Originally a stores depot on the early trail through the West, +Flagstaff soon became a ranching centre and a kind of "Mecca" for +cow-boys, globe-trotters, wasters, drifters, Indians, Mexicans, and, +of late years, speculators and East-weary business men. Although +boasting only a few thousand inhabitants, the town is growing fast, +and naturally where towns grow fast--a thing known only in the west of +America and the Colonies--the "real estate" agents flourish in their +legions. The people of Flagstaff are "boosters," and so do all they can +to encourage and quicken the growth of their neat little town. Many +come there, buy a plot of land in one of the outlying blocks, build +a bungalow and settle down for good, charmed with the climate, the +atmosphere, the surroundings, the great pine forests, and the view to +the north of the mighty Peaks that are almost always capped with snow +and seem to look down and protect the little town that lies scattered +at their feet. + +Next morning I had concluded all preparations for the fulfilment +of another life-long desire. My next ambition was to see the Grand +Canyon of the Colorado, of which I had read much in school-books in my +childhood. + +In and out through the pine trees we swung once again, darting down +sudden dips in the road and skipping up little hills all fresh with +grass and thick wild flowers. In ten or fifteen miles of exquisite +woodland scenery we had come once more to the fringe of the forest. +Ahead lay plain, prairie, and desert, with never a town or a village or +a house to be seen until the Canyon was reached seventy odd miles to +the north. On the left rose the great San Francisco Peaks, clothed in +green and white. On the right lay Sunset Mountain, a volcanic cinder +cone of ruddy-brown hue, that glistened in the morning sunlight. + +Slowly they were left behind as we hopped, skipped, and jumped over the +rough trail that swerved and twisted untiringly through the strangest +country imaginable. Here it would be broad and sandy; there it would +narrow down almost to nothing; further on, it would make a sudden bend +and dip across a "wash" or some waterless river that had never known a +bridge; then it would enter a beautiful valley all aglow with golden +flowers that crowded thickly up its sides--there were yellow flowers +everywhere, in each direction as far as the eye could see, and at +the same time so close that they were swept aside by the machine as +it passed. Then that picture passed away and there remained just two +deep undulating ruts that struggled persistently across a wilderness +of sand, rock, and boulder. We passed on either side the remains of +ancient volcanoes, now but solitary hills rising abruptly from the +desert around. Then appeared giant heaps of stone clustered strangely +together, the ruins of ancient towns for many a thousand years +deserted. Then for miles and miles was nothing but barren, arid waste +that tired one's patience and cut one's tyres and shook one's limbs, +while thousands upon thousands of prairie-dogs were ever running, +hurrying, scurrying away from the intruder upon their solitude. Their +holes were everywhere, even in the ruts of the trail that stretched +always like a forgotten, lifeless thing through this land of scorching +loneliness. + +Four hours and a half we had now been travelling, and not a soul, not +even a sign of a living being had we seen, save the merry little vermin +that scurried off at the sound and the sight of us. For the first time +in the whole of the trip I felt a great sense of loneliness creeping +over me. The solitude, the peace of the great barren distances at last +made itself known--it was a solitude and a peace that I had never felt +before. It took time for me to appreciate its worth. I amused myself by +bursting suddenly into song. All the old familiar refrains came to my +aid, were they hymn tunes or ridiculous rag-time airs. + +Feeling absurd--even positively ridiculous--in my efforts to remain +cheerful at all costs, but comforted by the thought that there was no +one to witness my insanity, I continued thus until my voice rebelled +and I relapsed once again into stony--very stony--silence! + +Once again the trail entered a great forest; huge pine trees and cedar +trees closed densely around and the trail branched and split here and +there to avoid them. The vegetation grew thicker. It seemed wonderful +how it could possibly thrive in such a country. Not a drop of water +had I seen for eighty miles, when suddenly a most beautiful vista +appeared directly ahead of me. There was a wonderful lake bordered with +giant pine trees, its waters still and flat like a great jewel. At its +edge a few horses were drinking. It was such a magnificent sight that +I was forced to stop to admire it to the full. I breathed a prayer +that my little pocket camera would do it justice, and convey, if only +a fraction, some of that entrancing charm that hung over its glassy +waters. + +On once again we rode, through avenues of pine and cedar; the further +we went, the thicker the forest grew and the greater the stately +trees became. It was possible only to see a few yards ahead in some +places.... "But say, we must be getting near the Canyon soon! How can +all this be?" I asked myself. + +Swerving now to the right, now to the left, to avoid some obstacle, now +leaving the trail altogether to ride on the soft green grass at the +side, when a boulder or a fallen branch blocked the way, it was like +exploring one of those magic forests where fairies.... + +The thought was never finished. + +It seemed as if the whole earth had suddenly stopped dead. There, in +front, the great tree trunks stood silhouetted against space itself. It +was as though something dreadful had happened. Beyond was tremendous, +awful nothingness that made the observer catch his breath and sent a +shiver throughout his frame. But see, there, on the distant horizon, +like a dimly-coloured shadow, lies the opposite side of the gigantic +rift, ten, twenty--aye, in places thirty miles away. It is a sight to +enjoy in silence, with reverence and with fear. Once seen, it is never +to be forgotten, that first glimpse of the greatest of all natural +wonders--the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. + +The trail made a sudden swerve to the left and followed close to its +brink. There were some wooden railings; beyond, a varying strip of +broken, rocky moorland; and then, space. Leaving Lizzie, I clambered +down a narrow pathway carved in the rocks that led to a jutting +prominence known as "Grand View Point." Seated on a huge lump of +limestone that reared like a lofty pinnacle thousands of feet above +the chasm below, I surveyed in mute bewilderment the overpowering, +awe-inspiring sight. + +The Grand Canyon has never been described. It is too immense, too +sublime, too unearthly for mere words to convey one iota of its might +and majesty. One struggles with the futility of mere expression +by words where such a spectacle is concerned and finds that all +the known phrases and well-used artifices of speech are useless to +convey to another the sense of infinite grandeur that only sight can +appreciate--and that so feebly! + +The Canyon is a titanic rift in the earth, over 200 miles in length. +The Colorado River, hardly ever seen from its brinks, lies 6,000 feet +below the surface of the plain through which it has cut. AEons of +time have been taken in the making of it, and it is yet but young, +its progress still continuing. That sinister river, to reach which +takes a seven-mile walk down the trail that leads to its waters, has +cut down through strata of rock that took untold millions of years +to be deposited, has cut lower and lower until it has come to the +very beginning, the foundation of the earth, and then it has carved +its way even through the granite, the very crust of the earth, to a +depth of almost 1,000 feet. Eternal erosion by water, winds, and frost +has helped it to play its part, and now nigh on 2,000 cubic miles +of limestone, sandstone, and granite have disappeared entirely--all +carried as sediment into the Pacific Ocean by the river that for ever +swirls and rages in its bosom. + +The actual settlement that goes by the name of the Grand Canyon is +twenty miles further on. The trail follows closely the rim of the +Canyon, cutting through the fringe of the "Coconino National Forest," +with its stately pine trees that crowd up to the very edge of the +plateau. + +When the end of the trail is reached, it is as though the traveller +had arrived at the edge of the world. On the right is a luxurious, +low-built hotel all but toppling over the edge; on the left is a +railway station; and that is all. The road almost doubles back on +itself, swerving due south towards the Continental Trail eighty miles +away. I do not mean to imply that at the end of this world there will +be either a luxurious hotel or a railway station at the service of +the weary traveller, but the appearance of finality of all things is +complete when one is faced with that terrible chasm ahead. + +For three days and three nights I sojourned at the Canyon, content +to gaze upon its ever-changing colours, and to marvel at the wealth +of beauty and variation of spectacle that lay in its mighty bosom, +always changing, always fresh, always more wonderful than before. +One day after breakfast I began strolling down the narrow "Bright +Angel Trail" that leads from the summit to the river. Between two +and three feet wide in most places, it is wonderfully built and kept +in excellent repair for the mule-back parties of tourists that daily +descend its seven tortuous miles in the morning and ascend them again +in the evening. In places it is like a spiral pathway down an almost +perpendicular wall. One looks over and sees it doubling and folding and +twisting on itself like a thin white line until it is lost behind some +prominence thousands of feet below. + +I did not mean to walk down. Walking is not my forte; I only set out +to take a few photographs. I have the best of reasons for believing +that people never walk down the Canyon. Instead they bulge upon +diminutive mules in strings of twenty or thirty or more and make the +descent slowly, nervously, solemnly, and more or less in comfort. True, +there are places where the trail is so precipitous that they have to +dismount for safety's sake, but to walk the whole way would be absurd. + +Perhaps that was the reason I found myself tramping down the long, +steep trail. The more photographs I took, the further down I went to +take another. One view followed another with endless change. At every +turn there was some new sensation, some fresh vista that just cried out +for remembrance. In this way I gradually found myself descending into +the depths of the Canyon. Truly it is the most wonderful walk I have +ever had. + +It was as though the traveller were entering a new world of a new +climate, new scenery, and new sensations. Up on the plateau at the top +the altitude was 8,000 feet above sea level, and the heat there had +been intense. But as I descended thousand after thousand of feet into +the bowels of the earth, the air became more dense and the heat more +intense until at the bottom, over 6,000 feet below, the climate was +almost tropical. Further, the great "temples"--the fragments of the +plateau where the erosion had left isolated mountains remaining within +the gorge--took on a far different aspect when viewed from below. +From above one saw them as one would see hills and valleys from an +aeroplane--with hardly any relief. But from below they loomed up sharp +against the sky, each one a mighty mountain in itself. What seemed +from the brink to be a mere blotch of green mould on the bare rocks +below proved on closer acquaintance to be a luxurious coppice, dense +with trees and shrubs and tall, thick grass. Minute specks of black +scattered broadcast on the slope turned out to be trees that eked out +a scanty but sufficient livelihood on the crevices and the crags. A +brown, inconspicuous carpet from above developed into a huge tropical +plateau several miles across. So clear is the atmosphere and so great +are the distances that magnitudes are ridiculed and illusions raised to +the point of absurdity. + +It was well after midday when I reached the bottom and watched the +roaring, rushing Colorado, like a great yellow flood, lashing its angry +way between the steep walls of the granite gorge. Above, it had been +invisible, unknown, and whisperless. + +The walk back developed into a tiring, eternal struggle up an +interminable staircase that had no stairs. Sometimes I half decided +to rest until next day. At intervals I grasped my knees in my hands +and helped to lift the heavy, tired feet one above the other. I +abused myself heartily for not having furnished myself with reserve +refreshments before starting, and then remembered that I had only set +out to take a few pictures; I had quenched my thirst at a little creek +six hours before, but felt that a meal of some kind would be acceptable. + +I arrived at the top about 5.30. The mule-party had overtaken me a +quarter of an hour before. They had only stopped half an hour at the +bottom for lunch. + +"Waal, I've done some walkin' in my time, boss, but I guess you've +gotten the best pair o' legs that ever MY optics did see," was the +remark of one heavily-spectacled American who beamed from his mule upon +me as he passed. + +"Aye, that's so," echoed others in the long file with undisguised +approbation. + +So the reader will observe that I am already becoming Americanized, +even in true modesty! + +[Illustration: THE BOTTOM OF THE GRAND CANYON. + +_By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler._] + +My stay at the Canyon was longer than I had anticipated. Considerable +rain had fallen on the second day, and a report came through that +the road in places had been washed clean away. Just what that meant I +did not know, but I did not fear it in the slightest. My experience of +the roads in Arizona was that they were much better away than present. +But I had no taste for mud, so I waited for the sun to do its work +before starting back again. + +I left the Grand Canyon with regret. Everything was so wonderful +and I just seemed to have begun to make friends with it. At first +it all seemed so great, so awful, so grotesque as to give one the +impression of anything but friendliness. I had begun to overcome that +feeling, as everyone does in time. The truth is that it takes a long +acquaintanceship with the giant wonders of the world to form anything +approaching a true idea of them. + +Mud there was in plenty on the way back. In the forest going was bad +and slow, for the sun had not had its due quota of time to play upon +the damp earth. But in the open there was a marked improvement. The +only evidence of the heavy rains was an occasional pool of water +between the tracks of the road that had not yet been completely dried +up, and this remained as a pool of muddy water within a ring of soft, +dark-brown mud. + +I was glad that progress was not so bad as I had expected. I was tired +of making slow progress, low averages, and big delays, so whenever I +had the chance I gave Lizzie her reins and with many bursts of speed +where the condition of the road permitted, and occasional hold-ups +where it did not, we made pretty good progress for a couple of hours. + +Until.... + +We were about half-way between the Canyon and Flagstaff. The country +was bare and rocky--almost on the fringe of the "Painted Desert." I was +riding on the narrow but level track between the two large ruts that +formed the road. I was furthermore enjoying a little burst of speed, my +eyes glued on the little strip below me, for if I but once missed it +and allowed Lizzie to slip into either of those deep, treacherous ruts +that bordered it, there would be a nasty smash. + +I must have been too careful, for I had not noticed a fairly large and +deep mud-pool dead in the centre of the track and only a few yards +ahead of me. There were just about three or four inches between either +side of it and those terrible ruts. If I banged into it, it would mean +a nasty jar to the machine and possible damage. I judged I could steer +round all right without fouling the rut. + +The front wheel went through splendidly. The back one, approaching at +an angle as I swerved, did not. It just skimmed the greasy edge of the +pool and commenced momentarily to side-slip down into the hollow. That +was the beginning of the end. I was going fast, and the equilibrium +of the machine had been suddenly upset. The nightmare known as a +"speed-wobble" ensued. + +I did my utmost to check it, but it got worse and worse. From one side +to the other the machine swayed, like a great pendulum, swinging faster +and faster and each time through a greater distance. For some time I +managed to keep the swerves within the limits of the track without +fouling the ruts and the rocks at the side, but it was no use; I saw a +fearful crash coming. + +The wobble developed at an alarming speed; no doubt the heavy baggage +on the carrier helped. At the end of each oscillation the machine was +at a still greater, a still more ridiculous angle to the ground. The +front wheel caught something. It had to come sooner or later. With +a wild lurch we crashed down on the loose rocks and boulders that +bordered the trail. Our momentum was soon absorbed owing to the rough +nature of the rocks and boulders aforesaid. + +"Here endeth the trip to the coast. Farewell, Lizzie; it might have +happened sooner, you know, old girl." That's what I was saying to +myself as I struggled from underneath her remains! + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE MOHAVE DESERT + + +I have often thought there must be a guardian angel watching over +mad motor-cyclists. Certainly in my case some theory of that sort is +necessary to account for the almost entire immunity from personal +damage that I have always experienced when fate has led me into crashes +of all kinds. At one time and another I have performed wonderful +acrobatic feats after a bad skid or a sudden encounter in the dark with +a stray horse or a flock of sheep. By all the laws of nature and common +sense, I should long since have ceased to labour on this earthly plane. +Instead of that, I continue to flourish like the green bay tree, the +terror of the country I inhabit, and the bane of the Company that has +the misfortune to insure my machines! + +Thus it happened that when I extricated myself from the debris, I found +myself still sound in wind and limb. Apart from one finger having been +crushed between the handle and the final boulder, and the absence +of one or two square inches of good epidermis here and there, I had +nothing whatever to complain of. + +Lizzie, however, wore a forlorn look. Her left handlebar was badly bent +and most of the controls and projections on her starboard side were +either bent backwards or swept clean away. The stand, a heavy steel +structure strong enough to make a suspension bridge, had broken away +altogether, and had not the footboard been of the collapsing type, it +would undoubtedly have shared the same fate. + +An hour of doctoring, with frequent applications of wire and insulation +tape, and Lizzie was going again. I was relieved in the extreme to find +that after all there was a chance of continuing to the coast under her +own power. My forefinger pained a trifle, and I could not bear to bend +it. I believe always in leaving Nature to carry out her own repairs--it +saves a lot of time and bother and generally gets the job finished much +quicker in the end, so I spent no time in doctoring it. + +We got back to Flagstaff all right that evening and, accepting the +hospitality of one of the astronomers at Mars Hill, I spent the night +at his bungalow up amongst the pine trees. It was nearly a month before +I regained the use of my finger and over three months before the sense +of feeling came back to it. Evidently it had been broken at or near the +joint. + +Two days afterwards I made an unwilling exit from Flagstaff. I was so +enamoured with the spirit of the West and the cordiality of its people, +as well as the scenery and the climate, that it seemed a shame to move +away. But how could I do otherwise when in three days' good running +I should be enjoying the reality of the deep blue Pacific washing up +against the fringe of some golden Californian valley? + +From Flagstaff to Williams, a thirty-mile jaunt, the road traversed +the edges of the Coconino Forest. In places it was almost impassable. +Stretches of rock-hard mud, that had been cut up into fantastic shapes, +hindered progress for hundreds of yards at a stretch. I had often to +resort to the old expedient of chipping the edges of the ruts away in +advance to enable Lizzie's cradle frame to get through. Then for miles +there were stretches of incredible roughness where often I left the +road and scrambled over the rough prairie at the side, leaping over +gullies, mounds, cracks, and rocks in preference to the treacherous +trail. But the wild scenery compensated for everything. It was +exquisite. + +Town after town slowly but surely went by, and as they did so, the +country grew wilder and the climate hotter. The trail wound through +great gorges with towering cliffs that obscured most of the sky. +Mad rivers would come rushing down from mountain sides and seldom +were there bridges with which to cross them. Vegetation became less +plentiful and here and there were stretches of barren prairie land with +great boulders and masses of rock spread indiscriminately about them. + +Past Ashforks, some sixty miles from Flagstaff, I came upon a Ford car +by a wide, rough-bedded, unbridged river. The owner, dressed in blue +combination overalls (the standard garment of the West) was playing +round it with a "monkey-wrench." + +"Want anything, brother?" I asked. + +"No thanks, nothing wrong," he replied, eyeing Lizzie and me +curiously up and down. "Gee! What the ..." (his eye caught the number +plate)--"Well, I'll be goldarned!" + +"How's the road ahead?" I asked, ignoring his evident amazement at one +so young having come so far! + +"Pretty tough in places. You've got a fairly good run for a hundred +miles, but you've got to keep your eyes skinned for washouts. There's a +big one about ten miles further on, just before you come to Pineveta. +You can't miss it. It's just beyond a big cliff on the left side where +it says 'REPENT YOUR SINS, THE END IS AT HAND.' And by G--, +you'd better repent 'em quick in case anything does happen!" + +Washouts there were, good and plentiful. Great gullies had been cut +across the roads by the rains. Many were not visible much before they +were felt. On the whole it was exciting running. + +Pineveta was a most "movie-looking" town. I could easily have imagined +myself a Gaumont operator on several occasions. Every building, whether +a house, the village church or the town hall, was of wood and of the +simplest construction possible. Everything seemed loose, ramshackle +and toppling. It was a good home for the tough guys of the West, +where towns spring up in a night, prosper awhile and then fade into +insignificance. + +After Seligman, another twenty miles further on, the trail showed signs +of nervous prostration. It led into a great canyon whose grey walls +towered high on either side. Then it seemed to say to the traveller, +"See here, Boss, you can go on if you like, I'm staying right here; +had enough of this." It had already dwindled down to a couple of ruts +in the sandy bed of the canyon and now it was besieged on all sides +with dense growths of grey scrub, like sage-brush. Even the ruts were +barely visible and now appeared only in white patchy blotches through +the scrub that grew a foot or a couple of feet high in dense, clustered +tufts. It seemed as though something would have to be done about it +soon. + +Finally we came to a wooden fence, rudely but effectively constructed +and barring the way entirely. Behind the fence was a railway track. +Evidently it was necessary to cross the track somewhere but not the +slightest opportunity did there appear of doing so. I explored awhile. + +On the left, where the trail had ended, the fence showed signs of +having been pulled down and ruts in the ground bore witness to traffic +having gone that way at some time or another more or less remote. But +stay, what is this? A large post had been torn down from the fence and +laid right across the track of the apparent detour. In the middle of +it, and fastened on by a piece of wire, was a scrap of paper bearing +the following anonymous inscription in scrawled handwriting--"DOANT +GO THIS RODE CANT GET THRU." + +Now wasn't this kind of some one? I began to wonder if I would have +gone to the same trouble if I had struggled through a fence on an old +Ford car (I was sure from the writing that it was a Ford) and after +proceeding half a mile or so over interminable boulders and gullies had +found it necessary to come back again. I came to the conclusion that I +WOULD, at any rate, if I was in the West, and thus consoled, I +proceeded to search for another outlet. + +Yes, here were a pair of ruts leading off backwards at a tangent. Where +they went was not possible to see, for they were overgrown with scrub. +I started Lizzie once again, put her front wheel into the deeper of +the ruts and set off whither it should take me. It was faithful and +true. Brushing the bushes sideways with the machine as we passed, we +arrived in half a mile at a gate where a good wide road appeared. It +was the entrance to the "city" of Nelson, consisting of a few shacks, +a ranch-house and a railway station. After opening a few more gates we +crossed the rails at a level crossing and were going once again swiftly +westwards. + +"Dinner in Peach Springs," I told myself. Peach Springs on my AAA Map +was a fair-sized town fifteen miles ahead. Evening was drawing on and +there would not be much light left for travelling, but where dinner was +concerned it was another matter. Proceed we must, until fodder hove in +sight. + +Slowly the canyon was left behind. The country opened out and became +flatter. Vast rolling plains appeared, with cedar woods creeping down +their slopes. The air was sultry, hardly a breeze stirred in the trees; +wild pigeons in hundreds flew hither and thither; occasionally a young +antelope or a great jack rabbit leaped across the plains. I hardly gave +them a thought. My mind dwelt upon an imaginary tin of pineapple chunks +somewhere in the distance! + +Peach Springs showed no trace of materializing when required. There was +no sign of it anywhere where it should have been. I stopped at a wooden +shack near the roadside. There was a Bowser pump outside the door. + +An old man with a goat's beard appeared at the door. + +"A couple of gallons of gas, please," I shouted, and while he pumped +it in I surveyed the surroundings; there was another little shack not +far away and two dirty-looking Mexican women were sitting down outside. +Here and there, round about, lay rubbish, pieces of timber, tin cans +and other debris. + +"Guess you get mighty lonesome here, dad?" + +"Aw, dunno," he replied. "Bin here nigh on forty years. Guess I got +purty well accustomed to it now." + +"Forty years! I should say so!... Thanks. Say, how far's Peach Springs +from here?" + +"Peach Springs? This is Peach Springs. You're in it right here," and he +pointed to his shack. + +"_This_ Peach Springs? I thought it was a big town with umpteen +thousand people in it." + +"And so it was, till they moved it." + +"Moved it?" I stood aghast at the thought of such a horrible thing. + +"Aye, I mind the time when there was over 40,000 people in Peach +Springs. They'd all come in a heluva sweat lookin' for gold, and what's +more, they found it. Then the gold begun to give out until in the end +there warn't none at all, an' when the gold went the people went with +it. I'm the only one as didn't go and I guess I'm not much concerned +about it neither. Provisions and gas and oil are better'n grubbin' +after gold all yer life." + +"Provisions?" I queried. "Got any pineapple chunks?" + +"Sure thing. Got everything." + +Overcome with emotion, I filled my pockets with tinned fruit and +biscuits. + +That night my camp fire burned in a glorious spot sheltered by high +cliffs. Fuel was scarce, there were just a few dried-up bushes to burn, +but it was splendid, camping there with the beautiful clear sky above, +the stars shining as I had never known them shine before. + +On again we went at dawn. This time it was to leave behind the cedar +forests and the towering canyons. We were getting near the fringe +of the great arid desert that stretches for nearly 300 miles to the +heart of California. Gradually the ground became flat, almost as flat +as the proverbial pancake. On it grew no vegetation at all, save the +scanty sage-brush that can flourish where all other things die. Miles +away, but clear enough to be only a few hundred yards, rose ranges of +saw-toothed, evil-looking mountains, as barren as barrenness could be. +Ahead lies the trail stretching beyond the traveller's vision to the +horizon. On the left runs a fence. Beyond the fence is the Santa Fe +Railway. The telegraph poles and the distant mountains are the only +objects that break the interminable flatness. The sky is cloudless and +the heat of the sun intense. At every five or ten miles a stop is made +to drink water from the bag on the handlebar. One has a glorious thirst +in these parts. + +Mile after mile goes by, and hour after hour. The sun grows higher in +the heavens, its rays pour down upon my back with unrelenting fury. +When shall we get to anywhere? The inner man grows weary of fasting in +this infernal heat. A massive rock, lying all alone in the vast plain +on the right, asks: "Why will ye not repent?" Oh, the irony of it! The +man who painted that rock was a fanatic, but he knew what he was about. + +Kingman at last! Kingman meant breakfast. Breakfast meant water melons +and coffee and pies and other good--nay, beautiful--things. Kingman +meant drinks and ices and sundries to one's heart's content, and one's +pocket's contents. + +On again I pursue my way, feeling like a new man. Next stop Yucca, +thirty miles. Gee! the sun is hot. Nearly eleven. My stars, what +will it be like at one? Everything is sand now--underneath, around, +everywhere. The wheels tear it up in clouds as they skim through. +Sometimes they slip sideways in it and flounder about, trying to grip +on to something firm. Sometimes we slither over altogether but the sand +is soft and spills do not disturb one much. But the sun--I wish it +would stop working a bit! + +Vegetation appears once again, but of a very strange kind. It is a +vegetation that is different from any we know in Europe. It is at the +same time grotesque, mysterious, ridiculous, wonderful and luxurious. +It is desert vegetation. You have always thought of deserts as devoid +of every sign of vegetation? It is not so in the great deserts of +America. Life abounds but, as if in recompense for the privilege of +living, it has to take strange forms. Yet, if they are strange, it is +only in comparison with the vegetation to which in temperate climes we +are accustomed. The unnumbered varieties of cactus plants and trees are +in reality beautiful and strange beyond description. They are always +green, always fresh and always beautiful. It is a kind of "Futurist" +beauty that adorns them. The cactus trees, for instance, have their +leafless branches projecting almost at right angles to the trunk, and +they in turn branch out in a similar manner, presenting a grotesque +appearance. The tall and beautiful Ocatilla--one can almost refer to +it as a desert "shrub"--springs directly from the ground like several +long waving feelers bunched together below and spread apart above. The +prickly-pear, with its needle-covered fleshy leaves, each one joined +on to another without stem or stalk, presents a most weird aspect. +Even the modest and unassuming sage-brush, the poor down-trodden "John +Citizen" of every desert, seems to have been arranged on the barren +plain in regular rectangles and rows, spaced at mathematical distances +apart. + +The secret is that each one has to think of only one thing--water. Each +cactus plant or tree is provided in itself with the means of storing +a reserve of water. Moisture is the one great thing that dominates +them all. That being so, the constitution of desert vegetation has +to be altogether different from that of humid climates just as our +constitutions would have to be entirely different if we lived on Mars, +where there is hardly any water at all. + +This was truly a world of wild fancy. It would be ridiculous--I +thought--to try to explain a scene like this to people who had +never seen anything but ordinary trees and plants and flowers. They +would laugh in scorn when I tried to describe to them that strange +conglomeration of fanciful shapes, those mad-looking cactus trees with +every joint dislocated, those weird Ocatilla waving their long slender +arms twenty and thirty feet above the ground. And look at that great +organ-pipe cactus over there, nothing but a huge light-green fleshy +trunk, with two or three other trunks all perfectly straight and +perfectly vertical on top of it! How could one possibly describe things +like that? + +"With a Watch-Pocket 'Carbine,' of course. What else?" I mused and +stopped to take out my camera from the toolbox. It was not so easily +done as said. The toolbox lid seemed red-hot to my fingers. I could not +bear my hand on the top of the tank even. + +Oh, water, water: how beautiful thou art! Even when imbibed under +hand-pressure from a smelly canvas water-bag! + +Could it EVER get any hotter than this? The only way was to +keep going, the faster the better. Then the heat, with frequent drinks, +was just tolerable. When I stopped, it was like being plunged suddenly +into a great furnace. Never mind; there would be ice-creams at Yucca. +On again, as fast as we can, leaping over gullies, ploughing through +the loose white sand. Lower and lower we get as we travel. The gradient +is not noticeable, for there are ups and downs all the way, and ridges +of hills here and there. All the same, we are making a steady descent. +In a couple of dozen miles we shall cross the River Colorado. That +morning we were over a mile high above it. Now we are at its level. +That explains the increasing heat the further we go, and further on for +hundreds of miles the road lies but a few feet above the level of the +sea; in places it is actually below it. + +In the distance appear trees--poplars, eucalyptus and cedars. They +denote the small ramshackle town of Yucca, like an island in the plain. +The trail widens into a road. Living beings are seen, horses, carts +and motor-cars. It is the civilized world once again. What Yucca does +for a living I am at a loss to know. It cannot certainly be a ranching +town. Probably there is a little gold in the vicinity and it is a small +trading centre. Probably it is more important as a thirst-quenching +centre! + +A short stop and on we went again into the desert, leaving behind +us the little oasis, and plunging ahead into a still hotter region. +The strange cactus trees and desert plants gathered round once more. +Rougher and rougher the road became. The sand gave place to sharp +loose grit interspersed with rocks and jutting boulders. As it did so, +gradually the luxurious vegetation of the desert grew thinner and the +dull miserable sage-brush took its place. The trail divided up into two +deep and solitary ruts and in between them lay loose shale and grit +that absolutely defied progress. The wheels would sink in freely and +churn the road up aimlessly. It was necessary then to ride in one of +the ruts. Where they were broad this was not difficult, but when they +narrowed and deepened a spill was almost bound to occur if one wobbled +but a fraction of an inch from the dead centre of the rut. Negotiating +a road of this nature was something new in the sport of motor-cycling, +but it was exasperating. I was to find later that riding continuously +in a rut was like riding on a greasy road, in that the more carefully +one went and the more timid one grew, the more dangerous did the riding +become. Time and time again I was thrown off by fouling the side +of the rut and plunged headlong over the handlebars into the road. +The slower I went the more often was I thrown. If I travelled about +ten or twelve miles an hour I could maintain my balance by using my +feet where necessary. Riding at that speed, however, was out of the +question. It was better to go faster and risk the frequent spills than +to be roasted alive. So I went faster. The faster I went the easier +was it to maintain balance naturally, because the steering became more +sensitive and only a very small movement of the handlebars within the +limits of the rut would suffice to correct any deviation from perfect +balance. I found that at between thirty-five and forty miles an hour +it was moderately easy to follow the rut through the swerves in its +course. But even then, occasionally there would be a nasty spill, a +few bent levers and some scratches. (I learned a week or so later from +"Cannonball Baker," the famous American racer, that he travels in these +same ruts at between fifty and sixty!) + +Here and there the trail would cross a "wash" or a dried-up lake bed +and then the sand regime would reappear. And ever did death speak from +all around--desolation in bewildering intensity almost cried aloud +from the fire-swept waste that lay all about me. Often I passed the +remains of derelict cars left at the side of the road; sometimes it +was a mudguard or a spring, a tyre or a broken wheel; sometimes it was +a complete chassis, stripped of everything that could be taken away. +For what could be done in a region like this if the breakdown were too +large? Nothing but to push the car off the road and leave it to its +fate. Almost without exception the remains were of Ford cars. That +shows the wisdom of travelling in a machine that bears no great loss if +it is damaged or forsaken! + +Occasionally I passed a gigantic heap of small tins all rusty and +forlorn. I was puzzled at first. How did they get there? And why had +they been heaped up if they were the discarded food-tins of passing +travellers? But no. They are the sole remains of a "mushroom" town of +the West. In them one can picture the sudden growth and the almost +equally sudden decay of a settlement that thrived while there was gold +to be found in the vicinity. + +Here and there, too, were little heaps of bones, bleached white as +snow--the remains of a horse or a cow that had strayed. To lose +oneself, be it man or animal, is sure death in the Mohave Desert. + +It is just midday. The sun is vertically above. It beats down on my +shoulders and dries up the skin of my hands. My hair, over which I had +never worn a hat since I left New York, is bleached to a light yellow +colour and stands erect, stiff and brittle. The alkali sand and dust +have absorbed all the moisture from my fingers and gradually cracks +and cuts are developing in my finger tips and at the joints. I find +it easier to grasp the handlebars with the palms of my hands alone. +My clothes are saturated with dust and my trench boots are cut and +scratched, with the seams broken away; the right sole has pulled away +and threatens to come off altogether unless carefully used. I feel that +the sooner I get out of the Mohave Desert the better it will be for me. + +But the heat! It seems to know no shame, no pity. It is terrific. Every +five miles I stop and drink from the water bag. There is just enough +to carry me to the next stop. For the first time I begin to long for +shelter from the burning rays. There is none around anywhere--not as +far as the horizon. I must push on quickly.... The rut suddenly breaks +and swerves away.... CRASH!... Up again, lose no time. On once +more; what matter if the footbrake doesn't work? A motor-cycle is made +to go, not to stop! + +In front, to the left, rise pinnacles of purple granite. They stick up +sharply into the sky like the teeth of a great monster grinning over +its prey. They are the "Needles," and they fringe the Colorado River. +What a glorious sight it will be to see a river again, with water +flowing in it. + +Now on the horizon appears a blotch of green. Its beauty in that yellow +wilderness is beyond description. It is the green of the stately poplar +trees that surround the railway station of Topock. That is where the +road and the railway and the river all meet, and where we leave Arizona +and enter the State of California. Thank Heaven it is not far away. The +pinnacles rise higher and higher, the little oasis grows bigger and +bigger, and the trees greener and taller. + +At last! Lizzie's rattle is silent. We come to rest under a great +shelter thatched with straw that has been erected by the roadside +opposite the restaurant--the only building in the town beside the +railway station. A few yards further on was a massive steel bridge 400 +yards long that spanned the Colorado. Beyond lay California, but I was +satisfied with Arizona and the straw-thatched shelter for an hour or +two. + + * * * * * + +At two we crossed the great bridge. What good fortune would California +bring, I wondered. It brought even worse roads than I had seen in +Arizona. There still remained over 200 miles of desert to be crossed. +The trail was very rough, like a mountain track at the start, full +of ups and downs and swerves and washes. Twelve miles further on I +arrived at the town of Needles, so tired and hot that I decided to +abandon travel until the evening. Then I would ride out into the desert +and make my bed under the steel-blue sky. I was too enamoured of the +wonderful sunsets and the glorious sunrises of the open plain to allow +them to pass unseen in a musty, stuffy hotel bedroom. + +Needles, I was surprised to find, was very much bigger than I had +expected. It is now a good-sized town and its main street a bustle of +activity. After disposing of a steak at a Chinese restaurant, I bought +a book and retired to the square. There I took off my tunic, rolled +up my shirt sleeves and lay on the grass beneath the tall, thick palm +trees and whiled away the hot afternoon hours. + +At evening as the setting sun was drawing a magic cloak over the +tropical sky, I stole out of Needles along the lonesome trail that I +had learnt to love. Except for low-lying mountains all around, there +was nothing but the everlasting sand and sage-brush. Behind lay the +gigantic plain and across it, like a silver snake, crept the great +silent river. It was the most impressive scene that I have ever beheld +from my bedroom window. My mattress was the sand with a waterproof +sheet laid upon it. Never did Monte Cristo with all his wealth sleep in +such luxury as that. + +[Illustration: IN THE MOHAVE DESERT.] + +[Illustration: CACTUS TREES NEAR SAN BERNARDINO, CALIFORNIA.] + +He who all his life has associated the dawn with the soft greetings +of birds and the mellow noises of awakening nature, is struck at +once with the vast difference of desert countries. I have read that in +unexplored Africa and South America, the dawn is heralded by a mighty +tumult of millions of voices, a great chorus of every soul in the +great populace that lives in forest and jungle. In the Mohave Desert +the majesty of the dawn unfolds itself in deathly silence. The entire +absence of sound of any kind is awe-inspiring, almost weird, and the +observer can but watch and wonder at it as he sees the whole firmament +set ablaze with colours and shades that he never imagined existed, and +gradually the silent grandeur of the spectacle is revealed. + +It was with just such feelings that from my bed I watched the unfolding +of another day from the depths of the great silent plain which lay +beyond that thread of silver in the distance. + +And then, on again. There was a low range of mountains ahead to be +crossed. It was slow work and very tiring. The constant looseness of +the surface, the need for everlastingly keeping one's eyes glued to the +trail, and the terrible monotony of it all for mile after mile, made +me long all the more for a sight of the orange groves and the blue sea +beyond that to-morrow I might, if nothing unforeseen happened, enjoy. +Thus went fifteen, twenty, thirty miles. The first halt was reached. +It was only a railway station, a "hotel," a garage and two or three +houses, but it meant breakfast, and a good one at that, for the journey +that was ahead. Feeding over, out we went once more to brave the ruts +and the rocks and the sand, for miles and miles unending. The morning +sun grows slowly into a midday sun. + +We have been climbing a little. Low-lying ranges of absolutely bare, +purple-brown jagged hills seem to hem us in. Soon we shall be across +them. Beyond there will be--what? More, perhaps. The road here has been +"oiled," that is, the sand has been levelled and then crude mineral oil +poured on. This hardens the crust and prevents the road from blowing +away, giving to the uninitiated the impression of well-laid macadam. It +is a relief after the loose sand, and it looks so strange for a black, +broad highway to be going across a desert! It does not last long, but +comes and goes in patches. Where it does appear it is often lumpy and +cut into grooves and slices. Nevertheless it is welcome.... The road +turns when it reaches the crest, continues for a few yards, and then.... + +A marvellous sight has suddenly appeared, viewed from the meagre height +at which we stand. A great plain lies beneath and before us, greater +and flatter and more desolate than my imagination could ever have +conceived. All around it are mighty saw-toothed ranges of mountains +pressing close upon the horizon and fading away into nothingness. In +it is nothing, not a prominence of any kind, save the omnipresent +sage-brush that seems to stretch in streaky uniformity like a great +purple-brown veil above the cream-white sand. It is impossible to go +on--to do anything but stop and wonder that over so great an area +nature can be so desolate. It is wonderful, mystifying in its intensity. + +Did I say there was no prominence? What are those two minute specks +away over there in the heart of the plain? They must be a tremendous +distance away, but in their very minuteness they are conspicuous. It is +obvious that they are not there by the design of Nature.... As I look, +a tiny white speck appears further still to the left, as though it +emerged from behind the range of mountains that I have just crossed. +Look! There is a short black tail behind it. It is a train! + +Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it moves across the great wilderness. The +black specks then are stations, small man-made oases where water has +been brought to the surface. Yes, it is true. Ten minutes elapse, and +the little white speck merges into the little black speck. Thus are +sizes and speeds dwarfed into insignificance when Nature has the mood +to show her magnitude! + +On again we go, spinning smoothly awhile over the smooth, oiled road. +It stops in a mile or two and leaves nothing but the old heart-rending, +twisting, wayward ruts and sand to guide us. Hours go by. They are +hours of wild effort, maddening heat, and interminable boredom. +Generally, every fifteen or twenty miles, there was a railway station +and a restaurant where one could stop for drinks, ices, and petrol. + +Four o'clock saw me in Ludlow, a small town, larger than the other +stops. I was dead tired. Come what may, I was not going to work myself +to death. I had done 200 miles since daybreak. That was enough for +anyone in a country like this. + +At eight o'clock I set out with Lizzie in the deepening twilight to +find a resting-place for the night. The road was oiled, but in most +places the sand of the desert had blown over it, covering it for +several inches in depth, and sometimes obliterating it from view for +many hundred yards. + +"I will sleep at the foot of yonder hill," quoth I, and saw visions of +concrete roads and orange groves beyond the horizon. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +I REACH THE PACIFIC COAST + + +I saw something else on the horizon too. It started as a little black +speck on the road, seeming to swerve now and then from one side to +another. It emitted a strange noise that at first was scarcely to be +heard, but increased until it reverberated indefinitely from the bare +angular mountain ranges. + +It was a motor-cycle! + +An inexpressible feeling of sympathy and comradeship surged through me, +as I realized that here was another fool starting to do what one fool +had already almost done. I wondered vaguely whether he knew what he was +doing. + +We both stopped, dismounted, and looked at each other for a few moments +before either spoke. The sight of another motor-cycle seemed to take +both of us by surprise. The stranger, a young man of twenty-four or so, +had an old twin-cylinder Excelsior that looked very much as if it had +seen better days. I led off the conversation. + +"Where do you reckon you're going on that?" + +"New York." + +"Ever done it before?" + +"Nope." + +"Insured?" + +"Nope." + +"Pleasure or business?" + +"Both." Here he fumbled around a huge bruise on his forehead. +"Leastways, that was the idea. I'm writing it up for the _Adventure +Magazine_ when I'm through"--and he added guardedly, "That is, if I +don't kill meself with a few more headers like this." + +"How'd you get that?" + +"Oh, Boy, I came such a crash on a bit of oiled roadway back there by +that salt-lake bed. Don't remember anything of it except being chucked +clean over the grips about fifty. My Gad, it was some crash! I came +round about half an hour after. Say, Boy, you look out for them ruts; +ride plumb in the middle of the road, and you may miss 'em, 'cause +they're filled in and blown over with sand. Jest the right width of +your wheel, they are." + +"Sure, I've made their acquaintance already; kind of keep a man fit, +don't they? But, say, you've got many more like that coming between +here and New York. Take my tip, old man. If you've got anyone depending +on you for a living and you don't want to knock the 'X' and yourself to +little pieces, you had better go back home right now and tootle up and +down the Californian coast for a holiday. And if you still want to get +to New York--well, all I can say is, there's a dem fine train service, +and you'll find a depot right there in Ludlow." + +"Don't you worry, Boy; I've done a heap of motor-cycling in my days +and I guess I don't get scared at a header or two, and s'long as I can +fix anything that happens along, I guess I'll git to Lil Ole Noo York +before a couple of weeks is gone." + +"Young man," said I in a fatherly tone, "you don't know what you're +saying. You're talking blasphemy--sheer heresy. Your crash has turned +your wits a little." + +"Thanks, but I've made up my mind to go by road, and go by road I will." + +"That's the spirit, but just a few more words of advice. Sell it and +buy a Ford. Then you'll be able to take some one with you." + +"I'm taking some one already, Boy. He's back at Ludlow. Shipped him on +from Barstow, the road was so dog-gone bad and he got scared at the +desert." + +"What! You're taking him on the carrier?" I cried aghast. + +"Sure enough. What's against it?" + +I was speechless. His youth and innocence held me spellbound for a +moment. Then I burst forth: + +"Man, you're mad! ABSOLUTELY MAD! Here, c'mon, Lizzie, before +it gets too dark and before this lunatic gets unsafe." I kicked her +into a roar. "Cheerio, old man! Give my love to the Angels to-morrow!" + +Then his open exhaust burst into a clatter and I saw him no more. I +often thought about him, though, and wondered how, when, and where he +ended up. + +Next morning I shook the desert sand from my blanket for the last +time. By hook or by crook I should be sailing through the streets of +Los Angeles before nightfall. I judged I looked pretty fierce on the +whole. I had no looking-glass, having left my suit-case to be shipped +on back at Santa Fe, but I had the best part of a week's growth on my +chin and I had not known the joy of a wash for four days. My hair, my +boots, my clothes, my everything, were saturated with sand and dust. My +tunic, which in its earlier days had been a green tweed, was now white +at the back, bleached almost colourless with the sun and then soaked +with alkali dust. In the front and below the sleeves it maintained +something approaching its original colour. My boots? Well, they had not +been off for four days, and the right sole, which had been threatening +revolution, had so many times nearly tripped me up by doubling +underfoot, that I had removed it near the instep with my pen-knife! + +And Lizzie was in no better condition. Externally she was a mass of +string, wire, insulation-tape, mud, oil, and sand. Internally she +was a bundle of rattles and strange noises. Everything was loose and +worn; the sand had invaded her at every point and had multiplied wear +a thousandfold. Latterly the tappet rods had had to be cleaned and +adjusted over a sixteenth of an inch every day until there was no more +adjustment possible. The valve rockers were worn half-way through, some +more than that. One had worn right through until it had broken in the +middle. I began to be afraid that the engine would not hold out even +for the 200 odd miles to come. By handling her carefully and giving her +ample oil, I hoped to "deliver the goods" and get across the remaining +half of the great desert tract that borders on the Sierra Madre Range +running parallel with the coast from north to south. Once across that +range, everything, I told myself, would change abruptly, the roads, the +scenery, and the climate. + +Mile after mile of rock and sand went by with the sweating hours. +Often little patches of oiled road appeared, stayed awhile, and then +miraculously disappeared below the white, loose surface. Nearly always +there were two ruts, beautifully sharp and well cut, sunk three or four +inches below the rest of the surface, caused by the fierce rays of +the midday sun converting the oiled surface into a plastic condition +easily moulded by passing cars which, once given the lead, follow +blindly in the others' "footsteps." Many a bad swerve and an occasional +spill did I have when my front wheel found such as this. But the major +portion of the road was just the bare, loose sand and gravel of the +desert. + +I had by now become so used to my own company that the sense of +loneliness almost disappeared, and I felt as perfectly at ease here as +anywhere else. I felt that the great wastes had a charm, nay, even a +lure, that eclipsed all past sensations and gave a mental satisfaction +that no other phase of Nature could ever reveal. I cannot describe +the ineffable something which made me love the great solitude and the +mighty spaces, but it is there nevertheless, and, like the greatest +of passions, it gives extremes. After one has lived but a few days in +the desert, either he loves it passionately or he loathes it. There is +nothing in between. + +On the right there lies the great "Death Valley" that stretches a +hundred miles to the north between the Armagosa and the Paramint +Mountains. Its name is suggestive of the many people who have miserably +perished of thirst in its clutches. It is the remains of a long-since +dried-up inland lake and parts of it are 150 feet below the level of +the sea. There is nothing in it save bare rock and shifting alkali +sand, with here and there a cactus or a little sage. The heat is +tremendous and the thermometer sometimes rises to 140 deg. In all, not a +pleasant place either to live in or to die. But there are those who in +the search for gold live here for months at a stretch. + +Confound it! There goes No. 1 cylinder again. Why doesn't she fire? Am +I to start overhauling the engine in this terrible place? I stop to +change a plug.... Nothing doing.... Try another.... Still no result. +For ten minutes I tinker with red-hot tools. Gee! the blessed machine +will be melting soon if we don't move quick. In disgust I go on again +with only three cylinders working. Past memories crowd into my mind, +but the eternal battle with the loose sand suffices to keep them out. + +It was too bad, to start playing pranks like this within a few hours of +the coast. The sand of the road absorbed most of the power I now had +left and often I had to change down to bottom gear to get along at all. +It was wonderful what a difference just that one cylinder made, and it +was most annoying that it should happen just here, where the earth was +nothing more than a confused mass of rocks and sand, and the sun stood +vertically above in the sky. "Thank Heaven, I've some water left, if +anything happens," thought I. + +"What in the world is that thing?" I asked myself. Closer acquaintance +proved it to be a motor lorry, dressed up as a caravan and minus a back +axle--a most remarkable sight in most remarkable surroundings. From the +numerous loop-tracks that swerved around it, it had evidently stood +there many days. Its owner was lying underneath on his back. + +"Pretty place to change a back axle, old man," I remarked intelligently. + +"Yep. Not the kind o' thing a feller does for the fun of it, either," +he retorted, scrambling out from his resting-place in the sand. + +"Well, is there anything I can do for you, anyway? I don't quite +like to see a chap stranded in a blankety-blank country like this on +blankety-blank roads like these." I forget just the adjectives I used, +but I know they were hardly of the drawing-room variety. Imagine my +surprise when a feminine voice from inside chirped out: + +"Yes, that's just about got 'em sized up! I've never heard such a +mighty cute description of 'em." + +Five days they had been there. The back axle had broken under the huge +strain of dragging the load through the deep, loose sand. A passing car +had taken it to San Bernardino to be repaired, and other passing cars +had kept them well supplied with water. They expected to have the axle +back the next day and then had nothing to fear. As I could do nothing +for them, I propped Lizzie up against the side of the lorry and tried +once more to persuade No. 1 cylinder to join hands with the rest. + +After half an hour of useless toil, I bade farewell to the caravan and +its occupants. + +"Quite sure I can't do anything?" + +"Plumb sure, thanks. Mebbe we shall be there before you, y'know,"--with +a wicked twinkle in his eye. + +Then followed hours and hours of ceaseless toil. We climbed hills and +crossed great lake-beds that glistened white with a dazzling glare. +In some of these there was nothing to be seen in the vast stretch of +alkali deposit where once, thousands of years ago, rested the briny +waters of lakes and inland seas--nothing, not even a plucky bush of +sage-brush, clinging valiantly to its life-hold. + +We came to Barstow, a growing settlement, a railway centre and with +great alkali factories. Here, after nearly 100 miles' running, I had a +substantial breakfast-lunch-dinner meal and filled my water-bag for the +last time. We were nearing the end of the Mohave Desert. + +Here the trail turns sharply to the south to "San Berdoo," the +colloquial abbreviation of San Bernardino. At one time the trail had +crossed the desert by a different route altogether, in places almost +100 miles from the railway line. So many souls had perished with the +heat and lack of water--perchance through some breakdown or through +losing their way--that later a new road was "constructed" following +closely the track of the railway so that travellers by road need never +be in difficulties for long. It is an unwritten law in any of the +American deserts that anyone can hold up a train anywhere if he needs +water or supplies or other help. It is willingly given, whether it be a +freight train or the "California Limited" express from New York to San +Francisco! + +The San Gabriel Mountains now rose high on the horizon. They had but to +be crossed, and then all our troubles would be over. + +So I thought. + +At Victorville, a growing town at the north base of the range, the +desert had almost disappeared. Eucalyptus trees became strangely +intermixed with cactus trees, and the aroma of their long, grey-green +leaves filled the air with a new sensation. It was the approach of +civilization once again. + +And then followed the long, winding climb up to the Cajon Pass. In the +thick sand and with only three cylinders, it was hard work and slow +work. I thought we should never get to the top. Looking back, I beheld +a wonderful panorama of desert plain, and a glistening sea of sand; +looking forward, I saw just a gap in the great black wall and a rocky +pathway winding through it. + +Are we NEVER going to reach the summit? We must have climbed +nearly a mile high already, I argued with myself, when, of a sudden, +the twisting, rocky trail ceased to exist. It vanished like magic, and +instead there was before us a magnificent, broad highway of smooth, +flat concrete that made me yell with delight. It was wonderful. I +laughed and sang with childish glee to think that after 4,000 miles +of mud and sand and soil and rock and rut and unspeakable goat-track, +I was at last on a concrete road once again, with a surface like a +billiard table. I swerved madly from side to side to make sure those +two haunting ruts had really disappeared, and laughed again when I +found I was not thrown off. It was just glorious. + +One more turn, and a great valley lay at my feet. It was green with +grass and the mountain sides were clothed in pine trees. Pine trees! +How beautiful they looked! It was surely a dream, a vision, a trick +of the imagination. There was a long, winding gradient down into the +valley. I shut the engine off and we coasted down the smooth concrete +without even a whisper or a jar of any kind. It was like a sudden entry +into heaven--and almost as silent. + +There were now seventy miles of concrete leading between avenues of +eucalyptus and groves of orange trees into Los Angeles. Further, the +road was almost perfectly flat, although bordered by the San Gabriel +range, and, with a few right-angle bends here and there, cut straight +across from east to west, with hardly a swerve from the straight line. + +Truly it was like a new world, this fruit garden of California. For +miles unbroken save by little avenues, one passed row upon row of +orange trees laid out in perfect symmetry and exactitude in the rich +flat soil. A narrow ditch, dug parallel with each row and having small +branches to each individual tree, communicated with larger ditches +along which flowed a constant stream of fresh water led from the +mountain sides. + +Interspersed would be groves of prunes, peaches, and apples, then a +plantation of water-melons and cantaloupes of all shapes and sizes. + +And then, as if to snatch away the enjoyment of all these pleasant +things, a great clatter arose from the engine. Something had broken at +last, and it seemed that the whole was a revolving mass of loose pieces +all knocking up against each other. Then, before I had been able to +slow down--it all happened in a few seconds--there was a metallic thud, +the back wheel locked dead, and the machine dry-skidded itself to rest. +Once again Fate had decreed against me, angry that I should have got so +far in spite of all her efforts. + +Well, well! There was plenty of time to spare now; no need to hurry. +I sat down on the grass at the roadside in the shade of an orange +tree, ate two oranges--from the tool-box--and smoked a pipe. Feeling +refreshed in every sense, I then proceeded to take the engine to pieces. + +No. 1 piston had broken in fragments and a large piece had jammed +between the big end of one of the connecting rods and the crank-case. +It was strange that it had not punched a hole through it. + +It was far too long a job to take off the sump at the roadside--it +would have meant taking the whole engine out of the frame--nearly a +day's work--so I removed as many of the pieces of piston as I could get +at through the inspection window. The piston-head was floating loose +like a flat disc above the small end. This I removed and packed the two +halves of the broken gudgeon pin apart, so as to guide the small end +up and down in the cylinder. It was impossible to remove the connecting +rod entirely, even with the cylinder off, without removing the whole +engine from the frame and taking off the sump. + +In a couple of hours I was going again, but very very gingerly, lest +another piece of piston should be caught up and cause another jamb. +The noise of the rattle too was terrific, and I could hear the warning +of passing cars (of which there were now several) only when they were +right behind me. Sometimes it would get suddenly worse and a further +disrupture would appear imminent, and then it would go suddenly back +again to its normal. Thus we toiled for thirty miles, at an average +speed of twelve miles an hour. + +At Ontario--the towns were as numerous as they were prosperous--I +feared another and final episode. A Ford car that was passing slowed +down to offer me assistance, and putting Lizzie in "free engine" I +hung on to his hoodstays with my right arm as a tow-rope. This lasted +for ten miles, but I could stand it no longer; my arms were stiff and +aching with the uneven strain. I thanked my benefactor and let go. + +The remaining twenty miles into Los Angeles were endured and +accomplished under our own power at about eight miles an hour. The +attention I attracted was considerable. Hundreds upon hundreds of cars, +buses, and motor-cycles passed, hurrying here and there, their tyres +making a continuous low hum on the concrete road. Luxury, wealth, and +happiness abounded on every hand. No greater antithesis to the aching +void of the desert back behind the mountains could be imagined. + +Every house was a picture, a model of cleanliness and homeliness. The +art of building bungalows is reduced in California to the irreducible. +It is amazing to see the variety of design and the characteristic +beauty of them all. They made the modern English bungalows of my memory +seem like enlarged dog-kennels by comparison. + +At five o'clock in the afternoon we rattled into Los Angeles, the New +York of the Far West. Lizzie's clatter rose above the noise of the +trolley cars that thronged the busy streets. Here at last was the +long-sought-for goal--the goal that for nearly three months had urged +me westward! And my steed? Poor Lizzie, she cried aloud for a respite +from the long, weary journey! + +Had I known where the Henderson Agency was I could not have found my +way there quicker. It seemed as if Lizzie's instincts had taken her +there just as a lost cat, transported hundreds of miles from home, +slowly, painfully and perseveringly drags its tired body back again. + +A quarter of an hour later I was sailing in a side-car towards the +"Clark Hotel." That was where my hotel at Santa Fe had recommended me +to go and had forwarded my baggage. + +We drew up at the door of a palatial establishment--the "posh" hotel +of Los Angeles. Once again, after many a long day, my knees began +to quake. Brushing by the magnificent door-porter, I swung into the +luxurious lounge. Afternoon tea was just finishing. I strolled across +to the reception desk, trying hard to maintain an air of complete +innocence as regards my personal appearance. I endeavoured to assume an +attitude of perfect congruity with my surroundings. + +To say the least, I was lamentably unsuccessful! Little groups of +people chatting together stopped and gazed at the dishevelled +intruder. Imperfectly disguised smirks were evident on all sides. +Pages, bell-boys, and porters quickly brought their grinning faces to +attention as I glowered upon them in turn. At last I reached the desk. + +"You've got some baggage for me, I believe--a couple of grips--sent +from the 'Montezuma' at Santa Fe. Shepherd is my name." + +Meanwhile the manager appeared on the scene. Resting himself with both +hands on the desk as if to steady himself against any possible shock +that he might receive from the contemplation of so strange a spectacle, +he gazed at me in silence. Then, below his breath, he found words to +convey his astonishment: + +"My Gad!" he said, and paused deliberately. Then he continued +explosively, "I've seen some sunburnt faces in my time, but never, +NEVER, NEVER have I seen a man anywhere with a face +like yours!" + +"It's nice of you to say so," I retorted. + +"Heavens, man!" he continued, ignoring the interruption, "your hair's +nearly white and your chest is nearly black. Where in hell have you +been?" + +"Oh, I didn't stay there long," I replied, "no longer than was +necessary to get here from New York." + +"New York!" (I was quite expecting him to say "Whar's that?" but +evidently its existence was known in well-informed circles in Los +Angeles). "Have you walked it or swum it or what?" + +"Only motor-cycled it, Old Bean!" + +"Well, now, if that's not.... Here; I'll give you your key. Go and have +a good bath RIGHT NOW." + +I thanked him. A porter had got my bags and stood waiting. His face was +the essence of staid immobility when I looked at him. Together we went +in the elevator to the _n_th floor. Eager to see what I really did +look like, my first indulgence was to look at myself in the glass, a +thing I had not done for many a day. + +It certainly was a shock. I could barely recognize myself. I really +was the most remarkable creature I had ever seen. I could not refrain +from bursting into uncontrollable laughter. The hitherto straight-faced +porter did likewise, and we both felt the better for it. + +A hot bath! Wonder of wonders! I tumbled into it and the past was +forgotten in the inexpressible ecstasy of the present. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +LOS ANGELES TO SAN FRANCISCO + + +In full, the real name of Los Angeles is "La Puebla de Nuestra Senora +la Reina de los Angeles"--"The City of our Lady the Queen of the +Angels." Founded by Spanish settlers about 1780, it is built upon the +plains that roll from the foothills of the Sierra Madre down to the +sea. It represents the very last word in the civilization of the Far +West. + +Los Angeles is a city of which to be proud. It is a hustling +metropolis, but not too hustling. Its streets are wide and well-laid, +its buildings clean, and its residences are just too wonderful for any +words of mine. It is moreover the "movie centre" _par excellence_ of +the world. "Duggie" and "Mary" and "Charlie" are not merely familiar +characters on the screen. They are your neighbours. You see them pass +in the streets and go shopping with them in the stores, like ordinary +human beings. Undoubtedly the development of Los Angeles in recent +years is due largely to this industry. So also is the amazing beauty +of its feminine population. Going deeper still, we find that the +secret of its success lies in the wonderful climate. There is but one +rainy season in Los Angeles during the year, and that is the month of +December. + +Strange to say, Los Angeles is not on the sea-coast. It is twelve miles +to the nearest part of the beach. This seemed rather extraordinary +to me, particularly as San Francisco, with whom they are so eagerly +competing, stands on one of the finest and largest harbours in the +world. I remarked so to the _Times_ reporter one day. "But why," I +asked, "did they build Los Angeles so far from the sea?" "Oh well, you +see," he replied in all seriousness, "they had a mighty good idea about +things. They reckoned that by the time Los Angeles had really started +growing she'd be right on top of the Pacific, so they gave her a chance +and laid the place out twelve miles away." "Oh, was that it? I see," +was my innocent retort. + +Be that as it may, there is a network of beautiful, straight, concrete +roads leading from the city down to the coast in all directions. +Dozens of small residential towns are springing up amid this network +of roads--towns that some day will be suburbs of Los Angeles. At least +that is the way to think of them. And the roads themselves? On Saturday +afternoons and Sundays they are like great living arteries along which +flows an endless stream of motor-cars. The Californians know how to +enjoy themselves. There is not one fragment of the art of exterminating +boredom that they have not studied. They frivol _en masse_, and to do +it they naturally choose the sea-beach as a habitat. Consequently the +coast is strung with dozens of seaside resorts of every type and shade +of description, and with only a mile or two between them. + +A trip to one of these "Los Angeles Beaches" is essential to the +education of the true student of Southern Californian civilization. +Never at any time have I seen public highways so completely covered +with motor-cars. The number seen approaches the incredible, in the eyes +of the astonished European. Frequently there were two almost endless +rows of cars with but a few feet between them, moving slowly along like +a gigantic procession several miles in length. Occasionally there would +be a hold-up, and the whole string of cars, one after the other, would +pull up, each car close upon its forerunner. Without exception, all +American cars are provided with buffers at front and rear so that the +car does not suffer any damage when one touches another even with quite +a severe impact. The obstruction is removed, and on the procession goes +again. Perhaps some unfortunate is changing a wheel at the roadside. +Then there is a big curve in the long, straight line where the more +fortunate Fords and Maxwells and Buicks and Overlands, etc., etc., +swerve round him. And thus we carry on until the coast is reached. + +Naturally the first glimpse I had of the Pacific Ocean gave me feelings +of unbounded joy. I even confess to having obeyed the childish instinct +to pick up shells and seaweed on the beach. It was a sight to look upon +until the majesty of the breakers and the infinite expanse of the deep +blue ocean eclipsed one's sense of magnitude altogether and one became +lost in a world of vision and fantasy. + +I spent over a week in Los Angeles. During that time I was almost +overwhelmed with hospitality. The Californians I found easily the most +hospitable people in America. At every hand I found people, whom I had +neither seen nor heard of before, inviting me to dinner, and taking me +rides in their cars. Further, I found I was friends with the police, +and that without any difficulty either! In fact, the very air of +California is charged with friendliness. Consequently, I was sorry when +the day came when I should leave it behind. + +Lizzie was finished. She had had a complete overhaul and several parts +of the engine replaced. Numerous telegrams and letters had been flashed +across the States to the works at Chicago. They were in vain. Although +still under the makers' guarantee, they would accept no responsibility. +I paid the last bill that made Lizzie's repair account just exceed the +amount I originally paid for her three months before and started out +to complete the journey to San Francisco. I cannot, however, omit to +mention the extreme courtesy and hospitality with which I was met at +the Henderson Agency itself. I could never at any time wish for better +attention or hope to make better friends in foreign countries than I +was fortunate enough to do in the "City of Angels." I left it with a +pang of regret. + +It was late in the evening when I started. I found to my annoyance that +the lights were defective. The headlight was _hors de combat_. Only the +"dimmer" remained to light me on my way. I had about sixty dollars in +my pocket, though, so I was the perfection of happiness withal. + +I am afraid those sixty dollars need some explanation. I arrived in +Los Angeles a week before with about twenty. The Post Office, as ever, +maintained an inexplicable silence. Having now quite reconciled myself +to being mailless wherever I went, save for a letter or two forwarded +through my friends in Cincinnati, I decided to direct my energies to a +profitable purpose while waiting for Lizzie's return from hospital. + +I scanned the newspapers night and day. Had I been a tram-driver or +a page-boy I could have made a hit at once without any difficulty. +There was also a big demand for boot-blacks, but for anything that +suited my tastes and inclinations there was nothing. My small stock +of "greenbacks" (paper dollars) was slowly diminishing the while. +Something had to be done. + +So I started in on journalism. Strange to say, I made money at it. With +the one exception of Kansas City, it is the only time I ever have. +Americans seemed interested in the impressions of stray Englishmen +through "God's own country." Better still, Californians seemed +interested to learn what one stray Englishman in particular had to say +about California on the one hand, and all the other States on the other! + +I have the best of reasons for believing that they were perfectly +satisfied with my report. So that is how, after paying for Lizzie's +operation, I still had sixty odd dollars left to my credit. + +The broad, well-lighted city streets with their trolley-cars soon were +left behind, and we rode for miles along boulevards of wondrous surface +through the residential quarters of Los Angeles. There were magnificent +bungalows of countless variety, the homes of both poor and rich. +Further on, we passed through Hollywood, the home of the homes of the +"movie" people. Occasionally would be seen a great block of buildings, +unpretentious in architecture but palatial in extent. These were the +"studios" where the films are made that instruct, amuse, and annoy the +world's population. + +Finally, the last bungalow receded into the background and ahead was +inky blackness, a beautiful concrete highway, and the faint forms of +mountain ranges. In the darkness, dispelled only within a radius of a +few feet by the small pea-lamp that remained in service, everything +looked mystic, shadowy, and strange. It seemed just the night, just the +surroundings for adventure, the kind of environment that makes the +vagrant life so much worth living. + +The road ran parallel with the coastline, some ten or more miles away, +but in between lay the Santa Monica Mountains, whose feet the highway +skirted. Sometimes the hill-sides were barren and rocky; other times +they were clothed in gloomy cedar forests. I wondered what strange +animals lurked in them and whether I should make the acquaintance of +any mountain lions, bears, wolves, wild cats and other animals that +still are plentiful in the mountain regions of California. Occasionally +a car passed, the glare of its headlights transforming the sombre +surroundings into a still stranger world of silver and gold. The road +for a few moments changed to a path of glistening white leading to +the unknown. And then, when the car dashed by, everything plunged +instantaneously into a sea of blackness so intense that it could almost +be felt. + +I had intended to polish off a couple of hundred miles before morning. +I love nothing better than a long night ride on a good road. But lack +of illumination defied my intentions. After thirty miles I pulled in to +the side of the road where a great beech tree overhung its branches, +and laid down my ground-sheet upon the soft bed of dead leaves and nuts +that lay beneath. + +It was the softest mattress that I have ever lain upon in the open. In +a few minutes I was fast asleep. + +In the early hours of the morning I began to dream. I dreamt that some +great animal was walking slowly around me as I lay. It snuffled about, +grunting at intervals in a most dissatisfied manner. It is not a habit +of mine to dream about anything. I remember reflecting subconsciously +that I had ceased to dream of bears and such like when I reached the +age of four. Why then should I dream about them now? Oh, hang the +fellow! What is he making that confounded noise for? + +A few minutes later I discovered that I was not dreaming at all. I +was wide awake. Without moving anything but my eyes I peered into the +darkness that still enshrouded everything. Sure enough I could make out +a huge black mass somewhere near my feet, but could not discern its +actual form.... Slowly, gently, I slipped my hand underneath my pillow. +At last, I thought, I shall have a chance of shooting at something +bigger than prairie-dogs! And then the thought struck me, how strange +it was that in all these thousands of miles of travelling through +plains and deserts and forests, my slumbers had never been interrupted +by any nocturnal visitor--I had not even SEEN anything that +could possibly annoy the most domesticated young person who loves his +feather-bed. + +The big black thing became more distinct as I looked. His head was down +and he was engaged in wondering just exactly what my feet were and who +put them there; whether they'd be nice to eat if vegetable, and if not, +whether they were animal or mineral, and if so, why? I waited my time. +He put his head closer to smell the offending object. With a sudden +kick I landed out straight for his nose with my right foot. A yell rent +the air and the big black thing leapt away squealing into the darkness. +A 33 bullet followed him there just for luck. + +His squeaks gradually died down as he scampered helter-skelter down the +road. It was only a poor harmless pig looking for nuts--but he had no +right to disturb my slumbers! + +In the morning we continued towards the west. The end of the Santa +Monica Range came in sight and soon the road descended in long winding +"grades" towards the sea-coast. For the first time by daylight I saw +California in its true colours. Here I should mention that the height +of summer is not the best time to explore California. It is in the +winter and the spring that the country is arrayed in its greatest +glory. The lack of rain, even near the sea-coast, is so marked that +by the time summer is reaching its zenith, there is not a green +blade of grass to be seen. The face of the country, where it remains +uncultivated and unirrigated, is an eternal brown. At first this +brings a sense of disappointment to the traveller who has heard so +much of California's meadows of wonderful green mingled with the hues +of countless kinds of wild flowers. In summer-time there are none. +But in spring-time, when the sun has not started to blaze and the +rain has worked its miracles, the charm of the country must be beyond +description. + +At Ventura, a pretty town on the sea-coast, Lizzie's speedometer ticked +off the 4,500th mile. There remained another 450 to be done, and the +journey would be at an end. I had little doubt now of getting there. +The roads were so good that motor-cycling was child's play. Indeed it +often became monotonous. At most times one could travel at almost any +speed of which one's machine was capable, and still the straight, flat +roads would be tiring to the point of boredom. + +The towns and villages one passed, however, were full of charm. The +most famous road through California, El Camino Real--which means +"The Highway of the King"--was one which I was following and had its +origin in the old trail which the historic padres followed in the +romantic days of the Spanish occupation two and three hundred years +ago. This trail, blazed by the padres "by God's will for the reigning +monarch of Spain," stretches for 900 miles from Mexico to Oregon, +and along it there still stand the old Mission Houses that are so +prominent a feature of Californian history. There are nineteen of them, +each "a day's journey apart," and each of an entirely distinct and +characteristic type of architecture. + +These Missions stand to-day, having with few exceptions been maintained +intact in their original form, and they serve as beautiful testimonies +to the genius of their builders. So admired is their style of +architecture that they are religiously copied, more so now than ever +before, in public buildings and sometimes private dwellings in all +parts of the West. One even sees railway stations and tramway termini +modelled in the form of one of these ancient Franciscan Missions! + +If I was charmed with Ventura, I was thrice charmed with Santa Barbara, +another wonderful coast town of modern style built on an ancient site. +The old Santa Barbara Mission stands away up on the hill-sides of the +Santa Ynez Range above the town and looks over the blue waters of the +Pacific towards the craggy islands of Santa Cruz that lie beyond. For +sheer delight of climate, scenery, and surroundings I would forsake any +home in any town in any country that I have yet seen to live in Santa +Barbara, had I the wherewithal to do so. + +Following the coastline, and in many places separated from it only +by a ridge of stones or a strip of vegetation, the road continues on +its happy way for many miles. On the left splash the deep blue waters +of the Pacific. On the right rise steeply the Santa Ynez Mountains, +which like a link in a great chain form, with many others, more or +less disjointed, the "coast range" that fringes the sea from Mexico +to Oregon. Sometimes the road is bordered with Yucca palms, sometimes +with pepper trees, and sometimes with eucalyptus. One even sees, almost +simultaneously, cactus plants and prickly pears growing amid the +parched-up grass on the sun-swept side of some unfriendly hill! + +At Caviota, a few miles south of the famous "Point Conception," the +road leaves the coast and swerves inland. Across the tip of the Santa +Ynez Range it goes, swerving now to the left, then to the right, +climbing, dipping, and swerving again for sixty or seventy miles until +once more it catches a glimpse of the Pacific at El Pismo beach. + +Near here I left the beaten track and followed a narrow pathway that +led around a hill-side to the cliffs. Here I made my bed down once +again in the long, dry grass that clothed the top. I could say with +tolerable certainty that never before had a motor-cycle followed that +path. It was soon no more than a little rut scarcely visible in the +grassy slope. But I achieved my objective. With the murmur of the sea, +as it dashed against the rocks a few hundred feet below, singing always +in my ears, I passed one more night of exquisite repose and magic charm. + +I awoke in the morning and sniffed the sea air. It was very attractive +certainly, but was there not something the matter with it somehow? Or +was it my imagination? I wriggled half out of bed and peered over the +edge of the cliff. I stopped; I looked; I listened. Down there, on a +little bed of white sand, lay a dead seal stretched out flat, as one +would lay a tablecloth. He looked a dismal sight, poor fellow. + +Ten miles more, inland again, and it was breakfast-time. We were at San +Luis Obispo, a fine little town at the foot of the Santa Margarita--one +more link in the coast range. San Luis Obispo took its name from an old +Mission founded in 1772, and once was the centre of wealth among the +Spaniards of the country. + +Afterwards we cross the hills and continue northward. Always the +Southern Pacific Railroad is on our right, sometimes just a few feet +from the highway. The concrete has stopped and at intervals we have +our old friend, the natural gravel. The laying of concrete is being +proceeded with at many places, a hundred yards or so at a time, and +detours running parallel at the side connect us up with the road ahead. +Many little seedling towns are passed--all of them well planned and +well advertised--and at last we come to Paso Robles (Pass of the Oaks), +a larger town which derives its name from a great natural oak park. I +should mention that oak trees are abundant in California and they grow +often to a very great size. + +We are now in the Salinas Valley, in proportion like a long, narrow +groove 100 miles long cut in the face of the country. Through it runs +the Salinas River, winding and bending with great sweeps through its +sandy bed. At midsummer it is dried up completely, and, from the +long wooden bridges that cross and re-cross it, looks like a sandy +sea-beach, with fences across from one bank to the other to stop the +cattle straying! + +Along this valley blows a constant cool wind from the sea in the +north. All day long it blows, week in, week out. The further north one +proceeds the stronger it becomes, until it approaches almost a gale +that whistles down the narrow channel like a cold blast, even in the +broiling heat of the cloudless sun. Where, here and there, were to +be seen bunches of poplar trees and eucalyptus, they were invariably +leaning distinctly to the south, their gaunt trunks permanently moulded +by the inexorable wind. On the smaller trees, the sycamores and the +cedars, there was often not a branch nor a leaf to be seen on the +northern side of the trunk, the foliage almost touching the ground on +the southern side. Those hundred miles were the coldest I had known in +the whole journey, and always I found the head wind so strong that the +power of the machine seemed half absorbed in merely combating it. + +San Miguel, San Ardo, King City, Soledad, Gonzales, and finally, at +five in the afternoon, Salinas was reached at the end of the valley. +San Francisco was now but little more than 100 miles beyond. To-morrow +would be the last day. The end was in sight. + +But what of Lizzie? Alas, she was in a sorry condition. Gradually since +we left Los Angeles two days before she had fallen off in power. The +old rattles and noises had recurred with astonishing alacrity. I had +had many stops for minor adjustments and examinations, and even feared +another breakdown before the skyscrapers of 'Frisco loomed in sight. +The reader may be in as good a position as I to judge of the merits of +American compared with English motor-cycles, but he will admit that +seldom could occur a worse combination of bad luck and pig-headed +pertinacity than is witnessed in the wanderings of Lizzie and me +through the United States of America. + +At Salinas I ate and drank right heartily, and drowned my sorrows in +wistful contemplation of the blue eyes of the gentle damsel who served +apple pie across the counter of the "quick-meal" luncheon bar. + +"Lizzie, would you like to sleep by the sea to-night for the last +time? Think we can get there, old girl? It's twenty miles there and +twenty back, y' know!--Righto, c'mon!" and she burst once again into an +animated confusion of noise and life. + +Monterey is on the coast. It stands surrounded by hills on a +magnificent bay which, with its yachts, motor-launches, and +fishing-boats, is one of the most famous beauty-spots of the +Californian coast. Monterey was once an important centre of history in +the early days of Spanish and Mexican sovereignty. Later, it enjoyed +the distinction of being the first spot in California where the +American flag was hoisted. Now it is little more than a seaside resort, +but as famous in California as is Naples in Italy. + +A splendid highway leads from Salinas and cuts through beautiful hills +clothed in cedar and oak. The journey was worth doing, if only to +breathe the sea air again and sleep to its murmur. + +It was rather a pathetic affair--that last night out. I hated to +leave Lizzie propped up on her stand on the low cliffs while I made a +comfortable bed in the sand on the beach. The tide was out, but I was +determined to get as near to the sea as possible. I chose a spot where, +nestled in a sandy cove in the rocks, I could see the breakers just a +score of yards from my feet. + +I awoke in the early morning to find the sea barely a foot from my +feet. The tide rose higher than I had expected, but I had time to enjoy +a few delightful minutes of lying half awake in bed before I finally +proved discretion to be better than damp bedclothes and dragged my +belongings to a less obtrusive spot. + +Thus dawned another day, the day that was to see the end. I had ample +time and lingered on the way, now administering friendly attention to +Lizzie, now stopping for a light refreshment or to take a leisurely +photograph. It was all too glorious--that last day. + +But poor old Lizzie again showed signs of exhaustion. I nursed her +tenderly and rode as slowly as I felt inclined throughout the day. + +Monterey was left behind after breakfast. Then Salinas was reached once +more, and now we were again on the road to 'Frisco. + +Over the mountains to the east once again, down the San Juan Grade, +that wound and screwed itself round the rocky slopes, and we got to San +Juan, where the tall eucalyptus and waving pepper trees gave an air of +majesty to the fine old Mexican town it proved to be. + +Then we turn to the north once more and enter another valley, the +valley of Santa Clara. The towns become larger and more frequent, the +country more developed. Orchards and fruit-groves are frequently seen. +At the roadsides, built up on trestles, are great water-tanks that are +used for irrigation. I notice that here and there, where the pipes that +lead to them have leaked a little, the dark brown soil below has burst +into great masses of fresh green grass, while all around is parched and +lifeless. + +At San Jose we find a great fruit-growing centre, and at the same time +a beautiful city of many thousand inhabitants. Its streets are lined +with palms and its suburbs extend into the orange groves that abound on +every hand. + +Simultaneously one cylinder starts to misfire, and then another. Soon +they are all missing. At intervals they would all chip in for a second +or two, and as suddenly chip out again. I smelt magneto trouble. + +I also smelt prunes, millions of them. O Californian Prune, how often +have I eaten of thy tasty endocarp in far-off England! And here thou +art in myriads about me! + +I stopped a dozen times, changed plugs, examined leads, and tinkered +with the magneto. Evidently there was something the matter inside the +magneto. I would trust to luck to get to 'Frisco--only forty miles more. + +And thus we continued, sometimes dawdling along at fifteen and then +suddenly bursting into full power and shooting along at forty for +a minute or two, as Lizzie's peculiar whim would have it. It was +annoying, tiring, disheartening, but I felt I should get there. I had +long since planned a trip to the Yosemite National Park, returning +thence to the north across the border and eastward through Canada back +to New York. That little project would certainly never come off. I had +had enough already. I made one great big oath to sell Lizzie's carcase +for what it would bring in San Francisco. Poor old Lizzie! I pitied her +in a way. She must have been born with a curse on her head. But she +would have to go, if only for 100 dollars. Already I began wondering +who would get her after we had parted. + +After ten miles appeared the southern tip of the great harbour that +stretches inland to north and south from San Francisco. This bay is +fifty miles long and ten miles wide and forms one of the grandest +harbours in the world. All the navies of all the nations of the earth +could be comfortably tucked away in a corner of it. The road follows +within a few miles of the western shore of this inland sea, and at +every few miles are small, fast-growing cities comparable with nothing +but their prototypes that cluster around Los Angeles. For here we +are absolutely in the centre of the wine-making district. Sixty +years ago cuttings and rooted vines of every variety found in Europe +were brought to California and planted, mostly around this great bay +of San Francisco, where the frequent sea-fogs contribute so much to +the maintenance of perfect conditions for the growing of vines. They +flourished, and now we have Medocs and Sauternes and Moselles and +countless others from California, as well as from France. + +For miles and miles we see nothing but vineyards and fruit-groves. +There is no fence, no ditch, no railing. The orange trees and plum +trees fringe the very road. It is not possible to say where one estate +ends and another begins. The owners probably know. + +The towns are now so thick that with them also it is difficult to say +where one ends and another begins. Only another fifteen miles! Poor old +Lizzie, she may peg out altogether. + +But no. She keeps at it. Sometimes she ceases firing altogether, +but only for a moment. On she goes again, now on one, now on four +cylinders. Hey ho! We shall get there all right. + +'Buses and cars in hundreds pass in both directions. We shall soon be +in 'Frisco now. + +Tram-lines appear and then trams. Trolley-cars, they call them in +America. 'Frisco at last! + +I dodge in and out of the traffic as best I may. It is very thick +indeed, and in very much of a hurry. I sail down Market Street, the +"Strand" of San Francisco. What matter if Lizzie clatters and rattles +and stops and shoots on again? She has brought me here. And as I say +so, the little indicator on the speedometer moves to 4,950. Just 50 +miles short of 5,000 from New York! Gee! it seems like an extract from +another life, that departure from far-off New York. And how long? Three +months? It feels like twelve at the least! + +I found the post office and sang out for mail. Sure enough there was +some--forwarded from Cincinnati. I learnt for the first time that the +detailed "Schedules" that I had dispatched three months ago at New +York had not yet reached England. Hence the reason for the seeming +unkindliness of the Post Office en route. But where were they? I was +not to know until a week after my return to England, when they arrived +suddenly, without any warning, and simultaneously, to all my friends +and relatives there. They had been all round British East Africa; +Heaven and the New York postal authorities alone know why! I had not +counted on such waywardness on their part when in my innocence of +American ways I had dropped them in the post-box at New York. + +Thus ends my tale of woe. It is a strange thing, but nevertheless true, +that now I have done with it and written about it and done with writing +about it, I still think what a glorious trip it was and what a perfect +ass I was to do it, and what a still greater ass I was to say anything +about it! + + + + +EPILOGUE + + +SCENE I + +SCENE.--_Outside the Post Office, San Francisco, Cal._ + +TIME.--_August_, 1919. + + + + +CHARACTERS + +LIZZIE. +MYSELF. +AN ARMENIAN. +CROWD OF LOUNGERS, SMALL BOYS, AND WOMEN OF VARIOUS NATIONALITIES. + + (SELF _emerges from portals of Post Office. Chorus of + voices from crowd._) + +"'Ere'e is; look at his face; look at his chest. You're one +globe-trotter, I'll reckon. How long did it take? How much has it cost? +What did you do it for? How'd you like San Francisco?" etc., etc., etc. + +MYSELF (_dangerously ruffled at not having received a +cheque_). "Well, and what are you all gaping at, like a lot of +half-witted school-kids? Never seen a motor-cycle before? Here, you (to +ARMENIAN), where's the Clift Hotel?" + +ARMENIAN. "Do you vont to zell zis machine?" + +MYSELF (_successfully concealing rapture at the suggestion_). +"Sell her, after she's brought me all the way from New York? SELL +HER? Why, I'd sooner sell my mother-in-law." + +ARMENIAN. "I vill gif you 'undred dollar right 'ere." + +MYSELF. "Hundred dollars be damned, and you with 'em! Where's +the Clift?" + +CHORUS OF VOICES. "Up the hill here and second on the right. +Von 'undred dollar. Follow the trams. Give us yer water-bag, boss. Look +at his boots. There's a cop on the corner. Von 'undred ten dollar, +right now. Look at 'is 'air," etc., etc. + + (_Exit slowly in procession_, SELF _leading; Alarums and + Excursions._) + + +SCENE II + +SCENE.--_My room at the Clift Hotel._ + +_Half an hour has elapsed._ + +(SELF _discovered, washing face. There is a knock at the +door._) + +SELF. "Come in." + +(_Enter_ ARMENIAN.) + +ARMENIAN. "Ah, 'ere you vos. Ze manager tolt me your room. I +come right up." + +SELF. "Apparently." + +ARMENIAN. "I vont to buy your motorsickle; vot you vont for +'im?" + +SELF. "Speak respectfully, please. I want 500 dollars for +HER." + +ARMENIAN (_throwing up his hands in horror_). "Ah, zat vos too +much, my frent! Dot vos more zan you give for 'im--for 'ER." + +SELF. "And how the devil do you know what I gave for her?" + +ARMENIAN. "I haf made enquiries, jhust. I af bin to ze aghency +'ere. Zey say it vos 480 dollars." + +SELF. "Well, any fool knows a machine improves with running +(the blush is unnoticed beneath my Indian complexion); and what's more, +if a machine can stick it all the way across THE UNITED STATES OF +AMERICA it must be a dem good one. I should have asked 600, but I +like your face (_cold shivers down spine_), so I only want 500." + +ARMENIAN. "Ah, zat vos far too much. I vill gif you von +'undred fifteen--no more." + +SELF. "Nothin' doin', bo. Five hundred. Here's my card; you +can call round any time between now and to-morrow midday with the +money. If you can't do it by then, you can drop in and see me at +Salt Lake City after next Wednesday, or Chicago after next Saturday. +Cheerio; close the door as you go out." + +ARMENIAN (_reading card and much awed by same_). "Ah, you vos +Mistaire Sh---- Captin Sheffer, R.A.F.? I tink you vos vaire rich man. +You could afford to GIF me ze machine! Not so? Me vaire poor +man, Captain Sheffer, R.A.F." + +SELF. "If you knew as much about the Air Force as I do, you'd +know better, my friend. Now, for Heaven's sake, BUZZ OFF, and +don't worry me." + +(_Exit_ ARMENIAN _with bows, shuffles of the feet, and +salaams_.) + + +SCENE III + +SCENE.--_The same._ _Half an hour later._ _A knock._ + +SELF. "Come right in." + +(_Enter_ ARMENIAN.) + +SELF. "What, again? Got the 500?" + +ARMENIAN. "Grieved to trouble you vonce more, Captin Sheffer, +R.A.F., but all ze money I 'af in ze world vos von 'undred twenty-five +dollar. Me vaire poor man, Capt----" + +SELF. "Yes, I've heard you say so. I believe you. Now we're +both liars." + +ARMENIAN. "Ah no, you insult me, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F. I am +poor, but I am 'onorable man. I tell always ze truth. Zat vos all I 'af +in all ze vorld." + +SELF. "Look here, Mister--I don't know what your name is, but +I guess you're a Hebrew of some kind----" + +ARMENIAN. "My name is Mistaire Karachan, and I come from +Armenia." + +SELF (_aside_--"I might have guessed it."). "Well, Mr. +Karachan, I'll take your word for it. Give me 125 right now and you +can take the machine away with you. She's outside on the pavement. But +mind, I shall never want to see your face again." + +ARMENIAN (_moved almost to tears_). "Ah, you vos a torough +zhentleman, Mistaire Sheffer; all ze Englishmen are zhentlemen. Zer is +only von contry in all ze vorld vaire zer are such zhentlemen." + +SELF. "Well, you can hand over the wealth right now, here." + +ARMENIAN. "Ah, but I 'af not got it wiz me, Mistaire Sheffer. +It is too much to carry about in my pocket. But I can gif you fifty +dollar and bring ze rest zis afternoon. Zat vos alright? I can take ze +machine now, yes no?" + +SELF. "You can take the machine when you've paid me 125 +dollars IN CASH, and not till then. Get me? I shall be in +again at two this afternoon. You can meet me in the hall with the +money. Good-bye till then." + +ARMENIAN. "Vell, you vill gif me written undertaking not to +sell it to anyvon till then, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F.?" + + +SCENE IV + +SCENE.--_The same._ + +TIME.--_3 p.m._ + +(_A knock on the door, followed by_ ARMENIAN.) + +ARMENIAN. "Mistaire Sheffer, I 'af come to make you a good +bargain. You see zis gold votch? It vos giffen me by my fazer and it is +solid gold wiz twenty-von jewels. You could sell it anywhere for fifty +dollar. Now you 'af bin zhentleman to me, I vill be zhentleman to you. +I vill give you ze votch and von 'undred dollar for your motorsickle! +Is it not a bargain, Mistaire Sheffer?" + +SELF. "Get out!" + + +SCENE V + +SCENE.--_The same._ + +TIME.--_An hour later._ _A knock on the door._ + +(_Enter_ ARMENIAN.) + +ARMENIAN. "Oh, Mistaire Sheffer, I 'af jhust von more offer +to----" + +SELF. "Look here, Mr. Karachan, I'm getting fed up with you. +Better quit before I bang this water-jug on your head. You've wasted +all my day as it is." + +ARMENIAN. "Ah, you vill not do zat. I know you vill not do +zat. You are too much zhentleman. But wait, Mistaire Sheffer. Hear me +vot I say. I 'af von great big suggestion to make for you. I make my +living viz growing fruit. I 'af small plantation only five mile from +'ere. I vill pay you for your motorsickle viz grapes. I vill gif you +five ton of beautiful grapes and send them wherever you like in United +States. Or if you not like zat, I vill gif you 'undred dollar and von +ton of grapes. Is zat not good offer, yes no?" + +SELF (_recovering from momentary speechlessness at the thought +of swapping Lizzie for five tons of grapes_). "Look here, Mr. Karachan, +I've had enough of this fooling. I've undertaken to sell you the +machine for 125 dollars, and if you don't bring me the money, and all +of it, right now, I'll report you to the police. Now there's an end of +it. Get out." + +(_Exit_ ARMENIAN _amid more alarums and excursions_.) + + +SCENE VI + +SCENE.--_The same._ + +TIME.--_7 p.m. A knock._ (_Enter_ ARMENIAN.) + +ARMENIAN. "Oh, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F., I 'af got your money +'ere, but I 'af bin to ze police to register ze machine and zey say I +'af stolen it and vould not let me come away. After much trouble we +telephone a big frend of mine who know police and zey let me come away. +But zey vont your address and ze registration certificate you 'af in +New York." + +SELF. "But, Good Lord, man, who the devil said you could +register it? It isn't yours yet! Give me the money." + +ARMENIAN (_handing me fifty dollars and a cheque for +seventy-five_). "'Ere it vos, but you vos not angry, Captin Sheffer, +R.A.F? I vonted only to save time, because I vont to use ze machine +to-morrow." + +SELF. "Yes, but this is no good (_showing the cheque_). This +isn't CASH. How do I know this'll be honoured? Besides, the +banks are closed now and won't be open till Monday, and I'm leaving +to-morrow." + +ARMENIAN. "Ah, but no, zey vill 'onour ze cheque. Mistaire +---- is vaire well known in San Francisco. You can speak to 'im on ze +telephone if you like and 'e vill tell you ze cheque is all right." + +SELF. "No doubt, but all the same I'll see if the hotel +manager here will cash it. If he won't, that's good enough for me. Come +along, and we'll see him together." + +ARMENIAN. "But you vill gif me receipt now, yes no? Ah, but +vot is zis? _(picking up a small adjustable spanner that lay on the +dressing-table)._ It is part of ze machine! You vould not surely make +me pay for a motor-sickle vizout no tools? Ah, Captin Sheffer, R.A.F., +it is not jhust; I must 'ave everyzing. Are zer any more----" (_At +this juncture_ ARMENIAN _is successfully extruded through the +doorway, still protesting volubly._) + + +SCENE VII + +SCENE.--_In the hall of the Hotel. Manager behind desk._ + +SELF. "Excuse me, but I have a favour to ask. I have just +done a deal with this gentleman, but as all the banks are closed till +Monday, I am wondering if you would be good enough to cash this cheque +for me as I am leaving for the East to-morrow." + +(MANAGER _looks closely at me and proceeds to open till; then, +looking at_ ARMENIAN, _pauses for a moment. Ultimately the +money is paid over._) + +(ARMENIAN _and_ SELF _walk toward door opening on to +street_.) + +SELF. "What the blazes! Where's Lizzie? I left her up against +the pavement. She's gone!" + +ARMENIAN. "Oh, zat vos alright. I move 'er zis afternoon to a +garage round ze corner. Jhust zink how terrible it would be if some one +stole 'im!" + +SELF. "Well, I'll be goldarned!" + + +SCENE VIII + +SCENE.--_Garage "round the corner." Lizzie stands surrounded +by darkness_, ARMENIAN, _and_ SELF. SELF +_discovered explaining to_ ARMENIAN _how the wheels go round +and why._ + +SELF. "Well, good-bye, Lizzie, old girl. I grieve to let you +go into the hands of this being, but it is all for the best. We've had +some jolly times together, but the time is come to part. Good-bye, once +and for all; good-bye, GOOD-BYE----" + +ARMENIAN. "Ah, Mistaire Sheffer, you 'av forgot ze adjustable +spanner!" + + + + +Transcriber's Notes + + +Minor punctuation errors were silently corrected, and oe ligatures +were spaced out. + +Page 39: In the sentence: "and anyone found guilty of exceeding 60 +miles per hour will be liable to a fine of 100 dollars, etc., etc." +"60" may be a typo for "50" because the following sentence says the +fine for exceeding 60 miles per hour is "250 dollars for the first +offence...." + +Page 48: "Pittsburg" may be typo for "Pittsburgh." + (At Waynesburg I passed Pittsburg some miles to the right,) + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Across America by Motor-cycle, by C. K. Shepherd + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ACROSS AMERICA BY MOTOR-CYCLE *** + +***** This file should be named 44505.txt or 44505.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/5/0/44505/ + +Produced by Diane Monico and The Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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