Xo 
 
 Hell (^te 
 
Class _V_5_3_^ 
 Book .W G J_ 
 Copyright N" 
 
 COPYI^IGIIT DEPOSIT. 
 
Golden Gate 
 to Hell Gate 
 
 BEING INTENDED AS A HUMAN 
 DOCUMENT, DETAILING IN 
 BRIEF THE ADVENTURES, 
 HUMOROUS AND GRIM; 
 REVERIES, AMBITIONS, 
 HUNGERS, THIRSTS, 
 DISAPPOINTMENTS, TRIUMPHS 
 AND REMINISCENCES OF TWO 
 MEN WHO SIDE BY SIDE 
 CROSSED THE AMERICAN 
 CONTINENT FROM CALIFORNIA 
 TO MAINE IN AN AUTOMOBILE 
 RUNABOUT ::::::::::: 
 
\K^\ 
 
 UfBRARY of CONGRESS 
 Tw« Capias Reoeivsd 
 
 FEB 6 1904 
 
 -, Copyright Entry 
 CLASS ft- XXc. No. 
 COPY 8 
 
 Copyrighted and Published by 
 
 Brownell & Humphrey 
 
 Detroit,' Mich. 
 
GOLDEN GATE 
 TO HELL GATE 
 
 By L. L. H7//7-.1/./.V 
 
 Doubtless many dear old conservative 
 souls think that, although we came 
 through the desert and the foot-hills 
 without being bitten up by grizzlies, 
 proselyted by JMormons, or scalped by 
 Apaches. Hammond' and I are a harum- 
 scarum lot — the sort that makes balloon 
 ascensions at country fairs, or runs 
 away to sea to the deep mortification of 
 our respected families. To these stiff- 
 necked censors we protest we are seri- 
 ous-minded young men. We set out 
 to cross the American Continent in a 
 Runabout for many reasons — love of 
 adventure being not the least potent. 
 Being inherently modest, we assert 
 that the same spirit guided a Columbus 
 to America — a Magellan to the South 
 Seas — a Stanley through the African 
 jungles, and the numberless explorers 
 who are still getting themselves lost in 
 the Polar Seas. We didn't feel that we 
 had "'a message for mankind'' — although 
 we did have a message for Mayor Low 
 of New York, from Mayor Schmitz of 
 San Francisco. 
 
 It is axiomatic that one can best see 
 the country on an overland expedition 
 by that means of locomotion which can 
 be controlled by one's self. Of such 
 means the automobile is far and away 
 the most practical — for a trip across 
 the Rockies, the only possible one. In 
 a railroad train one sees the country 
 5 
 
GOLDEN GATK TO HELL GATE 
 
 through a sht in a hox ; in an automo- 
 bile the world stretches away on ah 
 sides unobstructed, and above, the bhie 
 vault of heaven— when it is not raining, 
 a condition which we found amazingly 
 infrequent. I confess we were attracted 
 I)y the novelty of the idea — a trip 
 across the Continent, about 5,000 miles, 
 in an automobile. 
 
 To be absolutely honest, I cannot 
 say whether originally it was Ham- 
 mond's suggestion or mine. At the 
 first involuntary stop we made — at the 
 first whiff of calamity, 
 Hammond asserted 
 with a w'holly unnec- 
 essary vehemence, and 
 ^ in terms which I still 
 
 ■-'' 'i^m^. recall vividly, that I 
 
 !• had suggested the 
 
 trip— possibly I con- 
 tradicted him — I can't 
 remember. When, 
 however, we were 
 standing in Mayor Low's rather badly- 
 ventilated office in New^ York's Munici- 
 pal Building, trying to remember the 
 words that we had been rehearsing for 
 5,000 miles, and the crowd outside was 
 cheering, and newspaper reporters were 
 asking silly quesfions, and everybody 
 looked overheated, embarrassed, and 
 supercharged with congratulations, 
 Hammond said: "My idea has certainly 
 made good, old man, hasn't it?" Only 
 the distractions of the moment spared 
 his life. Now, however, I don't care. 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 I doubt not that Hammond has told the 
 same story about me. The important 
 thing is, that we made the trip — we did 
 it together, and our friendship has suf- 
 fered no serious impairment. Constant 
 and inevitable "palship" for 5 000 miles 
 of canon, desert, and a submarine coun- 
 try pike, makes a severe test of friend- 
 ship. To bridal couples who may come 
 to contemplate it as a transcontinental 
 honeymoon, I offer a vigorous dispar- 
 agement. As soon as Hammond and I 
 had decided "to make a stagger at it,"' 
 we began to find 
 a great deal of 
 trouble in re- 
 straining o u r - 
 selves from stop- 
 ping everybody 
 on the street 
 and breaking the 
 news. 
 
 Pasadena is not 
 a large metropo- 
 lis. As a means of rapid, if inaccurate 
 communication, the telegraph and tele- 
 phone are. still miles behind the exchange 
 of "strict confidence" in Pasadena. It's a 
 good, typical American town. Within 
 fifteen minutes after Hammond and I 
 "had plighted our troth," I was asked if 
 I "were crazy to try to reach the North 
 Pole with a combination automobile- 
 sled-launch" (a sort of amphibious-runa- 
 bout, I suppose); if it were true that I 
 was to take that "mere boy" (that's 
 Hammond), on a foolish attempt to tour 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 up to Dawson City via the Chilkoot 
 Pass." When I found Hammond — which 
 I made shift to do at once — I am afraid 
 I spoke rather sharply to him about 
 these pleasant ]ylunchausenlets that he 
 had been dropping into circulation. 
 Hammond answered my query by ask- 
 ing me in his usual straightforward way, 
 what "particular brand" I had "been 
 
 smoking" — to tell X that we 
 
 were going to tour straight down to 
 Cape Horn, transport to Cape of Good 
 Hope and emerge for breath at Cairo ; 
 or that we were going to lead a string 
 of three racing machines down to Presi- 
 dent Diaz, of Mexico. I should certainly 
 never have suggested the trip to Ham- 
 mond (if I did suggest it at all), if he 
 hadn't a really remarkable sense of 
 humor. We shook hands again and 
 said: "Let's start early, if for nothing 
 but to shake the gossips." 
 
 Then came the period of preparation. 
 One who has contemplated an expedi- 
 tion of so much as twenty miles from 
 home and taken his friends into his 
 confidence, will have some idea of the 
 kindly suggestions with which we were 
 bombarded. Had it not been for a 
 superhuman exertion of the will, we 
 should certainly have been forced to 
 add a freight train to our commissary 
 to carry the commodities that were 
 purposed to lighten the hardships of the 
 trip. There was everything from 
 woolen mufflers to bedroom slippers. 
 Doubtless in the minds of many solicit- 
 ous friends, we left an impression of 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL (xATE 
 
 base ingratitude and ignorance of the real 
 exigencies of transconiinental touring. 
 
 We received our machine at Los 
 Angeles on June 2y, IQ03. It was not 
 built to achieve the record of a 5,000 
 miles' drive from ocean to ocean — it 
 was just a modest, little "Oldsmobile" 
 Runabout, taken from the regular stock 
 with no dream of the Titanic labors in 
 store for it, or the wreath which fame 
 was to hang upon its dashboard. A car- 
 lot of its brothers and sisters had just 
 been unloaded, and Hammond and L 
 after figuratively examining its teeth 
 and ankles and finding it sound, se- 
 lected it forthwith. It appeared to be a 
 docile and willing little runabout and 
 a radiator with a cooling surface some- 
 what larger than the ordinary recom- 
 mended it particularly for the waterless 
 deserts, which we contemplated not 
 with pleasurable feelings. If it be of 
 any comfort to the manufacturers of 
 this trusty little steed of ours, we shall 
 repeat and emphasize that our "Olds- 
 mobile" Runabout was simply a random 
 selection from a carload of its col- 
 leagues. We had a large touring-box 
 made to carry our luggage and supplies 
 — about 250 pounds of it — and this, 
 with the weight of Hammond and my- 
 self — about 180 pounds each — made 
 approximately a load of four persons 
 for that plucky little machine to lug 
 5,000 miles. 
 
 At the time of our planning, indeed 
 of our departure, all attempts to cross 
 the Continent in an automobile (of 
 9 
 
GOLDKN GATE TO HKLL GATE 
 
 whatever make or horsepower) had 
 failed signally. We had much to 
 achieve — not only a trip of unequalled 
 scenic grandeur and an opportunity of 
 seeing a great reach of our country at 
 first hand, but the honor of being the 
 first drivers across America's backbone 
 in a runabout. 
 
 We had spent many days poring 
 over maps — Hammond and I — follow- 
 ing the vaguely defined roads by canon, 
 over mountains and through stretches 
 
 of hundreds of miles, which we knew to 
 be vast and dreary solitudes. W'e 
 looked anxiously at those blotches 
 which we knew to be parched and sand- 
 choked deserts, with the bones of hap- 
 less pioneers still bleaching in the sun 
 to mark a course of unwritten tragedies 
 in the westward march of civilization. 
 Of course, Hammond and I weren't as 
 ornate in our language when we were 
 discussing the easiest anrl quickest 
 itinerary. In fact, our consultations 
 were, as I now remember them, very 
 matter-of-fact, and straight to the point. 
 We soon decided that our journey 
 should be along the Southern Pacific 
 
 10 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 Railroad to Ogden. then by the Union 
 Pacific Railroad to Omaha, then Chi- 
 cago, Detroit. Niagara Falls, Albany, 
 New York. Boston, and then to Port- 
 land. ]\Iaine. 
 
 A map of these United States makes 
 a very pretty sort of mural decoration — 
 Hammond and I remarked upon this 
 often. The reds and" blues contrast very 
 prettily — the Rocky Mountains make a 
 grateful break in the color scheme that 
 an ambitious flea would scorn to leap. 
 From the Golden Gate to the Hudson 
 River doesn't look to be far enough to 
 get the machine really well started. It 
 seems the veriest sort of a romp — that 
 cross-continent run. That is, accord- 
 ing to the map. Once when we were in 
 mid-desert and the water was low, and 
 the metal on the machine blistered one 
 at the touch, and the horizon was a 
 beautiful kinetoscope of tricky mirage, 
 Hammond said he thought it ought to 
 be a statutory ofTense, idealizing a 
 standard map like that. 
 
 To Easterners. Denver is pretty far 
 West, but when you are going East in 
 a runabout. Denver is as remote as the 
 shining walls of Jerusalem. As a matter 
 of fact, Denver is about as far from the 
 Pacific as from the Atlantic, and the 
 western half is one va>t. uninhabited 
 wilderness as silent as a toml:). 
 
 THE BREAK- A WAY. 
 
 ]\Iost auspiciously we started with our 
 little "Oldsmobile" on July i, with the 
 "God speed" of friends, the rather tear- 
 II 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 fill admonitions of relatives, and the 
 sage head-waggings of the hopeless 
 pessimists. We took passage by 
 steamer, the runabout, of course, 
 aboard, for San Francisco. Here for 
 two days we devoted ourselves to the 
 rather discouraging task of confirming 
 the glaring inaccuracies and criminal 
 optimism of our earlier maps. Also 
 we were given — generally gratuitously 
 — the chilling warnings of more skep- 
 tics. We hurried through our final 
 preparations, for even enthusiasm is a 
 finite quantity and not warranted proof 
 against such spirited and ceaseless as- 
 saults as the San Francisco "knockers'' 
 were offering it. To the few cheerful 
 souls who offered us encouragement, 
 we turn back gratefully at this time, for 
 they were sparse enough to be most 
 conspicuous. 
 
 On July 6th, we received from Mayor 
 Schmitz the letter of greeting to Mayor 
 Low of New York, posed for our pic- 
 tures, fought ofif the last of the scoffers, 
 and started chugging away on our 
 5,000 - mile journey to the Atlantic 
 Ocean. It was a rather trying moment. 
 Candidly, it was diflfilcult to convince 
 ourselves whether we were dauntless 
 heroes or unmitigated fools — each 
 argued the former hypothesis to the 
 other, but our hearts may have been 
 singing a very different tune. Only the 
 little "Oldsmobile" knew, and it is really 
 its story that we are telling. We 
 crossed on the ferrv to Oakland and, 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 with hearts full of hope, and tank full 
 of gasoline, headed due eastward. 
 
 "We're off!" said Hammond, with a 
 brave attempt at a nonchalant smile. 
 "We're ofif!" I said, "but not mentally, 
 I hope." This being one of the few 
 really good things I said during the 
 5.000 miles, I chronicle it unblushingly. 
 
 We spoke not for many miles on that 
 first "reach." The gorgeous scenery 
 filled in the conversational gaps. The 
 first few minutes of a transcontinental 
 tour are excellently adapted to serious 
 reflections. Al- 
 ways the little 
 "Olds mobile" 
 was very busy. 
 The run to Sac- 
 ramento gave 
 our thoughts . ' ^ 
 
 time to adjust p|_. '-' . . 
 
 themselves to a if*^;^*' 
 thoroughl}- novel "" 
 
 situation, how- 
 ever much anticipation had striven to 
 prepare the wa)'. By Sacramento we had 
 regained our composure and at the first 
 greetings of the good townspeople, began 
 to feel quite the celebrities that subse- 
 quent hosts sought to depict us. Then on 
 we clung to the old emigrant road, and 
 here imagination hurdled decades back to 
 the da}s of the sturdy old "forty-niners." 
 Hereon once trudged the mule and 
 oxen teams that hauled the hopeful 
 miner and his family, counting the 
 weary miles to fabulous riches, the new 
 Eldorado. Countless unmarked graves 
 
 13 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 we buzzed by — countless graves of 
 hopes. Here fatliers had perished l)y 
 the side of their helpless families — here 
 had ended that heart-breaking- journey 
 across the deserts — here ambition was 
 buried. Here had the way of westward 
 civilization been paved with the whiten- 
 ing- skeletons of those old pioneers. 
 And on we spun in our little "Oldsmo- 
 bile," covering their journeys of days in 
 as many hours. 
 
 Up over the towering, mystery- 
 cloaked Sierra Nevada range we went 
 from Placerville, Cal., which lies in the 
 foothills on the west, to Carson City. 
 Nevada, the foot which the huge giant 
 of stone has planted to the eastward to 
 keep his balance in this endless ''stunt" 
 of standing astride the American Con- 
 tinent. For 150 miles we passed 
 through scenery at which we gasped and 
 shuddered and discussed in awed tones 
 and wholly meaningless terms. 
 
 Up and over rock-strewn passes, the 
 little macliine of ours mounted without 
 complaining, without faltering, without 
 missing an "'explosion'' until we shut 
 ofT the power and l)locked the wheels 
 to look about u])on the world, in the 
 shadow-land of clouds beneath us — 
 here a forest, here a yawning chasm, 
 there beyond, the beginning of the 
 awful desert. We could almost believe 
 that we could discern the sky-scrapers 
 of New York in the vapory blue horizon 
 far to the east. We stood then in our 
 "01dsmol)ile" 8.000 feet above the level 
 of the sea. 
 
 14 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 l'"or lOO miles we fairly climbed along 
 the banks of tumbling mountain 
 streams. One evening- we caught a 
 string of rainbow trout which were 
 leaping out of their troubled waters, 
 presumably to get a look at our auto- 
 mobile. 
 
 Mile after mile we spun along a road 
 that had been blasted out of the solid 
 rock, the sheer wall of the precipice on 
 one side, pointing a sinister and gaunt 
 finger of granite straight into the 
 heavens for hun- 
 dreds of feet ; on 
 the other hand, the 
 side of the moun- 
 tain dropped away 
 into space with 
 p r i c k ly - looking 
 pines miles below. 
 A moment of inde- 
 cision, a case of 
 rattles with the ^.'■■■v* 
 
 steering gear — it 
 is not a pleasant suggestion, 
 told Hammond so, when he brought 
 up the gruesome possibility at an in- 
 opportune moment. And then there 
 came a test for the little machine, 
 quite as severe as the climb had been, 
 descending the mountain side. The 
 brakes were on always and several 
 times we stopped to permit them to 
 cool. 
 
 We wound about the shores of Lake 
 Tahoe, that inexpressibly beautiful body 
 of crystal water that glitters, diamond- 
 like, 6,000 feet above the sea. a jewel 
 15 
 
 and I 
 
GOLDKN GATE TO HELL GATE;. 
 
 with the i^randetir of the Sierras for an 
 impressive setting. In six miles we 
 drop 6,000 feet — we could, of course, 
 have dropped more rapidly, but not 
 without sprinkling automobile and 
 chauffeur dust over the unsuspecting 
 countryside. The road zig-zagged back 
 and forth, so that at one station we saw 
 the path cross at five different points 
 of elevation below us. Here indeed 
 Mother Nature cast aside her natural 
 dignity to wantonly loop-the-loop. And 
 here at last we 
 said farewell to 
 J the Sierras, with 
 
 the heavy odors 
 of the ghostly 
 pine forests, its 
 e X h i 1 a r ating 
 m o u n t ain air, 
 and its spark- 
 ling- mountain 
 brooks. 
 No impressive scenes that may come 
 along- in the train of this life's hapi)en- 
 ings will ever blot out the memory of 
 the almost unearthly beauty of a sun- 
 rise in the heart of the Sierra Nevadas. 
 How often has the twang of the clear 
 mountain air, and the refreshing chill 
 of the water in the mountain streams 
 come back to mock and torture us 
 when we were fighting the pitiless sun 
 of the hopeless deserts! 
 
 SPEAKING OF DESERTS ! 
 Now began "the winter of our dis- 
 content" — that is, one of the many such 
 16 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 winters, which, in spite of accepted 
 meteorological theories, reoccnrred fre- 
 quently in the ensuing weeks. A short 
 run it is from the foothills of the 
 Sierras to Reno, Nevada, and there we 
 prepare for the desert, the hcte noir, 
 which the pessimists and alarmists 
 dinned most stridently into our unwill- 
 ing ears. At Reno we set about to 
 fortify ourselves against the demons of 
 sand, sun and thirst. We secured a 
 capacious and practical sort of canteen 
 to carry our drinking water. We pro- 
 cured little desert-helmets, for the sales- 
 men of Reno are rich in expedient, and 
 generous with suggestion. At last — 
 and probably most important of all — we 
 fit the "Oldsmobile" with sand-tires, 
 made of heavy canvas stufifed with 
 waste to lash over our rear wheels. A 
 wise, even a vital expedient, were these 
 to combat the waves of drifting sand 
 that lay before us. 
 
 And scarcely were we outside of 
 Wadsworth when we "went to it" — a 
 great, waterless desolation, soft beds of 
 sand that dazzles and stings, and irri- 
 tates like flea-bites, alkali lake beds, 
 poisonous hot springs and deadly suffo- 
 cating gases, and over all a blazing sun 
 — Oh! a rollicking, charming bit of pas- 
 toral is this corner of our continent — 
 truly the "country God forgot" ! And 
 through 600 miles of this entrancing 
 landscape, the conscientious little run- 
 about puffed and buzzed. 
 
 About every 100 miles there is a rail- 
 road station. These are not beautiful 
 
 17 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 settlements — one would not select them 
 in sang fro id for a vacation or a health 
 resort. But to us they were the most 
 delightful incidents in the world. We 
 could have wept for sheer joy at the 
 sighting of each one of them. They 
 were truly the oases in the desert, 
 these crude, noisome, but hospitable 
 railroad roosts. They cling to the rails 
 for dear life and we cannot blame them, 
 for in the rails is the pulse of civiliza- 
 tion and life itself — the rails bring them 
 food, water and 
 — whisky ; for. 
 as on all fron- 
 tiers of society, 
 the forge tful- 
 ness of one's 
 ^ ^ cares comes — 
 
 and there are 
 many cares to 
 be forgotten — with the cup that cheers. 
 Cheering is locally an intensely popular 
 diversion. 
 
 There is no road between these dubi- 
 ous shelters, nothing but a trail and for 
 a light-hearted disregard of all the re- 
 sponsibilities which a self-respecting 
 trail should hold sacred, this trail is in 
 a class quite by itself. It wanders away 
 over hills and mountains covered for 
 the most part with sage brush, and sage 
 brushes introduce into automobiling a 
 dash of uncertainty that anywhere but 
 in the heart of a howling wilderness 
 would be quite exhilarating. The gen- 
 eral aspect of a romping cheerfulness is 
 enhanced by dry river bottoms of hard 
 and seamed clay and an occasional 
 i8 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 stream of sluggish and malodorous 
 alkali water. There are count- 
 less miles of white alkali to blind the 
 eye and discourage even the irrepress- 
 ible sage brush. Such a stretch is the 
 Humboldt Sink and over it we traveled 
 for twenty miles, while the scorching 
 sun rays beat down and were radiated 
 with twenty times their initial intensity. 
 We choked and coughed, and plodded 
 with clenched teeth and rattling tongues 
 for twenty miles. Yes, we look back 
 with tearful eyes to the charms of Hum- 
 boldt Sink. 
 
 And when, for the nonce, we left the 
 "burning sands" and took to hills, we 
 were scarcely better off. The deeply- 
 washed ruts of the hills leave a mound 
 in the center of the "road." And here 
 we were time and again literally hung 
 up by the axles. For this we soon 
 provided a shovel and crowbar, and we 
 would scramble out and dig the ma- 
 chine out of the rubbish. This was an 
 inning of the "knockers.'' 
 
 Other diverting incidents came to 
 relieve the monotony of our trip through 
 this fascinating land. The trail often 
 led miles away from the railroad track, 
 the one touch of man in a world of 
 ungodliness. Often we would take a 
 wrong trail, for they crossed and re- 
 crossed without a semblance of shame. 
 Once we put confidence in a deceitful 
 trail for 25 miles together, for the day 
 was fine, the road rather less atrocious 
 than usual, and our spirits high. It 
 was the passableness of the road that at 
 19 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 length aroused our suspicions. It was 
 too good to be true. The crushing dis- 
 covery came too late — we were lost. 
 The road, seeing further deception use- 
 less, straightway became worse. The 
 night closed in, and we, babes in the 
 sage brush, slept fitfully, for appre- 
 hension of the outcome, and the cease- 
 less, and by no means cheering, howl- 
 ing of coyotes kept our thoughts ab- 
 normally active. Under the pale desert 
 moon, we built a fire of sage brush, 
 choked down a snack of very stale 
 lunch, moistened our lips from the 
 almost dry canteen, and at the first 
 streak of a blood-red dawn, took the 
 back track. 
 
 One afternoon we found we were out 
 of water. A brush had caught the pet- 
 cock on the under side of the cooler. 
 The water had leaked away. That 
 doesn't sound blood-curdling to one in 
 the lap of civilization. Had the heavens 
 suddenly wobbled and tottered above, 
 we, in the heart of the wilderness, could 
 have been no more cast down — it 
 was a calamity, rotund and lusty. 
 Thirty miles behind was the nearest 
 relief — and twenty ahead of us accord- 
 ing to one of those pessimistic charts. 
 Our canteens were well-nigh dry. The 
 road did not look as if a team had 
 passed for months, even years. Tliere 
 was nothing to do but abandon the 
 machine and strike out across country 
 for the railroad, which we figvircd to be 
 about eight miles as the crow flies, that 
 is, if any right-minded crow had ever 
 
 20 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 flown in tliat country. And the crow 
 flew right and didn't lie about it, which 
 is a miracle, I think, confined in that 
 country, so far as I know, wholly to 
 crows. 
 
 We struck the railroad after flounder- 
 ing through an ocean of sage brush, 
 and, what was better, soon saw the 
 light of a section' house. We forgot 
 our aching bodies and our parched 
 throats at this — we even chatted gaily 
 there in the dark and laughed a little. 
 W'e said: "It was a loud squeak, old 
 man, but we're all right now.'' And 
 then we reached the alleged section 
 house and oin* cheery hail met with no 
 hospitable response — our hearts sank — 
 we hurried on, without speaking, to 
 find no section house, but a blind siding 
 — no human being, no water, no shelter, 
 no food, no cheer, only a coldly blink- 
 ing railroad lantern. Had Hammond 
 burst into tears, I should have joined 
 him with all my heart. May life hold 
 no sorer disappointment for me, than 
 the hopeless despair of that moment. 
 
 We pulled our belts a notch tighter 
 and trudged on along the ties. The 
 second light came at last and with it, 
 human beings. Two good fellows wel- 
 comed us with whole-souled hospitality 
 and, what was more to the point, with 
 water. We flagged a midnight train, 
 went back up the road 15 miles to a 
 settlement where, in the morning, we 
 secured a horse, a lunch and water and 
 went out into the sage brush to find 
 our poor, deserted little "Oldsmobile." 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 We found it after feeling apprehensive 
 lest the coyotes, proverbial thieves that 
 they are, had made ofif with it entirely. 
 We killed rattlesnakes, scores of them, 
 with the horsewhip, on the drive in 
 with the machine, but even that was 
 not compensation for the whole inci- 
 dent. And to think it could all have 
 been avoided with the possession of 
 one dinky, little gallon of water. 
 Heigho! the automobilist is doomed to 
 learn slowly, but he surely learns with 
 exceeding thoroughness. 
 
 And then Ogden. Utah — Oh! the joy 
 of reaching Ogden — not so much for 
 the sake of Ogden, but because the 
 realms of alkali, thirst and the nearest 
 approach to a terrestial inferno were 
 passed. Candidly. I don't know how 
 much of a place Ogden is, but the day 
 that we rolled in there, covered with 
 dust, and with a thirst that any club- 
 man would have sold his birthright for, 
 it seemed the fairest garden spot of 
 the world. I could have settled down 
 then and there in Ogden and lived a 
 tranquil and sedate old age. 
 
 The fields and the fruits, and the 
 flowers, after sand, coyotes and rattle- 
 snakes! It was as the port to a storm- 
 tossed mariner, and we made the most 
 of it, Hammond and L Here we leis- 
 urely overhauled the machine, scraped 
 the alkali from ourselves, had a few pic- 
 tures developed, and then, with brighter 
 hopes, started on the 400 miles across 
 the state of Wyoming. Here we reach 
 at last the summit of the grand ohl 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 Rockies and now start upon that coun- 
 try where the rivers run eastward. The 
 sage brush has happily given way to the 
 green grass of the undulating prairies. 
 
 We pass through huge droves of 
 cattle, and the sound of our horn and 
 the exhaust of the cut-out muffler sends 
 them rushing away in ridiculous panic. 
 Near ]\Iedicine Bow, we came upon 
 roads that would bring joy to the hearl; 
 of a "good roads" advocate. We had 
 literally to build the road of huge 
 boulders before the 
 machine could be 
 moved at all. Every- 
 where were washouts. 
 Just outside of Rock 
 Springs, a tornado 
 wind struck us. Xo 
 doubt our progress 
 would have been con- 
 siderably accelerated 
 had we yielded to 
 the will of the wind, but feeling that the 
 trip should be made without the kindly 
 assistance of the strenuous elements, we 
 took refuge behind some friendly 
 boulders. At that, machine, Hammond 
 and I were nearly blown from our an- 
 chorage. 
 
 Then there came that period of the 
 trip when the sand of the desert did 
 not appear so undelectable, contrasted 
 with the condition which prevailed and 
 had to be combated. That condition 
 was mud. Without having really given 
 the matter serious reflection, we hadn't 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 known that there was so much mud in 
 the world. Had we been told that 
 Omaha w-as really the mud center of 
 the universe, we should have swallowed 
 the assertion without a murmur. We 
 had left Denver one day at noon and 
 made lOO miles before sunset, and — 
 there is no denying it — we were 
 "chesty." We began saying that the 
 trip was so "nearly over"; "wished the 
 easy stretch before us wasn't quite such 
 a cinch" ; "hoped we wouldn't get into 
 Detroit too long before the automobile 
 
 
 \M'^ ' 
 
 races" and a whole lot of shallow, 
 optimistic plff\e like that. 
 
 But little did we know what events 
 the next few hours would bring forth. 
 We went through all the mental pro- 
 cesses that moved Noah to his con- 
 struction of the first cup defender. 
 Rain — rain everywhere and not a launch 
 to float! We put ropes on the rear 
 wheels, took off our shoes and stock- 
 ings and, half wading, half swimming, 
 three-quarters cussing, pulled the ma- 
 chine through slimy, oozy lakes of 
 mud. It rained six times in five days. 
 We waited in Omaha for nine days for 
 a let-up and. despairing of that, we 
 24 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 floundered on through it. Ten inches 
 of rainfall in twenty-four hours and, 
 for once in the life of man, the weather 
 report appeared to be conservative. 
 Bridges, all over the state of Iowa, we 
 found washed away. 
 
 The Missouri spread itself with 
 blatant egotism. Council Bluffs needed 
 only a few mandolins and the imposing 
 palace of the Doges to be a Venice. 
 This after the burning sands was in- 
 deed a contrast. The little "Oldsmo- 
 
 bile" was long-suffering and patient — 
 just what sort_ of an amphibious thing 
 it was to stand the baths, we were at 
 a loss to guess. We took to a hill 
 whenever we sighted one. shook our- 
 selves like water spaniels, baled out the 
 machine and splashed on. By driving 
 early and late, we made Chicago, 600 
 miles, in four days, not so bad for 
 chauffeurs who could point no boastful 
 finger to a mermaid somewhere perched 
 in the family tree. 
 
 We rolled into Chicago under the 
 
 25 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 usual auspicious circumstances — rain- 
 ing cats-and-dogs. A few hardy Olds- 
 drivers of Chicago, whose hospitality 
 was not quenchable in water, were wait- 
 ing for us under the poor shelter of 
 some Garfield Park trees. They gave 
 us a greeting that warmed us through 
 our steamy, water-soaked clothes, and 
 piloted us to the Chicago Automobile 
 Club, where wc lunched sumptuously. 
 A day in Chicago gave us time to give 
 the plucky little engine a much-needed 
 overhaulinsf. 
 
 We reached Detroit in time for the 
 automobile races — and not as we had 
 "feared,'' too soon. We were royally 
 entertained and for the two days during 
 which the races were on, we devoted 
 ourselves to inspecting the enormous 
 plant of the "Oldsmobile" and preparing 
 for the last stretch of the journey. We 
 had made 637 miles in less than two 
 days. Then we, for the first time, 
 crossed the international boundary at 
 Windsor and rode into the domain of 
 26 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 King Edward. W'c were forced here to 
 make a deposit of $130.00 with the cus- 
 toms authorities which, however, was re- 
 funded to us when we re-crossed into 
 our own country at Niagara Falls. 
 
 From thence on, being everywhere 
 within sight of that most welcome 
 sight to the wayfarer, the habitations of 
 man, always on roads that were pass- 
 able and often excellent, we bowled 
 
 along famously toward our long-wished- 
 for destination. Through Palmyra, 
 down the picturesque and historic 
 Mohawk Valley, the home of the hostile 
 Six Nations, we hot-footed it through 
 Rochester, Lyons, Syracuse, Utica and 
 Albany, where we cross the stately and 
 changeless old Hudson and run down 
 its eastern banks to New York City — 
 at last. 
 
 What we did there, we flatter our- 
 selves, is a chapter now of automobile 
 27 
 
GOLDEN GATK TO HELL GATE 
 
 history. We talked to reporters; we 
 posed for cameras; we tried to look un- 
 concerned when the crowd gaped at us 
 and full of wonder, fingered and mar- 
 veled at the sturdy little "Oldsmobile." 
 We shook hands with Mayor Low, and 
 ]\Iayor Low shook hands with us; we 
 gave him the letter from Mayor Schmitz 
 of San Francisco, and, with another ex- 
 change of amiable blank-cartridges, we 
 withdrew, perspiring, relieved and tri- 
 umphant. 
 
 Then we started on the very last 
 sprint of all the grand journew In two 
 
 days we were at Boston, one more at 
 Portland. !^Iaine, and with the last 
 gasp of the sparker in that town, there 
 ended the longest trip in an automobile 
 ever made between two points in America 
 and in the world. We took oft our hats, 
 Hammond and I. and with deep solemnity 
 and in sincerest gratitude, did homage 
 to that inanimate, but faithful, little 
 "Oldsmobile" Runabout with its honor- 
 able scars and its glorious wounds of a 
 big achievement — across the Continent 
 from ocean to ocean — and ready to 
 turn that minute and hit the back trail. 
 28 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 THE THINGS THAT WE LH^E TO 
 THINK ABOUT. 
 
 These are — first, that we can greet 
 the "'knockers" of the Pacific slope witli 
 all the magnanimity of one who laughs 
 last, for we have no excuses to oflfer, 
 and no hard-luck stories to tell; that, 
 that loyal old cyclometer shows ap- 
 proximately 5,000 hard, honest miles; 
 
 that, we had come through desert, 
 canyon, turnpike and forest trail in 73 
 days, and on only 48 of these was it 
 possible to do any driving, which is an 
 average of a hundred miles a day; that, 
 we used only 239 1-2 gallons of gaso- 
 line, or a gallon for every 20 miles for 
 mountains and boulevards alike; and 
 that we had used up only four tires on 
 the whole heartbreaking journey. These 
 things, we admit, we are outrageously 
 proud of. 
 
 29 
 
GOLDEN GATE TO HELL GATE 
 
 We had a few delays of that char- 
 acter where you perspire and fume, and 
 say with your self-control working over- 
 time. "I can't make the thing go." We 
 had to put new leathers on the brakes, 
 replace the rivets, and put in new 
 clutch-bands and wiring. We had no 
 trouble whatever with the spark — let 
 that be writ large and impressive. We 
 did not once run out of gasoline and 
 only once out of water, then when a 
 bush turned on the pet-cock on the 
 under side of the cooler with spectacu- 
 lar results which we have recorded. 
 
 And this is about the end of it. Foi 
 what we experienced, what we sufifered 
 and enjoyed, the biting disappointments 
 and the inexpressible delights of him 
 who has done that which he had set 
 himself to do, we would not sell for all 
 the wealth of Wall Street. We have 
 capital which we have laid up by the 
 exertion which makes a man bow down 
 onlv to superior achievement of pluck 
 and perseverance. 
 
 This much, at least, have we found in 
 our transcontinental tour in the "Olds- 
 mobile," to which, say we, all honor. 
 
 F/y/s 
 
 lO