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In Remembrance of You

Page 4

by Holley Gene Leffler


  Whit confessed we were tired and needed a ride.

  “Well, you may be getting a ride to jail for flagging the fast U.S. Mail,” the conductor retorted.

  “I’d rather be in jail than sitting with a broken-down auto in the sagebrush between here and Wadsworth,” Whit replied.

  “Where do you want to go, Lovelock?” We nodded. “That will be a dollar fifty each, please,” he said. Whit and I were now bonafide passengers and heard no more from the conductor.

  We walked to the only hotel in Lovelock. At 2:00 a.m., the saloons were still wide-open, doing more business at night than in the daytime. We asked the night clerk to wake us at daylight and to inquire about a team from the livery stable. We telegraphed San Francisco to ship us a complete speed gear assembly by express without delay.

  Miles for the day: Olds, thirty-five; Whit and me, sixty-two!

  My last thought as I fell asleep was—if we had followed the suggestion in the letter, perhaps our day would have been easier.

  Monday July 13

  Whit’s diary

  As we would have to wait for our repairs a day and not good chance to take the machine apart out in the sands where sand storms come and no water, we concluded to go out and get the machine. We took pair of horses and light spring wagon and left at 7:15 a.m. 16 miles to Brown’s where we gave horses a pail of water each. Then on to where we left the machine.

  Had a hard time finding a road to get to machine after leaving Brown’s. After much riding in different directions we got to machine.

  Started back at 2 p.m.

  We made Lovelock at 6:30 p.m. 24 miles with machine in tow as the roads were across Humboldt Lake bed and were good and hard and level.

  We followed on shore and bed 20 miles of the 24. We repair tomorrow. Paid $5 for team.

  This morning, we hired a wagon and a pair of horses at the livery stable. We loaded up a supply of water and feed for the horses, some fresh water in the canteen, and sandwiches for our dinner. We would have to take the machine apart to get at the engine to repair it. That could not be done out in the desert, especially if a sandstorm or cloudburst should strike us. We prepared to tow the Olds back to Lovelock.

  At 7:15 a.m., with little sleep, we started out following the road to Brown’s Station. Our search to find the Olds from the station would not be easy. We knew we would have to leave the railroad at Brown’s and head through the sagebrush; we guessed we’d find it about 9 miles to the northwest. Then after zigzagging in different directions and taking wrong trails, we finally saw it. We need not have worried about vandals overnight in this God for-saken area. Everything about the rig was just as we had left it.

  After feeding our horses, eating our dinner sandwiches, and hooking up the machine with the towrope to the wagon, we started back. I sat at the tiller and steered the machine while Whit drove the “two-horsepower hay motors,” better known as the two horses. The road we chose was directly across the Humboldt Sink, on a good dry lakebed, a hard and level surface. Had the Olds been in good working condition, we could have made fast time despite the scorching sun.

  We were 4 miles from Lovelock, back in the sagebrush again, when suddenly the horses became nervous, shied, and would go no further. Whit heard a rattlesnake. I got out and checked the ground ahead. Within a few feet, behind the sagebrush, there was the rattlesnake, coiled and making no effort to move. Aiming my nickel-plated revolver, I fired a shot and missed. That revolver was the kind that couldn’t hit a barn from the inside with the door shut! When the snake attempted to strike, I must have jumped ten feet in the air! I emptied the cartridge barrel. Darn, the snake had not been hit! I found a board in the wagon and killed the snake. Wow, he had ten rattles, which I cut off for a souvenir. Whit took my picture as I held it up full length.

  At 6:30 p.m. we were back in Lovelock. We unhooked the machine and pushed it into a barn near a blacksmith shop for the night. We paid the liveryman five dollars for the use of the team and walked back to the hotel for supper. We made only 27 miles today, all with “horse” power!

  Tuesday July 14

  Whit’s diary

  Took machine apart and riveted small sprocket in again that we broke near

  Brown’s. This took us all day as we had to take whole machine apart.

  The repair ordered from Pioneer Company at San Francisco came on next train but was old style and could not use it. So we took ours to blacksmith shop and fixed it ourselves.

  Lovelock has some good farming land and cottonwood trees along the Humboldt River. It’s an oasis at the east end of what the locals call the Forty-Mile Desert of Nevada.

  This morning, we started taking the rig apart to remove the engine so we could re-pin the sprocket to the speed gear drums. At noon, a whole replacement arrived at the express office. Darn, it was for an earlier model CDO and would not fit!

  Between the two of us, we figured we could drill out the sheared pins in the transmission drums and make new ones to fit. We spent the rest of the afternoon at a blacksmith’s shop, taking turns with a drill. We hoped our handmade pins would hold until we could get to Ogden. When we took the rig out on the street to try her out, several townsmen wanted a ride in exchange for a drink of whiskey. To avoid getting hopelessly snockered, we put the machine back in the barn and went to bed soon after supper.

  Thank goodness for these blacksmith shops. Auto stables were few and far between.

  Wednesday July 15

  Whit’s diary

  Got up at 5 a.m.

  Fixed up machine and got out of town—Lovelock—about 10 a. m.

  We ran to Dun Glen 40 miles near Mill City. Last part 15 miles awful sand.

  We stopped over night at old deserted mining camps—silver mines. Since silver fell, they have gone to ruin—a very few people left. Old adobe houses falling to pieces and mines closed or burned.

  Used sand tires today and found them a success. 52 miles. Time—9 hours.

  When the rooster crowed, we were back at the blacksmith shop to finish putting the little Olds back in running order. Around midmorning, we rolled out of Lovelock, glad to have been able to repair the engine ourselves. To say the least, it was a “drilling” experience. Our trail would lead to Humboldt, and the fact that we would not be too far from the railroad was a comforting thought.

  The machine’s axles got caught on sagebrush stumps again and again. We drove alongside the trail at times to avoid this hazard.

  Forty miles out, we arrived at the Mill City Railway Station, where we were told there were 20 miles of bad drifting sand dunes ahead, “the sandiest of any between Reno and Ogden.” It was suggested that we could go by way of Dun Glen, 25 miles off our route, if we were prepared to climb some hills, thus avoiding some of the worst sand.

  We listened to directions carefully. When these natives said “sand,” we grew weak in the knees. The sand was getting to us. We did not love Lovelock. Mill City had no mill. Would Dun Glen have a glen?

  Not long after leaving Mill City, a town of only two houses and a rail station, driving came to a standstill until we could put our sand tires back on. The sand for the next 10 miles was fierce. Without sand tires, we would have been in serious trouble.

  As we expected, Dun Glen had no glen. It was a deserted mining camp with crumbling old adobe houses. One of the houses was occupied by an old lady and her son, and we prevailed upon them to keep us overnight. For supper we were served a platter of a dozen fried eggs and bacon, much more than we could eat.

  Just before I went to bed, I looked over the next note from my granddaughter.

  Note from Granddaughter’s letter:

  Put the towrope in the luggage box. If you leave it on top, you could lose it.

  Gosh, that should be easy enough to do!

  Thursday July 16

  Whit’s diary

  Got up at 6 a.m. Ate at 7 a.m. Then, when tried to start machine, would not go.

  After finding a good bit of water in chamber and thinking that gasket
leaked we found that plug was poor. We got away at 9:30 climbed up 1,500 feet.

  It was 20 miles to Winnemucca.

  Coming down the steep mountain, our hand breaks {sic} got hissing hot. Had to stop several times to cool them.

  We got in awful sand and used my sand tires again. These lashed to rear wheels made them ride the sand some better, and we got into Winnemucca at 1:20 p.m.

  Ate dinner, got gasoline, shipped box oil and batteries to Ogden we had expressed to us from San Francisco.

  We took out a gallon of oil and four batteries; got out of town 3 p.m.

  We got in deep sand—awful deep. Here sand tires came in play.

  We got over and to Golconeda {sic. (Galconda)} at 6 p.m.

  We made 37 miles and over the part of the country Winton fell dead and shipped his automobile by rail two years ago.

  Today, made very satisfactory progress considering roads. We had to dig out sage stumps where machine’s rear axle would bring up. 10 miles sage brush grew between wheels tracks so was afraid of breaking something as they brushed under the machine.

  Near Winnamucca {sic.}, we hit road where sage brush had been put in road to cover the sand. This made it run easier but the stuff was so high we hit it hard. We had one bend our cooler but did not break it. Two miles of this brush.

  At breakfast, another dozen fried eggs with bacon appeared! We paid the old lady two dollars and twenty-five cents each, for room and board. She was more than pleased.

  When we were ready to go, the engine refused to start. After finding a good amount of water in the chamber, we suspected a leaking gasket. But after removing the spark plug, cleaning, re-gapping, and reinstalling it, the engine ran like new, and we got away by 9:30 a.m.

  As we climbed Dun Glen Peak, Whit yelled, “Where’s the rope?” Whoops! While I had been concentrating on getting the rig up the mountain, the towrope fell off the top of the luggage box where I’d left it. I had to hike back 2 miles or more before I found it. This gave me time to think about the mysterious letter. It had only given me good information. But I still wasn’t ready to tell Whit about it—mainly because I couldn’t explain it.

  Here I was, walking back, using my energy, and wasting time to find a silly rope. To heck with putting it in the luggage box! I’ll tie one end of it to the seat next time so this won’t happen again.

  I don’t know how long it took me to find the rope and get back to the Olds, because on the way, my watch stopped. Must have been all the sand we had been tromping through. I opened up my pocket watch and threw the useless works as far away as possible. No need to carry anything that was not working. I had an idea for the empty watchcase. I could find some small trinkets to put in the case to show my granddaughter that I had paid attention to her notes. I’ve got a pebble that I picked up in my shoe during my rope trek. I’ll use it to start the collection.

  Back aboard the rig, our brake got sizzling hot coming down this steep mountain. We had to stop several times to let it cool. Our emergency brake failed, and we hoped our drive chain would hold. Otherwise, we could have a runaway machine! Again, we encountered deep sand and had to use the sand tires on the rear wheels. The rule in Nevada is: if you don’t like the road, either fix it yourself or make your own. We found this to be most true as we rode over the last 2 miles of sand before reaching Winnemucca.

  A thoughtful teamster had covered the bad stretch completely with pieces of packed-down sagebrush, and we wished we could have met, shaken hands, and personally thanked him. We still had to be careful because branches of the chopped brush flew in all directions as we passed over them. Without fenders over the wheels, the branches bounced around our heads and onto the water cooler, flywheel, drive chain, and wheels in a dangerous manner. We hadn’t requested fenders from the Olds factory because we wanted to travel light. Also, we thought having no fenders would give us better access to the wheels when we had to shovel our way out of sand and mud.

  A little after noon, we arrived in Winnemucca, had our dinner, and filled the gas tank. We unpacked a gallon can of oil and four batteries from the box that we had shipped here before leaving San Francisco. We reshipped the remaining parts and spares to Ogden by express.

  Winnemucca, named after an old Paiute chief, was quite a town. Most of the three hundred inhabitants were standing outside. The main street was good and a bit downhill. We let the Olds out full stride, cut out wide open, going at least twenty-five miles per hour and making quite a ruckus. We attracted more people than a parade!

  We were puzzled by the strange behavior of the Paiute Indians in the area. As the little Olds chugged by, they fled behind buildings, trees, and telephone poles, in utter panic. From the unfamiliar coughing and wheezing sound of our one-lunger engine, they knew for sure we were riding a runaway buggy without any horses. What unknown great spirit was making the “Devil’s Wagon” go?

  After showing off the rig, we came back to the hotel for dinner. A crowd of townsfolk followed us into the dining room. They could not believe we had come all the way from San Francisco!

  They peppered us with questions. I got them to stop by telling them, “The CDO has two speeds forward, and one reverse. The shifting lever operates a shaft containing three eccentrics that move arms connected to the reverse and low speed bands.”

  Back on the road, we made our way to Galconda. Whit told me it was 6:00 p.m. when we got there. Both of us were very tired and wanted to find lodging for the night. Much to our delight, we found a hot spring flowing into a bathing pool adjoining the railroad hotel. We bathed in water that was about as hot as one could stand. Ten days of engine oil, road dust, and alkali, all well-rubbed in, disappeared. Gosh, I hardly recognized Whit when he came out of the water, looking as smooth and white as a peeled onion. He proposed to push the little Olds into the pool, but the proprietor called a halt! We paid twenty-six cents each for a shave at the barbershop, had our supper, wrote letters back home, and retired early.

  Friday July 17

  Whit’s diary

  Left Golconeda {sic}; ran 40 miles in a.m. to Battle Mountain.

  At 2 p.m. we set out by a map furnished by a man to go around water in main road.

  We went over awful road. Sage brash bunches between wheel ruts so our machine struck bad and had to turn out best we could. Lost the trail at dark and lit lamps and retraced our steps to Battle Mountain.

  Got in at 12:30, awful tired and machine working bad at the last caused by bunch hitting cock and opening water in cooler losing our water.

  We had not seen a living person on this trip till half way back at 10 p.m. when we saw a camp fire at a spring we passed. We came in blowing horn and machine popping, lamp lighted and routed out one lone Indian who was about scared to death, never having seen an automobile.

  I had left my vest and watch by oversight here on way up and he had found it and gave it up easily.

  We ate a bite here and filled up canteen with water and set out. The mosquitoes were awful thick and fierce as lions. We tumbled into bed and did not get up till 7:30 a.m. next day. 100 miles today.

  This morning, with full canteens and sandwiches, we left Galconda and headed for Battle Mountain. The worst sand on our route was now behind us. That was encouraging.

  Stopping on the top of a lonely mountain road, we could see the course of the Humboldt River. The railroad followed the river for a ways. Continuing on, our trail passed through most of the towns on the railroad, but it did not always follow close to the tracks. Sometimes, we would be separated by as much as 10 miles, but more often we would parallel it closely. When we landed in the low meadowlands on the edge of the Humboldt River, we found the water too deep and too wide for the little Olds to ford at the marked crossing.

  I wish my granddaughter had written a note to me about this. Evidently, the Humboldt River was not as deep in 1902. They may not have had as much rain that year.

  While looking over the situation, we were suddenly attacked by swarms of mosquitoes! They sounded like a b
ee swarm, and when one bit, he meant business. I knew that our clothes were no barrier. Before Whit could turn the Olds around, I had already retreated a half mile, arms swinging like a windmill! Whit laughed, “Holy smokes! If we could harness your energy to propel the rig, we wouldn’t have to look for gasoline.” We decided to go back to the trail we had just left.

  We came to an alkali flat, several miles wide, where the wagon tracks wandered in all directions. It was as hard and smooth as a frozen lake. Dodging sagebrush, we moved along at a merry clip. Continuing along the trail, we found the Overland Railroad again. Then, thankfully, there were 20 miles of nice, smooth road into Battle Mountain. We arrived at noon.

  Whit and I usually planned the next leg of the trip the night before. We tried to find someone who knew the area to give us directions. We often got directions like this. “Take the trail out of town to the Smith ranch. Turn right and go a distance until you get to the Browns’ spread. You should see the river from there.”

 

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