We got the engine running, although it took some extra cranking to start it. We were glad to have this extra day in Ogden so we could fill up on more fruit and fresh greens to get the desert alkali out of our systems.
We read in the local newspaper that Doctor H. Nelson Jackson and his Winton had arrived in New York City on July 26th, sixty-three days on the road. He and his co-driver, Sewell K. Crocker, are the first ever to cross the continent in a motor car. We wondered if Fetch and his Packard would be able to go the distance. The news article said Dr. Jackson was forty-five days on the road but lost eighteen days “due to delays.”
Good for the Winton! Their rigs were much bigger than our little one-lunger CDO. Just to show you the comparison, the Winton is a 2500-pound, two-cylinder, twenty-horsepower touring car. The Packard is an 1,800-pound, one-cylinder, twelve-horsepower touring car. Our little CDO weighs 800 pounds, has one cylinder, 4½ horsepower, and is a Runabout. We were so proud of what we had been able to do!
Wednesday July 29
Whit’s diary
We got ready to start at 3 p.m.
We boxed old engine shaft, etc., and sent it by freight to R.E. Olds, Lansing. We left box repairs and extras at L.H. Becraft, agents for Oldsmobile, Ogden. These were left subject to our orders.
We ran to Morgan 25 miles and arrived at 6 p.m.
We came via Webber Canyon and Devil’s Gate—very picturesque scenery.
Machine acted well for new bearings. We had put on new chain, new steering spring, chain boot and engine shaft, flywheel and speed gears.
I continued working on the machine at the Becraft shop while Whit wrote letters to send with the newly developed photos to the auto magazines. I helped box up the old crankshaft and other damaged parts and sent them by freight to R. E. Olds. We left one box of extra parts with Becraft, in case we needed him to send it to us along the way.
We were back on the road in the afternoon, with Mr. Becraft escorting us in his Curved Dash Olds. He showed us the best route to Webber Canyon and sent us on our way. Our road followed the Union Pacific Railroad along the Webber River. Its narrow canyon cut through the Wasatch mountain range via Uintah, Peterson, and Devil’s Gate to Evanston, Wyoming.
It was a beautiful ride in the canyon, with towering cliffs, and the cascading river. We stopped for a photo in the canyon. The rig’s engine ran well. We put up for the night at Morgan.
Wyoming—Prairie Schooners and Camping Out
Thursday July 30
Whit’s diary
Left Morgan at 8 a.m.
Stopped at Union Pacific Railroad construction feed train for dinner nearly 25 miles west of Evanston. Arrived Evanston 5:30 p.m.
60 miles today—time 8 hours.
The bluff on our left for half the way many hundreds feet high and in fantastic shapes. The river, railroad and travel team road is all crowded together in this canyon. Met a few teams but passed alright.
Gasket blew out 10 miles west and water ran into cylinder in a street but the engine would run and, as water was plentiful, we kept putting in and so ran just as well. We have put in a new one tonight on arrival so it will be dry by morning.
We left Morgan this morning and stopped to see the Devil’s Slide, two parallel ledges of time-worn, dark gray granite running down the mountain slope. We followed the Webber River as far as Echo.
The roads near Echo had been cut up badly due to the heavy wagon travel of the railroad construction crews. There were some bad gravel spots and many small, round rocks to drive over. We had dinner at a Union Pacific employees’ food train on a siding west of Evanston.
We were feeling happy about the Olds. Our expedition now had a more promising outlook. But our high spirits proved to be short-lived when around noon, near the summit of the day’s climb, the engine became smoking hot. We stopped, checked the water supply in the tank, and found it dry. Looking further, the radiator draincock was wide open, caused either from vibration or being dragged against sagebrush stumps in the center of the road. We suspected the latter. I filled the radiator up with water and we kept on. We would leave time to fix the problem tonight.
Along the way, we met a prairie schooner with a couple and their kidlets camping on the side of the road. We pulled the CDO alongside the wagon and took a photograph. I couldn’t believe families were still coming West in covered wagons like this one.
Crossing the Utah-Wyoming border a few miles west of Evanston, the head gasket on the engine blew out, and water streamed into the compression chamber. And yet, the engine was still running. Since water was plentiful in a river nearby, we again added water to the tank and kept on going.
After supper, we cemented in a new head gasket. We figured it should dry by morning.
Friday July 31
Whit’s diary
Left Evanston at 7:40 a.m.
Floundered round on poor roads and then at 1 p.m. went to station house on W.P. {sic. (Western Pacific)} and got some more poor directions. The people on the railroad don’t know a thing about train roads.
We putted in to Carter at 6 p.m. 40 miles then we rushed out as soon as possible for Granger—30 miles.
We got on the wrong one and at dark found we were lost so we decided to stay in the brush all night.
Built a fire of sage brush stumps. Put cloth on wire fence for a wind break. Dug out a small wash so it was 2 feet deep and put our fire at one end.
We discovered we were on the bank of some river and so would not choke for water.
We had a little lunch; besides we kind of took turns at sleeping and tending fire. The last meant going out and pulling up sage brush and roots as no other wood was there.
Trains up this valley and those farther away made us believe we were on Oregon Short drive some 10 miles too far north for us. We won’t soon forget the howling wolves and the night on the Harris Fork of Green River, Wyoming.
We pulled out of Evanston, Wyoming, this morning. The road ahead looked good so we didn’t ask for directions. Our rosy expectations faded by noon. We found ourselves on poor trails leading to unnamed places.
I always carried pencil and paper. Whit was not afraid to rely on stagecoach drivers, cowboys, and livery stable owners to make us drawings of the best routes and other landmarks. This time we had failed to do so. A change of the railroad route and abandoned construction crew camps caused us to wander into muddy creeks and rough country around Spring Valley County.
After noon, we stopped at a Western Pacific station house to ask directions. They could tell us only where their local railroad went, but they knew nothing of any railway support roads. Late in the day, we came upon a group of crumbling log buildings that looked like an abandoned stockade. It was old Fort Bridger. Only a few decades ago, a garrison of soldiers there helped protect the westbound wagon trains from the Cheyenne Indians. We might be lost, but we didn’t have to worry about any Indian attacks!
We found some cowboys who drew us a map but warned us the trail has gone to pieces since the railroad had moved.
We headed for Granger. The cowboys were right. The simple trails had been washed out, and no trace of wagon tracks could be found. Many sheep and cattle had been herded over the ground. The cowboys and accompanying wagon teams had made small roads of their own. Unfortunately, we got on the wrong one. We were making 15 to 20 miles an hour over rolling hills, but the trail was taking us north, away from the Overland Railroad.
The night closed in, and we could not find a trail leading east. Our kerosene lamps were too dim to light the way so we gave up for the night. There was nothing to do but stay in the brush all night.
Earlier, I had looked through my granddaughter’s notes, but there was nothing to help us with this part of the trip. Since we were lost, she may not have been able to trace where we had gone. It was encouraging that she had written notes for the next part of our trip, so we must have made it beyond this place, or her notes would have stopped!
We gathered sagebrush stumps by the light of the
moon. I made a fire near a rancher’s fence and spread a blanket over the top wire for a windbreak. We found a small washed-out area, wide enough for both of us to sleep, and put the other blanket down. Whit and I took turns tending the fire during the night. There were no wood logs available. It meant going out in the dark and pulling up sagebrush to keep the fire burning.
It was midnight, mighty cold, and we were freezing. Whit took the blanket off the fence and put it over us. We passed a lonely night and were often bothered by coyotes. At times, they came within a few feet of our fire, showing their teeth. Our campfire kept them away, but their howling kept us awake all night.
Saturday August 1
Whit’s diary
We got up at daylight. In fact, we were froze out and howled out by wolves.
Waded the river taking off our shoes and went to the station house on railroad.
Here we got lunch then but their directions went back and took a branch trail and arrived in Granger at 12.
After we got some gasoline we went on to Green River arriving there at 7 p.m.
We made 65 miles today and are tired as dogs.
We awakened at the first light of dawn. I kidded that I wanted to come back to this place and homestead the land I had cleared during the night to keep our sagebrush fire burning!
We hiked up and down the riverbank, but finding no place shallow enough to cross over, we ran the machine back some 10 miles to where we had taken the wrong turn.
We saw some cowboys off in the distance. They soon came alongside, saying they did not know what “that thing” was, scooting across the country without a horse. They had never seen a motor car before. They pointed out a trail to Granger, but we still had the problem of fording the stream which, according to the cowboys, was called “Ham’s Fork!”
Whit suggested we take off our shoes, socks, and trousers. Putting our dry clothes on the seat, we pushed the Olds through to the opposite bank in knee-high water. Filling our canteens with fresh water from the stream, we waited for the water to drain off the machine.
By noon we were in Granger, where we bought a five-gallon can of gasoline. We had not eaten a full meal since noon yesterday. Both of us tackled a big steak at the railroad eating house.
The road improved some out of Granger, and we pushed on across the “Red Desert of Wyoming.”
We rolled into the town of Green River as the sun went down. We had a light supper at the railroad hotel and went to bed early. No coyotes tonight!
Sunday August 2
Whit’s diary
Left Green River at 8 a.m.
We had some hill work to get out of Green River Valley whose high white cliffs rise on both sides.
17 miles over hills and we arrive in Rock Springs.
This was Sunday and we got eight gallons of gasoline at drug store—40 cents a gallon. We could not get any more till Rawlins—160 miles.
We left Rock Springs at 11:30 a.m.
Just outside town we had the first puncture.
Then we struck some level alkali country; a wind storm and a little rain chased us 25 miles. The wind blew a gale; dust filled the air and was almost a tornado. We arrived at Point of Rocks at 5 p.m. then made the next section house at 7 p.m.—six miles.
This had some of the worst sand yet. Forced to put on sand tires for two miles.
Besides there were many gullies running into the Bitter Creek wash we were following on west side. These we had to cross.
The Bitter Creek had a little water in it and the bed is a canyon 200 to 500 feet wide, sides 15 to 30 feet high (straight up and down) washed out of the soil, a soft red clay.
We stayed all night at Section House, no station, called Hallville. Lots of children, dogs and Belgian hares.
We made 65 miles today.
We understood we would have 14 miles of hill climbing out of Green River. Soon we were in Rock Springs, Wyoming, known for coal mining. Even though it was Sunday, we were able to buy eight gallons of gasoline at a drugstore there. Whit bought sandwiches, and we set out before noon.
The Olds had its first flat tire just outside of Rock Springs! I repaired it, as I have many a bicycle tire. In twenty minutes we were off again. I was getting good at roadside repairs.
The weather turned bad. We feared a tornado, so we parked the rig behind a section house, out of the wind. We unpacked the sandwiches and sat down to eat our lunch.
The storm was soon over. We went back on the trail but found it to be rough, sandy, and sliced by many gulleys running into the Bitter Creek wash.
Between the towns of Point of Rocks and Hallville, we encountered some of the worst sand so far, forcing us to rope the sand tires back on over the rear wheels. In 2 miles we were out of it, removed the sand tires, and, in the evening, we were glad to see Hallville. There was no rail station here, only a few houses and a section house for the railroad crew, where we decided to stay the night. Our supper consisted of a too familiar menu: eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, coffee, and little else.
It’s time for bed and a quick look at my granddaughter’s notes.
Note from Granddaughter’s letter:
Outside Hallville, don’t try to cross Bitter Creek. It’s a bad crossing. Instead, use the railroad bridge, but first check the train schedule before crossing.
Monday August 3
Whit’s diary
Left Hallville at 7 a.m.
Dinner at Section House and got to Rawlins at 8 p.m.—95 miles.
Machine worked very well except the chain kept getting full of sand from the differential dragging on the hummocks. We got hung up a few times as usual. Saw prairie dogs and coyotes.
We pulled out of Hallville. The roads ahead were better, and the country opened up around us. Because my granddaughter warned us about the poor crossing at Bitter Creek, I suggested we cross on the main railroad bridge. We drove on the railroad tracks, bumping along on the ties, and we prayed that a train would not overtake us. Whit got out a copy of the railroad schedule and found that we still had a half hour before the next passenger train was due to pass—but the schedule did not include freight trains! We held our breath and crossed the bridge safely.
We were happy to get off the bumpy railroad tracks. Thankfully, we were able to follow the old maintenance road, still in use. The little Olds ran well today, although we had some trouble with the drive chain. It kept getting full of sand from the differential dragging on the high dirt between the wheel ruts. We purposely did not oil the chain or its sprockets, preferring to keep them dry so the sand would not stick. And we kept digging out the axles from all the sagebrush.
Eight miles west of Rawlins, we crossed the Continental Divide, where the waters flow east and west from the crests of the Rocky Mountains. What a view! We were riding in wide-open cattle grazing country, framed by mountaintops some 50 miles away. Gosh, it played tricks with our eyes!
Our final destination tonight was Rawlins, Wyoming. It felt good to rest my tired body.
Tuesday August 4
Whit’s diary
Left Rawlins at 8:45 a.m.
Reached Medicine Bow at 8 p.m.—62 miles and we made some backtracks getting muddled on the roads.
Rawlins to Fort Steele—fine road for 18 miles then sand, sage brush road and rocky mountains to Medicine Bow.
Not a ranch house for 30 miles.
For several miles the high ridge in the center of the road made us lots of rough work to turn out; the machine had lots of bumping and twisting.
We set out from Rawlins and found the road to Fort Steele to be in much better condition than expected. We crossed the North Fork of the Platte River on an old log bridge. Before it was built, wagon trains had to float their wagons and swim their teams at high water. Fort Steele was built by U.S. Army cavalry units to help protect these pioneers. The fort has long since been abandoned. Now, it’s only a reminder of the past.
A fellow at our last stop advised us not to follow the railroad trail to Medicine Bow. Instead, he said w
e should take a shortcut by way of Elk Mountain. I’d like to get my hands on that miserable skunk! The road was uphill all the way! Some shortcut!
When we finally got to town, we located a tin of gasoline at a store. When the proprietor asked a dollar per gallon, Whit decided we had enough to hold us for a few more miles. Whit held the purse strings, but I also thought a dollar a gallon was highway robbery!
In Remembrance of You Page 7