The road to Reno, after leaving the desert country, follows the oldest transcontinental route to the Coast—the trail of the early pioneers, the gold-seekers of ’49. For miles it follows the Humboldt River, through Palisade Canyon, past the thriving town of Elko, Battle Mountain, and Lovelock. Reno, the metropolis of Nevada, is the seat of the state university. There is much of interest to see and many side trips to the mining regions, all worth while. It is but a few miles from the state line of California, where the motorists’ troubles are ended, for from here to San Francisco the roads are smooth as marble, with no dust, and the signs read “Smile at Miles”—“Miles of Smiles”—our welcome to California, the beautiful land of sunshine and flowers, of which so much has been said in song and story and the half can never be told.
“Why do all the people have the tops of their cars up?”
“Why? Because the sun always shines.”
And we were soon to enjoy the glad sunshine that makes you feel young and happy, with a joy in living like that experienced in the Riviera.
XIV
THE END OF THE ROAD
Beyond Reno the ascent of the Sierra Nevada begins, and you pass Lake Tahoe, six thousand feet high, the most delightful summer-resort region in America. The Lincoln Highway joins the other routes here, and is really a highway, making a glorious finish in Lincoln Park, San Francisco. One of the finest views is the mighty canyon of the American River, with the timbered gorge and the rushing stream two thousand feet below. You are held spellbound by the scenery, as you descend the western slope to Sacramento, the capital of California, 125 miles from San Francisco.
The city of Sacramento is beautifully situated on the river of the same name, and has the distinction of being the first white settlement in interior California. The old fort built by John A. Sutter for protection against the Indians is kept as a museum of early-day relics. It was an employee of General Sutter who first discovered gold in California, and the first nugget was tested and its value determined inside this old adobe fort.
The capitol building, a classic structure, is situated in a park of thirty-four acres of wonderful trees and shrubs, brought from every portion of the world. The Crocker Art Gallery boasts of the finest collection of art treasures belonging to any municipality west of New York. The ride to San Francisco, of one night, is a popular trip on the fine large steamers through the Sacramento Valley, noted for its vast wealth of agriculture and fruit.
Stockton, also, is an interesting city, with its eleven public parks. Acacia, orange, umbrella, and palm trees line the streets, making the city a veritable park. West of the city are the largest peatlands in the United States, on ground that has been reclaimed by means of levees. The fields of grain and alfalfa are equal to any in the states we had visited. With four hundred miles of navigable waterways, transportation facilities are exceptional, and it is small wonder these valleys of the Sacramento and the San Joaquin are the banner “growing section” of the state. It was like driving through a private estate all the way to Oakland, where our first view of glorious San Francisco harbor greeted us.
Oakland and Berkeley, “the bedrooms” of San Francisco (as a prominent banker explained to us), are on the east shores of the bay. On the front of the City Hall in Oakland (which, by the way, we were told is the tallest building in California) was the sign, typical of these open-hearted people, “Howdy, Boys!” (to the returning soldiers) in place of the proverbial “Welcome.”