Across the Continent by the Lincoln Highway

by Effie Price Gladding

1. Lincoln Highway Sign. 2. Lincoln Highway Sign in Western Village. 3. Cowboys and Cowgirls in Laramie. 4. Sage Brush in the Desert. 5. Last View of the Rockies leaving Colorado. 6. Movers' Camp in Colorado.

The morning of the Fourth we drove out to the edge of the town to see the State University, a modest cluster of good buildings. Then we drove about the town to see the cowboys on their handsome horses, and the young women who accompanied them, riding easily astride. There was to be a morning exhibition of lassoing, racing, and other feats of skill and strength. We met many people riding and driving into town, all in holiday dress. But we pressed on Eastward.

We passed Red Buttes, having a grand view of the wonderfully colored Buttes off to the left. Masses of blue larkspur grew in the fields and alongside the Highway. We had left our beloved desert behind us and were in rolling grass and grain country. Near the Colorado line we turned toward the south to go to Denver, thereby missing the Ames Monument on the direct route to Cheyenne. The mountains of Colorado now rose in the near distance; rocky peaks, pine clad and snowy. At this point we met some parties of travelers; a motor party from Lincoln, Nebraska, and another from Lexington, Kentucky. Both motor cars were going into Laramie for the celebration of the Fourth. The gentleman from Lexington, who was driving his wife and himself, had a beautiful Locomobile roadster, newly purchased in Chicago. His car had every modern equipment and convenience, and he was mightily proud of it. We all halted to enjoy the grand view of the country toward which they were moving and which we were leaving behind us. Miles of rolling, grassy country, clean and wind-swept, lay to the west. It was an inspiring prospect, and filled us all with a sense of exaltation. Said the Kentucky lady to me, "I felt as if everything bad in me was swept clear out of me when I first looked at this wonderful view." A third party of travelers came along from Cheyenne as we stood gazing. They had a unique outfit, a prairie schooner drawn by four burros abreast. The father and mother, several children, and a friend lived cheerfully in this moving house, making, they told us, about fifteen miles a day. When they were short of funds, they encamped in some town and the men worked to replenish the treasury. They had their household food supplies neatly packed on shelves running along the sides of their canvas canopy.

"This is our home," said the husband and father. The children were gentle little creatures, but looked thin and underfed. All were bound for some unknown haven on the Pacific coast or in the Northwest. They felt sure that they would find rich farming country there still open to homesteaders.

What a contrast between the elegant Locomobile car and the humble prairie wagon, drawn by four shaggy burros, chosen because they could endure hardships! Our friends of the wagon allowed us to take their picture, and we parted with mutual good wishes.

We passed the Colorado State boundary marked by a very simple board sign, and came into a new country of rocks and hills. We came through a canyon where we found some movers encamped in a pleasant hollow by a mountain stream. Southward we moved, passing some fine rugged buttes to our left. We took luncheon at a pleasant farm house hotel, known as the Little Forks Hotel. Our farmer host and hostess were very agreeable and gave us a refreshing meal. We left them to drive on through Fort Collins, a very pleasant town in the midst of alfalfa fields.

Just south of Fort Collins we turned to the right, drove across the plains and entered the mouth of the Big Thompson Canyon. We were en route for the famous tract of mountain meadow, of forest and canyon, known as Estes Park.

A long procession of motor cars was entering the park and another line of cars kept passing us. Many people were driving up the Canyon and many were leaving after a day spent in picnicking. For the most part the Canyon road ran very low and close to the bed of the brawling river. It was a most lovely road, winding and picturesque. Finally we came to the end of the Canyon and entered the green meadows which are at the beginning of the Park itself.

We were told that the hotels and camps were crowded, it being holiday time, and that we would do well to stop at the simple but comfortable ranch house located near by. We found ourselves comfortable indeed and were content to make the ranch house a base for our driving expeditions.