A favorite trip out of El Centro is to Calexico, eight miles distant on the Mexican frontier, and the streets were thronged with Ford cars bearing the legend, "Auto Stage to Calexico." At the time of our visit, California state troops occupied this border town to forestall a possible attack by the Mexican army in Mexicali, just across the line. There was considerable uneasiness in the Imperial country in view of the fact that the canal carrying the water supply passes through Mexican territory.
This situation necessarily creates an element of uncertainty as to the future of the Valley and a strong agitation is being made for the construction of an all-American canal. So far little has been accomplished in this direction, owing to the difficult terrain to be crossed and the vast cost of such an enterprise. There is a feeling, however, that such a canal must and will come in time.
The country about El Centro is typical of the whole Valley. As a resident of the town said, "When you've seen one corner of the Imperial Valley you've seen all of it—a flat, sandy plain cut up by irrigation canals and covered in the cultivated parts with rank vegetation a good part of the year." In the northern part of the Valley new lands were being opened to the public and Nilands, a boom town, had sprung up almost overnight. The "opening day" saw hundreds of people on hand eager to purchase lots and many of them came to stay, for they brought their household goods, which were piled promiscuously on the sand, often without even the protection of a tent. The first move of the promoters was to found a bank and a newspaper and to begin the erection of a fifty-thousand-dollar hotel and a commodious schoolhouse. And so Nilands took its place on the map and when the arid sands about it begin to produce it will no doubt repeat the history of Holtville, Brawley, and other thriving Imperial towns.
Motorists who come only on a sightseeing excursion will not care to spend much time in the Valley. A round of twenty-five miles will take in Imperial and Calexico and give a general idea of the thousand or more square miles of reclaimed desert land. Touring conditions are far from pleasant—rough roads, intense heat, and high winds with blinding clouds of dust, being the rule. One can easily imagine what a commotion a fifty-mile wind stirs up in this dry, sandy region, where it is frequently necessary to stop until the dust blows away in order to see the road. There is little to vary the monotony of the country, and it is not strange that the average motorist is soon satisfied and longs for the shady hills of the San Diego "Back Country." And so, after a hasty survey, we retraced our way through the sands—and narrowly missed "stalling" while incautiously passing a car laid up for repairs—to the mountain wall which shuts in the Valley on the west.
I do not remember of ever having been in a fiercer wind than that which swept down to meet us as we ascended Mountain Spring grade and at the summit it almost seemed as if the wild gusts would sweep the car from the road.
"It is sure some wind," said a native at the little supply shack. "Very unusual, too. I've been in the Valley seven years and never saw it blow like this before."
"Very unusual" is the stock phrase of every loyal Californian for any unpleasant phenomenon of nature—excessive rain, heat, cold, fog, or wind are all "very unusual" when so marked as to call forth comment from the Eastern visitor.
Beyond Campo we followed the stage route to San Diego—mostly a down-hill coast; it was scarcely necessary to use the engine on the eight miles of the Potrero grade. This is part of the new San Diego County system and a wonderful piece of road engineering it is. Though it skirts the edge of the mountain from summit to foot, there are no steep pitches and but few sharp corners; even the driver of the car could enjoy the wonderful panoramas visible during the descent. The forty miles between Campo and San Diego presents a series of wooded hills and sylvan glades which more than once invited us to stop and rest in the shade of the great oaks overarching the road. Such scenes made us anxious to see more of the famous "Back Country," and when we once entered on this delightful tour we were not satisfied until we had covered all the main roads of the county.
From Del Mar on the following day we glided through winding byroads to Escondido, which we had visited several times previously in course of our rambles. It is a pretty little town of two thousand people, in the center of a fertile valley exploited as the "Garden Spot of Southern California"—a claim which might be quite correct if limited to San Diego County. The valley is seven hundred feet above the sea, surrounded by a circle of rugged hills with huge granite boulders jutting from the dense green chaparral that clothes their sides. It produces small grain, alfalfa, citrus fruits, apples, grapes, and berries of all kinds. There is much truck-farming for the San Diego markets, and cattle and sheep raising are carried on to a limited extent.
Out of this pleasant valley we followed the course of San Pasqual River toward Ramona, and recalled that in this canyon a fight took place in 1846 between the Mexicans and Americans during the wild dash of Kit Carson's rangers to summon aid from San Diego. The road was a quiet one, winding among splendid trees and passing an occasional ranch-house surrounded by fruit orchards in full bloom. Along the clear little river were grassy glades carpeted with myriads of wild flowers—poppies, Mariposa lilies, primroses, delicate bluebells, and others nameless to us. Crossing the magnificent San Pasqual grade to Ramona we had a glorious retrospect down the valley. It was typical of a large number of valleys in the Back Country which constitute the agricultural resources of San Diego County, and we could not help being impressed with the small proportion that the tillable land bears to the rugged hills. The city of San Diego can hardly base its hope of greatness on the country lying behind it—always excepting the Imperial Valley.