The twenty miles proved over the best of roads through a level, well-improved country, and when we drove down the main street of the village we were rejoiced to see that the sky had lightened somewhat and the rain almost ceased. A garage man still farther reassured us. “Going to clear off,” he declared in response to our query on weather probabilities as our gasoline tank was being filled to the limit. “O, yes, it would be an ugly job if it should rain, but it ain’t going to rain,” which cheerful assurance we accepted and following his directions proceeded on a road which, besides its real danger in wet weather, proved to afford no decent accommodations for over fifty miles.
Just beyond Fortuna we passed a large, deep pool in the Eel River which is said to afford unequalled sport for fishermen, King Solomon, steel-head, and mountain trout being taken in large numbers even by inexperienced anglers. A number of summer cottages have been built here and the place shows increasing popularity as a summer resort.
We found the new state highway usable between Alton, four miles farther on, and Dyerville, thus enabling us to avoid the hills via Rio Dell and Pepperwood, which have some heavy grades ranging up to twenty-five per cent. The new road was pretty rough and soft in places, as no surfacing had yet been done. A fine new bridge across the Eel was building near Alton, but it was not yet open and a very tortuous detour through deep sand was necessary. Beyond the river we continued for many miles through closely standing redwoods—great columnar trees which would have excited our wonder and admiration to a greater degree had we not seen the more imposing forests of the north.
At Dyerville, a wretched-looking little hamlet of half a dozen buildings, we bade farewell to the new highway. It had been completed some distance beyond this point, but a gap of thirty miles remained to be bridged before it could supersede the Bell Springs road. The new highway follows the south fork of the Eel River and gradually rises until it joins the present road at Cummings, elevation 1414 feet, sixty-nine miles from Dyerville. This will entirely avoid the Bell Springs Mountain and eliminate a climb and descent of nearly three thousand feet. Construction was in progress at the time of our visit and the new bond issue insures the completion of the work, which may be accomplished before my book sees the light. Tourists of the future, with rarest exceptions, will speed over the new boulevard and the Bell Springs road will fall into disuse. We shall always be glad, however—now that it is safely over—that circumstances forced us to climb the rugged mountain, since from its slopes and summit we beheld some of the wildest and most beautiful panoramas to be seen in all California.
Heavy work began immediately after we crossed the river at Dyerville. A long grade zigzagged up the slope of the mountain, closely following the Eel for several miles and affording many magnificent panoramas of the river and rugged ranges of wooded hills that guard it on either hand. Splendid pines crowded closely up to the narrow road and did much to lessen the nervous effects of the long, sharp slope at our side. At the turns of the road, however, there were frequent open spaces which allowed views of ever-increasing grandeur as we ascended; the river, far below, lay in still, green pools or dashed in foaming rapids among the lichen-covered boulders. Beyond were endless hill ranges, cloud-swept here and there, for, though the rain had ceased, the sky was still threatening.
A long descent brought us to the railroad; then the road swung away from the river and followed the crest of the ridge between the Eel and South Fork for the remainder of the day. Another long, heavy grade confronted us with two sharp “hairpin” turns which some facetious wayfarer has dubbed “The Devil’s Elbow,” and we recalled that we had passed a hill in the Scotch Highlands where a like honor had been paid to His Satanic Majesty. We thought the latter bad enough at the time, but it was tame when compared with the twists and grades of this far western trail. The long wheel base of our car made it necessary to back up at several of the turns, an operation which excited lively anxiety on part of our lady passenger. It was disquieting, indeed, to see the rear wheel of the car approach within a foot or two of the high bank at the side of the turn with a twenty per cent slope looming ahead, but the car responded so beautifully to the skill of the driver that she gradually became reassured.
The forest gradually dwindled and beyond Fruitland—there was little except the name on the map to indicate the existence of such a place—we came into a barren, desolate-looking region with little vegetation except scrub trees and shrubs, through which the road kept a general ascent, though there were occasional downward dips. At the foot of one of these we ran on to a most disconsolate party in a Ford which had been stalled for some hours for lack of gasoline. Only one car had passed and the occupants had declined assistance on the ground that they feared a shortage of the very necessary fluid themselves.
“Then I hired a horse,” said the driver, “of the man on the hill yonder and one of our ladies visited the three other houses in this little valley, but couldn’t scare up a pint of gas at any of them. I’ll pay you any price you ask for a gallon or two.”
We freely confessed that price wasn’t the consideration—we feared a shortage ourselves on some of the hills before us. Our car was gravity-fed and it might fail on a steep grade with several gallons in the tank. Still, the obligations of the Golden Rule weighed heavily upon us in such a case and we granted our friend in distress the two gallons he so earnestly prayed for. We declined the dollar he tried to force upon us on the ground that we were not helping him out for worldly gain—we only hoped we wouldn’t run short ourselves.
He assured us that it was only ten miles over a level road to Harris, where he had carelessly neglected to replenish his supply, but I fear that his predicament warped his judgment of distance. It proved a full twenty miles with many steep pitches which caused us no little anxiety and which continually increased, for Harris seemed constantly to recede as we cautiously proceeded over a road that varied from fair to very bad. There were many stony stretches where the car scrambled over good-sized boulders still wet from the mists that at intervals swept across the mountains. It was a wild and lonely road, with no sign of human habitation for many miles; only the long views across the rugged hills redeemed it from dreary monotony.