Oregon, the Picturesque / A Book of Rambles in the Oregon Country and in the Wilds of Northern California

by Thos. D. Murphy

And so it happened with us and we found ourselves scanning with no small degree of interest and anticipation maps of the vast mountain-studded country stretching from San Francisco to the Columbia River. We had met infrequent motorists who had penetrated parts of this comparatively unfamiliar region and their tales were enough to arouse our curiosity and to intensify our desire to explore these virgin fastnesses of shining lakes, vast forests, and rugged hills, but the contemplation of such an undertaking caused us some uneasiness and misgiving, we are free to confess.

Here one will not find a system of smooth, well-engineered boulevards, but is confronted by a series of widely dissevered mountain trails which climb long, laborious grades or creep along precipitous slopes, deep with dust in late summer and stony and rough at all times. Indeed, many of the roads we planned to traverse are closed by snowdrifts during the greater part of the year and the preferable time for touring is from July to September inclusive. Later, one may encounter the first showers of the rainy season—as it happened with ourselves—and many of these mountain grades are described as “impassable” in wet weather. One of our informants told us of his harrowing experience in passing a night in his car on a slippery grade of the so-called Pacific Highway in Oregon until daylight and a cessation of the shower made it possible to proceed. He completed his drive to Portland but shipped his car back to San Francisco by steamer—no one but a fool, he said, would wish to drive both ways over such a road.

And yet, when we called on the well-informed Automobile Association in San Francisco, we were assured that the Pacific Highway was the standard route to Portland and when we proposed to proceed north from Lake Tahoe on the eastern side of the Sierras through Central Oregon to The Dalles and to return through Eugene, Grants Pass, Crescent City, and Eureka, we were regarded as being afflicted with a mild species of dementia. We were assured that while it might be possible to make the round with a good car, it was certainly not worth while; we would find rough, stony roads and endless steep grades, and the trip would try any machine and driver to the limit—all of which we found to be verily true save that we can never agree that it wasn’t worth while—a mere matter of opinion, after all.

A few extracts from our road-book covering some of the route seemed to prove that the auto people knew what they were talking about. We found such cheerful information as “Roads poor; many sharp curves and heavy grades up to thirty per cent” and again, “Roads mountainous, heavy grades, sharp curves.” Of the hills about Eureka we were cautioned, “Roads poor, heavy grades up to thirty per cent; sharp curves; use care,” and I might quote similar data concerning our prospective route ad infinitum—but we found that really the worst parts of the road were not charted at all, for the book did not cover our proposed tour in Oregon.

We had, however, set our hearts too fondly on the trip to be easily deterred and we determined to proceed, making careful inquiry of local conditions from town to town; at the worst we would always have the option of retracing our route. We felt sure that our car, a Pierce forty-eight, was equal to any road that any motor-driven vehicle could master—and nobly did it live up to our anticipations; in four thousand miles of strenuous work, chiefly among the mountains, it did not give us a moment’s trouble.

For the greater part of our proposed route we were unable to secure detailed descriptive maps such as cover so many of the main roads on the coast and we had considerable misgivings about being able to find our way, though we may anticipate a little by saying that this misgiving proved quite unfounded. We had no need of such carefully detailed maps and those we were able to secure met every requirement, for we found the roads well signed, even in the loneliest and most remote sections. We were seldom at a loss for our route; we did not go astray a single time and were never delayed to any extent for lack of road information. In the wildest and most thinly inhabited regions there is usually but one road and we found the local garages an unfailing source of reliable information as to the best route to the next town. Indeed, many of them were perfectly familiar with road conditions within a radius of a hundred miles, since in these isolated villages—some of them to be reached only by automobile—the garage men are accustomed to drive customers long distances in all directions. Even the smallest places have one or more garages fairly well equipped to take care of the travelers’ needs. We found it unnecessary to carry an extra supply of gasoline with us, though there were times when we became uneasy lest we should find ourselves short of that very necessary fluid. A gravity-fed car may fail on some of the steep grades, even with a goodly quantity of gasoline in the tank, and this should be borne in mind by the tourist. Cars are not frequent on many of these roads and a shortage of gasoline might prove a very inconvenient matter, to say the least.

At one of the remotest points on our trip we were hailed by a fellow-motorist in distress—twenty-five miles from the nearest supply station and with a tank so nearly empty that he could not climb the grades. He had waited long for a passing car and one or two that had come along could not help him out, being fearful of their own supply. Then he hired a horse of a ranchman and visited the half-dozen houses in the vicinity without success. We were able to spare a gallon or two and he went on his way rejoicing. We always wondered, though, if he did not meet with more grief before he mastered the nine-mile, twenty-five per cent grade before him. Of course, it wasn’t twenty-five per cent all the way, but a twenty-five per cent grade for only fifty yards may be just as much of an obstacle, if your gasoline is low, as one many times as long.

We carried five gallons of water in two canvas-covered canteens, but had little occasion to use it, as our motor seldom heated and we had cool weather on some of the heaviest grades. An extra supply of water may be a prime necessity, however, in very warm weather or in case of motors inclined to heat under heavy work. There are grades where it is a steady, low-gear grind for most cars for miles at a stretch and frequently no water to be had. In such cases the canteen or canvas water bag may prove a God-send, indeed.

With a heavy car one should start out with a new set of tires all around and a couple of spares, also new. Tires for medium and small cars can be found at most of the country garages, but few of them stock the larger sizes. On such a tour one can not afford to take unnecessary chances with tires—it would be exceedingly inconvenient to experience a “blow-out” on a narrow, thirty per cent grade. Some of the runs will keep one busy enough without fooling away time on tires—if it can be helped. So new tires and the best will be economy in the long run. One must be prepared to see them suffer severely from the sharp stones that strew the roads in many places—but we found it possible to make the three-thousand-mile round without a puncture, though our casings were sadly cut and scarred at the end and some of them had apparently reached the limit of their usefulness.

In the recesses of some of these giant hills a serious breakdown is a calamity, indeed. It is impossible to tow the car to a repair shop and it must be abandoned until necessary parts are obtained and repairs completed by the roadside where the accident occurred. We saw quite a number of these abandoned machines and wondered what luck the owners had in getting assistance. In some cases it would have been a serious matter to undertake to walk to the nearest house. In one instance we had the pleasure of giving an unfortunate a lift just as he was starting on a seventeen-mile trudge with a broken axle rod over his shoulder. Another very serious feature of many of these breakdowns was the time it must have required to get the new parts—all of which reflections served to make us doubly thankful for the complete immunity which our sturdy car enjoyed. Undoubtedly, the safest car for such a tour is the heavy, powerful, and practically unbreakable car of the type we used, or the light, agile Ford, for which a full line of parts can be found in even the smaller towns of the remote districts. We did not meet many cars on the greater part of our trip, but of these, fully nine-tenths were Fords. In many cases they carried a complete camping outfit, making the occupants independent of hotels and daily schedules.