Twenty thousand miles of motoring had made us familiar with most of the highways and byways of California lying south of San Francisco. Some of these roads we covered but once in our wanderings and others many times—only a few outlying sections and odd corners have so far escaped us and these we hope to add to our conquests in due course of time. I do not think it possible for any motor enthusiast ever to grow weary of the wonderland of Southern California with its miles and miles of splendid road, its endless variety of scenery, and its enlivening dash of historic romance. But we had done all this, and when the wanderlust came upon us again we cast about, temporarily, of course—for we felt that Sunset Land would eventually claim us again—for new fields of adventure with our companion of the wind-shod wheels.

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.

As to the hotels encountered in our month’s jaunt through the wilds, we will deal with them in detail as we proceed with our story—but we may generalize by saying that the average was wonderfully good. In towns of a thousand or less we often found comfortable and well-appointed inns where we could get rooms with private bath, and in the medium-sized places the hotels were often truly metropolitan in size and furnishings. In the smaller places the rates for rooms were low and in the larger towns moderate in comparison with city charges. Nearly all the hotels, however, were operated on the so-called European plan—you pay separately for room and meals—and the “high cost of living” was usually strongly in evidence in the restaurants. Although the touring season was nearly past when we began our trip, many resorts being closed at Tahoe and elsewhere, we found the hotels surprisingly well patronized and in a few cases we secured accommodations with difficulty.

Not being familiar with the hotels, it was not always practical to wire for reservation—a practice worth while where one has the necessary information. Sometimes we could get a tip from the hotel people as to the best stopping-place in the next town, but this did not always prove reliable, as the inn-keepers sometimes let personal reasons influence them to recommend a second-rate hotel. Neither can the average hotel directory be depended upon; many of the towns in the section we covered are not even listed and improvement marches so rapidly in this country that any information a few months old may be out of date. We found fine hotels under construction in two or three towns and they are likely to spring up almost overnight anywhere in this country. So, if one is uncertain, perhaps as good a plan as any is to wait until the day’s destination is reached and then make inquiries. This is usually safe if you do not arrive too late in the day; we planned our runs, as a rule, to bring us in well before dark and in several cases we saw later arrivals turned away from our hotel. We reached one good-sized town, where there is only one first-class hotel, about four o’clock in the afternoon and the landlord told us he turned away no fewer than thirty would-be guests after our arrival.

We might remark here that we almost invariably carried our noonday luncheon with us and ate it amidst the best surroundings we could discover at the time. Often no place was at hand anywhere near the luncheon hour where a meal could be secured, or if there happened to be it generally proved a poor one, while a few nicely made sandwiches, with fruit, nearly always to be found in this country, and hot coffee from our thermos bottles, cost less than hotel meals and was far more satisfactory; besides, this plan consumed less time and gave us the advantage of enjoying the great out-of-doors, often with a magnificent scene before us.

As I have intimated, we met a good many fellow-motorists who carried the out-of-door idea to a still greater extent, for they had with them complete camping outfits, including the tents which sheltered them at nightfall. In some parts of the country very delightful camping sites could be found with trees and clear spring water near at hand; but there were long stretches of road where none of these conveniences existed and nothing save barren, stony soil or sagebrush-studded sand greeted the wayfarer’s eyes. Occasionally we passed campers who were making the best of such surroundings, but they did not present the cheerful appearance of those who had lighted upon some grassy glade under a group of fragrant balsam pines. A goodly number of the campers were hunters, for we were in the midst of the season in California and Oregon—we ourselves saw several deer by the roadside and occasionally started a long-tailed pheasant or jack-rabbit from cover. Still more numerous were the beautiful California quail which frequently arose in large flocks as our car brushed through some dense thicket that skirted the roadside. Considering the long distance we traveled through virgin wildernesses, however, we saw little of wild life.

If the hotels along our route averaged quite moderate in charges, the garages did their best to even things up; gasoline is, indeed, a precious fluid in this country, prices ranging from thirty to fifty cents per gallon. We paid the latter figure only once, but thirty-five and forty cents was quite common and lubricating oil was at least fifty per cent above the San Francisco price. When one recalls that in many of these towns supplies have to come by motor truck for long distances, perhaps these high prices are justified. Garage charges for our car ran from fifty to seventy-five cents per night. Fortunately, we are not able to speak from experience as to the cost of repair work, but the average garage seemed very well equipped to take care of anything in this line.

As we have already intimated, only an inconsiderable mileage of the roads covered by our tour has as yet been improved. Most of the counties that we traversed in Northern California and Oregon are vast in extent and but thinly populated. For instance, Lassen and Modoc Counties in California have respectively 4531 and 3823 square miles, with a population of 4802 for the former and 6191 for the latter named. Some of the Oregon counties would not show so great a population in proportion to their area. It would be folly to expect such sparsely inhabited communities, entirely without large cities, to be able to match the great bond issues of the counties of Central and Southern California. They have done much, everything considered, but so vast are the distances and so great the engineering difficulties that the main effort has been to keep the present roads in passable condition rather than to build new ones. A veteran motorist told me that he had covered a good part of these northern roads several years ago and that in going over them a second time recently he could not note any great improvement. Better bridges have been built and the surfacing improved in places, but little has been done to widen the roads or to eliminate the heavy grades. If fine highways with moderate gradients and curves ever penetrate these natural fastnesses, the state will have to do the work.

The present plans of the California Highway Commission contemplate the improvement of the Coast Route—though, with the exception of about a hundred miles, it runs a goodly distance from the coast—practically to the Oregon line—and some of the grading in Humboldt and Mendocino Counties is already done. Much work has also been done on the Pacific Highway, which pursues its course through the central part of the state and branches from this are projected to the county seats of each of the eastern tier of counties. Nothing, however, is promised for the extreme eastern counties in the way of an improved road northward from Lake Tahoe and roughly following the Nevada, California & Oregon Railroad to the Oregon border. Probably such a highway would not be justified, for the population is very scant and the country barren and poor, though it has much to interest the tourist for all that. With the completion of the new highways, much of the present road will be practically abandoned and while this is a consummation devoutly to be wished from most viewpoints, the tourist of the future will miss many of the most glorious mountain vistas that human eye has ever rested upon. For the only way to realize the majesty of the mountains is to climb the mountains, and though that is sometimes strenuous and even dangerous work, it is not without its reward to one who delights in these giant hills.

The success of the second state bond proposition submitted at the general election of 1916, providing fifteen million dollars to complete the highway system, insures that the work as outlined in Northern California will be carried forward as rapidly as possible. This comprises two trunk lines to the northern border: the Pacific Highway, traversing the Sacramento Valley, and the Coast Route, roughly following the ocean to Crescent City. A large part of the former road is already finished, but a much larger proportion of the Coast road is still undone. Besides these, several laterals will connect the county seats not served directly by the main lines, thus reaching the communities east of the Sierras, where no highway is planned. Much of the worst road covered in the tour described in this book will be eliminated when the proposed extensions are completed. This will probably require three years, or until 1920—and we may confidently predict that motor touring will become vastly more popular in this now little-known scenic wonderland.

The highways of Oregon present a still more serious question in that state than the one which California has to solve. With only one-fifth the population and with two-thirds the area of her neighbor, Oregon cannot undertake the vast road improvement plans that are being carried out south of her border. There is as yet little well-improved road in the state; a few pieces of macadam about Portland and down the Willamette Valley—much of it broken and rough—and the wonderful new Columbia River Highway comprising about all of it at this time. A number of the more prosperous counties, however, have voted bonds or are contemplating such a move, especially along the Pacific Highway, so that in the course of four or five years we may expect some appreciable results. But Oregon roads generally are desperately bad and are likely to remain so for some time. There will likely be much improvement in the way of grading and bridges, but surfacing after the splendid fashion of California is far off for the vast majority of Oregon highways. Multnomah County, in which is situated the city of Portland, has by far the greater mileage of surfaced highways and we found considerable road work in progress here. The first move toward a permanent system in this county was the issuance of two and a half millions in bonds, the proceeds of which were used to build the first fifty miles of the Columbia River Highway, and it is to be hoped that other counties will continue the good work until this wonderful road parallels the mighty river its entire length in the state.

We found the leaven of good-roads sentiment working strongly in Oregon during our sojourn in that state, and a little less than a year later it bore substantial fruit in a six-million bond issue which carried by a safe majority. This is avowedly only the entering wedge—it is safe to predict a repetition of California’s experience in adopting a second issue by a far larger popular vote than the first received. Six million dollars will not improve a very large percentage of Oregon’s immense road mileage, but it will serve to give the people of this state a demonstration of the advantages of permanent highways and the good work is sure to gain an impetus that will result in still more liberal provision for carrying it forward.

Efforts in both California and Oregon are at present being centered on the Pacific Highway and in the latter state perhaps half the mileage is improved in some way or other at this time. This is well enough, since this highway traverses the principal centers of population in both states and will no doubt serve the greatest number of people. It does not, however, compare in scenic interest with the coast road and it closely follows the Southern Pacific Railroad, affording one the alternative of seeing the country from the window of a Pullman car, which many will prefer while the highway is in its present state. The Coast road, however, traverses virgin wildernesses that can not be reached by railroad train and whose beauty will reward the somewhat strenuous effort which the motorist must make to penetrate them.

We realize now that our trip was made too rapidly to give us the best opportunity to see and enjoy the marvels of this wonderful region. For unavoidable reasons we could not start before the middle of September and before we made our round we became uneasy on account of the weather. We ran into showers on some of the worst mountain roads in California, the weather with its proverbial perverseness in the Golden State taking a “most unusual” turn. Snow fell in the Tahoe and Crater Lake regions shortly after we left them and with snow these roads are impassable for the average motor car. So one will be easier and practically sure of avoiding adverse weather manifestations if he will start the latter part of July—though the “unusual” may get him even then, since on the year of our tour the Crater Lake road was not free from snow until the first of August. One should plan short daily runs on such a tour and there are many side trips well worth while if there is plenty of time to do them. There are, moreover, many delightful inns and resorts to be found in the region we covered—some of them closed when we reached them—which might well tempt the wayfarer to tarry awhile to rest and enjoy at his leisure the surroundings of forest, lake or mountain stream, as the case may be. There will be many days on the road when such a respite will be very welcome, especially to the feminine members of the party. Excepting Portland, there is no large city in the territory covered by our tour; indeed, in California, north of San Francisco and Sacramento, there is no town larger than Eureka, with perhaps fifteen thousand people, while Eugene and Salem in Oregon and Reno in Nevada have approximately the same population. The situation of these towns and the territory tributary to them puts them nearer to the metropolitan class than the average eastern town of similar size.

Though the tour covered by this book was the most strenuous we have ever made and the lateness of the season compelled more haste than we liked, yet we look back upon the month spent among these rugged hill ranges and wide plains and valleys with unmixed satisfaction. We saw many things that justly may be rated among the wonders of the world. We saw enough to convince us that when this region is penetrated by well-constructed highways, it will divide honors with Southern California as a tourist resort and motorist’s paradise. It is little known at present; all the flood of books poured forth about California have dealt mainly with San Francisco and the country lying south of that city; and Oregon, aside from the Columbia River, has a very scant literature. I can not pretend in the limits of this work to have done the subject anything like full justice. It is a country of magnificent distances, of endless variety and immense and undeveloped resources, and volumes would be necessary should one enter into detail. But with the assistance of our sturdy car we saw much, indeed; we achieved in one month that which in old days would have required months of tedious travel.

We saw Tahoe, the gem of the world’s lakes, in its setting of snow-covered, pine-clad mountains. We saw the strange volcanic plains and hills of Lassen and Modoc Counties with their wide, shallow lakes. We saw Eagle Lake, flashing in the sunset like a sheet of molten silver among the pine forests that crowd up to its very shores. We saw the vast mountain cauldron with its lapis-lazuli sheet of water—the bluest bit of water on this mundane sphere—Crater Lake, with its mighty ramparts of unscaled cliffs and the unmatched vista of mountain forests and lake from the newly built government road. We saw the vast forests of Central Oregon, where in a whole day’s run there is little evidence of human habitation. We saw the great mountain range that skirts the plain covered by this forest, with here and there a stupendous peak, white with eternal snow, piercing the azure heavens. We saw the white, cold pyramid of Mount Hood with the dark belt of pines at its base, stand in awful majesty against a wide band of crimson sky. For a hundred miles we followed the vale of the queen river of the west, mountain-guarded Columbia, and coursed over the famous new highway with its unrivalled panoramas of stream and wooded hills. We pursued the western Willamette through its fertile, well-tilled valley and admired the prosperous, up-to-date towns along the way. We traversed the rough, sinuous trails over the summits of the rugged Cascades into the virgin redwoods of Del Norte and Humboldt Counties. For more than a hundred miles the narrow road twists through these giant trees, coming at times to commanding headlands from which there are endless vistas of shining sea. We visited Eureka, the wonder city of the North, long shut in behind ranges of almost impenetrable hills and dependent on the sea alone—though now it has a railroad and lives in hopes of the coming of the new state highway. We saw Shasta of the eternal snows and Lassen’s smoke-shrouded peak. We followed the rugged coastline of Mendocino County with its stern headlands overlooking leagues of glorious ocean. We coursed through the vast vineyards of the Napa and Santa Rosa Valleys with the terraced hill ranges on either hand showing everywhere the careful tillage one sees in Italy or along the Rhine. We crossed the pine-clad hills that shut in beautiful Clear Lake Valley with its giant oaks and crystal sheet of water—which still lingers in our memories as the loveliest spot in all California. We traversed the great plain of the Sacramento, whose pastoral beauty and quiet prosperity rivals that of the Mississippi Valley.

Nor was the element of historic interest entirely lacking. Old Fort Ross and the names that still cling to a few places about the Russian River reminded us that at one time the Czar nearly added Northern California to his vast domains. We found footprints of the padres at San Rafael and Sonoma and no doubt they would have carried the chain on to the Columbia River had not the Mexicans interfered. We came upon reminders of the terrible privations suffered by the pioneers—for did we not look down on placid Donner Lake, which takes its name from one of the saddest of the endless tragedies that befell the emigrant trains? There are many relics, too, of the romantic days of ’49, and we came upon places where gold is still being mined, though by methods vastly different from those of the panhandlers of Bret Harte. We found many memories of Lewis and Clarke and of Marcus Whitman, who did so much to put Oregon under the Stars and Stripes, and more than once we crossed the trail of Fremont, the tireless Pathfinder.

But why anticipate farther, since I shall endeavor to describe in detail as I proceed with the story of our tour? Even were I to write nothing more, I hope I have proved my contention that it is well worth while to explore this new wonderland—but I trust that I shall find language as I progress to make even more apparent the savage grandeur of these hills, the weird loveliness of the lakes, the majesty of the virgin forests, and the glories of rugged coast and restless ocean.