Chapter IV: Part 4

The next day the Transcontinental Government Motor Convoy arrived, which added to the celebration that lasted a week. It had come over the Lincoln Highway, with every conceivable experience; the gallant young officer in command, Lieutenant-Colonel Charles McClure, told us at dinner the next evening that “Our worst experiences were in the desert. The sand was so deep and the trucks were so heavy that at times we only made a mile an hour. When one got stuck, the men cut the sagebrush and filled the ruts, and then we were able to crawl.” The city gave them an ovation, and “dined” them as well--and doubtless would have liked to have “wined” them also.

The next day we were in the thick of the whirl. I did not consider our trip really ended until we stood on the sands of the Pacific. We motored through the city, out to the former Exposition grounds, where but a few buildings were left standing, and to the Presidio, one of the oldest military stations in our country, embracing an area of 1542 acres, overlooking the harbor. The formidable coast defenses make San Francisco the best-fortified city in America. Farther to the east is Fort Mason, the residence of the commanding officer of the Western Division; also, the transport docks, the only ones owned by our Government.

Driving through Lincoln Park, we entered Golden Gate Park, covering 1013 acres, with hundreds of varieties of plant life from all parts of the world, artificial lakes, boulevards, and the gorgeous flowers for which California is famed. We could hardly realize that at one time this was but a desolate expanse of sand-hills. Within the park is the stadium, the largest athletic field of its kind in America, thirty acres in all, seating sixty thousand spectators. The park extends to the Ocean Beach Boulevard, on the edge of the sands, where the breakers come bounding in against the Seal Rocks and the high promontory on which the Cliff House stands. The water is cold, and a dangerous undertow makes bathing unsafe, but the shore is lined with cars; hundreds of people and children are on the sand, and the tame sea-gulls are walking on the street pavement very much like chickens.

We went up to the historic Cliff House, the fourth of the name to be built on these rocks. Since 1863, the millionaires of this land and the famous people of the world have dined here, watching the sea-lions play on the jagged reefs. It is closed now, and looks as deserted as any of the tumble-down old buildings which surround it.

Along the Golden Gate shore for miles are points of interest and charming homes. Many of the bungalows are surrounded by flowers of every description and color, with apparently no attempt to segregate them. All shades of pink, reds, and purples are jumbled together; the sides of the houses are covered with vines, geraniums, heliotrope, fuchsias, and endless other plants, just one heavenly blotch of color! These little gardens seem to say, “Everything will grow in here; it may not be according to the ethics of landscape gardening, but at least you will love it”--and you do! We were especially struck with the absence of large grounds, even about the more pretentious homes, except, of course, out of the city, where the estates are the last word in beauty and luxury. There is a joyousness about the native Californian that is a revelation. In other cities the people were proud of the homes, or the buildings, or the commercial life, or something man-made; here they just seem to glory in the sunshine, the climate, the scenery, and the flora--in fact, everything God-given. The “joy of living” expresses it--to me, at least. I can better understand now the feeling of California friends living in New York. “The place stifles me; I want to get back to the golden sunshine.” Frankly, I used to think it a pose. I apologize!

Then, people have time here to be polite. On my first street-car ride, an elderly lady was hurrying to get off. “Take your time, madam,” said the polite conductor, and assisted her off. In New York it would be, “Step lively there; step lively!” giving her a shove. In getting on a car my heel caught and I banged my knee. The conductor said, “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.” In New York, if he noticed it at all, the conductor would have looked to see if I had injured the car!

“San Francisco has only one drawback; ’tis hard to leave,” said Rudyard Kipling. That is true. I would like to speak in detail of so many things--the fine hotels and municipal buildings, the beautiful country clubs and golf links; the old Dolores Mission and the churches; the Latin Quarter, Chinatown, and Portsmouth Square, the favorite haunt of Robert Louis Stevenson when a resident here; the Fisherman’s Wharf, where the net-menders sit at their task with stout twine and long wooden needles, like a bit of “Little Italy”; of the fogs that keep everything green in the dry season, and in an hour’s time disappear as if by magic, leaving the sunshine to cheer you; of the steep streets and houses built on “stepladders”; of Nob Hill, with its one-time sumptuous homes, now turned into clubs, and the splendid Fairmont Hotel, built upon the Fair estate. Books have been written on the restaurants of this city--French, Italian, Mexican, Spanish, Greek, and Hungarian--varying in price and in character of cuisine, with many high-class “after theater” cafés, frequented by the more exclusive patrons. Tait’s at the Beach resembles the Shelburne at Brighton Beach or Longvue on the Hudson.

Soon after our arrival came the visit of the President and his party. Politics were discarded. He was the guest of the city. San Francisco certainly spells “hospitality,” and proved it. The decorations left from the welcome to the Pacific fleet and the Motor Convoy were still beautiful, but more were added. “A mass of waving flags” about describes it. A solid wall of humanity lined the streets, with thousands of children carrying fresh flowers and banners. Old Sol, in all his glory, challenged a fog to mar the splendor of his welcome. The luncheon of sixteen hundred women at the famous Palace Hotel spoke of the public spirit of their sex. No Eastern city could boast of a more attractive gathering. It was an interesting sight to see that assemblage sit in silence for over an hour, listening to a _man_; no matter what their private opinions were, they wanted to hear first-hand the convictions of their President--and they did, in plain Anglo-Saxon terms. But I have digressed, and left the reader and the car on the Ocean Drive.

Yes, this was indeed “the end of the road,” with all of California yet to see. We had traversed the continent from the Atlantic to the Pacific without an accident or a day’s illness, and with only two punctures! We look back on comparatively few discomforts, and many, many pleasures and thrilling experiences, with keen satisfaction.

Unless you really love to motor, take the Overland Limited. If you want to see your country, to get a little of the self-centered, self-satisfied Eastern hide rubbed off, to absorb a little of the fifty-seven (thousand) varieties of people and customs, and the alert, open-hearted, big atmosphere of the West, then try a motor trip. You will get tired, and your bones will cry aloud for a rest cure; but I promise you one thing--you will never be _bored_! No two days were the same, no two views were similar, no two cups of coffee tasted alike. In time--in _some_ time to come--the Lincoln Highway will be a real transcontinental boulevard. But don’t wish this trip on your grandchildren! The average motorist goes over five thousand miles each season, puttering around his immediate locality. Don’t make a “mental hazard” of the distance. My advice to timid motorists is, “Go.”

I have not tried to give a detailed description of anything in this brief narrative of our trip. Just glimpses here and there of the day’s run, which may stimulate some “weak sister” to try her luck, or perchance spur the memory of those who have “gone before us.”

EXPENSES

In giving a table of our expenses, it is unimportant to give in detail the amount of the tips to porters or chambermaids, or to state what the hotel bill was in each place. That depends upon the individual--whether you care to have more or less expensive accommodations, or to what extent you care to indulge in “extras.”

We paid (for two) from three to six dollars a night for room and bath, but in all cases there were cheaper ones to be had. The matter of restaurant bills is also a personal item. In giving the cost of hotels, I have included breakfast and dinner. The lunches are listed as “extras.” The garage expenses included storage and washing the car. A night’s storage varied from $1.50 in the East to fifty cents in the West. The cost of washing the car was from $1.00 to $2.50, also depending on the locality. Every man knows how often he wants his car cleaned. One New York man that we met in Minnesota told us that his car had not been washed since he left. It looked it! This, by the way, was the only New York license that we saw west of Chicago. Rather remarkable!

Our total mileage was 4154 miles--thirty-three running days. We used 338 gallons of gas (21 to 40 cents), $99.80; sixty-one quarts of medium oil (15 to 35 cents), $12.80; garage, storage and cleaning, $28.50; hotels and boat fares for seven weeks for two, $256; extras (laundry, lunches, postcards, postage, fruit, etc.), $51.38; tips, $50; expenses in Yellowstone Park (including entry fee for car, $7.50), $100; work on car in service stations (looking over, oiling, etc.), $64.24; D. & C. boat from Cleveland to Detroit, for car, $14.50. Total, $677.22, or about $13.50 a day for fifty days (for two people).

Additional expenses were adjustment on new tire (never used), $35; cost of shipping car across desert, $196.69; railroad tickets (including drawing-room, $17.75), $72.50. Total, $304.19.

We might eliminate the new tire adjustment of $35, and if we had driven across Nevada it would easily have been two hundred dollars less, but we should doubtless have had repair bills to balance that sum and more. Except for gas, oil, and garage expenses, the rest can be easily adjusted, according to the individual, and lessened considerably. And remember that includes a war-tax on many things.

This trip can be taken in perfect comfort by two people for thirteen dollars a day, including everything, which means that you are _traveling_ as well as _living_. Not bad, considering the “H. C. of L.” today!

THE END

Transcriber’s Notes

Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left unbalanced.