The Slower Road

 … About two weeks after his run-in with the Stagecoach driver, after stopping for days at a time along the way when, first, his horse ran away and, then, when she lost a shoe, Mr. Johnson drove from Little Lake to Ukiah.

“Little Lake is simply a station for the changing of horses for the mail coaches, and for drivers and chance passengers to eat and drink, the thirst being the greatest every time.

“About noon I was traveling a really good road, equal to a fair eastern road. I stopped, fed my cattle, made a fire, cooked some dinner and ate it all alone, no one around, not a house for miles, and had not seen one since leaving Latonville. Rested till half-past one o’clock, and then resumed the journey, passing what is known as Sherwood valley — coming to a cross-road I read on a board, ‘To Bartlett’s Spring and over the mountain to Sacramento.’ So far today have seen but one man. I do not have a chance to ask where does this road go, or how far is it to this place or that, yet I must soon come in sight of Ukiah.

“Presently I came in sight of a house, and then another, and I found myself in comparatively a large town. I urged Fanny along and soon we were in the city. I call it a city, not being positive it is, but it is one of the large towns in this part of California.

“On arriving in Ukiah, I made for a wheelwright’s shop to have my broken wheel repaired. If I knew the name of that rascally driver I would give it to show his meanness, yet doubtless he is telling the story to some of his boon companions as a good joke served on that eastern chap.

“I found a carriage shop and asked the proprietor if he could repair my wheel; I told him that I had, soon after crossing Eel river been run into by the stage driver, crushing one of my wheels. ‘Where is your carriage, let me look at it?’ ‘It is in front of your shop, sir, I have come all the way from Eel river with those splints on the wheel, as you see.’ ‘Those splints make a strong wheel.’ ‘Yes, but what can you do to make them stronger?’ I asked. ‘I shall have to take the wheel to pieces and glue the spokes anew.’ ‘How much will you charge me?’ ‘I will do it for $2.50.’ ‘Can you do it this afternoon?’ ‘Yes, this afternoon.’ It was then four o’clock.

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This reminds me of last Saturday, when we took our car (which had suffered a flat tire on our drive back to Kentucky from Georgia over Thanksgiving weekend) to get a new tire so we wouldn’t be driving around on the spare. We didn’t realize that the shop closes at noon on Saturdays, and we got there at about 11:30 a.m. They took us in anyway, and got it done quickly … but it did cost considerably more than $2.50.

When we left Mr. Johnson last week, he had been describing his circuitous method of ascending and descending the bluffs near Alder Point.

… “I am still but a short distance from Eel river. This river is a terror to those who have it to ford. No bridge – no ferry – it must be forded. Had it not been for this river, I should have started on my journey east the first of May [instead of on the first of June]. The rainy season had been longer in duration than in past seasons.

“When I arrived at the river there was a man, with a wagon and four horses ladened with goods. He was in conversation with another person. The teamster came to me and said: ‘We had better get this man to pilot us across, it is dangerous for us to ford.’ ‘What does he ask to help us across?’ ‘Two dollars each,’ said the teamster. ‘Where is this ford, I would like to look at it.’ ‘It is a few rods, just below the bluffs,’ replied the teamster.

“I went down to the bluff, to the river, looked at it a short time. I then took Fanny, my horse, from the wagon, got upon her back and rode into the water, and finding it much better than I expected, continued across. Returning, dismounted, put Fanny back into the carriage, got on and drove down the bank into the river and crossed over all right. The man with the team had just got to the river. I sang out: ‘Teamster, come across and save your money.’ He dared not do it, but gave the man two dollars needlessly, to guide him across. He might have known that if I could cross with my light load he could with his heavy wagon.” …

Stay tuned for tomorrow’s post, in which we hear the rest of Mr. Johnson’s tale from that particular day, during which he has a run-in with a rather vicious stagecoach driver.

Several days after we left Mr. Johnson in yesterday’s post, he …

“Left Blocksberg on the 9^th and made Alder Point the same day, distance thirteen miles.

“Alder Point. — From Blocksberg to this place proved a very hard day’s journey, the road being very rough, hard, and hilly. It was hard on the cattle, wagon, and myself. The road had been sideling – very much so. It was bluffs, mountains, and canyons. Travelers do not go over the bluffs or mountains, but around them.

“In laying out this road, if it ever was laid out, which I suppose it must have been, as it is a county road, their work was crudely done. If you desire to reach a given point on mountain or bluff, say Alder Point, you start at the base and go on following the same until you have made a half circle, keeping to the right till you come to a point or plateau, you have made a mile. You then turn to the right, cross the end of the canyon, [and] this places you on the right of another bluff. Following its base you travel until you reach the point opposite where you started, thus making a second mile, and so on, until the summit of the bluff is reached. Could you have crossed the canyon at the first point two miles of traveling would have been saved.

“The foregoing gives an idea of the roads and the mode of crossing the bluffs, mountains, or canyons in northern and eastern California, outside of the valleys. I have said the roads are sideling and they are.

“Over the road on which I am traveling, the mail from San Francisco is carried three hundred and three miles in thirty-six hours, nearly nine miles to the hour, by two horses in a wagon that weighs eight hundred pounds; as this team tears round the bluff, it is no wonder that one rut is lower than the other.

“There is no money expended on the roads, only the bridges are kept in repair.”

After deciding that he really did want to undertake his massive journey, and after crossing the Vandozen river, Mr. Johnson gives us our first glimpse into a particular habit of travelers in 1880s California.

“Went on again, coming to the same river, which I had again to ford. I did not stop but drove down into the river and across all right. Ascended the bluff, leaving the river to my right, and soon came once more in sight of the river. I am now ascending a bluff; on my right down hundreds of feet is the river; the road is just wide enough for one team only. There is a precedent established for those traveling these bluffs. It is this: on ascending a bluff, mountain, or canyon, you are required to carry a horn or bell. On arriving at any turnout, stop, blow your horn or ring your bell. Should you hear no bell or horn in answer, go on to the next turnout and stop, ring bell or blow horn, and no answer, go on as before.

“Should you meet a team, the one ascending is required to back down to the turnout. This mode of proceeding has become a law, and so understood by those who travel.”