Page:Motoring Magazine and Motor Life October 1913.djvu/12

A shaky bridge near Cloverdale on the road to Geysers in an S. G. V.

Night has her charm and mystery, sunrise its color and startling splendor.

Clocks in San Francisco were striking 2 a. m. when we started out through the slumbering Mission. There was really but one general direction to take, and we took it—down the peninsula. The cool air held the sea tang which refreshed the lungs, and smelled sweet and fresh with autumnal fragrance. A full moon beamed encouragement; the motor whirred its steady song; and the road-bed through the Mission was smooth and invited speed. Somewhere in the hills on the left side, roosters were crowing. To the right, across a low gap in the opaque ridge, lay a vast expanse of ocean, shimmering in the moon's reflection.

Swiftly we sped along the edges of the garden spot where the dead rest—the cemeteries; and on beyond, between rows of windmills turning lazily in the sea wind, to the railroad crossing. Here we stopped, perceiving before us a wrecked machine. The train, perhaps; or struck by the electric car! But we were quite wrong, it later developed, in thus surmising. The motor car—a new one—was collapsed against a telegraph pole, its front axle snapped, radiator and wind shield ruined, its front wheels driven clear into the front seat. It was encouraging to recognize no signs of human injury or death, though we marveled at this phenomena, considering the condition of the car.

We drove on. We came to that silvery stretch of perfect road, the El Camino Real, giving the engine a trifle more throttle just to feel the delightful rolling sensation accompanying the gentle pressure.

Five miles, and the headlight beat upon two figures walking in the shadow of the eucalypts. They signaled, but we ran past them, until there came to us the thought that here, possibly, were the occupants of the wrecked car. We stopped and waited their approach. So it proved. They—a man and his wife—were deeply grateful for the lift we gave them to San Mateo, for, having been refused a ride in two cars, they had given up hope, believing themselves abandoned to a lonely, tiresome walk home to San Mateo. Singular, and very unfortunate; but two weeks before they were the unlucky participants in an auto wreck, and the car, that very day, had just been driven from the garage in San Francisco. In crossing the tracks, the man had lost control of the machine for one instant—a disastrous instant and quite sufficient to wreck the car. But they philosophically held themselves very lucky to escape.

We swung into San Mateo, and out again to avoid the stretch of highway under improvement. Redwood City soon blazed and glistened in the harsh glare of our penetrating headlights. So, in the friendly moonlight, with the sea tang in our nostrils, we rolled swiftly through and on, soon putting far into the gloom behind us Redwood City and the road to Palo Alto.

But not so fast, this link of the nocturnal journey! A long stretch of highway under construction was met, where the contractor inadvertently neglected to label turnouts. We brought up in a ravine, where much timber grew and where a purling brook babbled musically seaward. The only alternative offering—that of turning around—we hastened to take advantage of. Back a quarter of a mile, by the railroad station, we detoured to the left, through wide-reaching orchards and live oaks, ultimately to Palo Alto.

This pretty village lay supinely, serenely asleep. We closed the muffler so as not to disturb its unconscious somnolence. Once beyond it, however, there was more highway improvement, and attendant side rides none too comfortable or soothing. We did not lose our way, however.

Then came a wonderful boulevard for many miles, almost to Santa Clara. Fruit trees in profusion, live oaks and eucalypt! The road running immediately into Santa Clara is a trifle rough, though permitting of good going. The town of Santa Clara then opened its arms and received us. Night still hung heavily over the hills and valleys when a few minutes later we stopped before a restaurant in San Jose for breakfast. Yet, ere we had done with the welcome matutinal meal, daylight, with startling suddenness, illumined the universe. A filling moon settled behind