After crossing and filling our canteen with river water we started up the coulee, down which is supposed to flow Crab creek. On the map we had observed that this creek was printed in a broken line much resembling Ben Franklin's device for a colonial flag --a snake in thirteen sections with the motto "Unite or die." We had not proceeded up the coulee very far when we understood that the so-called creek is nothing more than a succession of alkali sinks.
We had been told that we could get water in sixteen miles, and at the end of thirty-two miles we did get it. Horned toads and coyotes were almost the only living things seen, but we had no inclination to chase horned toads with an empty canteen for refreshment. One coyote sat down by a sage brush a few rods away and smiled at us as we pushed our wheels through the sand. He doubtless wondered whether the wheels had invaded his domain to prey upon him, or to be his prey. I fired the revolver at him and he trotted away, occasionally looking back at us with a grin.
That night we stayed at the cabin of Mr. Hutchinson, a rancher well known in Eastern Washington on account of his extreme stature. I will not say how much more than seven feet he measures, but it's several inches. The next morning we left for Lind, a station on the Northern Pacific railroad forty-six miles away, hoping to get over the worst of the road before the sun was too high. We were told that we would find the road good and water in twenty miles, and so did not take particular care of the water in the canteen, but about four miles out we had a puncture, which delayed us for some time, and the roads proved miserable. It was no better than the country of the previous day, where there was no sign of a road. Here the wheel tracks were about a foot wide, nearly as deep, and half-filled with sand. Much of the way we found sage brush preferable. It was about 11 o'clock when from the top of a hill we saw a cabin about three miles away. We wet our throats with the last drops from the canteen and labored on toward the cabin; as we neared it another could be seen about a mile further. Turner was some distance ahead, and I saw him dismount at the cabin and almost immediately start on again -- the cabin was deserted and the spring dried up. Talk about disappointment in money matters or love? They can't possibly compare with disappointment in hunting for water.
As I reached the second cabin, Turner was stretched out on the ground and in answer to my inquiry he said, "There isn't a person here, the well is dry, and there isn't another cabin in sight." We lay on the sand for a few minutes, but could not afford to waste too much time so Turner pushed on saying that if he found a ranch and I didn't put in an appearance in an hour or so, he would come back with some water, or send someone. After resting fifteen minutes I followed him, and, rounding a turn in the road, saw the windmill and buildings of a ranch some four miles distant. In course of time I reached it and when at the gate, met a cowboy with canteen filled starting out to meet me. The water was good. I didn't ask whether there were any microbes in it. It was the hardest half-day of wheeling we had ever experienced. No bicycles had ever been through there before, and ours never will again. I prefer to keep near railroads hereafter.
After resting three hours, we started out for Lind and Ritzville,...
We got something of an early start from the Columbia River, making it across the I-90 bridge at Vantage unscathed, being surprised that the bridge has only two lanes in each direction, and no alternative space, like a shoulder or sidewalk, for a bicycle. This was my first and (hopefully) only excursion into riding a bike on an unrestricted interstate highway.
Our route was to take us through two towns which were to be possible destinations for the previous day, as well as two other towns which were on the 1896 route, as described above. Royal City is a farming community, with a large migrant labor population and we held out little hope that there would be any suitable provisions. What we did not know was that they were having their annual Community Days celebration, so we ambled down to the town park to have a look. These kind of picnics are often the most convivial events and are great fun to attend. They were just closing up the breakfast foodline, and we got some pancakes and eggs and sat down to eat when I was summoned by a woman who was clearly in control of the whole scene. We chatted for awhile, trading stories, and introductions. Among others I met Bud, a cowboy poet, and my two companions were presented with a joke of questionable taste, but considering whom it came from, it was well received.
My new-found friend was some kind of a patron saint of the Children's Hospital in Seattle, and I admit to promising to somehow deliver my Babcock and Turner story to the kids who are there for an extended time. Can I ask someone out there in cyberspace to take it upon themselves to deliver the address of this site to the person at Children's responsible for reading to the kids. I think some of them might enjoy the story. Send me an email confirming that I am off the hook.
We noticed that Royal City offered no suitable accommodations, so we were lucky to have not struggled against the previous day's 103 degree heat to get there. The next town was the much larger Othello and, though it had more in the way of accommodations, it had no Community Days celebration, and seemed much tamer by comparison. We then left the state highway system, opting for county roads where the hourly traffic volume can be counted on one hand. That's just as well because the mercury hit 110, which proceeded to melt the road, as well as causing great thirst and some erratic bike maneuvers.
This was another delightful day, but it did offer a good dose of the serious work to which I have earlier referred.
106 miles, and it hit 110 in the shade.
Dennis
P.S. And the parrot? In a letter from Spokane to his brother in Ohio, Babcock wrote that "we had a parrot of a time getting across eastern Washington". I have not the faintest idea where this phrase came from. In case you haven't noticed, the articles are peppered with these kind of phrases.