October 2, 1935-Looking Back on 6000 Miles; Some Adventures and Laughs
The Washington Daily News, October 2, 1935
Looking Back on 6000 Miles; Some Adventures and Laughs
By ERNIE PYLE
Six thousand miles behind us, and the white glow in the night of the Capitol dome ahead.
Six thousand miles of Canada and the United States, without getting lost by as much as a block. And here, within eight miles of the White House, we go thru a place called Merrifield, Va., which we had never heard of before, and had to stop and ask the way.
It is an hour after dark. How I hate to drive at night. All day long I can sit behind the wheel and bat the roads hour after hour, good roads or bad, but when dusk comes I am thru. This last hour, coming into Washington in the exasperating half-light of dusk, and then the real darkness, was harrowing.
And I recall another after-dark interlude somewhere in the 6000 miles of traveling. It was way past midnight and we were on a dirt road 20 miles from St. Paul. At exactly the same time, our lights went out and we ran out of gas.
Most people are afraid to stop after dark, even at a distress signal, but my waving flashlight brought a friendly motorist up alongside. He drove me two miles to a gas station, brought me back, even said he’d take the can back next day, and then drove ahead and lighted my way to the town where we were going. How’s that for good old southern hospitality?—southern Minnesota, I mean.
When you drive cross-country for 6000 miles, you see cars from every state in the Union. And we got a very definite impression that the most dangerous drivers on the roads are those from Illinois. They are speeders and road hogs . . . they drive on the wrong side of the road, and pull out in front of you, and altogether put on a display of appalling recklessness and complete disregard for the safety of other drivers. They are even worse when they’re touring than within their own Illinois borders.
The roads in Iowa, it seems to me, are more perfectly marked than in any of the states I have been in since last February. Highway No. 50, thru southern Ohio from Cincinnati to Marietta, has about the worst surface of any of the main highways we drove on.
All road signs in Quebec province are in both French and English. After a thousand miles of it, you get a little tired of seeing: “pont etroit—narrow bridge,” “vitesse—speed, 30 m.,” and “repas a toutes heures—meals at all hours.”
● ● ●
In a little delicatessen store, which also sells beer, in Afton, Minn., there is a sign on the wall, showing a woman with a rolling pin chasing a man. Beneath it are these words: “If you must drive your husband to drink, please drive him in here.”
In Bennington, Vt., there is a private home which keeps tourists overnight, and in the front yard is a sign on which are painted two black hands, and beneath them the phrase “2 Wrists.” Get it?—“Tourists.” Mama, hand me my shotgun, I feel a spell coming on.
One night in Cedar Rapids, Ia., I went to a movie, and for 16 cents saw two full-length pictures (both very good), two long comedies, a news reel and the 13th installment of a Tom Mix serial. I was in the place nearly four hours.
We had a nice talk one afternoon with a little boy in the town of Gaspe, out on the east end of the Gaspe peninsula, at the mouth of the St. Lawrence. He was flabbergasted that we hadn’t heard about the double murder there two years ago. Also he could hardly believe we weren’t acquainted with the little girl who was drowned there the day before. He said he thought he had heard of Washington, D.C., but he wasn’t sure.
In Nova Scotia, when you meet somebody walking along the street after dark, you don’t say “Good evening” or “How do you do?” You say “Good night.” Even if you haven’t seen them for a week, all you say is “Good night.”
One scene I shall never forget. It was in the town of Cap Chat, on the Gaspe peninsula, on a Friday afternoon. Everybody in town was on his way to church, dressed in his best store clothes. The roads were full of buggies carrying farm people in to church. And we met the priest, riding down the gravel road on a bicycle, dressed in flowing black robes and hat, smoking a cigaret.
💛 **Enjoyed this post?** Your support helps us continue to transcribe and promote Ernie’s work. Please click the link below to donate.