The Remarkable Journey of the First Road Trip Across America

By Brad R. Cook

In 1903, Sewall K. Crocker, the youngest mechanic in California, is hired by Dr. H. Nelson Jackson, the man who made a bet to do the impossible, cross America by automobile in 90 days. Along the way they pick up Bud, a goggle-wearing bulldog, who becomes a star in the newspapers. Every mile presents another obstacle to overcome like mountains, r

• Language: English
• Publisher: Broadsword Books LLC
• Release date: Apr 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798986501925

Brad R. Cook

Brad R. Cook is the author of historical fantasy, and award-winning short stories. He began as a playwright, dipped into the corporate writing world, and served as co-publisher and acquisitions editor for Blank Slate Press. He currently serves as Historian of St. Louis Writers Guild after three and half years as President. He learned to fence at thirteen, and never set down his sword, but prefers to curl up with a centuries' old classic.

Book preview

The Remarkable Journey

of the

First Road Trip Across America

Brad R. Cook

Copyright © 2023 Brad R. Cook

All Rights Reserved

For

All automobile enthusiasts and

those who long for the open road

Map of the Journey

Chapter 1

Crocker Meets Jackson

Monday, May 18, 1903

San Francisco, California

The youngest mechanic in the West, Sewall K. Crocker, tightened the last bolt on the carburetor with his wrench. Stepping back, he eyed the machine. The shop door swung open, and jingled the bells above. He jumped.

He always jumped.

Sewall lifted off his flat-billed cap, and wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

His boss entered, yawned, and pointed at the Oldsmobile. You’d better have them repairs done today, or I’ll knock you upside the head. Scratching his belly, the man stumbled into the office.

You got it, boss. Sewall set down his wrench and walked to the other side. Looks good to me. The door swung open. The bells rang, and he jumped like a race had started.

A man entered with slicked-back hair, shinier than motor oil, and a wax-curled mustache. He extended his hand. Sewall reached out, but instead of offering a handshake this guy held a card. Hey, kid. Name’s Bartimus Crabtree, sales representative for Packard Motors.

I ain’t your kid.

Whatever, I have a problem…

Sewall motioned toward the office door.

Not my first time in the city. I don’t need a good-for-nothing. This is serious, there’s money involved.

Why didn’t you say so? Sewall pointed at himself.

Crabtree leaned closer. I’ll give you five dollars to keep that guy out of a Packard. Heck, an extra five if you get him in that Oldsmobile.

What guy? Wasn’t his place to tell people what to drive, but he was curious what this slick salesman really wanted.

Dr. Horatio Nelson Jackson. You can’t miss him. Crabtree motioned over his shoulder toward Nob Hill. He just made a fifty-dollar bet at the University Club.

Fifty Dollars! Sewall didn’t even know they made bills that big. To do what?

Cross America by automobile.

Anyone tell him, everyone who tried – failed? I prepped the last automobile myself, and they only lasted ten days.

That’s why I don’t want him in a Packard. He’s going to break down before…

I getcha. Sewall extended his hand, but the guy shook his head.

After, not before.

At that, Sewall knew he’d never see the money. Cheapskate. He grabbed his wrench as Mr. Crabtree slipped out of the shop and slithered up the street. The man intercepted two men and a woman; her pale-blue dress swayed as she walked down the hill. Crabtree handed them his card. The woman walked right past the slick-salesman and continued on toward the shop causing the others to follow.

Sewall rushed back to the engine. The bells chimed. He jumped.

A man of thirty years or so stepped into the shop. Wire-rimmed round glasses framed a thin face, and unlike everyone in the West, he had no facial hair. The black suit with a starch-white collar, shiny gold buttons, and pocket watch chain, meant one thing – an easterner.

Sewall recognized him. He’d given him a driving lesson the week before.

A second man, in a fedora, held up his arms, Nelson! You could lose a tire. Break a fuel line. Blow a gasket… Be attacked by bears or bandits. Why, the whole contraption could explode. The man pulled off his hat, and his arms fell hard against his sides. This is too dangerous.

Archibald, Dr. Jackson patted the man’s shoulder. You make the same point as my wife – I need someone who knows automobiles. Certainly, there will be rough patches, but with the right automobile, a capable mechanic, and good fortune on my side, there is nothing to fear.

Sewall perked up, "Can I help you?"

Hello! Mr. Crocker, right? It’s Doctor H. Nelson Jackson, and my wife, Bertha. You assisted us with driving lessons.

I remember.

Ah, excellent. This is my associate, Archibald. I seek the owner of this establishment.

Nice to meet you again, ma’am. Sewall tipped his cap to the woman. He rubbed his palms on his pants to clean them. As he extended his hand, Dr. Jackson shook it eagerly. What do you need?

A real mechanic, Archibald grumbled. 

Sewall eyed the wisenheimer.

Nelson shooed his friend aside. I’ve made a wager to drive across this nation. I require, a mechanic, and a recommendation for the best automobile. Is the owner around?

Sewall motioned his chin toward the back. He’s in the office, but I’d better help you.

You’re so young, Bertha said. 

Been fixing machines all my life.

Archibald turned toward a door in back. What he doesn’t need is a kid playing shop.

Sewall wrung the wrench in hands. "You can stop with all that kiddo stuff. Haven’t been a kid since I started working on engines."

Archibald walked over to the door labeled ‘OFFICE’ in black lettering. Sewall eyed the goop waiting for him to figure out what everyone in San Francisco already knew. Archibald opened the door and stepped inside. Hello, excuse me… hey buddy.

Shaking his head, Sewall turned to Dr. Jackson and his wife. I started racing bicycles up in Washington, switching to engines just meant going faster.

Dr. Jackson smiled. Archibald stepped out of the office. He’s out cold. I couldn’t wake him.

What I tell you? Sewall cocked his head to the side. This won’t be like driving around the city, they’ll be rough roads out there.

Dr. Jackson kissed his wife’s gloved hand. I imagine it will be. So invigorating.

My husband, Bertha touched Dr. Jackson’s cheek. Though classically trained as a physician, is an automobile enthusiast who always keeps an eye on the latest model.

Dr. Jackson chuckled. Don’t let this one fool you. Her interest in the automobile exceeds my own.

Sewall pulled down on the bill of his cap. What kind of automobile you taking?

I met a nice man from Packard Motors. Perhaps their automobile would be a good choice?

Nah, He shook his head. I mean the Model C is nice in the city and all, but it’ll struggle in the mountains. We could do it in a twenty horsepower Winton touring car."

A Winton? Dr. Jackson rested his hand under his chin.

Sewall nodded. It will carry you through if anything will.

Wait, Dr. Jackson held up a finger. Didn’t the last guy who tried to cross the country attempt it in a Winton.

Oh yeah, Mr. Alexander Winton of the Winton Motor Carriage Company himself. Took off from here two years ago.

Archibald shook his head. "Then why take that motorcar?"

Sewall pinched the bridge of his nose. Wasn’t the automobile that failed. They got stuck in the sand. He walked over to Dr. Jackson. You see, beyond being two cylinders, the Winton has some brand-new features. Not only high gears for speed, but pull a lever, and the Winton switches to a low gear for power. Enough to get over those mountains. Sewall checked that this Jackson-guy still listened, and found him hooked on every word. Two, a ratchet lever on the starter crank, so when it kicks-back, it doesn’t break your arm.

A wise feature, Dr. Jackson popped up and stepped toward Bertha. I want a steering wheel, not a tiller. I think it has better handling.

Tillers are for boats, I don’t like’em either. He didn’t know if this was a test, but he liked this guy’s views on automobiles. Yep, you want a Winton.

Dr. Jackson eyed him. How much do you make… in a year?

Five hundred dollars! He paused. But I rent this space, so I also work at the gasoline-engine factory.

Archibald’s face twisted in a puzzled expression, Out east you’d make twice that.

Really… Sewall snapped his head up. Wait. This guy pulled his leg. Only bankers made a thousand dollars a year.

Dr. Jackson turned to his wife, with a big smile. She had the same excitement in her eyes as he did. They nodded at the same time. He stepped forward with Bertha. "Fate, fortune, or the almighty himself, might have brought me here. Sewall Crocker, how about you and I drive across this great nation? I’ll pay you to serve as a navigator, second driver, and head mechanic, my passe-partout as it were."

Sewall’s eyes popped open, Whipping the cap off his head, he covered his face. He knew he should be serious, this was business, but getting paid to be the mechanic on an adventure. His cheeks started to burn. He had to say something – negotiate the deal. If, he blurted out. One… I get the money even if we don’t make it, and two… we take a Winton.

Done! The two shook hands. You get the car, Dr. Jackson said with a smile. I’ll make the other arrangements.

Bertha motioned with her parasol. Let us go buy an automobile and begin planning this adventure.

WHAT? Archibald crumpled his fedora in his hands. You don’t have an automobile?

Dr. Jackson shrugged. Never owned one before. I’ve only driven around Manhattan, and Swipes’ estate in Vermont.

You don’t own a motorcar and have never driven anywhere. Archibald sighed, "Maybe it’s not too late to change my bet."

I can handle the drive. Quit worrying. I will succeed.

How do you have such confidence?

Dr. Jackson grabbed Archibald’s shoulder. I have made a wager. And beyond that, America’s destiny is to unite the coasts.

Sewall cocked his eyebrow, wondering if this guy just sounded like the newspapers or really believed it.

Mrs. Jackson smiled, and she had the prettiest smile. "Do ensure my husband, and you, arrive at your destination."

We’ve got this in the bag… Sewall didn’t know if that was true, but she was Dr. Jackson’s wife and looked like a good person. He knew he had to say something nice. Problem was he’d seen everyone who’d attempted this journey. All failed. Some because of the automobile. Some because of the driver. Maybe this guy would make it all the way… if he had some expert help. Sewall tossed his wrench in his toolbox, flipped the sign to closed, and locked up the shop.

Archibald nudged his shoulder. Isn’t your boss going to be mad?

He eyed the wisenheimer and shifted his cap. Nah, he’ll wake up tonight thinking I left at the usual time. Besides, I’m partners with Dr. Jackson now.

Chapter 2

The Vermont

Sewall followed the Jacksons as they walked hand-in-hand down California Ave. The whole time Archibald ranted about not having a motorcar.

They all arrived at the Plaza Hotel, one of the nicest in town. Sewall held his breath. Normally, if he got this close to the entrance, the bellmen would run him off, but the guys in red uniforms didn’t give him a second look as he walked up the marble steps with Dr. Jackson.

Once in the luxurious lobby, Sewall froze. He’d never seen so much sparkling crystal, marble, and gold. He tripped over his bottom jaw, and grabbed his cap, to keep it from falling off. Plus, somewhere, someone had told him, gentlemen remove their hats indoors. After a moment of gawking, he rushed to join Dr. Jackson at one of the tables.

Nelson, Archibald snatched off his fedora. It will take weeks to order an automobile, maybe months.

Archie, you worry too much. Dr. Jackson pulled out the chair for Bertha.

Sewall shrugged. Automobiles weren’t the kind of thing a person bought at the store, rather, they’d have to order it out of a catalog. Weeks would pass before the train brought it to town.

What you need is someone with a brand-new Winton. There are several here on the coast. Sewall dropped onto a chair. I’ve serviced a couple.

I could purchase one, the motorcar might even be configured for the conditions in the West. Dr. Jackson pointed at Sewall. An excellent idea, keep them coming.

Sewall nodded. I worked on a guy’s Winton a few weeks ago. Brand new, a 1903. He had me put the lanterns on the side, they’d been removed for shipping.

Who? Bertha asked.

I don’t remember. Sewall could see the guy in his head like a painting. "He was wealthy… like a banker. No, he was a banker. Works for Wells Fargo."

I know him. Dr. Jackson popped out of his chair. You all stay here. He ran off to the hotel desk.

Sewall turned to Bertha, I didn’t tell him anything.

It must have been enough. Bertha turned to watch her husband. We auto-enthusiasts run in small circles.

Dr. Jackson returned to the table several minutes later. He’s bringing the Winton over in the morning. Sewall, if you could assess the automobile before I buy it, I would appreciate it.

Sewall nodded. Sure, I’ll see what the word is.

*   *  *

In the morning, Sewall stepped out of the Plaza Hotel and froze. His chest refused to take another breath, even his heart skipped a couple beats. The most glorious machine sat in front of the hotel. A 1903 Winton Tourer.

The long, narrow chassis sat on four spoked tires. A brass horn clung to the right side, beside the steering wheel. Without a windshield or roof, the slick-looking automobile was designed for luxury and speed. Leather upholstered bucket seats were mounted high on a wooden body painted dark red and trimmed with slick black lines. A bench seat, or tonneau, sat on the back, and the whole automobile had accents of polished brass.

Red, it was even red. Sewall wanted to hug it. To climb through every nook and cranny of this finely-crafted machine. Ooooh, look at it. He ripped off his cap and ran around the automobile. Just as I remember. His hand hovered over the trim as if one touch would shatter the dream. Look at that engine underneath the driver's seat, it’s a two-cylinder with a chain drive? Wringing his hat through his fingers, he said, "That’s like 20-horsepower. With two speeds forward and one reverse, it will easily reach thirty miles an hour or more. Lantern mounts on the sides, you’re welcome, and a huge ten-gallon gas tank. He angled his hand. See how the hood slopes slightly forward? How its perched on the tires? This automobile is moving even when it's standing still."

He checked the tires and paused. The rubber of both rear tires was lightening to gray from wear. Not good, this machine would need new ones.

Dr. Jackson spoke to a man decked out in a full driving outfit with the cap, goggles, gloves, and a scarf.

Crocker knows his stuff. The banker chuckled. That’s the 1903 Winton Tourer, the finest automobile the Winton Motor Carriage Company ever created.

How much? Dr. Jackson asked.

The automobile was two-thousand, five hundred dollars. The banker tugged on his driving gloves. Five hundred dollars should compensate me for the effort.

Sewall threw his cap down. No one had that kind of dough. It’s not like loaded guys fell off the train every day. He glanced at Dr. Jackson, afraid he might be sour and this road trip would be over before it even began.

Dr. Jackson and his wife stared at each other.

Archibald laughed and pointed at a green automobile parked across the street. Saw that Packard in a catalog, its only twelve hundred dollars.

Sewall kicked his cap across the sidewalk. No good. It’s a 1901, only a one-cylinder engine. Maybe nine horsepower at best. It would never make it through the Rockies.

The Jacksons stepped away from the banker, and closer to Sewall. Swipes, I think it’s worth it to beat the bet.

She touched his shoulder. I agree. They smiled and she said, We have plenty of money left from our vacation and I can wire you more.

Dr. Jackson kissed her laced-gloved hand. 

Sewall eyed them. Had he heard that right? Would Dr. Jackson really buy an automobile on the spot? Running his hands