It might have been worse

In Short

This travelogue serves as a firsthand account of an ambitious transcontinental road trip undertaken just after the First World War. It is part practical guidebook, part personal diary, capturing a time when automobile travel was an adventurous novelty rather than a standard convenience. The writing remains an enduring record of a changing America, documenting the transition from rustic, frontier-like conditions to the birth of a modern highway culture, all while emphasizing the resilience required to navigate the vast, rugged landscapes that defined the American West in the early twentieth century.

The Story

The journey begins in New York, with the travelers aiming for the Pacific coast in their automobile. From the start, the narrative balances the scenic beauty of the Appalachian Mountains with the pragmatic concerns of finding suitable hotels and meals. As the travelers move through Pennsylvania and Ohio, they encounter the inevitable growing pains of a nation shifting toward car culture, noting how once-grand residential avenues in cities like Cleveland and Detroit are being overtaken by trade and congestion.

As they push into the Midwest, the tone shifts from urban navigation to the exploration of the American heartland. Passing through the Twin Cities, the travelers revel in the hospitality of local acquaintances and the natural charm of the regional lakes. However, the trek grows more demanding as they enter the plains and the Bad Lands of North Dakota. The landscape becomes increasingly alien and unforgiving, characterized by isolation and extreme geological features. The couple’s experience at a remote cowboy-era hotel in Medora serves as a stark reminder of the crumbling remains of the old frontier, standing in sharp contrast to the modernizing cities they left behind.

The climax of the trip occurs within the borders of Yellowstone National Park. Here, the travelers are confronted with the raw, untamed majesty of the geysers and, most memorably, an encounter with a persistent cinnamon bear that demands a snack from their car. This brush with the wild heightens the sense of adventure before the final, most grueling phase of the voyage. Upon reaching the Great Salt Lake desert in Utah, the reality of the road takes a punishing turn. Faced with endless sand, heat, and the absence of reliable infrastructure, the couple is forced to make a difficult decision. They eventually ship their car by rail across the most treacherous stretches of the Nevada desert to Reno.

The story concludes in San Francisco, which the couple finds in a state of jubilant celebration. The city is decorated for the arrival of the fleet, providing a stark, festive contrast to the desolation of the desert. The narrative wraps up with a detailed financial breakdown of the fifty-day trip, emphasizing that despite the "High Cost of Living" at the time, the adventure was not only possible for a middle-class couple but transformative. They arrive as changed people, having witnessed a cross-section of the nation that few Americans of their era would ever see in such intimate, exhausting detail.

How It Unfolds

The Departure The travelers set out from New York City with a mix of optimism and pragmatism, prioritizing comfortable lodging and reliable food over mere mileage. They acknowledge the challenges of early motoring, such as torn fabric tops and the necessity of constant engine vigilance.

The Urban Transition Moving through the industrial hubs of the Midwest, the narrative highlights the rapid development of cities like Detroit and Chicago. The authors observe how the expansion of commerce is irrevocably changing the character of these cities, replacing quiet neighborhoods with the bustle of modern trade.

The Frontier Experience Crossing into the Dakotas and Montana, the trip enters a more rugged phase where the remnants of the Old West collide with the arrival of the automobile. The travelers document the stark beauty of the Bad Lands and the diminishing authenticity of "cow-towns" like Medora.

The Wonders of Yellowstone The exploration of the National Park provides a respite from the road, filled with geysers and wildlife encounters. This section captures the awe of the early national park tourist, juxtaposing the grandeur of nature with the primitive conditions of the park's early infrastructure.

The Desert and the End The final leg requires navigating the punishing sands of the Utah desert, ultimately forcing the travelers to ship their vehicle to Reno. The journey concludes in a vibrant, post-war San Francisco, offering a moment of relief and reflection on the vast, varied terrain they have successfully crossed.

The People

Beatrice Larned Massey serves as the observant, spirited guide, documenting the trip with a sharp eye for social shifts and a dry wit regarding the hardships of the road. Her husband acts as the stoic mechanic and primary driver, balancing the technical demands of the car with a pragmatic, often humorous, approach to their surroundings. Together, they represent the prototypical early motor tourists—determined, somewhat privileged, and deeply curious about the "real" America beyond their home in the East. They are joined periodically by "Toodles," a companion whose presence adds a layer of social camaraderie to the long stretches of travel. The local figures they encounter—ranging from obliging hotel clerks and helpful garage mechanics to the occasional "grizzly" guide in the West—serve as the markers of their progress, each interacting with the travelers’ Eastern perspective in ways that emphasize the regional differences of the time. By the end of the trip, the couple’s initial naivety is replaced by a hard-earned confidence, reflecting a shift from mere tourists to experienced explorers of the American landscape.

In Its Own Voice

The author highlights the necessity of prioritizing rest to endure the rigors of long-distance driving.

After you have driven day after day, and come in stiff and tired, there is no bed too soft and no bathroom too luxurious to overrest your mind and body.

She describes the surreal beauty of the North Dakota landscape with a sense of wonder that transcends typical travel writing.

High cliffs, deep canyons, queer formations of stone and earth that look like great castles or human heads.

Reflecting on the psychological impact of the vast, empty Western landscapes, she notes the profound isolation of the desert.

There is a silence of deathlike stillness that gets on the nerves, and the sameness is wearisome.

What It's Really About

At its core, the book is a meditation on the rapid modernization of the United States. It explores the tension between the "old" frontier—romanticized in literature but often dirty and depleted in reality—and the emerging, industrialized nation. The text grapples with the question of whether the expansion of the automobile and the development of standardized hotels truly unify the country or merely pave over its regional eccentricities. It is an argument for the necessity of travel as a tool for national understanding, positing that one can only comprehend the diversity of American life, politics, and scenery by subjecting oneself to the literal grit and uncertainty of the road.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy historical travelogues or have a fascination with early automotive history will find this a captivating, if sometimes demanding, read. It captures the authentic "road trip" spirit—the thrill of the detour, the joy of a good meal after a long day of driving, and the camaraderie of shared hardship. The book acts as a time capsule, preserving a moment when the United States felt vast, mysterious, and truly interconnected for the first time.

However, modern readers should be prepared for the author's period-specific attitudes, particularly regarding class, gender, and the romanticization of certain regional stereotypes. The prose is earnest and descriptive, though it occasionally shifts into the slightly verbose style typical of the early twentieth century. There is no attempt to minimize the exhaustion of travel or the mechanical failures of the era; the book is refreshingly honest about the reality of "gumbo" mud and desert sand. Readers will likely be charmed by the author’s resilience and her clear, unvarnished look at a country that was just beginning to realize the potential of the open road. It is a rewarding look at the evolution of the American spirit through the windshield of a car.