From San Francisco to Los Angeles in 1902
by Frank Y. Pearne (First published in Bicycling September 1969)
[This copy is from the Spring 2003 edition, Volume 1, Number 3 of Vintage Bicycle Quarterly, which itself reprinted the copy from the September 1969 issue of Bicycling!. The notes in italic below are from Jan Heine, the editor of Bicycle Quarterly. (its current name) - M.F.]Thanks to Craig Montgomery for sending this article. He bought this edition of Bicycling new off the rack and "has been waiting for years for someone else to appreciate what this fellow did."
There has been some talk of an attempt to break the existing record between San Francisco and Los Angeles of 36 hours elapsed time by Neil Estrada. Having made the trip myself, over 63 years ago, I thought Bicycling! readers might be interested in what it was like before there were paved roads, road maps, signs, and all the other conveniences we take for granted when traveling today. The distance at that time was approximately 485 miles, while the signs on our superhighways now indicate 426.
I made the trip in the summer of 1902 while riding under the emblem of the Bay City Wheelmen of San Francisco, then the oldest bicycle club in the world.
My outfit consisted of a heavy turtle neck sweater, bicycle pants, stockings and racing slippers with heels added. I carried a box camera on my back. The only other item I took was a small repair kit, comprising of a hand pump, bicycle wrench, a six-inch flat file, tire tape, and a jiffy gun for repairing my light Palmer tires (which I still believe were the best road tires ever made).
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| Frank Y. Pearne, from Joel Metz' Bay City Wheelmen scrapbook site |
I had been using an 88 or 92 inch gear in races, and changed to a 77 for the trip. Leaving the ferry boat in Oakland at seven on a hot morning in the middle of June, I soon had a tail wind at my back, and by the time I reached San Jose I had really pedaled myself to exhaustion. Spinning that low gear all the way took more out of me than at any other time on the road.
South of Gilroy I caught up with another rider. We rode and walked through the Salinas hills, which were quite steep in places. By and by we separated, and I took a side road for Gonzales by way of Natividad. The road was level, hard, and smooth, not taking into consideration the numerous chuckholes that were easy to dodge. This road proved to be one of the best of the entire trip, and I enjoyed every minute of it.
A few miles out of Gonzales, I stopped to consult my map. There were absolutely no signs, nor even telegraph wires to follow. I had met only one wagon on the road several hours before.
I had been up late the night before with my old Los Angeles friend, John Duvall, who was also a member of the Bay City Wheelmen team. I dozed off sitting there, and next thing I knew, a man was yelling at me… I had fallen asleep on the side of the road, and although I was not blocking it, his horse was afraid to pass by me. My unscheduled nap had cost me almost two hours, and I had to hurry to make King City before dark.
It seems that whenever you are in a hurry, the obstacles in your path multiply ten-fold. This day was no different. The road between Gonzales and King City was under construction and this forced me to take the old road which ran along the bed of the Salinas River. Then too, it was necessary to open and close several gates, which were there to keep cattle from roaming the river bottom.
After twelve hours of traveling, I arrived at King City, very tired and hungry. Crackers and cheese were all I had eaten since breakfast, 140 miles earlier, but I would have to wait until seven the next morning for the restaurant to open.
By eight o'clock, I was on my way to Santa Maria, by Way of Paso Robles, the Santa Margarita Pass, and San Luis Obispo. The roads ranged from fair to bad; fair on the high ground and bad in the washes.
There were very few bridges - they were just starting to build one over the gulley at Bradley. Wagon roads branched off in many directions and I often had to guess which road to take. Even so, I only missed once.
It is really hot on this part of the trip and must have been way over 100 degrees around Paso Robles. The road through the Santa Margarita Pass was fairly good except it was steep. I walked most of the way. Going down to San Luis Obispo was not too bad, and I rode all the way - but not too fast!
Passing through town, I met another rider who was a great admirer of the Downing Brothers and the Garden City Wheelmen. I asked him what he thought of the Bay City Wheelmen. He told me he thought they were a good bunch of riders, but that they had only one man to compare with the Downings, and that was a guy named Pearne, and he did not think he could beat them. (Actually, we did not meet very often. When we did, I must have caught them out of condition as they only beat me once - in a very close race at San Jose, when they were riding together and I was riding with Charlie Long of the Bay City Wheelmen. I always felt that both Lace and Burton were faster than I was.)
Just before leaving, I told my new friend who I was, thanked him for his compliment and told him he was right in his estimate. I made Santa Maria 10 hours from King City in time for a late supper.
The morning of the third day, I headed for San Marcos Pass, Santa Barbara and Ventura, where I planned to spend the night. The Wagon roads were fairly good, and I had the telegraph wires to follow. The road over Gaviota Pass had not yet been built in 1902, and the San Marcos crossing was the only way over the mountains to the coast.
San Marcos Pass was known as the toughest and most dangerous pass in Southern California. I walked most of the way up, all the time thinking what a grand downhill ride I would have into Santa Barbara. What a dream that turned out to be! The descent was steep, rough, and very narrow, with sheer drops of 500 to 1000 feet into the canyons at the side of the road.
Back pedaling using the toestraps and sliding my back wheel a good deal, I worked harder going down than I had climbing up the other side. Then half-way down, I broke my chain! Only a flying leap kept me from a runaway which, surely would have left me out in space without a parachute.
With the aid of my file, a wrench, and a good rock, I made the necessary repairs. From there on I walked in the steepest places, and finally rode into Santa Barbara at five that afternoon.
The only road between Santa Barbara and Ventura was a long, rough, up and down trek through the hills. Everyone who could, waited for a low tide and drove or rode down the beach, a far more pleasant route. As the tide was just coming in, I rode to Carpenteria to spend the night, tired and ready for bed.
When I arrived in Carpenteria, I found many of the people heading down the main street, so I followed along. We ended up at the Southern Pacific depot, where everyone was waiting for the streamliner "Daylight" to arrive from San Francisco(1). I decided that some very prominent citizen was expected. But when the train arrived, it didn't even slow down. The engineer blew the whistle and waved, but the train roared right on through. Everybody seemed satisfied and headed back to town. I learned later this was a regular evening ceremony. It may have been exciting for them, but I lost a precious hour's sleep.
I caught the lowering tide at 10 the next morning, had lunch at Ventura and headed for home through the Simi Valley. The road turned out to be almost entirely sand. Passing through the valley, I had an experience I remember most vividly of the entire trip.
The road was wide enough only for one wagon, with deep sand on both sides, and turn-outs a very long way apart. I caught up with a big empty beet rack and trailer pulled by six mules driven by a jerk line.
I called to the driver to pull over and let me pass. He only laughed, looking back occasionally with glee at the sight of my eating his dust. I was getting mad enough to eat his mules!
After a mile or so, I saw my chance to pass at one of the few turnouts. I just made it by, and when I cut back in front of his mules, they spooked and took off across the fields, hitting only the high spots like the devil was after them.
With only his jerk line, the driver could not stop them, and they ran for a quarter of a mile before the wagon bogged down in the sand. I wondered if the driver was still laughing. I do, every time I recall the incident.
My old friend and riding partner, Frenchie Florentin, had arranged to meet me on the Chatsworth Pass, which was also a honey in those days. The delays caused by the tide, and the wagon driver, and the deep sand put me about six hours behind schedule, so after a long wait, Frenchie had given up and headed home. I followed his tire tracks all the way into San Fernando. We later figured out he was only half an hour ahead of me. I arrived home at seven, just as my folks had given me up.
The trip took four days, riding between ten and twelve hours a day. If I had caught the right tide at Santa Barbara, I would have made it in three and a half. Total riding time, including repairs and lunch stops, Was 42 hours.
One lesson I learned for sure: don't wear a turtleneck sweater or carry a box camera on a 485 mile ride in June.
Notes
(1) The Daylight streamliners uere introduced only in the 1930s, so the train must have been an earlier express, Cf. Yenne, Bill, 1988. The History of the Southern Pacific, Bonanza, New York, p. 83.
South of Gilroy I caught up with another rider. We rode and walked through the Salinas hills, which were quite steep in places. By and by we separated, and I took a side road for Gonzales by way of Natividad. The road was level, hard, and smooth, not taking into consideration the numerous chuckholes that were easy to dodge. This road proved to be one of the best of the entire trip, and I enjoyed every minute of it.
A few miles out of Gonzales, I stopped to consult my map. There were absolutely no signs, nor even telegraph wires to follow. I had met only one wagon on the road several hours before.
I had been up late the night before with my old Los Angeles friend, John Duvall, who was also a member of the Bay City Wheelmen team. I dozed off sitting there, and next thing I knew, a man was yelling at me… I had fallen asleep on the side of the road, and although I was not blocking it, his horse was afraid to pass by me. My unscheduled nap had cost me almost two hours, and I had to hurry to make King City before dark.
It seems that whenever you are in a hurry, the obstacles in your path multiply ten-fold. This day was no different. The road between Gonzales and King City was under construction and this forced me to take the old road which ran along the bed of the Salinas River. Then too, it was necessary to open and close several gates, which were there to keep cattle from roaming the river bottom.
After twelve hours of traveling, I arrived at King City, very tired and hungry. Crackers and cheese were all I had eaten since breakfast, 140 miles earlier, but I would have to wait until seven the next morning for the restaurant to open.
By eight o'clock, I was on my way to Santa Maria, by Way of Paso Robles, the Santa Margarita Pass, and San Luis Obispo. The roads ranged from fair to bad; fair on the high ground and bad in the washes.
There were very few bridges - they were just starting to build one over the gulley at Bradley. Wagon roads branched off in many directions and I often had to guess which road to take. Even so, I only missed once.
It is really hot on this part of the trip and must have been way over 100 degrees around Paso Robles. The road through the Santa Margarita Pass was fairly good except it was steep. I walked most of the way. Going down to San Luis Obispo was not too bad, and I rode all the way - but not too fast!
Passing through town, I met another rider who was a great admirer of the Downing Brothers and the Garden City Wheelmen. I asked him what he thought of the Bay City Wheelmen. He told me he thought they were a good bunch of riders, but that they had only one man to compare with the Downings, and that was a guy named Pearne, and he did not think he could beat them. (Actually, we did not meet very often. When we did, I must have caught them out of condition as they only beat me once - in a very close race at San Jose, when they were riding together and I was riding with Charlie Long of the Bay City Wheelmen. I always felt that both Lace and Burton were faster than I was.)
Just before leaving, I told my new friend who I was, thanked him for his compliment and told him he was right in his estimate. I made Santa Maria 10 hours from King City in time for a late supper.
The morning of the third day, I headed for San Marcos Pass, Santa Barbara and Ventura, where I planned to spend the night. The Wagon roads were fairly good, and I had the telegraph wires to follow. The road over Gaviota Pass had not yet been built in 1902, and the San Marcos crossing was the only way over the mountains to the coast.
San Marcos Pass was known as the toughest and most dangerous pass in Southern California. I walked most of the way up, all the time thinking what a grand downhill ride I would have into Santa Barbara. What a dream that turned out to be! The descent was steep, rough, and very narrow, with sheer drops of 500 to 1000 feet into the canyons at the side of the road.
Back pedaling using the toestraps and sliding my back wheel a good deal, I worked harder going down than I had climbing up the other side. Then half-way down, I broke my chain! Only a flying leap kept me from a runaway which, surely would have left me out in space without a parachute.
With the aid of my file, a wrench, and a good rock, I made the necessary repairs. From there on I walked in the steepest places, and finally rode into Santa Barbara at five that afternoon.
The only road between Santa Barbara and Ventura was a long, rough, up and down trek through the hills. Everyone who could, waited for a low tide and drove or rode down the beach, a far more pleasant route. As the tide was just coming in, I rode to Carpenteria to spend the night, tired and ready for bed.
When I arrived in Carpenteria, I found many of the people heading down the main street, so I followed along. We ended up at the Southern Pacific depot, where everyone was waiting for the streamliner "Daylight" to arrive from San Francisco(1). I decided that some very prominent citizen was expected. But when the train arrived, it didn't even slow down. The engineer blew the whistle and waved, but the train roared right on through. Everybody seemed satisfied and headed back to town. I learned later this was a regular evening ceremony. It may have been exciting for them, but I lost a precious hour's sleep.
I caught the lowering tide at 10 the next morning, had lunch at Ventura and headed for home through the Simi Valley. The road turned out to be almost entirely sand. Passing through the valley, I had an experience I remember most vividly of the entire trip.
The road was wide enough only for one wagon, with deep sand on both sides, and turn-outs a very long way apart. I caught up with a big empty beet rack and trailer pulled by six mules driven by a jerk line.
I called to the driver to pull over and let me pass. He only laughed, looking back occasionally with glee at the sight of my eating his dust. I was getting mad enough to eat his mules!
After a mile or so, I saw my chance to pass at one of the few turnouts. I just made it by, and when I cut back in front of his mules, they spooked and took off across the fields, hitting only the high spots like the devil was after them.
With only his jerk line, the driver could not stop them, and they ran for a quarter of a mile before the wagon bogged down in the sand. I wondered if the driver was still laughing. I do, every time I recall the incident.
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| 17 May 1903 Cleveland relay cup, Los Angeles team photo (Bollo, Duvoll, Florentin, Chappee, Lampton, Pearne) |
My old friend and riding partner, Frenchie Florentin, had arranged to meet me on the Chatsworth Pass, which was also a honey in those days. The delays caused by the tide, and the wagon driver, and the deep sand put me about six hours behind schedule, so after a long wait, Frenchie had given up and headed home. I followed his tire tracks all the way into San Fernando. We later figured out he was only half an hour ahead of me. I arrived home at seven, just as my folks had given me up.
The trip took four days, riding between ten and twelve hours a day. If I had caught the right tide at Santa Barbara, I would have made it in three and a half. Total riding time, including repairs and lunch stops, Was 42 hours.
One lesson I learned for sure: don't wear a turtleneck sweater or carry a box camera on a 485 mile ride in June.
Notes
(1) The Daylight streamliners uere introduced only in the 1930s, so the train must have been an earlier express, Cf. Yenne, Bill, 1988. The History of the Southern Pacific, Bonanza, New York, p. 83.
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