George Wyman called the first part of his ride, ‘Over the Sierras and Through The Snow Sheds’.
Without Google to help would you know what a snow shed is? I didn’t, but I can now show you what they are.
May 19, 1903 –
(Colfax to Donner Pass Summit, CA)
“When I left Colfax on the morning of May 19, the motor working grandly, and though the going was up, up, up it carried me along without any effort for nearly 10 miles.
Then it overheated, and I had to “nurse” it with oil every three or four miles. It recovered itself during luncheon at Emigrants’ Gap…
George didn’t share a photo of the Emigrants gap, today it’s a gas station and a rest stop to let vehicles cool off after the long monotonous climb.
I personally didn’t want a gas station ‘luncheon’ from there. I did find a waypoint sign though.
The actual ‘Gap’ itself looks like this, I was there for about 20 minutes scanning the hillside for ‘sheds’ and couldn’t see them. The old train line was down in the valley a little, but not at the bottom. When I left I was on the freeway and saw the old railroad trestles but couldn’t stop to get a photo…you’ll just have to go up there yourself!
…and I prepared for the snow that had been in sight for hours and that the atmosphere told me was not now far ahead.
But between the Gap and the snow there was six miles of the vilest road that mortal ever dignified by the term.
I got a message from a guy on FB, he had recently hiked this section of George’s route, he said it was an absolutely brutal hike without a bike, I guess nothing has changed in 120 years!
Then I struck the snow, and as promptly I hurried for the shelter of the snow sheds, without which there would be no travel across continent by the northern route.
The snow lies 10, 15, and 20-feet deep on the mountain sides, and ever and anon the deep boom or muffled thud of tremendous slides of “the beautiful” as it pitches into the dark deep canyons or falls with terrific force upon the sheds conveys the grimmest suggestions. The sheds wind around the mountain sides, their roofs built aslant that the avalanches of snow and rock hurled from above may glide harmlessly into the chasm below.
Stations, section houses, and all else pertaining to the railways are, of course, built in the dripping and gloomy, but friendly, shelter of these sheds, where daylight penetrates only at the short breaks where the railway tracks span a deep gulch or ravine.
To ride a motor bicycle through the sheds is impossible. I walked, of course, dragging my machine over the ties for 18 miles by cyclometer measurement. I was 7 hours in the sheds. It was 15 feet under the snow. That night I slept at Summit, 7,015 feet above the sea, having ridden – or walked – 54 miles during the day.”
The Summit Hotel
Today the Summit Hotel is a dirt lot
May 20, 1903 –
(Donner Pass Summit, CA to Reno, NV)
“The next day, May 20, promised more pleasure, or, rather, I fancied that it did so, l knew that I could go no higher and with dark, damp, dismal snow sheds and the miles of wearying walking behind me, and a long downgrade before me, my fancy had painted a pleasant picture of, if not smooth, then easy sailing.
When I sought my motor bicycle in the morning the picture received its first blur. My can of lubricating oil was missing. The magnificent view that the tip top the mountains afforded lost its charms. I had eyes not even for Donner Lake, the “gem of the Sierras,” nestling like a great, lost diamond in its setting of fleecy snow and tall, gaunt pines.
I jumped onto old Highway 40 not knowing it was closed by a landslide but it gave me a great view of Donner Summit, the Bridge, the lake, and finally, the snow sheds…and a little snow in July!
I didn’t go hiking but this guy did, and you get to see what they are like inside the snow sheds today
…Oil such as I required was not to be had on the snowbound summit nor in the untamed country ahead, and oil I must have – or walk, and walk far. I knew that my supply was in its place just after emerging from the snow sheds the night before, and I reckoned therefore that the now prized can had dropped off in the snow, and I was determined to hunt for it.
I trudged back a mile and a half. Not an inch of ground or snow escaped search; and when at last a dark object met my gaze I fairly bounded toward it. It was my oil! I think I now know at least a thrill of the joy experienced by the traveler on the desert who discovers an unsuspected pool.
The oil, however was not of immediate aid. It did not help me get through the dark, damp, dismal tunnel, 1,700 feet long, that afforded the only means of egress from Summit.
I walked through that, of course, and emerging, continued to walk, or rather, I tried to walk. Where the road should have been was a wide expanse of snow – deep snow. As there was nothing else to do, I plunged into it and floundered, waded, walked, slipped, and slid to the head of Donner Lake.
It took me an hour to cover the short distance.
At the Lake the road cleared and to Truckee, 10 miles down the canyon, was in excellent condition for this season of the year. The grade drops 2,400 feet in the 10 miles, and but for the intelligent Truckee citizens I would have bidden good-bye to the Golden State long before I finally did so.
**Truckee 1900 photo
The best and shortest road to Reno? The intelligent citizens, several of them agreed on the route, and I followed their directions. The result: Nearly two hours later and after riding 21 miles, I reached Bovo(sic), six miles by rail from Truckee.
After that experience I asked no further information, but sought the crossties, and although they shook me up not a little, I made fair time to Verdi, 14 miles. Verdi is the first town in Nevada and about 40 miles from the summit of the Sierras.
Looking backward the snow-covered peaks are plainly visible, but one is not many miles across the State line before he realizes that California and Nevada, though they adjoin, are as unlike as regards soil, topography, climate, and all else as two countries between which an ocean rolls.
Nevada is truly the “Sage Brush State.” The scrubby plant marks its approach, and in front, behind, to the right, to the left, on the plains, the hills, everywhere, there is sage brush. It is almost the only evidence of vegetation, and as I left the crossties and traveled the main road, the dull green of the plant had grown monotonous long before I reached Reno, once the throbbing pivot of the gold-seeking hordes attracted by the wealth of the Comstock lodes, located in the mountains in the distance. That most of Reno’s glory has departed did not affect my rest that night.”
Reno population 1900 – 4500 people
Reno population 2023 – *274,602 people (estimated)
George had been on the road 5 days by now, this was the end of my day 1.
I found a great spot by a lake to wild camp just outside of Reno, as I’m pulling my tent out a boat and water skier passed close to the shore, music blaring. I ignored it and started to stake out my ground sheet.
As I went to grab the main body of the tent they pulled in not 50 yards away, I looked over and there was a car in the bushes I hadn’t noticed. I figured how bad can it be…they turned the music up to double the volume, maybe not realizing I was there, or maybe to get rid of me?
I started to pack up and go find another spot and my phone, which I thought didn’t have a signal, beeped. It was an inmate Fernando offering me some tent/ couch space just 8 miles down the road…I accepted the offer, and I respond at record speed.
Leaving the lake I passed this bridge that seemed the right era for George, there’s no mention of it in his story, but the railroad and dirt track did pass this way and it seems likely that it was the only way over the stream without getting wet feet.
20 minutes later I rolled down the hill, into the heat and pulled into Fernando’s, and was handed a cold beer…life is good!
George’s route so far after 5 days.
continued…
rtwPaul 