June 15, 1903
(Ogden to Marshalltown, IA)
“At Ogden I found a blacksmith, and had him cut a new thread on my rear axle, and we wedged the lock-nut of the coaster on with pieces of brass so that it would act properly.
So you understand what a coaster is, here is an ad from 1903
Ogden is in a fine farming district on rolling land, and going out of the place there it fine view across the mountains. I had a good chance to look around, for it was 11:30 o’clock before I got my coaster brake fixed so that I could start.
I rode 11 miles on the road to Boone, a town with model asphalted streets, and there I had luncheon, after which I sought the railroad tracks.
Boone
After a while I met a section foreman, in the person of a big Swede, who ordered me off the track bed. No amount of blarney would persuade him even to let me continue to a crossroad. I must get off the railroad property right then and there. The harshness of this edict became apparent when I had to climb through a barbed wire fence, drag my motor cycle after me and then walk with it for half a mile through a grain field before I reached a road. The prospect of being caught by the farmer while I was in the act of trampling down his grain did not add to my cheerfulness of mind during this enforced detour.
Shortly after I got started at riding on the road again my wheel twisted in a rut and I fell in a heap with the machine. In this fall I broke my cyclometer, the fourth one smashed since leaving San Francisco.
I had been thoroughly subdued by my two days experience with the Iowa gumbo, and I did not swear over this mishap. I was taking everything with becoming humility by this time, and my most fervent hope was simply that it would not rain until I got safely out of the country.
Fortunately it had not rained since I left Council Bluffs, and the mud I was encountering was simply that left over from the flooding storms of the previous week. I knew that if it rained before I got out of the region I would be laid up for days, for the roads get so bad during a rain that horses cannot make their way along them. Horses have been stuck in the roads out that way so badly that it was necessary to hoist them out with tackle.
After my fall I returned to the railroad tracks, determined to take a chance with the section hands in preference to the chances of the road. I had no more difficulty with the railroad men, and eventually reached Marshalltown at 7 p.m. with 71 miles to my credit for the day.
I overnighted just outside Marshalltown, finding a wild camping spot by a lake
By following the railroad tracks I missed passing through Des Moines, which is on a spur of the road down from Ames. At Ames I stopped and got a new screw for my carburetor valve, which was damaged by the same fall that broke my cyclometer.
In Ames, the railroad depot is now a coffee shop and the railroad has gone!
At Marshalltown I registered at a hotel run by a widow and her sons. After supper I gave my belt a lacing and went to bed.”
The hotel has long gone, just a waypoint marker in its place
June 16, 1903
(Marshalltown to Clinton, IA)
“With my nerve fortified by a resolve to brazen it out with the section hands on the railroad, and a stock of interesting stories arranged in mind for their benefit, I left Marshalltown at 7 a.m. on July 16, and proceeded to the tracks of the Northwestern.
Imagine a man so anxious to ride a bicycle over railroad ties that he would lie awake at night planning how to prevaricate to the section men! My luck in the gentle art of telling fairy stories was variable. Some passed me on with a doubtful look, but others were rude enough to refuse me credence and order me “back to the highway.”
Although I was east of there, I was like the man going to Omaha, who persistently returned after being put off the railroad train. Some section bosses and track walkers I went past, others I went around, and by using road and rail bed alternately I kept making headway. In this section of the country I saw more Indians than I did in all that portion of the country west of the Missouri.
There is a reservation at Tama, Iowa…As I rode through Tama it appeared a Powwow was starting the next day, and even though I was on a dirt road there was heavy traffic and I got a few unwelcoming looks as I rode through the reservation even though it was a public road.
For those who aren’t sure what a Powwow is –
through which place I passed and most of the Indians I saw were from there. They were tame redskins, given to the wearing of shirts and coats and trousers, and to agricultural pursuits. In fact, one sees few blanket Indians in this locality. Once, while I was on the road I tried to get a snapshot of one of the parties of Indians that I met in wagons.
There was a squaw in the party, and she yowled like a coyote when I pointed the camera at her and made haste to cover herself with a blanket, for most of the Indians have not gotten over the superstition that, like the man’s watch in the photograph gallery, their soul is taken in any picture of them. This squaw waved her arms and threw herself about so that I thought she would fall. I persevered, however, and got a snapshot; although it was an unsatisfactory one, because, after all, it shows only the Indian lady seated in the wagon with a blanket over her head.
Five miles from Cedar Rapids my batteries got so weak that my motor began to miss and finally gave out. When I tried to pedal the clumsily repaired coaster brake it broke again and I had to walk into Cedar Rapids.
The rapids, which I passed as I entered the city, were pretty, but I, plodding along and pushing my bicycle envied their rapidity more than their beauty. I traveled about 77 miles this day, though the distance by rail from Marshalltown to Cedar Rapids is only 69 miles.
When I reached Cedar Rapids my bicycle needed attention more seriously than at any previous time, and this was not to be wondered at, for it had carried me more than 2,300 miles. I went to a bicycle store on Second Avenue where I soldered the loose sprocket lock nut on to the hub. My handlebars were cracked near the head, where holes are drilled for the wires, so I brazed a piece of reinforcing onto them.
even though George doesn’t mention the name of the shop, by his description, address, and town records, it was easy to assume he went to Hall Bicycle Company.
Hall Bicycle Co. 2nd Ave.
Cedar Rapids, IA c.1903
Sadly even though the sign on the door said they opened at 10 am, I waited until 10.30 and no one showed. I was told that they moved not long after George was here to the new location just down the street, and the current owner is a relative of the original owner!
*Photo taken through the window
*The ‘new location’ just down the street
Leaving Cedar Rapids, I found the roads still muddy, and, as the country is of rolling character, I sought the railroad, but I found the bed so strewn with sharp rocks that I returned to the wagon road.
Why I did not get lost several times In this country I do not know. The telegraph poles branched off at every crossroad, and it was simply a toss-up to decide which was the line of poles to follow. The roads were a little better east of Cedar Rapids, which itself has splendid roads, but they were still wet and in places sandy.
Darkness overtook me before I reached Clinton, and, being afraid of smashing into something. I walked the last few miles into that place, arriving at 9 p.m., after having covered 85 miles.”
The bridge at Clinton
June 17, 1903
(Clinton, IA)
Wyman did not account for his activities on June 17, 1903. In the passage below, he states he departed the Stoddart Hotel in Marshalltown at 7 am, Tuesday, on “July 16″(sic – should be June 16), clearly a transcription error that made into the September 1903 issue of The Motorcycle Magazine. (See page 145, right column, last paragraph)
“With my nerve fortified by a resolve to brazen it out with the section hands on the railroad, and a stock of interesting stories arranged in mind for their benefit, I left Marshalltown at 7 a.m. on July 16, and proceeded to the tracks of the Northwestern.”
It is likely Wyman remained overnight in Cedar Rapids, repairing his motorcycle at Hall Bicycle Company on Second Avenue. Then finding overnight accommodations, departing for Clinton on the 17th of June.. It was over “77 miles” from Marshalltown to Cedar Rapids. And, another 85 miles from Cedar Rapids to Clinton. Wyman cites his daily mileage, likely traveled on June 17th.
“Darkness overtook me before I reached Clinton, and, being afraid of smashing into something. I walked the last few miles into that place, arriving at 9 p.m., after having covered eighty-five miles.”
Wyman’s next date/time reference is when he departs Clinton at 6:30 am on June 18, heading north to cross the Mississippi over the “Lyons-Fulton Bridge.” There is another transcription error in the reference to “Dixon” instead of Clinton. Dixon is community east of and after going through Fulton, just across the Mississippi river. Wyman goes on to mention “Fulton” correctly in the passage below. (See page 147, first full paragraph)
“At Clinton I was nearing Chicago, within 150 miles of it, and on the morning of June 18, when I left Clinton, Ia, at 6:30 a.m., I hoped to reach it before noon on the following day. Shortly after leaving Dixon(sic. Clinton) about two miles,
I crossed the “Father of Waters” and was at last east of the Mississippi and into Illinois, where I was told at the start I never would get with my motor bicycle. The roads improved at once after crossing the great river, though I had some difficulty finding the correct one going out of Fulton, Illinois.”
It is remarkable there are relatively so few transcription errors in the whole of the Wyman narrative. If you think of the communication flow-process that was necessary to end in the final printed copies of The Motorcycle Magazine articles.
Wyman would have to keep a journal of his daily progress, noting dates, times, locations and a descriptive narrative about activities. He also had with him a Kodak Vest Pocket camera that he used to take pictures along the way.
At the end of each riding day, after tending to the motorcycle, getting fed and securing lodging, he would compile his notes into a narrative suitable for publication. Then, depending on the telegraph, telephone and postal services available in the place he stopped for the night, he had to package it up and send it to Goodman Company publishing facilities in San Francisco and/or New York City. He never mentions getting film developed so one can assume it was sent to the publisher for processing. Also, we imagine the editorial staff at the Goodman Company offices would polish the narratives before sending the copy to the press for typesetting and printing. So, the opportunity for “copy errors” were ever present.
June 18, 1903
(Clinton, IA to Naperville, IL)
“At Clinton I was nearing Chicago, within 150 miles of it, and on the morning of June 18,
Clinton today, it gave off a bad vibe IMO, this was potentially a stopover as there was a hotel in this section of buildings, today just derelict shells
when I left Clinton, Ia, at 6:30 a.m., I hoped to reach it before noon on the following day. Shortly after leaving Dixon(sic. Clinton) about two miles, I crossed the “Father of Waters” and was at last east of the Mississippi and into Illinois, where I was told at the start I never would get with my motor bicycle.
The roads improved at once after crossing the great river, though I had some difficulty finding the correct one going out of Fulton, Illinois. The country in general also improved. The soil was darker and more fertile looking, and the farms had a thriving look about them that was superior to anything I had seen since leaving Sacramento. I chose the road on the north side of the Rock River, and remained on that side until I crossed the river at Dixon.
Persons of whom I made inquiry at Dixon advised me that the best thing I could do was to take the old Chicago stage road. I did so, and that road will be ever memorable to me, for on it my troubles broke out afresh. I rode from Dixon, which Is 99 miles from Chicago. Southeast about 45 miles to Earlville, and then rode northeast about 25 miles toward Aurora.
On this same route, I stopped for gas, I was just about to start the bike when I heard this ungodly engine noise coming towards me, and it was this guy. We got chatting, he was riding a 49cc with ‘upgraded heads’ he told me. “It’ll do 29mph at a push, but if I do that too long my MPG drops from 300 a gallon to about 250 miles!”
He like every other person I spoke to had not heard of George Wyman, but he did make a statement that struck me as profound and he was as shocked at my answer as much as I was.
“So you’re riding coast to coast on this guy’s 120th anniversary, how many thousands of others are celebrating that amazing achievement and also riding coast to coast?”
– “None that I know of!”
“…huh, what, NONE…that’s just shameful…!”
A great part of the road was so poor that I wished I had stayed on the railroad, and I learned afterward that I might have ridden on roads much nearer the tracks. Still, other parts of the road were good and I made fair time. I was getting near Aurora when the crank of my motor broke. This was the most serious accident that had happened to me, and it meant trouble. There was no possible way of repairing the damage, so, like the steamer that breaks its engine and hoists sail, I resorted to the pedals, and mighty glad I was that I had fixed the coaster brake at Cedar Rapids, so that I could pedal and did not have to walk. I pedaled about 10 miles before nightfall, and then put up at a little store at a crossroads, where they gave me accommodation for the night.”
Route so far, San Francisco to Aurora IL
continued…
rtwPaul 
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