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16

Without preamble I jumped in, hauled [[strikethrough]] in [[/strikethrough]] the block and tackle into a jumble in the trunk, [[strikethrough]] jumped [[/strikethrough]] leapfrogged into the driver's seat and yelled to Gertrude as I started the motor and poured on the petrol; ... "This dam thing just has to go over that grade come Hell or Christmas."  Amazingly IT DID.

No other spine vibrators troubled us on the way to the West Coast.  As we left Lake Tahoe, road markers, a most welcome eye-brightener appeared for the first time on our trip.  This was unique and as I recall there had been no signs of any description elsewhere across the country.  It is very possible in this area California scored a pioneering one-up.  The markers both fascinated and amused us because they immediately brought to mind the small upright headstones in a cemetery.  A nice touch of gruesome humor.

We breezed right along [[strikethrough]] going [[/strikethrough]] through Stockton, Sacramento and the smaller California cities.  Friday afternoon found us in San Leandro.  Our press agent's wire stopped us cold.  He ordered us to hold our takeoff for Oakland until the following morning.  We knew that a big welcoming celebration was all setup in San Francisco.  For this our arrival timing had to be right.  The arrangements were for us to arrive in the Bay City by ferry from Oakland on Saturday morning, thus the thundering welcome would create the banner headlines on the Sunday morning newspapers nationwide.  Good timing has always been of the essence of shrew publicity.

At the Oakland ferry several newsmen greeted us.  One asked, "Where's your hat?  Haven't ' you worn a hat on this trip?"  My answer to that was simply that bandananas were more practical on our particular expedition but that I was simply MAD about high style hats.  He immediately, with a little prodding, turned up with the name of the finest hat shop that style-conscious San Francisco could boast.  I told him the very first thing on my personal agenda