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-Soulhern Pines, North Carolhia
Friday. July 18, 1952
Preston And Trailer Make It To Anchorage
Via Alaskan Highway’s Dust, Mnd, Curves
L V. O^CALEAGHAN
Adventurous Pair
Get Mighty Tired
Of Those Sardines
Below is the pilot's first
communication ifrom Preston
Matthews of Southern Pines,
who, accompanied by Fred
Patton of Rocky Mount, set
off for Anchorage, Alaska,
early in Jime.
We hope to have later bul
letins telling of life in An
chorage. a city where. Pres
ton informs us, the Little
Theatre has just put on a
week's run of "South Pacific,"
and a room rents for $125 a
month. (Much they care—
they're living in the tr2uler.)
He enclosed a weather re
port for Wednesday, July 9:
low 44, high 62; sunrise 2:38
a. m., sunset 9:29 p. m.
Some months ago we decided
that we would like to take a trip
to Alaska and stay for a year or
so. Having heard about the fan
tastic rents charged up there, we
decided to get a house trailer and
pull it to the Land of the Mid
night Sun. We finally located one
in Raleigh that seemed to suit our
purpose. It belonged to a lady
school teacher. The thing squeak
ed at night when the wind was
blowing and kept her awake. It
was just‘what we wanted. The
trailer was a 28-foot Elcar, and its
all-altiminum extprior made it
idfea^’fpr Arctic weather.
Wd' spent the next several
months in feverish preparation.
We .Iddated 'a one-ton Studebaker
pickUp tfuck' to pull the thing.
Spare tires arid wheels were lo
cated for both the truck and the
trailer, for we had been reading
and hearing about the perils of
the Alaskan Highway. A 1,000-
watt light plant was set up on the
back of the truck, along with two
50-gallon barrels for water and
gasoline. A feyv cases of food
were set aside, including a case
of sardines.
Finally everything was in read
iness. Neither of us had ever pull
ed a trailer before, and with some
misgivings, we hooked up and
headed north. Riding in the
heavily loaded truck, and pulling
the heavy trailer, gave one the
sensation of riding in a rocking
and settled down, for the long ride
to Alaska.
We took the route'through Vir
ginia and connected with the
Pennsylvania Turnpike near Har
risburg. The Turnpike was ideal
for trailer pulling. The hills were
gradual and the roadway was
wide. We zoomed along at 40
miles per hour.
Everything was proceeding ac
cording to plan. The truck was
comfortable, and at night we pull
ed off the road to some good park
ing place and spent the night in
the trailer.
About two days out of North
Carolina, the trouble started. We
had just passed through a tunnel
on the Turnpike, and had started
down a steep hill when it hap
pened. We felt a terrific jolt and
heard a terrible scraping sound.
W;e pulled the outfit rapidly off
the highway and climbed out of
the truck just in time to see our
trailer wheej rolling down across
the Pennsylvania countryside.
The wheel was ruined, along
with the brake drum, , also the
electric brake system of the trail
er.
With long faces, we unhitched
the truck and drove tq the nearest
Turnpike exit, about three miles
away. We told the guard what
had happened. He was frantic!
“You can’t park your trailer on
the Turnpike,” he shouted. We
assured him that it could not be
moved without a wheel. “But you
absolutely pannot park on the
Turnpike,” he insisted. Patiently
we explained that we had no way
to move it off. “Well, if you are
going to insist on parking the
thing on the Turnpike, I will give
you a parking permit,” he finally
said. That settled that.
The garage we located had none
of the parts required to put the
trailer back in running order. We
had to drive 65'miles to Pittsburgh
to get the necessary items. Every
thing was going along fine. We
took our new wheel off the truck
(the one we had so thoughtfully
purchased before leaving North
Carolina for just such an emer
gency) and gave it .to the mechan
ic. It wouldn’t fit! Once again
we drove, 65 miles to Pittsburgh
and with some difficulty located
the proper wheel. We drove back
to the trailer, and mounted our
new recap tire on our new wheel.
Having spent 24 hours and $95
besid,e the road and as the impa
tient looks from the Turnpike of
quent^ we hooked up and headed
down the highway. Some five
minutes later we heard a loud
bang!” Our new recap tire had
blown out.
Alaska seemed to get farther
and farther away. We took off
the tire, and put an old one back
on the wheel. We were just 400
miles from home and troubles
seemed to be coming thick and
fast.
son
We uneasily drove the entire
length of the Turnpike that day,
and late that night reached the
Ohio border. About 11 o’clock,
we decided it .was time for a little
rest. We found a nice spot under
some , big trees and proceeded to
park. We started up our gasoline-
driven light plant, and fixed a
nice supper of fried chicken,
canned vegetables, etc., listened
to the radio for a while and then
retired lor the night.
Imagine our surprise the next
morning to discover that we had
parked in the front yard of a farm
home. The entire family was on
hand to see us on bur way. No
happy farewells or anything like
that. Just hard looks!
We skirted around Chicago and
headed north into Wisconsin. On
Sunday, after leaving North Caro
lina Tuesday, we reached St. Paul,
and headed north across the plains
of North Dakota. Here we ran
headlong into a strong wind, and
lor some 24 hours could not get
the truck up over 25 miles per
hour.
We spent a lew hours exploring
the Bad Lands of North Dakota.
The section seems to be a minia
ture version of thq Grand Canyon.
We drove uneventfully through
Montana and finally, 2,800 miles
from North Carolina, reached the
Canadian border. The Customs
House is located at Cutts, and we
arrived there too late at night to
get clearance through. We pulled
the trailer into a parking lot, and
through the courtesy of the Can
adian guard, spent a restful night.
is the approach to the Alaskan
highway, is unpaved and is sure
ly the muddiest, dustiest and
roughest road in all of North
America. We began to have serj^-
ous misgivings about our ability
to complete the trip, for we knew
we had to travel over almost 2,000
miles of unpaved roads before
reaching oiir destination.
We finally struggled into Daw-
Creek. This little frontier
town is Milepost No. 1 of the fam
ous Alaskan Highway. We stop
ped over for a few hours to catch
our breath and to get up nerve to
go on. As we ate in a little res
taurant, a stranger leaned across
the table and inquired if we were
from the North or the South. “The
South,” we proudly told him.
Some moments later we realized
that he thought we were from the
South—in Canajia. He aSked us
what we thought of the way
“those damned Americans are
handling the situation in Korea.”
We told him that we did not think
they were doing such a good job.
He beamed on us, shook our hands
and went on his way.
gives you
boat. We soon got used to that.lficials were becoming morq fre-
As we were preparing to leave
the next morning, we heard a
“putt-putt” sound. A boy on a
motorbike came driving up. He
was a 17-year-old high school stu
dent from Denver, Colo.
He informed us that he was go
ing to drive the motor-bike up the
-Alaskan Highway to Alaska. We
laughed and laughed. The idea
was absurd. He didn’t have a
chance of completing the trip.
We drove on out to the approach
to the Alaskan Highway, which is
about a mile from Dawson Creek.
We got quite a surprise. It was a
big, four-lane, smooth gravel road.
Our troubles were over! We could
easily pull a trailer over this fine
road.
We drove about 75 miles on the
highway the first night before we
pulled over to park for the night.
It was pouring down rain the next
morning and we hit MUD the first
mile. We slipped and slid all over
the road for hours and hours.
Then the big four-lane road sud
denly dwindled into a narrow,
muddy, crooked two-lane road.
For the first 500 miles we had
rain and plenty of mud. All this
combined with steep mountain
climbs and descents made for an
exciting time. There isn't a guard
rail on the entire road and the
hairpin turns put to shame any
thing in the Blue Ridge or Great
Smokies. All of a sudden we ran
out of the rain and hit the dust,
It was much worse than the mud
It was so thick that at times we
had to turn the truck lights on to
keep other vehicles from hitting
us. This went on for the next 500
miles or so.
But our morale stayed high. We
(Continued on page 13)
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SOUTHERN PINES. N. C.
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We cleared through Customs
without much trouble. The official
took one look at our outfit and
asked us if we had enough money
to get us through Canada and out
the other side. We assured him
we did, and he waved us on. The
first 500 miles of travel in Canada
was fairly good, except for a few
rough places in the pavement. We
lost a couple of wheel studs just
north of Calgary, in Alberta, and
hsd to step and get that repaired.
The mechanic asked us if vve were
going to Alaska. He smiled and
told us that he thought we would
make it all right, because he had
seen a worse-looking outfit than
ours go through about a month
before, and they had made it.
Cheered up, we took to the road
once again.
We spent a few hours in Ed
monton, the capital of Alberta,
and then headed out again. About
100 miles north of Edmonton, we
suddenly ran out of hardsurfaced
road. The next 500 miles, which
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