Roll along Coffeyed waggon, roll along

Press, 27 July 1976, Page 21

Roll along Coffeyed waggon, roll along

From John Coffey Seattle me songwriter who told the world that the skies are always blue in Seattle might not have been exaggerating. The north-west-ern United States city was enjoying perfect weather as the modern version of a waggon train arrived at its destination. The 78 members of the party had not come to settle in Seattle, but merely to eniov its many attractions before the\ made their homeward journies to 19 countries. Forty-nine of them would soon be back at journalistic pursuits on radio, television or newspapers, but all would have lasting memories of the preceding four weeks.

They had come together in Washington. D.C., as strangers, and would depart with a firm respect for each other’s achievement. There was the mutual satisfaction of having driven a Chrysler Cordoba car with a 25 ft Airstream trailer more than 4000 miles across a foreign country.

As an off-shoot of the United States Bicentennial, a group of sponsors, both government and private, banded together to promote such tours for more than 300 overseas journalists. By the time the programme is complete next month, all of the 48 adjoining states will have played a part. For Tour 8 the trail wended from the nation's Capitol through Maryland, Pennsylvania. Ohio. Indiana, Illinois. Wisconsin, Minnesota, South Dakota. Wyoming, Idaho, Oregon and on to Seattle, in Washington State. Before the first mile post was reached, there was a crash course in control of a car that had both automatic gears and speed control — it was simply a case of steering straight and staying awake — and the use of a trailer that was a self-contained, almost luxurious, unit.

Some of the equipment bore the superficial scars of previous tours of a similar nature, and one or two other abrasions were added by Tour 8. But nothing serious; there were no wipe-outs to add to the incident with a Korean group who capsized both car and trailer, ano then enthusiastically filmed the scene, police arrival and all, for televisoun viewers back home. It was with this tale, and others of near-misses, that the 29 trailers of Tour 8 started tentaively for Seattle.

It was expected that there would be only one major trouble spot, the torrid Chicago loop throughway — where the eight lanes are divided by a railway track, and vehicles move almost bumper-to-bamper between the 55 m.p.h. maximum speed and minimum of 45 m.p.h. — and so it proved. Certainly, the four women from Hong Kong in car 28 will never forget this legalised demolition derby. Inexperience, and then panic, caused them to jack-knife and powerbrake to a halt. They were straddled across three lanes and surrounded by massive 18-

wheel road transporters Had it not been for the skill of the truckers, and the warning wobbles of the trailer, they would have been crushed A sha ken. shaking member f "The Press" staff had too close a view of the calam ity. The popular Irish broadcaster could not switch lanes quick enough a mile or so further around the loop, and was forced oft the freeway into a Black ghetto. It took a touch of the blarney, and Sit) to persuade one of the brood ing residents io lead h:m out of 4he maze. He max have had a bargain, for the trailer dragged petrol consumption down to eight miles to the gallon. For the most part, the route followed the fourlane freeways which crisscross the United States, roads that were designed for heavy use and fast cars, not for the 55 m.p.h. limit that was successfully imposed to stem the death toll. The legislators were wise in choosing tlieir maximum, for it keeps all but the foolhardy down to about 65 m.p.h. Even the highway patrolmen freely admit that they allow this much leewav. hut it can be an unnerving experience to know that one is exceeding tne law, vet being effortlessly left behind by the truckers. Smokey Bear, the slang for a policeman continues to battle against the truckers’ radio link-ups, although he had only a fatherly word for the French girls and Zaire family who were halted during the journalists’ tour.

Chicago excepted, the highway skirted the cities. The scenary shifted from the pleasant eastern agricultural lands, to the grandeur of the national forests and Yellowstone Park, the arid desert and moon-like expanse in Idaho, the heavily-irri-gated Mid-West, to the scenic Rockies. Just as contrasted was the lifestyle. In Washing ton D.C. it was cocktails and dinner at a plush hotel; in Wyoming the

beer was plentiful, and ihe T-bones huge Those cowboys could devour NewZealand steaks as if they were chops. Many of the side trips were inspiring — the Bad lands of South Dakota, the carvings of Washington. Jefferson, Teddy Roosevelt and Lincoln on Mount Rushmore. Then thete wa* the incredibility of a drug store in Wall. South Dakota (population 8(W). which draws 10.000 visitors a dav: an empire built up bv an enter prising busband and wife who offered tree iced water for thirsty trav ellers. Advertisements im Wall Drug Store start 500 miles out on the freewav. and can be found on every continent. History is preserved everywhere, in the Smithsonian Institution in Washington D.C . in Dead wood (where Wild Bill Hickok, 21 notches on his gun, made the error <>f oiiving cards with his back to the door, and < alamity Jane realised her life-long wish of being buried next to Wild Bill), and in the preservation ot so main old homes and towns on both shores ot the country. Ethnic background are also kept, as evidenced bv the exhibitions ot Indian, Mexican and Japanese culture. There are not many Americans who will not voli.iueer their herdage, even if (ar too many insist their family tree extends back io Shakespeare. Much was made in some local newspapers of the overseas journalists who were seeking to find the average American those among us who made such a quest had a 1 i assignment in so vast a country, where the lakts can take on ocean prupoitions (Michigan ha I magnificent beach), the Mississippi, Missouri and Columbia rivers are as wide as lakes, and irrigation canals would be rivers in most other places. i doubt if they found their average Yank. Was he the inevitable Chamber of Commerce fellow in yellow sports coat, and arms full of brochures? or the seemingl, typical Westerner who would order his last beer at closing time and then go home to his 25,000 acres? Perhaps it was the university student spending the summer as a Yellowstone Park waitress and asking if English was taught as a second language tn New Zealand. Maybe it was ( olonef Sander, still spughtly at 86. and with millions of dollars and chickens behind him. Or the Eng-lish-born scholar who these days tramps over the Oregon mountains in search of the Bigtoot, the United States version of the Yeti and the Loch Ness monster. Truly, they have all contributed io a great nation, one whose tour and state guides were enthusiastic for us to see any side of the com that we wanted; to judge the bad with the good. There was another songwriter who went beyond the blue skies of Seattle, who said that “this land is your land, this land is my land ...”