Day 147 - July 8, 1908 - European Border, Finally!
By this time the brutal terrain took its toll. We had worn out four tires in just the 150 miles from Vladivostok, often due to chafing on the rail spikes. We decided to wrap the tires on the right side of the car with sash cord in an effort to give them some protection on both the front and rear axle. The springs were also badly sagging, so we shortened the planks on each side to just cover the front tires.
We came to a series of railroad tunnels. We had just passed through the first and found the railway lay across a narrow area of very steep embankment to the next tunnel. The bottom of the ravine was perhaps a couple of hundred feet below. We had started across making a hundred yards from the exit of the first tunnel, when we heard the whistle of a locomotive somewhere ahead of us. Where to go or what to do would require some quick thinking! We could not get off the ties as this was a single track railway and the sides of the fill were too steep to hold the Thomas. Our only chance was to back the Flyer to the exit of the tunnel where there was just enough space alongside the tracks to place the car. Hastily we backed up, the distance seeming twice what it actually was. We got there and had the car barely out of danger when a post train roared into view around a bend just a few hundred yards in front of us. That was a very narrow escape from disaster for us!
Soon after crossing the Manchurian boarder, things got much worse. We heard a cracking sound in the transmission, and the Flyer stopped. It was the pinion gear which had failed us earlier in Twin Springs, Nevada. Only this time there were no customer cars within thousands of miles to borrow the replacement parts from. There was also a 6″ crack in the transmission case leaking oil. We set up a makeshift tarp shelter which we appropriately named “Camp Hard Luck”. I had ordered spare parts to be shipped earlier to Harbin, and could only hope that they would be there waiting for me. I hurried back to Pogranitchniya in an effort to catch the next morning’s post train to Harbin. While waiting for the train I saw Neuville, who agreed to accompany me to Harbin.
We boarded the train and went some distance, only to come to an abrupt stop. After waiting for a time, we got out and walked forward to see what the reason was? Soon it became clear that the train ahead of us had jumped the tracks and derailed with a pile of wreckage in the way. Finally, coolies laid a temporary diversion and we were once again on our way.
As our train had no dining car, we would occasionally stop to eat. By now, we were behind the Germans, but as chance would have it we passed the Protos mired hub deep in mud along the tracks with no Germans in sight. At the next stop, I found Lt. Koeppen who informed me that due to tire trouble they had delayed an important train by several hours and permission to drive over the rail bed had been revoked. This came as a real blow to me, as the Flyer had 368 miles just to get to Harbin!
Neuville and I continued on to Harbin, and there found the case of parts we desperately needed. Neuville said that a good hard road started in Nizhni-Novgorod, but that was over 6,000 miles away with poor or no roads at all ahead of us and now we had no further spare parts. I cabled the factory in Buffalo to ship a new transmission to Omsk via Europe some 4,000 miles away. Neuville suggested we see Russian General Horvath in charge of the Trans-Siberian Railway in Manchuria to appeal the ban on using it. The General received us, and after hearing our story from Neuville who spoke fluent Russian, he agreed to allow both the Protos and Flyer to use the rail bed to Harbin. That would be of some help! I left to return to Pogranitchniya, and two days later I was back at the Flyer. We remounted the body, and once again after a four day delay were on our way.
We crossed several more ravines on the rail bridges, often with only inches of tie to hold us. One wrong turn of the steering wheel would have sent us a hundred feet below and certain death. At one point, George Mac Adam our New York Times correspondent went on by train as he suffered from the constant pounding he took in the back seat of the Thomas. Captain Alexandrovoitch of the Russian Army Engineer Corps then rode with us and his presence was a considerable help, especially with the track laborers and Russian soldiers.
The long days were starting to get the best of us. We came to a bad section of bogs and I asked Hansen to request the track foreman to allow us on the rail bed. Hansen refused, and I suggested that he had better do as I asked or he would cease to be a member of the crew. He remarked that he had a contract with E.R. Thomas and I had no authority over him. I then showed a signed letter from E.R. giving me authority to put any man off the car, for any cause I considered just. Hansen then complied, but sulked for some time after.
By June 7 the Italians were only two days out of Vladivostok, well behind us and far behind the Germans. Scarfoglio and Haaga were the only two Italians on the Zust, and already suffering from the Siberian quagmire. Scarfoglio later described his encounter with some Russian soldiers who took pity on their “wretched appearance”. They offered shelter from the rains and some food. Not having eaten since the prior day Scarfoglio and Haaga “ate like wolves, happy in the mere animal pleasure of swallowing”. They went on to encounter vast waveless oceans of Siberian tundra mud. “Never, even in the depths of the desert or the Valley of Death, when our tongues were swollen with thirst and our brows throbbed with fever, had we experienced such a complete and painful sense of solitude.” They become mired in a swollen river at 3:30AM early one morning. They are helplessly stuck watching the water rise first to the Zust chassis, then over the floor boards, soon half the engine is submerged. Drowned cattle started to float by, bumping the car. They finally decide to leave the Zust, and flipped a coin. Scarfoglio will swim towards the west, Haaga to the north, and their Siberian guide to the east. Then, the water suddenly stopped rising and by 6:30AM the water is below the engine. Finally, they restart the engine and free the Zust.
We arrived at Harbin on June 10, and spent the next day doing repairs leaving the morning of the 12th. The Protos left Harbin on June 6, and the pressure was on us to regain the lead. We stopped in the Chinese city of Koitsikar, leaving the Thomas among camels, donkeys, and a motley lot of horses for the night. We spent the night in an ill-smelling, filthy hut. Only by actual contact can one get a true picture of the squalor of a Chinese city.
The trail became rough, and I once again requested Hansen to ask for directions from some herdsmen. He replied that it was not necessary as he knew the way, again rather surly in his manner. As we came to a fork in the road it seemed to me that we were going in the wrong direction, and I insisted he ask directions. We found out that we had gone some twenty versts (13 miles) in the wrong direction. I told Hansen what I thought about his piloting, and the next railway station we came to it would be Paris for him! He went into a rage, and stood up pulling his gun on me yelling “You do that, and I will put a bullet in you!” Miller then stood pulling his gun on Hansen saying “if any shooting is done, you will not be the only one doing it.” Everyone returned to their seats, and I decided it would be best to let the incident pass.
We continued driving and came to river far too deep to ford. There was a heavily guarded railroad bridge about a mile upriver. As we approached it, two guards stood blocking our passage with their guns. The sentry commanded “Stoi!” I came to a stop as I considered our options. Knowing we had to cross this bridge I reached into my pocket pulling out Neville’s Russian gun permit, with its brightly colored stamps. My only hope was that the guards were illiterate, and waving the official looking document with a flourish they parted allowing us to pass!
On June 21, we reached Lake Baikal the deepest in the world (5,712 feet) as large as Switzerland and in my opinion the most beautiful lake in the world. Crossing the lake was by a large steamship ferry that loaded railroad cars aboard for the trip. It was here that we caught up with the Germans, and could see that they had just loaded on a flatcar and were moving toward the ship. We were caught behind general freight and forced to wait for the next train! We had closed the earlier German four day lead, but now in frustration the Flyer again fell behind by 12 hours while we sat waiting for the next crossing. While waiting, we did manage to locate 2 twenty pound tins of Vaseline. Our transmission case was leaking badly and this was the only lubricant we could find. Later when the Vaseline ran out, we would have to resort to using beef tallow/suet as lubricant which soon became rancid making us smell like a scavenger’s wagon (garbage truck).
I would not see Lt. Koeppen again until we reached Ekaterinburg on July 6. He was at the hotel, and I discovered that he had left the Protos some four days behind us. He was awaiting a new rear axle being shipped from Germany. We talked during dinner and he commented “If the Protos arrives in Paris a week after you, it will be no disgrace considering what we have gone through.” We were finally back in the lead and raced westward.
On July 8 we reached Perm on the boarder of Asia and Europe! It would have been reason to celebrate, but there I received a message from Mr. Thomas. “When will you be in Paris” he inquired. “Do you want us to send Montague Roberts to help you when you get on the good roads of Europe?” That made me so mad I could have eaten nails! Was I to have only the bad roads? I took a drink of cognac, giving the telegraph operator my reply in German that I hoped to be in Paris about July 26, and saying nothing about Roberts!
*About the author: The above is written in the first person as Jeff Mahl heard the recollections from his Great Grandfather, George N. Schuster, winner of the 1908 New York to Paris Race. Jeff is seated to the left of “Great Gramp” holding the 45 star US flag which flew from the Flyer, with his brother Matt and sister Jenny.
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