“We traveled without firearms, to the regret of the boys.” – Margaret Rumsey Wright, reminiscing about her family's 1916 road trip in 1966.

In June of 1916, 37-year old widow Frances Rumsey and her three children – Hammond, age 15, Margaret, age 13, and Francke, age 12 – set off from Seattle for a road trip across the country in their new Model T Ford. Destination: Boston, where the children would be attending school. And oh what a road trip it was!

Margaret, or Margs, as her family called her, was charged with keeping a diary of the trip, a responsibility she adhered to faithfully. The result is a charming, often humorous, sometimes harrowing account of early 20^th century road travel. It is easy to forget when reading Margs’ highly literate tale that it occurred 98 years ago. Her prose and humor feel contemporary, except for the very occasional jarring anomaly. For instance, on June 15^th, the family dines at a Chinese restaurant, where Margs twice refers to the proprietor as a “chink” without a hint of sarcasm.

The family’s trip eastward spans three months and includes several days visiting Yellowstone National Park (where Margs twice comments on their feeding of the bears), only recently opened to vehicles at the time, Niagara Falls, and nearly every auto mechanic’s garage between Washington and Massachusetts. Margs’ reader quickly learns that flat tires and blowouts were daily occurrences, as were other mechanical failures. If there is one constant to Margs’ story, it is the constant coddling and care that their Model T demanded on an hourly basis. This is likely due to two main reasons: 1) the poor conditions of the roads, especially in the western states (once they get to Ohio and Pennsylvania, they seem to have far fewer problems, likely because of the presence of more paved roads), and 2) the apparently delicate nature of the parts and assembly of the Model T. Overall, though, the tires were by far the most vexing issue. After a mosquito-plagued night camping in Yellowstone on July 3^rd, Margs wryly remarks, “A flat tire was the first thing we noticed as we stretched [in the morning] and we were sure the mosquitos [sic] had done it.”

Surviving both a head-on collision with a driver that lost control of his vehicle and a serious wreck that overturns their vehicle (requiring several days of repairs), the Rumseys make it to Lake Forest, just south of the Wisconsin border in northern Illinois. Here they spend nearly two weeks with family, swimming in lakes and visiting Chicago. Margs particularly enjoys visiting Marshall Field’s department store, where Cousin John is President. I was especially gratified when she paused to remark on the store’s employees’ Choral Society, which is occasionally accompanied by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, a venerable institution that I had the immense joy of working for from 1999-2001.

Continuing their journey east, Margs’ August 25^th entry details their stop at the headquarters of Firestone, where they let that company know just how flimsy they’ve found Firestone tires to be. The company gives them new tires at reduced rates, but I suspect Margs has not high expectations that they will be any better than their predecessors.

On September 2^nd, they finally arrive in Boston.

As I read young Margaret Rumsey's account, I was repeatedly struck by how very different the Rumsey family’s road trip experience was from such trips we embark upon today. Aside from the constant tire and mechanical trouble and poor roads, what stuck out most to me was the interactiveness of the trip. The car would get stuck or have trouble, and other drivers or people in the neighborhood would come help. Farmers would invite the travelers to camp on their property and share their company on the porch. The Rumseys would solicit news about road conditions from other travelers at gas stations and garages. At Yellowstone, they spoke with other park visitors, upon which Margs would comment in her diary. There was only one instance where the Rumseys encountered an inhospitable family, but that was quickly forgotten when another family a little further down the road proved kind and generous. This community approach to travel is alien to us today: we isolate ourselves in our cars, with our cell phones and satellite radios, engaging in minimal verbal interaction with gas station clerks and fast food employees, allowing ourselves to be guided by interstate signage and flashy billboards declaring must-see attractions rather than by knowledgeable locals (who might not give us the time of day if we did ask).

Margs’ diary of this three-month trip feels accessible and familiar, and yet wholly unrecognizable too. This is what makes her account so special and fun.

Wright, Margaret Rumsey. “Margaret Rumsey Wright Diary”. 1916. Letters, Diaries and Documents from the Montana Historical Society. Contributed to the Montana Memory Project by the Montana Historical Society Research Center. http://www.mtmemory.org/cdm/ref/collection/p267301coll2/id/1443/rec/69http://www.mtmemory.org/cdm/ref/collection/p267301coll2/id/1443/rec/69, accessed November 1, 2014.