As the next day would be Sunday, we made sure of a supply of gasoline that night.
Up to this point the roads, barring Nelson Hill, and the weather had been perfect, but conditions were about to change for the worse.
Sunday morning was gray and drizzly.

We left at eight-thirty.

The roads were soft and in places very slippery; becoming much worse as we approached Albany, where we arrived at half-past three.
There we should have stopped.

We had come seventy-five miles in seven hours, including all stops, over bad roads, and that should have sufficed; but it was such an effort to house the machine in Albany and get settled in rooms, that we decided to go on at least as far as Schenectady.
To the park it was all plain sailing on asphalt and macadam, but from the park to the gate of the cemetery and to the turn beyond the mud was so deep and sticky it seemed as if the machine could not possibly get through.

If we had attempted to turn about, we would surely have been stuck; there was nothing to do but follow the best ruts and go straight on, hoping for better things.