Unfortunately, we took the left fork, and for seven miles ploughed through red clay, so sticky that several times we just escaped being stalled.

It was not until we reached Clinton that we discovered our mistake and turned cross country to the right road.

The cross-road led through a low boggy meadow that was covered with water, and there we nearly foundered.

When the hard gravel of the turnpike was reached, it was with a feeling of irritation that we looked back upon the time wasted in the horrible roads we need not have taken.
The day was bright, and every hour of sun and wind improved the roads, so that by the time we were passing Oneida Castle the going was good.

It was dark when we passed through Fayetteville; a little beyond our reserve gallon of gasoline was put in the tank and the run was made over the toll-road to Syracuse on "short rations." A well-kept toll-road is a boon in bad weather, but to the driver of an automobile the stations are a great nuisance; one is scarcely passed before another is in sight; it is stop, stop, stop.