The Grand Canyon Caper

The glorious age of the motor car arrived rather sluggishly in northern Arizona, one cold winter day in December of 1901. Significantly not under its own power but as cargo aboard a Santa Fe freight train, chugging into Flagstaff. It was a new horseless carriage, a modified Toledo Model C. steam automobile. Not only was it destined to become the first to roll on the streets of Flagstaff but it was also to make automotive history as the first car to "run to the Canyon. This engineering marvel, created by the American Bicycle Company of Toledo, Ohio, was first introduced in 1900. Within a year, ABC was ready to market five models, a four-ton truck, and an electric car named "The Waverly."

In those days, steam car makers took their product anywhere and everywhere to attract investor and public attention. They established world records for hill climbing, endurance, speed and other feats on wheels.

The motor madness began August 31, 1899, when F. O. Stanley's steamer chugged to the top of Mt. Washington, N. H. The following year, a "Baldwin" was touted as "the greatest hill climber as shown by tests in the Alleghany Mountains." In the same year, a "White" won the New York-Rochester endurance test, and a "Locomobile," the Stanley's hissin' cousin, carried W. B. Felker and C. A. Yont to the crest of Pike's Peak.

The American Bicycle Company, struggling against this stiff competition, put a lot of trust in its product and the value of promotion and advertising. True, a Locomobile had beaten their car to Pike's Peak, but the Toledo would be first to reach the Grand Canyon. Five Toledos began the groundwork in October, 1901, by traveling the 63 miles from their hometown to Detroit in two hours and 45 minutes without a breakdown. At the same time, a Toledo Model A, weighing 950 pounds, journeyed from the factory to the New York Auto Show, completing the 14-day trip without mishap. No doubt about it. . . . the Toledo was ready to challenge the Canyon.

It was obvious to anyone blessed with an ounce of business savvy that a steam car stage line from Flagstaff to the Canyon should be a paying proposition. After all, Wilbur F. Thurber's excellent six-horse stages, which covered the 70 mile route from the city to the Cañon Hotel, was a money-maker. Now that America had entered the auto age, it would seem that a steam car could perform faster and better than the hosspowered Grand Canyon Stage Line.

Several magazines and newspapers, including the Los Angeles Herald, boosted the Canyon as a "must-see" place. Popular writer-photographer C. F. Lummis gave it a five-star rating in his Los Angeles-based magazine Land of Sunshine: "In the fall of the evening, the coaches roll down to the piney glades where the Cañon Hotel snuggles in its charming hollow. The hotel is also managed by Mr. Thurber and the accommodations are surprisingly good."

During his five-day visit, Lummis was particularly impressed with the views from Moran and Bissell Points; complimented Pete Berry's admirable log hotel and the good trail; and raved about the new Hance Trail which led down to the river.

"Probably, the time will come when Americans who know enough to go and see it will number more than a few score a year," he modestly predicted.

In all likelihood, Lummis stopped at J. E. Ruffin's Pioneer Drug Store where Flagstaff citizens and tourists could buy "Grand Canyon views in colors, richly mounted, and admired by all."

There was ample evidence to titillate the optimist. The popularity of Arizona's natural wonder was accelerating; hotel building was big business; and it was whispered that the Santa Fe planned a posh inn.

Windy, cold, dark and midnight, the four adventurers huddle around their fire somewhere in the depths of the Great Coconino Forest... still miles from the Canyon. Painting by Ted Blaylock The American Bicycle Company management, eager to impress the automotive world, decided to take advantage of the Grand Canyon's growing popularity. They promised to build "three big steam coaches capable of making the 130-mile round trip daily." The Toledo firm was in a hurry because the Stanley Brothers were designing a similar vehicle.

And so it came to pass that ABC commissioned ace chauffeur Oliver Lippincott as the Toledo's pilot, and dispatched him and the car to northern Arizona.

Flagstaff's newspaper, The Coconino Sun, noted the arrival on December 28, 1901: "The experiment of running an automobile from Flagstaff to the Grand Canyon is attracting attention all over the West." The report also quoted the Los Angeles Herald, which hailed the experimental test as "the forerunner of a steam stage line."

Historical accounts do not specify who actually planned to provide the steam-stage transit service. Certainly, ABC was involved because it was in the business of selling automobiles. The Herald, where the news watch never stopped, was, at least, the ex-officio publicist of the event.

The Los Angeles newspaper assigned two of its top men to cover the motoring adventure. Reporter T. M. Chapman was to write the account of the trip as observed by Winfield Hogaboom, the paper's columnist-photographer-travel editor and resident wit.

There were few direction markers on the Canyon trail, so veteran guide Al Doyle, who knew the Coconino backcountry well, agreed to join this quick dash to fame. Doyle was the same scout destined to lead novelist Zane Grey on many Arizona adventures a few years later.

The cast of characters was complete, and on January 4,1902, chauffeur, crew, and car were ready to challenge the Canyon. It was a gala day for Flagstaff as most of the city's 2000 residents and visitors jammed the streets to ogle the first automobile in Grand Canyon country.

In its morning edition, the Coconino Sun noted the event in a front-page story: "The much talked-of auto was run over our streets yesterday. Its operation was entirely satisfactory to the owner, Mr. Lippincott, who is as proud of his fine machine as the proverbial boy in his red-topped boots."

The auto was a top-of-the-line Toledo, a swift, trim 2200 pound Model C two-seater with trailer. Its $1600 list price made it the costliest of the five Toledo models.

"From bell to whistle, a perfect locomotive," the Sun related. "Equipped with 10 horsepower, high speed marine engines, copied after the U.S. Torpedo boat type, it is fitted with water coil and flash boilers, and has a storage capacity of 30 gallons of oil and 50 gallons of water."

The horizontal twin-cylinder engine had a bore and stroke of three by four inches and piston valves. Clean design provided neat, compact casings leaving no vital part exposed to dust and dirt.

The American Bicycle Company claimed that three persons could ride in the front seat, while the trailer, a part of the machine itself, could accommodate three more. Night offered no terrors for the driver who sat behind a 12-inch diameter, 200-candle-power headlight, illuminated by acetylene gas. This brilliant eye was complemented by two kerosene oil coach lamps.

The chauffeur managed all forward and backward movements with a single lever at the side of the front seat. The engine could be reversed with absolute safety at high speed, and a double fric-tion bearing brake instantly stopped the vehicle.

The newspaper account also boasted that neither mud, snow, or ice would seriously impede the Toledo's progress, and quoted Lippincott who promised he would make the 65 mile trip "to the point on the Grand Canyon known as Hance's in less than the prescribed four hours."

Lippincott and crew flaunted confidence by refusing to carry food or other supplies. Their sole provision against accident or delay was a large supply of tobacco and matches. The driver, fresh from sunny California, wore a thin summer suit.

At precisely 2:10 p.m., the Toledo's whistle blew, bell clanged, and she roared off amid shouts and laughter. Bets had been freely made on the out-come and the consensus was that the trip would take anywhere from six days to six years.

Through modern electronics we know the results of a major event immediately. The Flagstaff folks of 1902 had to wait awhile before settling wagers. Hogaboom's bump-by-bump account appeared in the Los Angeles Herald on February 2, a Sunday. The Sun reprinted it the following Saturday, February 8, 1902.

"The machine worked splendidly until we were out of sight. We were thankful for that," Hogaboom explained. "But, before we covered the first ten miles, it got to acting up. Our chauffeur (whatever the deuce that means), said the trailer was bearing down too hard on the hind axle. So, we got off, unloaded the outfit from the trailer, and packed it in such a way that it couldn't lean too hard. By the time we got through with this job, and got the baggage and ourselves aboard again, darkness had fallen upon us. Ahead loomed the great Coconino Forest."

Pilot Lippincott did the pioneer equivalent of "stepping on her," while the passengers held tight and prayed.

"He said that if we didn't run against any of those fallen trees or charred stumps, we'd get through all right," Hogaboom noted. "We hoped so, but it was hard to believe."

Doyle wisely reckoned that headlights or no, this was not the time or place for a wild night ride. He remembered an old cabin on the trail to the left, so they parked the Toledo and walked until they spotted a light flickering through the trees. "Doyle reckoned there must be somebody staying at the cabirn, and so there was. three cowboys," Hogaboom recalled. "They had killed a two-yearold steer, and had flour, baking powder, coffee, and honey a supper fit for a hungry automobilist. We bunked with the cowboys, were up before daylight, had breakfast, and returned to the auto as the first light was breaking.

The Toledo was frozen stiff and it took several hours and much fuel to thaw it. The cowboys, of course, came down to see the party depart. Their mounts snorted and wheezed each time the cylinders puffed out a little steam.

All went well for 10 miles. They passed two bands of antelope who stood motionless until the Toledo reached them. Once they met a herd of wild horses that fled into the woods.

The easy going spurred Lippincott to "give 'er more steam." Then something popped. The water gauge burst and the valves failed to work. The fuel brought from California was all gone, and the reserve purchased in Flagstaff could not maintain proper pressure. Moreover, it produced dense black smoke that belched from the ventilators and covered the motorists with grimy soot. After several hours of this and mov-ing along at three miles an hour, the men decided to abandon the trailer, strip to essentials, and put all hope of salvation into a wild dash to the Can-yon. All spare gasoline, water, baggage, and other gear was cached, and the four piled into the one remaining seat.

"One mile at joyous speed, then a sharp metallic click and a harsh rasping sound told Lippincott the sprocket chain had parted," Hogaboom wrote. "An auto always gets discouraged and quits when its sprocket chain parts. It took three hours to repair it."

Now, it was windy, cold, dark, and midnight. Doyle reckoned there was a grove of trees about four miles ahead which would provide some shelter. The kerosene in the side lamps was almost exhausted, shedding a pale, sickly light only a few feet ahead. Two of the party walked in front of the vehicle to find the way, and in two hours, they reached the cedar grove. The men built a huge campfire and tried to sleep, but spent most of the night adding fuel to the blaze until day-light.

"For breakfast, we had a look at the auto and a smoke," Hogaboom stated. "There was a little dirty ice in the bottom of the tank and we melted it, but it didn't taste good. So, we took another smoke and let it go at that."

Doyle reckoned it was now 18 miles to Pete Berry's Hotel at the Canyon. They started a fire under the boilers and managed a little steam with the small amount of gas and water remain-ing.

Lippincott worried the Toledo along for about two miles while the others walked. Finally, they had to abandon the machine, and, led by Doyle, reached a cabin that had been built by a man named Skinner.

"Skinner must have been crazy, because there isn't any more call for a cabin there than a department store," Hogaboom commented. "On the cabin was a sign which said it was six and three-eighths miles to the Grand Canyon. The man who put up that sign ought to be killed with a dull hatchet."

Doyle and Hogaboom volunteered to make the remaining distance to Berry's and send back a relief expedition. The two left shortly after noon and had walked about a half-mile when Doyle collapsed from stomach cramps caused by drinking the gasoline-flavored boiler water.

"I left him there by the lava rocks, wrestling with his stomach, and went on alone," Hogaboom reported. "I had gone about eight miles when I happened to think of that sign on Skinner's cabin . . . six and three-eighths miles to the Grand Canyon. What the deuce did he want to be so exact for?"

At four o'clock, after covering about 18 miles of that six and three-eighths miles to the Grand Canyon, the weary adventurer saw a buck pawing at a small patch of snow. The animal scurried away as the thirsty intruder sat down and ate a couple of quarts of the white stuff.

"My tongue had swollen until it made a good big mouthful," Hogaboom recalled. "And my throat was cracking. That trampled snow tasted better than the most delicious ice cream I ever ate."

His pace quickened, and an hour later, he noticed a crack in the trees. The forest ended abruptly, and the walking motorist found himself at the edge of the Grand Canyon.

"I stood upon the rim of that tremendous chasm and forgot who I was or what I had come there for," Hogaboom admitted. "Before me lay the most sublime panorama in all the world. Nature never made anything like it anywhere else. It is the great masterpiece."

Twenty minutes later, he entered the Grand View Hotel where landlord Berry welcomed him and asked what he wanted.

"Just water, food, and the address of the man who put up that sign at Skinner's cabin," Hogaboom said. "They brought me a little water and a can of tomatoes. The address was withheld."

By 8:00 p.m., Berry's four-horse-team relief expedition brought in the survivors . . . Lippincott, Chapman, and Doyle. The next day, they sent for gaso-line, which arrived the day after that. On Thursday, January 9, 1902 the fifth day the first auto to reach the Grand Canyon Village rolled in at the end of a rope.

"On Friday, we steamed up and took the auto out to Grand View Point," Hogaboom revealed. "Chauffeur Lippincott drove the thing to within six inches of the rim with its own steam, and held it there while I took its picture."

Saturday morning, Doyle, Chapman, and Hogaboom rode the stagecoach to Apex, 16 miles from the Grand View, where they caught the train for home.

"Each of us told Lippincott we regretted being unable to make the return trip with him," Hogaboom revealed. "Doyle reckoned he had better go home at once to assist his wife in setting a hen. Chapman had to return to Los Angeles in time to prepare a speech for the Typothetae on Franklin's birthday. In my own case, it was absolutely imperative that I be at home to pay some bills that had accumulated in my absence."

Lippincott stayed to enjoy northern Arizona's scenery and hospitality until January 18, when he and innkeeper Berry drove the Toledo from the Grand View Hotel to Flagstaff, covering the 67 miles in seven hours.

The Sun noted that the car had returned and quoted Lippincott as being entirely satisfied with the experimental trip and confident that a steam stage line could be successfully operated between Flagstaff and the Grand Canyon.

Lippincott was also quoted as saying "several experiences were met with on the trip that would not occur if supplies were placed at proper places along the way."

Unfortunately, his optimism was unfounded because the steam stage line was a pipe dream that never materialized. ABC continued to promote its product and the Toledo was a major success at the International Exhibition in Osaka, Japan, where, on May 6, 1903, it was the only auto allowed to run on the grounds.

But, stiff competition (a total of 125 steam cars were manufactured in the U.S. during the early 1900s) and declining sales doomed the American Bicycle Company, which sold out to the International Motor Car Company in 1904.

The Toledo was widely advertised and sold well for three more years because it was modestly priced. However, most sales were in the Great Lakes region and midwest fringe areas. When that market was exhausted, the company was in trouble.

Automotive historians cite several reasons for the demise of the Toledo and its steam counterparts. The public feared boiler explosions which were common, many insurance companies failed to cover them, bankers were leery of financially backing a car that failed to gain a favorable public reaction.

Actually, the steam car was eliminated by the complacency of early manufacturers and the lack of research and development which failed to keep pace with gasoline vehicles. After 1910, the steam car was no longer a significant factor in the automotive marketplace.

Although the dream of a FlagstaffCanyon Steam Stage Line fizzled, the great-grand daddy of all Grand Canyon motor trips entered the annals of history as an accomplished fact. Today, 75 years later, more than three million people say it's the only way to go.