Super-powered Songbirds

TIME

gentlemen, no man can drive faster and live!" He did, and they did. In 1910, Oldfield broke all records for the mile, 2 miles and the flying kilometer, hitting 131.724 mph in his 200-horsepower Lightning Benz.

Oldfield, who garnered fame for his flamboyant lifestyle as well as for his daring behind the wheel, cut a dashing figure in his green leather suit and helmet, worn while traveling across America in his Peerless Green Dragon. Reporters nicknamed him "Barney" during his barnstorming tours of lowa. By 1918, he had made his fortune.

In 1924, Oldfield sold his interest in a tire factory and was looking for something to do. A Fourth of July car race in a small Arizona town was no doubt a welcome diversion for the 46-year-old celebrity.

Oldfield's reputation did not intimidate Joy Patterson in the least. Patterson looked out from under the hood of his Chevrolet Baby Grand Roadster one day and told his friend Roy Tanner, "I can win that race if they let me drive a conventional car."

The new Chevys had a differential that allowed both rear wheels to turn simultaneously instead of one having to drag, so onrough roads they were more maneuverable than other models. Patterson, in his methodical way, had scouted out the wagon road long before the race, and estimated the collateral damage. His son, Rob Roy, said, "He was determined." Patterson knew what time would be lost changing tires. It was simple: The man who could change tires fastest would win. He asked Tanner to go along as his tirechanger and stacked the vehicle's back end with pre-mounted tires, the ace up his sleeve.

The great race began on the Fourth of July at dawn so contestants could be back in St. Johns in time for the church's patriotic program at 10:30 A.M. An impressive field of entries lined the streets of Gallup, including one four-cylinder, three-speed Chevy roadster with Patterson at the wheel, filling most of the front seat. Squeezed in next to him sat Tanner with a four-way lug wrench at his feet.

Oldfield, heading out solo, waved debonairly to the crowd from his Stutz Bearcat. Wearing a duster and goggles, and clasping a cigar firmly between his teeth, he was the picture of self-confidence. He paid no heed to the two country fellows in the Chevy roadster. When the flag went down, Oldfield swept out of Gallup like a green dust devil. Patterson was the first to blow a tire. He jumped out, grabbed the bumper and lifted the car by brute force while Tanner spun off the wheel and replaced it. A few minutes later, they passed Oldfield jacking up his Stutz Bearcat in the sand beside the road.

Although no record has been found of what transpired during the actual race, it is easy to imagine the little Chevy bouncing over rocky ridges, plowing through sandy washes and occasionally stopping in the shade of a juniper for a quick tire change. Conforth recalled, "They carried gas on the running board. There were no pit stops. They solved their own problems."

By the time they reached the crest called The High Lonesome, Patterson and Tanner were leading the pack. They swept past cheering crowds along Commercial Street, arriving in time for the patriotic program, while somewhere in the piñon pines, the great Barney Oldfield was jacking up another flat. All

THE GRANDEUR OF Mount Peeley

In a torrid July Fourth weekend, I found the old mining road up Mount Peeley strangely deserted. Only one other vehicle drove up that day. Few people, it seemed, knew the mountain's wonderful secret: that at its 7,030-foot summit, shaded by dense stands of ponderosa and piñon pines, temperatures in summer can be as cool as in Flagstaff, situated at about the same elevation-but without the 156-mile ordeal in weekend traffic from the city. Under a cruel summer sun, Phoenixand 4 million metro-area residents-stewed in triple-digit summer heat that softened street tar and taxed air-conditioners. Those who could fled north in a steady stream of traffic on Interstate 17 toward Flagstaff in search of a cooler place. Others chose to follow State Route 87, the "Beeline Highway," leading northeast out of town toward Payson, but ignored the turnoff to Mount Peeley just 50 miles out, probably because it didn't seem quite far enough away from the hot desert valley. Instead, they continued on to Payson and beyond, joining throngs of heat refugees competing for high-country campsites. Mount Peeley towers as the third-highest point in the Mazatzal range. Apparently it was named for the deadly 1902 eruption of a volcano in northern Martinique, Mount Pelee, by a settler who guessed wrong about the spelling. Over time, the Mazatzals have become a personal favorite place for hiking, camping and wildlife-watching. Mount Peeley and the high country around it offer a chance to observe Coues whitetail deer, a shy subspecies also known as Arizona whitetails, about the size of a big dog and usually found above 4,000 feet. The Coues are not the only critters you're apt to spot up here. The odds may even be higher for observing black bears drawn to the mountain's hillsides in summer to feast on ripe, bland-tasting bearberries. For this reason, when you're camping on Mount Peeley or anywhere in the Mazatzals, it's