Finding Fritz, Sr., Day 5

At the recommendation of our friend Stephen Carter, we decided to get up for the sunrise at the Mesa Arch overlook in the Canyonlands National Park. Aaron offered to drive the 20 minutes from our campground, so Dad and I could get a few extra minutes of sleep. However, the dirt campground access road and the speed bumps at the park entrance kept us from really sleeping. We arrived at the parking area just before 6:00 am, and Aaron ran ahead to catch the first rays of sunlight while Dad and I got up and ready.

As we left the RV, we saw two tour buses next to us in the parking lot. This was our first hint that our expectations of a quiet and solemn vigil at the arch would be unrealistic. At the end of the half-mile walk to the arch, I saw about 80 Chinese tourists squeezed together in front of the arch, all trying to get pictures of the partially risen sun shining through the arch. However, I also noticed a few of them scattered elsewhere. These folks helped curb any thoughts of prejudice as I realized that some of them were just as interested in quiet reflection as I was. Getting closer, I also noticed that the assembly of tourists was relatively quiet for its size. This helped us better enjoy the gradually changing colors and shapes and shadows in the canyons below.

After 30-40 minutes, the crowd began to disperse, enabling us to get some unobstructed photos, as well as to notice that most of the non-Chinese tourists with us were actually German. Despite some enjoyable conversations, our hunger began to overtake us, so we headed back to the camper, and drove about 10 miles towards Dead Horse Point State Park, where we intended to pull over for breakfast. Dead Horse Point overlooks the same canyon system as Canyonlands, formed by the Colorado River, and offered a view that was Aaron’s favorite.

Aaron suggested that we have breakfast picnic style since we had pulled over at another dramatic overlook. While this took a little extra work, and delayed the taming of our appetites, it was very much worth it, as we sat 8 feet away from the edge of a curving 600-foot cliff, admiring the cascading rock formations in the early morning sun. Although tempted to stay longer, we succumbed to the pressure of time and our travel plans for the day. We still wanted to visit Arches National Park and a train station stop in Helper, UT, as well as to drive the several hundred miles to Salt Lake City.

Arches N.P. lived up to our expectations as we drove by a succession of massive and natural rock sculptures and arches rising out of a gently rolling plateau of dirt and sage brush. It was not hard to imagine this area as having once been underwater, as geologists suggest. It was also not hard to imagine where the Flintstones animators got their inspiration for the size and shapes of the buildings in their town of “Bedrock.”

After a couple of short hikes to some of the better vantage points, we headed into the main tourist town of Moab, to fill up, mail some letters and where I uploaded my first blog entry for day 1 and 2. Our days have been so full, it has been hard to find time to write, let alone find wireless access to do the uploads.

Next, we headed out for Helper, Utah, where we had left off with my grandfather’s diary:
June 5th, 1922:
When we hit Helper, we had dropped about 8,000 feet. Reached Helper at 7.30 A.M. Got something to eat in a Greek restaurant. You see we had a little left of our 15 bucks which we started out with but very little. Every chance we got we hit up a back door. Took a bath at the Railroad YMCA. They were very nice about it. After riding their trains then letting us take a bath!

As we pulled our RV into downtown Helper, we were disappointed that we arrived too late to visit the Utah Railroad and Mining Museum, but grateful to be able to find the train station and other landmarks very easily. An internet search had shown us a picture of the “Athens Restaurant” in the 1930s, which we assumed was the same Greek restaurant where Pop Pop and Ray got their breakfast 89 years ago. The building in the photo had distinctive roof architecture, which we could immediately identify on a building directly across the street from the railroad. It has long since ceased being a restaurant, and is now a partly vacant Greek gymnastics studio, with an old “Piggly Wiggly” ad painted on the side.

Crossing the street, we walked behind the train station to the tracks, where we could hear a freight train engine releasing the pressure from its air brakes. As we rounded the station, we saw three railroad workers who had just come off of their shift. It turns out that the timing of our arrival was just right, for, as we described our journey, and my grandpas’s diary, they happily began to tell us all about the history of the town, and some of what they knew of hobo life. One of them in particular, David, became very enthusiastic and took us on a tour of the closed train station, and shared some of his own recollections about getting to know his grandfather later in life. David was the kind of guy we would have liked to get to know better, but in the end we succumbed to our schedule, and left Helper on our way towards Provo, UT, following Pop Pop’s itinerary:

June 5th, 1922 (cont.):
We were now getting very tough. This day and the next, we got no sleep at all. A freight loaded with copper and gold ore pulled out of Helper. We took this and climbed right in with the gold. We rode this to Provo, Utah. We again started to climb and by 6.00P.M. we had reached Soldier Summit the second highest spot in the Rockies {for the train}. Here we got something to eat in a bakery while the freight was shifting. Scenery was wonderful. At Soldier Summit, we began to drop again. Well the freight pulled into Provo at about three {am}. We were met by the sheriff who locked us up. We got four hours sleep. Four hours sleep in three days isn’t very much. We were all in. {exhausted}

Our 2011 descent from Soldier Summit passed by a modern windmill-power farm, and we wondered what Pop Pop would have thought of such a futuristic array. We arrived in Provo around dusk, and after a fruitless search for the sheriff’s office, we drove a little further to Orem, UT, we we again found a WalMart parking to park our RV.

Finding Fritz, Sr., Day 4

Today started out with our first big breakthrough in connecting with Pop Pop’s history. Even though it was Memorial Day, we headed over to the sheriff’s office to see what we might find. It was closed, but next door was the new county prison, so we started there. After an unsuccessful conversation with a lady on the other side of an intercom, we walked back to the sheriff’s office and peeked through the glass doors. Inside we could see the displays Aaron had learned about in his research, but unfortunately, they were just beyond our reach. To one side we saw some offices through the plate glass windows, and then noticed a young lady working on a computer. We sent Dad over, as the one most likely to be taken seriously, and he spoke to her through the plate glass and explained our predicament. Motioning to us to wait, she disappeared inside the building for a few minutes. Then we heard the front doors opening, where Rebecca, the Undersheriff (Chief Deputy), welcomed us into the lobby. We were extremely grateful for their dedication to be working on a holiday, and their graciousness in letting us in.

The displays included an iron door from an earlier jail, and we wondered if Pop Pop had seen it during his visit to Grand Junction:
June 3, 1922: Arrived at Grand Junction at 3.00 A.M. We went to the jail there for a place to sleep.

June 4th, 1922: Left the jail and walked around the town till the sheriff chased us out of it. We couldn’t even get breakfast. Ray and I hid in a box car all day. At noon I went shooting stumps. Got brave and went into the town and grubbed an apple pie from a baker. This is what we had for our Sunday dinner that day. That night at about 6.00 we went out for grub again. I went one way and Ray went another. I don’t know how Ray made out but I sure struck a good joint. Had to eat it there so I couldn’t bring any thing with me. Ray said he got something.

As we discussed my grandfather’s experiences in Grand Junction with the Undersheriff and her associate, we had a welcome surprise: she told us to come and look at the photo gallery of former sheriffs. The photos included dates of service, so we easily found Frank N. DuCray, the sheriff in 1922, who both hosted Pop Pop, and then chased him out of town. Even though it was only a photo, it was like finding a small puzzle piece in the reconstruction of our family history. What’s more, Rebecca offered to look into some old records in the sheriff’s office, to see if my grandpa’s visit was documented in any way.

After a few more minutes of chatting with our new friends, we headed off to explore the location of the former jail, and also the now-restored train station. We were anxious to hit the road, since we were hoping to see several national parks in the next day and a half. At the station, we saw some backpackers, and asked for their advice which parks to see (answer: all!).

Heading out of town, we read about Pop Pop’s departure from Grand Junction:
June 4, 1922 (cont.): There were now about ten fellows waiting for the train. It’s funny the way they break up. They come into a town about 20 strong then you won’t see any of them till train time. Some of these fellows surprised me. Well-educated and riding trains in hobo style. Most of them have trades and jump from town to town. Others are just plain bums. Lots of cow punchers and sheep herders ride the trains when they want to come to town. We rode with quite a few. Well, we had to wait till 1.15 A.M. before we could take a train. Rode it blind {between two cars} to Helper, Utah. It sure was cold when we started but we were going downgrade.

As we read Pop Pop’s description of hobo life, I began to appreciate his little diary as more than just a personal story, but a valuable historical document of a bygone era.

However, for the rest of the day, we put his diary on hold: we were in an area with at least 3 National Parks, connected by areas almost as spectacular as the parks themselves. So we started at the closest, the Colorado National Monument, and then drove through the dramatically beautiful Colorado River valley to Canyonlands National Park. These are both about 200 miles upstream from the Grand Canyon, and share many similarities with it in terms of scenery. We ended the day with the sunset over Grand View Point Overlook in Canyonlands, and then returned in our RV to “Horsethief Campground.”

Finding Fritz, Sr., Day 3

Pop Pop's remarks about his moonlit ride on the top of a coal car through the Royal Gorge piqued our interest, so we jumped at the chance to take a modern train ride through the gorge. Our daytime ride and the perfect springtime weather gave us beautiful views of both the natural and manmade wonders of the gorge. The gorge is so narrow that Captain Zebulon Pike concluded that it was impassable during his famous 1806 expedition. Nevertheless, a railroad was eventually cut into the gorge, to give access to the rich mining areas to the north. It was on these tracks that we rode, not on top of a pile of coal, but in a glass-domed dining car with cushioned seats. However, in order to get better views in the fresh Spring air, we eventually made our way to the open-topped observation car. We enjoyed feeling the moving air and hearing the rushing water, the occasional bird calls, and the moaning, creaking, and grinding of the train. We watched whitewater rafters as they took on the churning cold rapids below us, and admired the suspension bridge 1050 feet above us.

After our train ride was over, our next stop was Salida, CO, the scene of one of my grandfather’s sheriff encounters (see May 27 posting below). Since it was Memorial Day weekend, the town was bustling with folks participating in either the local Marathon, a bike rally, or the holiday celebration in the park. Starting at the current Sheriff’s office and detention center, we spent an hour or so searching for the old jail and train station. Several local policemen tried to help but they could only guess where the original buildings where. We found a large open area with a lot of tracks, just across the river, where the station presumably once stood. It was disappointing, but we knew we still had a lot more station stops ahead to explore. So after visiting our first RV dump site, we headed up the road, using Pop Pop’s diary as our guide:

June 3, 1922: When he {the conductor} got off we got on from the other side. At the time we didn’t know it was a mail coach or we would never have got on. After we discovered it, it was too late to get off. We were the only two that caught the train. I guess we rode along for about an hour when all of a sudden the door we were leaning {on} opened up and we rolled right into the mail car looking up into the end of a gun. The fellow smiled and put his gun away. He wanted to find out what kind of bums we were. After he did, he put us to work sorting mail for him. At Buena Vista, he got us something to eat in the station.
After we were finished, we laid down and went to sleep on some empty mail bags. We rode with him for twelve hours. Went over Tennessee Pass, the highest spot in the Rockies {for the train}. There was snow on the ground. We were very lucky to be inside at this point. The scenery was beautiful and very remarkable. The different rock formations sure did take my eye. At Grand Junction this mail clerk was to be relieved so about ten minutes before we got there he left us out the way we came in. In the mean time, somewhere along the line, some fellows had made the train. When we came out of the warmth, one of them held his hands against the outside of my sweater. The feel of it was warm to him. I imagine what we missed. Arrived at Grand Junction at 3.00 A.M. We went to the jail there for a place to sleep.

Our next stop was Buena Vista, where again we found no trace of a train station. However, we did stop to admire the “good view” of Mt. Harvard and a couple of lesser Ivy League mountains. We also went down to the Arkansas River to experience the rushing water my grandfather had written about. It was not only fast-moving, but extremely cold, thanks to the melting late-May snow. We continued on to the Tennessee Pass, (elevation 10,424 ft.), where, like Pop Pop, I also found snow on the ground in the shadows behind an abandoned and dilapidated log cabin. I then shared a handful of my unexpected discovery with an unsuspecting Aaron. We arrived at Leadville, a town that reminded me of the coal regions back east. We were too late to visit the Mining Museum, so we pressed on to reach Grand Junction, our destination for the evening.

Finding Fritz, Sr., Day 2

After a good night sleep and two excellent meals at cousin Dave and Mary Lou Daubert’s, we left mid-morning on our way to pick up my grandfather’s trail. Passing through Colorado Springs, we made the obligatory visits to the Air Force Academy and the Garden of the Gods. The late spring air was dry and clear, giving us expansive views of both the eastern Colorado plain and the still snow-capped Rocky Mountains. We treated ourselves to a ride up Pike’s Peak on the Cog Railway, from which we got even more stunning views of the surrounding mountains and plains. It was a similar visit in 1893 that inspired Katherine Lee Bates to write “America the Beautiful.”


On the train, our bench faced Chuck and Jennifer from South Carolina, along with her dad from upstate NY. He grew up in Boston, so we shared stories about our lives there. Then, as we described our trip and my grandfather’s diary, our story created an immediate connection. I was a little surprised when Jennifer said that she was “inspired” by our trip idea, but it turns out that they were the first in a series of relative strangers would be so enthusiastic about our journey.


Heading south from Colorado Springs, we aimed for Florence, CO, where my “Pop Pop” got his first glimpse of the Rockies on a Friday afternoon in June 1922, while riding a freight train from Pueblo. We had little to go on besides the fact that he got off the train in Florence, and “went on a tour for grub by the back door method” before hopping on the next train. So we headed for Railroad St., hoping to find a train station. Our first hunch in this historical treasure hunt was a success, as it took us straight to the restored Denver and Rio Grande Railroad station. However, it is no longer an active train station, but is now being used as a community center. At least it is still standing, as many former stations and rail lines have been demolished.

Although the station appeared closed, we saw some parked cars, so Aaron decided to take Pop Pop’s lead and use the “back door” method to get what we wanted. He went over to a side door and knocked and sure enough, a nice lady opened up and agreed to let us tour the inside of the station. She was there playing cards with some friends, and inside the station we saw some vintage photos of the station and trains from the early 1900s. The old photos, along with the overgrown train tracks, began to awaken our imagination, as we tried to understand the era of Pop Pop’s trip.

Bumming it: In his diary, Pop Pop described how he left Florence:

June 2, 1922: Went on a tour for grub by the back door method. Met with fair luck. Here we waited for the passenger train till nine. About fifteen of us got on. They were on the roofs, underneath, up on the tender {coal car} and in the blinds {between cars}. Ray and I rode on the tender. The railroad people out west are not so hard on bums as they are in the east. By moonlight from the top of the tender we saw the royal gorge through which the railroad passed. It is the most wonderful sight I ever laid my eyes on. A great piece of engineering. The further we went, the higher up we got. By the time we hit Salida, Col., we were very high. It was very cold.

It turns out we would be doing some of our own "bumming" on this trip. The guy who rented us the RV told us that WalMart has made it their policy to allow RVs to spend the night in their parking lots, “dry camping.” We figured that either it was good for business, or they didn’t want to bother chasing folks away. Either way, we were grateful for their policy, and headed for the nearest WalMart, which was in Canon City, CO. Even though we were freeloading in the parking lot, we did become regular customers for food and supplies.

Finding Fritz Sr., Day 1

We arrived at Denver airport about 5 hours ahead of Dad, which gave us plenty of time to pick up the RV and get stocked up on groceries. Unlike my grandfather, who left Philadelphia in 1922 with only his knapsack, $15, a pistol, and a jar of peaches, we chose to leave less to chance, traveling in the relative comfort of a fully stocked RV, with a refrigerator/freezer, stove, microwave, 3 beds, and even a TV. The fact that we only had 10 days, and that none of us is 22 years old like my grandfather was, had something to do with our decision.

Following the instructions of a taxi driver, we headed for the cell phone pick-up spot to wait for my dad, whose flight was a little late. Thankfully, Aaron saw the sign warning of the 9’6” clearance just as we turned our 12’ high RV in to the arrivals lane. So we got an early lesson in backing up, and then pulled up across from the departure area to wait. Here we got our first reminders of my grandfather’s trip. Several times he and his fellow hobos got picked up at the local train station and run out of town by the local sheriff.

Here’s one example:
June 2, 1922: At Salida, {Colorado} we were forced to leave the train as we were almost frozen {riding on top of the coal car}. Well the 15 of us walked into the railroad station and prepared our beds on the floor and benches. Just as we were all set for a nice little nap, in walked the sheriff of the town. He called us all down to the jail where we spent the night.

June 3, 1922: Were chased out of town by the sheriff. There was no highway to follow and no train till four in the afternoon so we had to hide in the woods. While waiting we washed some clothes in the Colorado River {it is actually the Arkansas River}. It sure is the swiftest body of water I ever saw. I stuck my foot in and was almost carried away by the current. Well at four the train came along. The sheriff must have told them we were going to ride the train because they were watching for us. The other 13 tried to get it from the station platform. Ray and I figured we had a better chance out along the tracks as sometimes the conductor rides out on the blinds then the train slows up and he gets back on the coach again. Sure enough, this is what he did. When he got off we got on from the other side.

Well, while we were waiting at the airport, a policeman meandered over and politely asked us to leave. With no real options for parking a large RV, I had to decide between driving in circles until Dad arrived, or parking about 10 minutes down the road. I let Aaron off to wait for Dad, and on the way to the remote parking, I thought I found a good place to pull over. Within a minute, a trooper pulled up and waved me on. Although not exactly being run out of town, in a small way, we were being initiated into my grandfather’s nomadic experience. Ironically, two days later in Salida, CO, another policeman would shoo us away from where we were parked. Apparently in some towns, RVs are as welcome as hobos in the ‘20s.

Finding Fritz, Sr.: The Rockies Road Trip

My grandpa, Frederic C. Barth, Sr., died when I was 18 months old, in December 1956. My only "memories" of him are really just my own imaginations, based on black and white photos, family stories, and a few artifacts he left behind, such as his 1917 Navy bellbottom pants, and large German beer steins prominently displayed in our home. I knew that he was the son of German immigrants, not only because of his name, but because of the stories. He left high school for a year during World War I, to serve in the Navy (and avoid direct conflict with his German "cousins"). His father, Karl Friedrich ("Charlie") was a cousin/manager of the infamous Bergdoll brewers/brewery, and we were surrounded with relatives with names such as Fritz, Ludwig, Karl, Rudolf, and Elsa.

Several years ago, my dad (Fritz, Jr.) showed me a diary written by his father in 1922, when he and his friend hitchhiked, walked and hopped trains from Philadelphia to California. As I read it, my curiosity turned to obsession, for several reasons. First, his story was full of adventure, and he passed down his penchant for road trips, first to Dad, and eventually to us. But more importantly, as I read his diary, it began to stir up in me all sorts of feelings and fascinations, and it seemed as though I was beginning to get to know him somewhat, as if looking through a dim and foggy window. Thanks to his meticulous description of meals and automobiles, quirky people and quaint expressions, terrain and town names, wardrobe and sleeping quarters (often in a sheriff's "guest house"), I felt as though I was reliving a little bit of history.

The fact that it was family history made it all the more compelling, and I determined to make it available to our extended family, by transcribing the diary into a computer document. As I did, and as I began to trace his route along several road maps, a thought began to form, which eventually grew into a dream: Why not take our own road trip, following the same trail (more or less) that he took nearly 90 years ago? And why not invite Dad and my brothers and my son to join us? It would be a great way to honor the man who was taken from us prematurely, and hopefully to understand him better. But it could also be a great opportunity to build on his heritage, and to write our own chapter to inspire our grandchildren.

On Friday, May 27, 2011, we will be flying to Denver, to pick up my grandpa's trail, and follow it through the Rockies, Utah, and the Nevada desert to San Francisco. It would be impractical to follow his trail all the way from Philadelphia, and for practical reasons, only my dad and my son, Aaron, will be able to join me. Nevertheless, I have an inexplicable but deep anticipation that this trip is going to uncover and reveal things that we can only guess at ahead of time. I believe it is going to be a milestone for the three of us. I can hardly wait!

(I hope to update this blog along the way, so sign up at the top of the page, if you want an email notification when I do.)