Indianapolis Times, Indianapolis, Marion County, 27 July 1952 — Page 71

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to explain what I was doing. I couldn’t speak Spanish. Finally, I had to raise some money. In eight days, I sold 20 “shares” of $100 each in my adventure. All of my friends, including some of the, investors, considered me mad.

On a cold, rainy Saturday, last January, I tiptoed out of the house (I had said good-bye. * to my parents the night before) and took a

subway to La Guardia Airport.

After a day and a night of hanging around -

the itinerant pilot’s registry and talking to ‘airport employes, I was signed on as a “crew member” on a non-scheduled flight. In five hours on Sunday, I reached Miami. While I was trying to get a plane out of

~ Miami, I met a New York girl friend. We had

us a ball — a rented convertible, huge steaks and glittering nightclubs. Then I got worried about my investors’ money. So I gave up the girl and did nothing but lie on the beach and get sunburned.

* Nothing But Sunburn?

UST ABOUT the time I thought I'd have to g0 back to face my investors with nothing but a Miami tan to show for their money, I got a ride in a war surplus C-47. Sitting on a pile of freight, I rode to Havana, Cuba; Barranquilla, Colombia; and Panama. I had to-stay in the plane because I was mucho illegal. I arrived in Panama about 6 p.m. one evening. By the next morning, I had met an Englishman, Mark Winfield, and a Yank, Joe Massick, who owned a power launch equipped with an auxiliary sail. They were fascinated by my

trip. I suggested they take me to Buenaven- ;

tura, Colombia, in, their boat, “Linda Jo.” Neither Massick, an archeologist, nor Winfield, an army reserve lieutenant, had ever

... All my friends said | was mad. Do you agree?

been more than 20 miles out. I had never been

. out of sight of land in a small boat. We made

the 800 mile sea journey in seven days. We were a miniature Kon-Tiki. lips cracked for lack of water and lighter by many pounds (in my case, 12), we arrived in Buenaventura on the west ceast on Feb. 28. From there began my land and air

‘trek to the tip of the continent. I can only hit

the highlights. There was one harrowing ride of 400 miles from Cali to Pasto, Colombia, in the cab of a six-by-six, driven by a red-faced American working on a construction project. He kept chain-drinking cans of beer. and throwing the empties at natives and burros. Once we came to a rickety, wooden bridge that didn’t look as if it would support me, let alone the truck. But this guy cocked an eye at the bridge, backed up and tore across at 65 miles an hour. Just after we crossed, the bridge collapsed. I nearly had heart failure. But the driver laughed fiendishly, At Talara, Peru, I gave the letter the Barnard girls had written to a bus driver. He read it and then took a vote among the passengers to see whether they’d give me a free ride. Unfortunately, they voted “Yes.”

The Brakes Let Loose

HILE WE were rolling down a mountain road the bus’ brakes let loose. Eventually, it cracked up and rolled over on its side. The other passengers started off on foot, but I stayed with the bus—for 31, days. Eventually, a truck from an American geodetic survey rescued me. From Lima, Peru, to Arequipa I got a free ride in a taxi over the Pan-American highway which varied in width from 8 or 10 feet to a half a mile or more. In these latter places, it

FOR THREE and a half days, | lived beside this overturned bus on the Pan-American highway.

THESE LOVELY Chilean girls in the Naval Club

at Punta Arenas are typical of guides | had.

”

—

I REACHED Cape Horn, where I'm pointing, in just 2 months.and 1 day.

was just tire-rutted desert’ with an occasional sign pointing to the next.town. Many times there was a thousand-foot drop. I made fhe fastest, most comfortable journeys in Chile. A-Chilean air force officer insisted on giving me his Pullman berth from Iquique to Santiago. There I met the commanding general of the Air Force who authorized me to ride in a plane to Punta Arenas, Chile’s southernmost city. ’ The flight was to pick up a Chilean antarctic expedition. My luck was amazing in Punta Arenas. It looked like I would be marooned so near—and yet so far—from my destination, Cape Horn. But because the plane had been repaired, the pilot agreed to make a “test flight” ut over the Cape, so that I could achieve my goal. I saw Cape Horn at 12:10 p.m., March 27.

Some High Living

VEN THOUGH I developed a skin disease that is still sending me to doctors, I don’t want to suggest that my trip was all hardship. I had several periods of great fun. One was in Guayaquil, Ecuador, where I met a young Chinese, Jacinto Ayon, 26. His father ran a rice and coffee export business. I spent two and a half weeks at the Ayon home, “La Fama,” which had marble floors and ceilings, Chinese vases and a real pagoda. Another was in Lima where I checked into the Hotel Bolivar. There seemed to be 17,000 guys waiting for me to drop my shoe so they could pick it up and shine it. There I looked ° up the sister of one of the Barnard girls and spent two weeks soaking up sunshine at her family’s beadh house. And in Santiago my constant companion and guide for 10 days was a very pretty, amus- , ing and intelligent girl named Luisa.

Home In a Breeze

Y TRIP home was a breeze. I hitched conM tinuous air rides to Mexico City. From there I got an auto ride all the way to Los Angeles. Then by auto and train F made my way north into Canada and across to New York. I was so broke my last “ride,” a Canadian doctor, had to lend me a dime for subway fare when he let me off at the edge of New York. I rang-my father’s doorbell at 5:10 a.m. on May 15. When he opened the door, he said, “Why couldn’t you have arrived home at a reasonable hour?” He had been agamnst my venture from the start. : Wait until he hears what I’ m pldnning now. I'm going to hitchhike through Africa.

JULY 27, 1952 parede 7