twenty thousand inhabitants, it is reasonably certain that the
roads connecting such places will be about as good as there are in
the vicinity; now and then a better road may be missed, but, in
the long run, that does not matter much, and the advantage of
keeping quite close to the straight line tells in the way of
mileage.

It is usually worse than useless to inquire in any place about the
roads beyond a radius of fifteen or twenty miles; plenty of
answers to all questions will be forthcoming, but they simply
mislead. In these days of railroads, farmers no longer make long
overland drives.

It is much easier to get information in small villages than in
cities. In a city about all one can learn is how to get out by the
shortest cut. Once out, the first farmer will give information
about the roads beyond.

In wet weather the last question will be, "Is the road clayey or
bottomless anywhere?" In dry weather, "Is there any deep, soft
sand, and are there any sand hills?"

The judgment of a man who is looking at the machine while he is
giving information is biased by the impressions as to what the
machine can do; make allowances for this and get, if possible, an
accurate description of the condition of any road which is
pronounced impassable, for you alone know what the machine can do,
and many a road others think you cannot cover is made with ease.

To the farmer the automobile is a traction engine, and he advises