Word: corduroys
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Vast Land. Her energy and courage were extraordinary. She traveled thousands of miles by coach, bumped over "corduroy" roads, put up at strange cabins and hostels. She talked and listened to statesmen, slaves, Abolitionists, jailbirds, men, women & children, in the East, West and South. From New Orleans she sailed up the Mississippi on the Henry Clay to Cincinnati. She was fascinated by the "sudden and overwhelming . . . perils of this extraordinary river" where "snags," "planters," and "sawyers" might "at any moment pierce the hull." Along the huge river she saw hundreds of miles of cotton and sugar fields. "[What] vast materials...
Gradually, steadily, doggedly, the snorting cats-drove the forest back. Woodsmen logged the spruce, pine and aspen for corduroy roads over the bogs. "Mister, I thought we'd never get through those first 15 miles. We'd get so damn tired we could hardly drag home, but every afternoon when we got to the store at Charlie's Lake, the lady there'd have a cake for us. Boy, those cakes were good...
When the rain retreated, there was the muskeg-spongy, orange-black decayed vegetation covering mudpits. Sometimes the road was detoured. Sometimes the corduroy planks were bridged across to support the traffic. On soldiers' pay (plus 20% for foreign duty) the men worked in two ten-hour shifts seven days a week. With no time to wait for steel or concrete, they built wood culverts, pushed ahead. Always they moved...
...north engineers, with equipment from the Alaska coast, hit troubles of their own. The cats, seeking a roadbed, tore off the top moss, exposed sheer blue ice. Sun-melted ice sucked down the roadway. The engineers scraped the moss back, over the ice, put a corduroy planking on top and let nature freeze a solid roadbed. Pushing out of Whitehorse and Slana, one group paused briefly one afternoon on the shore of Kluane Lake at the foot of 19,000-foot peaks. Beside the log cabin of Trapper Hayden and his half-breed Indian wife the Engineer band played...
...people who have traveled hundreds of miles to sit under Interlochen's tall pines and listen, and the kids in blue corduroy who have gone there to study and play great music for the joy that is in great music, are, I think, equally angry. Little Caesar should be dismally ashamed of himself...