Up until this point, his travel had been along the turnpikes, which hardly resemble the paved roads of today. As he headed farther west and the population dwindled, he would be forced to walk along passageways that barely qualified as roads. When even those passageways were unavailable, Potter traveled along railbeds that greatly hindered his ability to smoothly push his wheelbarrow.
It would have been very easy for Potter to cheat, so he documented his travels by having people write in a book that he carried with him. One entry read, “I saw Mr. R. Lyman Potter at Monroeville, O. I left town about five or eight minutes after Mr. Potter started and trotted one mile and a half before I overtook him. I rode aside him for four and a half miles, and found it quite difficult to keep up with him without trotting. I have a fast walking mare. Mr. Potter is a very sociable man and seems to be a very good man. He stayed at my house the night of the 13th of May. Wm. T Marion, Providence, Lucas County, Ohio.”
As he traveled, his story was picked up by newspapers nationwide, and Potter capitalized on his newfound fame. Businesses paid him to advertise on signs affixed to the sides of his wheelbarrow. Others were willing to pay for his food and lodging. He even acted as a mailman, charging for each letter that he delivered. “Every one [sic] on the road was very kind to me, and would not, many times, take any money from me. I took letters to deliver on my way at two bits each, and got quite a mail-bag.”
Approximate route that R. Lyman Potter would take from Albany, NY (1) to San Francisco, CA (2).
A man pushing a wheelbarrow would cause little excitement today, but in 1878, Potter’s arrival in a town was a major event. For example, when he arrived in Fort Wayne, Indiana, on May 16, a month after his start date, he was greeted at the train depot by a number of dignitaries and tendered freedom of the city.
He penned the following letter on May 19 (his thirty-ninth day of travel): “I arrived at Columbia City at 9.10 this p.m. Am well and in good condition.” He concluded, “Please answer at Chicago Ills. Yours &c, R. Lyman Potter.”
Potter was nine days ahead of schedule when he entered Chicago on May 23 and remained there for three days. The Globe-Democrat reported, “The wheelbarrow idiot, R. Lyman Potter, arrived in this city this morning. He is represented as being the most dilapidated looking biped that has worn shoe leather in these parts for a considerable period.”
Next up was the state of Iowa. “He may be expected to pass through Council Bluffs and Omaha in due course of time, unless some friend of humanity kills him before he gets there.” Potter safely reached Council Bluffs on June 21, and was then approximately 1,200 miles (1,931 km) from home.
Nebraska offered Potter his first real setback. “After I left Chicago, I did not stop more than a day or two anywhere on the route, except at Plum Creek, Nebraska, where I had sunstroke, which laid me out for fifteen days.”
While in North Platte, Nebraska, on July 14 (day ninety-five), he penned the following letter to the editor of the Fort Wayne Sentinel: “Good health. Feel happy. Hoping this will find you same. Going every day and confident I’ll make it. Very hot weather, which don’t agree for a long journey. Write, Ogden, San Francisco and Sacramento. R. L. Potter.”
Upon reaching Cheyenne, Wyoming, on July 26, it was reported that Potter was “met in the outskirts of the town by a delegation of citizens who extended to him the freedom of the city, which he accepted. When the officials and dignitaries of the camp got through with him, the hoodlums, who were abound there, got hold of him and filled him up with budge, and before he was in the Magic City an hour he was as incoherent as the pages of the Pioneer.”
In another letter penned to the Sentinel, Potter wrote: “Laramie City, W. T. [Wyoming Territory], July 31, 1878.—I feel as good and as healthy as I ever did. Hope this will find you the same. Had a breakdown twice on the road, plenty of snow in part of the country. I remain yours respectfully, R. L. Potter.”
Potter passed through Utah in late August and spent most of September in Nevada. Upon entering California, passage over the Sierra Nevada range proved difficult, as he was forced to travel over a seemingly endless succession of railroad ties. His wheelbarrow bounced up and down in a rhythmic pattern as he moved closer to San Francisco.
He rolled his wheelbarrow down K Street in Sacramento on October 7, as a crowd of hundreds looked on. As he approached his final destination, the San Francisco Examiner published the following critique:
A few days ago there passed through a town in Oregon an old negro, 70 years of age, and of 300 pounds weight, on his way to Puget Sound. He had walked all the way from Louisiana; but he pushed no wheelbarrow, had no money staked on his performance, nor did he make any pretentious display of himself because of his really extraordinary feat in pedestrianism. He started on the long journey for the purposes of getting employment, and he certainly deserves it at good wages for the remainder of his days. If there is any celebrity or reward due to either of the two, to the tough and resolute old negro ought it to be given.
The following announcement appeared in newspapers across the country: “San Francisco, October 15.—R. Lyman Potter, the wheelbarrow man, arrived about noon to-day [sic]. The crowd followed him through the streets.” The next day’s papers wrote, “The arrival of the wheelbarrow man was an advertising hoax. Potter will not be here for a day or two.”
He pushed on to Oakland, but the rules established back in Albany prohibited him from directly crossing the bay into San Francisco. He had no choice but to walk along the waterway’s perimeter. He headed southward toward San Jose before turning northward toward San Francisco.
Finally, on October 27, 1878, Potter and his wheelbarrow entered San Francisco as police and a brass band escorted him down Mission Street. Upon arriving at Woodward’s Gardens, a popular amusement venue where he had been hired to appear, he was greeted by a crowd estimated to be between 12,000 and 15,000 people.
It had been 201 days since Potter left Albany. While in Sacramento, he was asked the total cost of the trip. He commented, “About $300 [$7,900 today]. Meals were very expensive, four bits [fifty cents] and $1.”
Surprisingly, Potter had still not met all of the conditions laid out in that original $1,000 bet. He was required to walk 4,085 miles, yet he had only covered 3,995 miles upon his arrival in San Francisco. He would accrue the additional 90 miles during his daily performances at Woodward’s Gardens.
Potter’s final day at Woodward’s Gardens was on November 11. On the 20th, it was announced in the newspapers that forty-one-year-old Leon Pierre Federmeyer had challenged Potter to a transcontinental wheelbarrow race. On December 8, 1878, at 3:45 p.m., the two set out for New York on a $1,500 wager ($39,450 today).
Passage through the mountains was made treacherous by sub-zero temperatures and incredible depths of snow. Potter and Federmeyer remained neck-and-neck until they reached Battle Mountain, Nevada, on January 12, 1879, where Potter became ill and began to fall behind. From that point on, Potter seemed more focused on cashing in on his fame than winning the race. He spent two months in Leadville, Colorado, and argued that Federmeyer had forfeited the race by riding in a wagon for 23 miles (37 km) and skipping Salt Lake City, which cut 80 miles (129 km) off his trip.
With each passing day, Federmeyer pulled farther ahead, though it wasn’t all smooth sailing. While passing over the Sierra, his left foot froze in the extreme cold. In Sheridan, Kansas, he fell 15 feet (4.6 m) and struck the rocks below. Federmeyer arrived in New York on July 24, 1879—229 days after departing from San Francisco.
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