Mr. Punch Awheel: The Humours of Motoring and Cycling by J. A. Hammerton (me reader .TXT) 📖
- Author: J. A. Hammerton
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Second Lesson.—Held on by another instructor, who urges me "to put more life into it." Hope it won't be the death of me. Work in a manner which even the treadmill, I imagine,[Pg 64] could not necessitate, and get the wheel round a few times. Painful wobbling. Instructor says I must pedal more quickly. Can't. Rest a minute. Panting. Awfully hot. Observe little children going round comfortably. Pretty girl here again, looking as fresh and cool as possible. Suddenly manage to ride three yards unsupported. Then collapse. But am progressing. Shall come again soon.
Third Lesson.—Endeavour to get on alone. Immediately get off on other side. Nearly upset the pretty girl. Polite self-effacement impossible when one is at the mercy of a mere machine. After a time manage better. And at last get started and ride alone for short distances. Always tumble off ignominiously just as I meet the pretty girl. Instructor urges me to break the record. Hope I shan't break my neck. Finally go all round the ground. Triumph! Pretty girl seems less inclined to laugh. Delightful exercise, bicycle riding! Shall come again to-morrow.
Fourth Lesson.—High north-east wind. Hot sun. Regular May weather. Clouds of coal-dust from track. Pretty girl not there at all. Start confidently. Endeavour to knock down a wall. Wall does not suffer much. Start again. Faster this time. The pretty girl has just come. Will show what I can do now. Career over large hole. Bicycle sinks, and then takes a mighty leap. Unprepared for this. Am cast into the air. Picked up. Can't stand. Something broken. Doctor will say what. Anyhow, clothes torn, bruised, disheartened. Dare not catch the eye of pretty girl. Carried home. Shall give up bicycle riding. Awful fag, and no fun.
[Pg 63]
The perils of Cycling.—(A sketch in Battersea Park.)
Angelina. "Come along, dear!"
[Pg 65]
MOTORING PHENOMENA—AND HOW TO READ THE SIGNS
[Pg 66]
In its "Hints for Bicyclists," Home Chat says: "A little fuller's earth dusted inside the stockings, socks and gloves, keeps the feet cool." Nothing, however, is said of the use of rubber soles as a protection against sunstroke.
Overheard at a Motor Meeting.—
Inquirer. "I wonder what they call those large, long cars?"
Well-informed Friend. "Those? Oh, I believe those are the Flying Kilometres, a French make."
People who are in favour of increasing the rates—Motorists.
[Pg 67]
The Squire. "But I tell you, sir, this road is private, and you shall not pass except over my prostrate body!"
Cyclist. "All right, guv'nor, I'll go back. I've done enough hill climbing already!"
[Pg 68] THE MORAL BIKETruth has discovered that temperance is promoted, and character generally reformed, by the agency of the bicycle—in fact, the guilty class has taken to cycling.
That is so. Go into any police-court, and you will find culprits in the dock who have not only taken to cycling but have also taken other people's cycles.
Ask any burglar among your acquaintance, and he will tell you that the term Safety Bicycle has a deeper and truer meaning for him, when, in pursuit of his vocation, he is anxious not to come in collision with the police.
Look, too, at the Scorcher on his Saturday afternoon exodus. Where could you have a more salient and striking example of pushfulness and determination to "get there" over all obstacles? He is, in fact, an example of Nietzsche's "Ueber-mensch," the Over-man who rides over any elderly pedestrian or negligible infant that may cross his path.
[Pg 70]Then the Lady in Bloomers. She is a great reforming agent. She looks so unsightly, that if all her sisters were dressed like her flirtation would die out of the land and there would be no more cakes and ale.
Think also of all the virtues called into active exercise by one simple puncture: Patience, while you spend an hour by the wayside five miles from anywhere; Self-control, when "swears, idle swears, you know not what they mean, swears from the depth of some divine despair rise in the heart and gather to the lips," as Tennyson has so sympathetically put it; Fortitude, when you have to shoulder or push the Moral Agent home; and a lot of other copy-book qualities.
Lastly, the adventurer who proceeds without a light within curfew hours, the sportsman who steals a march on the side-walk, and the novice who tries a fall with the first omnibus encountered—are all bright instances of British independence, and witnesses to Truth.
Truly, the bike is an excellent substitute for the treadmill and the reformatory!
[Pg 69]
"As Others See Us."—
Obliging Motorist. "Shall I stop the engine?"
Groom. "Never mind that, sir. But if you gents wouldn't mind just gettin' out and 'idin' behind the car for a minute,—the 'orses think it's a menagery comin'."
[Pg 71]
THE MILTONIC CYCLIST
[Pg 72]
WAKE UP, ENGLAND!
["British lady motor-drivers," says Motoring Illustrated, "must look to their laurels. Miss Rosamund Dixey, of Boston, U.S.A., invariably has her sweet, pet, fat, white pig sitting up beside her in the front of her motor car."]
We are losing our great reputation
Our women are not up-to-date;
For a younger, more go-a-head nation
Has beaten us badly of late;
Is there nowhere some fair Englishwoman
Who'd think it not too infra dig.
To be seen with (and treat it as human)
A sweet—pet—fat—white—pig?
There is no need to copy our Cousins,
A visit or two to the Zoo
Will convince you there must be some dozens
Of animal pets that would do,
With a "grizzly" perched up in your motor,
Just think how the people would stare,
Saying, "Is that a man in a coat or
A big—grey—tame—he—bear?"
Think how chic it would look in the paper
(Society's Doings, we'll say),
"Mrs. So-and-so drove with her tapir,
And daughter (the tapir's) to-day.
Mrs. Thingummy too and her sister
Drove out for an hour and a half,
And beside them (the image of Mr.)
A dear—wee—pink—pet—calf!"
[Pg 73]
"Did you get his number?"
"No; but I saw exactly what she was wearing and how much she paid for the things!"
[Pg 74] THE MOTORS' DEFENCE UNIONA Pedestrians' Protection League is being formed to uphold the rights of foot-passengers on the highways. As no bane is without its antidote, an opposition union is to be organised, having in view the adoption of the following regulations:—
1. Every pedestrian must carry on his front and back a large and conspicuous number as a means of easy and rapid identification.
2. No foot passenger shall quit the side-walk, except at certain authorised crossings. In country lanes and places where there is no side-walk the ditch shall be considered equivalent to the same.
3. Each foot-passenger about to make use of such authorised crossings shall thrice sound a danger-signal on a hooter, fog-horn or megaphone; and, after due warning has thus been given, shall traverse the road at a speed of not less than twelve miles an hour. The penalty for infringement to be forty shillings or one month.
4. Any pedestrian obstructing a motor by being run over, causing a motor to slow down or stop, or[Pg 75] otherwise deranging the traffic, shall be summarily dealt with: the punishment for this offence to be five years' penal servitude, dating from arrest or release from hospital, as the case may be.
5. Should the pedestrian thus trespassing on the highway lose his life in an encounter with a motor-car, he shall not be liable to penal servitude; compensation for shock and loss of time, however, shall be paid from his estate to the driver of the car, such amount being taxed by the coroner.
6. All cattle, sheep, pigs, swine, hares, rabbits, conies, and other ground game, and every goose, duck, fowl, or any animal whatsoever with which the motor shall collide shall, ipso facto, be confiscated to the owner of the motor.
7. Any comment, remark, reflection, sneer or innuendo concerning the shape, speed, appearance, noise, smell, or other attribute of a motor-car, or of its occupants, shall be actionable; and every foot-passenger thus offending shall be bound over in the sum of £500 to keep the peace.
The Scotchman who tumbled off a bicycle says that in future he intends to "let wheel alone."
[Pg 76]
Mabel's three bosom Friends (all experts—who have run round to see the Christmas gift). "Hullo, Mab!. Why, what on earth are you doing?"
Mab (in gasps). "Oh—you see—it was awfully kind of the Pater to give it to me—but I have to look after it myself—and I knew I should never have breath enough to blow the tyres out!"
[Pg 77]
An Accommodating Party.—Lady Driver. "Can you show us the way to Great Missenden, please?"
Weary Willie. "Cert'nly, miss, cert'nly. We're agoin' that way. 'Op up, Joe. Anythink to oblige a lady!"
[Pg 78]Among the correspondence in the Daily Mail on the subject of "The Motor Problem," there is a letter from a physician, who exposes very cynically a scheme for improving his practice.
"I am," he says, "a country doctor, and during the last five years have had not a single case of accident to pedestrians caused by motor car.... As soon as I can afford it I intend to buy a motor."
HOW NOT
Bikist. "Now then, Ethel, see me make a spurt round this corner."
[Pg 79]
TO DO IT
First Villager. "What's up, Bill?"
Second Villager. "Oh, only a gent awashin' the dust off his bike."
It is a bad workman who complains of his tools, yet even the best of them may be justly annoyed when his spanner goes completely off its nut.
"Motor cycle for sale, 2� h.-p., equal to 3� h.-p."
—Provincial Paper.
Discount of � h.-p. for cash?
[Pg 80] SONG OF THE SCORCHER. (After reading the Protests and Plans of the Cyclophobists)I know I'm a "scorcher," I know I am torcher
To buffers and mivvies who're not up to date;
But grumpy old geesers, and wobbly old wheezers,
Ain't goin' to wipe me and my wheel orf the slate.
I mean to go spinning and 'owling and grinning
At twelve mile an hour through the thick of the throng.
And shout, without stopping, whilst, frightened and flopping,
My elderly victims like ninepins are dropping,—
"So long!"
The elderly bobby, who's stuffy and cobby,
Ain't got arf a chance with a scorcher on wheels;
Old buffers may bellow, and young gals turn yellow,
But what do I care for their grunts or their squeals?
No, when they go squiffy I'm off in a jiffy,
The much-abused "scorcher" is still going strong.
And when mugs would meddle, I shout as I pedal—
"So long!"
Wot are these fine capers perposed by the papers?
These 'ints about lassos and butterfly nets?
To turn scorcher-catchers the old pewter-snatchers
In 'elmets must take fewer stodges and wets!
Wot, treat hus like bufflers or beetles! The scufflers
In soft, silent shoes, turn Red Injins? You're wrong!
It's all bosh and bubble! I'm orf—at the double!—
"So long!"
[Pg 81]
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