three men on the bummel(三个闲逛的人)-第36节
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〃Quite near； isn't it？〃
〃Five miles。〃
General chorus： 〃We'll stop at Titisee。〃
George made discovery of this difference between theory and practice
on the very first day of our ride。
〃I thought；〃 said Georgehe was riding the single； Harris and I being a
little ahead on the tandem〃that the idea was to train up the hills and ride
down them。〃
〃So it is；〃 answered Harris； 〃as a general rule。 But the trains don't go
up EVERY hill in the Black Forest。〃
〃Somehow； I felt a suspicion that they wouldn't；〃 growled George； and
for awhile silence reigned。
〃Besides；〃 remarked Harris； who had evidently been ruminating the
subject； 〃you would not wish to have nothing but downhill； surely。 It
would not be playing the game。 One must take a little rough with one's
smooth。〃
Again there returned silence； broken after awhile by George； this time。
〃Don't you two fellows over…exert yourselves merely on my account；〃
said George。
〃How do you mean？〃 asked Harris。
〃I mean；〃 answered George； 〃that where a train does happen to be
going up these hills； don't you put aside the idea of taking it for fear of
outraging my finer feelings。 Personally； I am prepared to go up all these
hills in a railway train； even if it's not playing the game。 I'll square the
thing with my conscience； I've been up at seven every day for a week now；
and I calculate it owes me a bit。 Don't you consider me in the matter at
all。〃
We promised to bear this in mind； and again the ride continued in
dogged dumbness； until it was again broken by George。
〃What bicycle did you say this was of yours？〃 asked George。
Harris told him。 I forget of what particular manufacture it happened
to be； it is immaterial。
〃Are you sure？〃 persisted George。
〃Of course I am sure；〃 answered Harris。 〃Why； what's the matter
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with it？〃
〃Well； it doesn't come up to the poster；〃 said George； 〃that's all。〃
〃What poster？〃 asked Harris。
〃The poster advertising this particular brand of cycle；〃 explained
George。 〃I was looking at one on a hoarding in Sloane Street only a day
or two before we started。 A man was riding this make of machine； a man
with a banner in his hand： he wasn't doing any work； that was clear as
daylight； he was just sitting on the thing and drinking in the air。 The
cycle was going of its own accord； and going well。 This thing of yours
leaves all the work to me。 It is a lazy brute of a machine； if you don't
shove； it simply does nothing： I should complain about it； if I were you。〃
When one comes to think of it； few bicycles do realise the poster。 On
only one poster that I can recollect have I seen the rider represented as
doing any work。 But then this man was being pursued by a bull。 In
ordinary cases the object of the artist is to convince the hesitating
neophyte that the sport of bicycling consists in sitting on a luxurious
saddle； and being moved rapidly in the direction you wish to go by unseen
heavenly powers。
Generally speaking； the rider is a lady； and then one feels that； for
perfect bodily rest combined with entire freedom from mental anxiety；
slumber upon a water…bed cannot compare with bicycle… riding upon a
hilly road。 No fairy travelling on a summer cloud could take things more
easily than does the bicycle girl； according to the poster。 Her costume for
cycling in hot weather is ideal。 Old…fashioned landladies might refuse her
lunch； it is true； and a narrowminded police force might desire to secure
her； and wrap her in a rug preliminary to summonsing her。 But such she
heeds not。 Uphill and downhill； through traffic that might tax the ingenuity
of a cat； over road surfaces calculated to break the average steam roller she
passes； a vision of idle loveliness； her fair hair streaming to the wind； her
sylph…like form poised airily； one foot upon the saddle； the other resting
lightly upon the lamp。 Sometimes she condescends to sit down on the
saddle； then she puts her feet on the rests； lights a cigarette； and waves
above her head a Chinese lantern。
Less often； it is a mere male thing that rides the machine。 He is not
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so accomplished an acrobat as is the lady； but simple tricks； such as
standing on the saddle and waving flags； drinking beer or beef…tea while
riding； he can and does perform。 Something； one supposes； he must do
to occupy his mind： sitting still hour after hour on this machine； having
no work to do； nothing to think about； must pall upon any man of active
temperament。 Thus it is that we see him rising on his pedals as he nears
the top of some high hill to apostrophise the sun； or address poetry to the
surrounding scenery。
Occasionally the poster pictures a pair of cyclists； and then one grasps
the fact how much superior for purposes of flirtation is the modern bicycle
to the old…fashioned parlour or the played…out garden gate。 He and she
mount their bicycles； being careful； of course； that such are of the right
make。 After that they have nothing to think about but the old sweet tale。
Down shady lanes； through busy towns on market days； merrily roll the
wheels of the 〃Bermondsey Company's Bottom Bracket Britain's Best；〃 or
of the 〃Camberwell Company's Jointless Eureka。〃 They need no
pedalling； they require no guiding。 Give them their heads； and tell them
what time you want to get home； and that is all they ask。 While Edwin
leans from his saddle to whisper the dear old nothings in Angelina's ear；
while Angelina's face； to hide its blushes； is turned towards the horizon at
the back； the magic bicycles pursue their even course。
And the sun is always shining and the roads are always dry。 No stern
parent rides behind； no interfering aunt beside； no demon small boy
brother is peeping round the corner； there never comes a skid。 Ah me！
Why were there no 〃Britain's Best〃 nor 〃Camberwell Eurekas〃 to be hired
when WE were young？
Or maybe the 〃Britain's Best〃 or the 〃Camberwell Eureka〃 stands
leaning against a gate； maybe it is tired。 It has worked hard all the
afternoon； carrying these young people。 Mercifully minded； they have
dismounted； to give the machine a rest。 They sit upon the grass beneath
the shade of graceful boughs； it is long and dry grass。 A stream flows by
their feet。 All is rest and peace。
That is ever the idea the cycle poster artist sets himself to conveyrest
and peace。
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But I am wrong in saying that no cyclist； according to the poster； ever
works。 Now I come to reflect； I have seen posters representing
gentlemen on cycles working very hardover…working themselves； one
might almost say。 They are thin and haggard with the toil； the
perspiration stands upon their brow in beads； you feel that if there is
another hill beyond the poster they must either get off or die。 But this is
the result of their own folly。 This happens because they will persist in
riding a machine of an inferior make。 Were they riding a 〃Putney
Popular〃 or 〃Battersea Bounder；〃 such as the sensible young man in the
centre of the poster rides； then all this unnecessary labour would be saved
to them。 Then all required of them would be； as in gratitude bound； to
look happy； perhaps； occasionally to back…pedal a little when the machine
in its youthful buoyancy loses its head for a moment and dashes on too
swiftly。
You tired young men； sitting dejectedly on milestones； too spent to
