EUROPE BY CYCLE

Evening Post, Volume LXXXIV, Issue 72, 21 September 1912, Page 10

EUROPE BY CYCLE

AMERICAN TOURISTS IN FRANCE CAMPING BY THE ROADSIDE. (For The Post.) [The four University men of Princeton, U.S.A., whose adventures as cattle-stiffs on the Atlantic and as cycling tourists in England have been described in preceding issues, tell to-day of their advent to the Continent.] Maidenhead, 9th July, 1912. From Maidenhead we passed through Henley to Oxford and on the way met with our first accident. Coasting down a steep hill on the other side of Henley Mac so far forgot himself as to pull over to the right as he went 'around a bend and had just time to catch a vision of an elderly clergyman in white flannels wheeling his bicycle up the hill, before he shot between the two, the clergyman and the bicycle that is. When he picked himself up the clergyman was climbing slowly out of a muddy ditch on the other side of the road, and his bicycle was sticking out of a hedge. Mac says he never listened to such a fluent line of language, and I expect the clergyman was somewhat taken aback when he calmed down sufficiently to realise what he was saying. At any rate he steadfastly refused Mac's offer to pay for the damage done, and hailing a passing labourer gave him his wrecked machine to carry to the next town. Then he shook hands with Mac, whose unfeigned distress had greatly mollified him, and disappeared around the bend with his' hireling at his heels. By some miracle Mac escaped injury altogether and his only souvenir of the collision was a long gash in his shoe. An examination N of Mac's bicycle showed that it likewise was unhurt, and we were soon on our way again, everybody keeping carefully to the left this time. Oxford did not greatly interest us. There is practically no campus and what little there is they guard with excessive vigilance, as Jack discovered when he tried to cross Christ Church College quadrangle, and was waved off by an official-looking person in black robes. The same individual objected to our looking in students' rooms when we passed by the windows, and altogether we were glad to shake the dust of Oxford from our tires. Stratford-on-Avon, Kenilworth, and Warwick compensated, however, and being now hardened to the Work, we have covered eighty-one miles from Stratford without any difficulty at all. LATIN QUARTER METHODS. Chantilly Depot, St. CSeorge, France. We did not stay long in London on our return, but hastened to , Paris the next day, cycling to Newhaven, and thence proceeding to Dieppe by boat and Paris by train. * En route to Newhaven, we overtook four trampish -looking individuals on wheels, and were delighted to recognise the Virginians we had met in London ofl the fourth. They had, it appeared, changed their minds about travelling by rail and had decided to take a trip much like onr own. We forthwith formed with them an offensive and defensive alliance and descended on Paris en masse. Leaving our bikes at the Gare St. Lazare, we all took taxis to the same hotel, a cheap but pleasant little place in the "Quartier Latin." It seems to be a favourite hangout with the students at the Sorbonne, whose Unique appearance and antics have furnished us with much amusement. Either because they wish to appear mature, or as George surmises, because they are too lazy to shave, or too poor to be shaved, they one and all sport beards in various stages of growth, ranging from half an inch to twelve-inched luxuriance. They tear about like a bunch of sixyear olds ; no kind of horse-play is beneath the dignity of these bearded, el-derly-looking youngsters. As Jack remarked, an American college freshman is a grave old senior when compared with the oldest of the lot. Their' fav^ ourite pastimes are, squirting seltzerwater at one another at table, and play* ing tennis on a shaded avenue in the Luxembourg Gardens. The nets cross the avenue at regular intervals, and the courts are bounded entirely by imaginary lines, which are settled before the game begins. "What is the back line?" asks one student. ? ' "Two and a half trees," replies the other, and the game is on. Our first night in Paris, Jack and I started out on a tour of the boulevards, with Woody," one of the Virginians, in tow. Woody, who was decked out in a high collar and straw hat, attracted most of the smiles from passing loveliness, but being of a very modest disposition did not notice them at all, and presently invited us to partake .of drinks in a somewhat sheltered cafe. Our send-off frow Paris after a three days' stay was a grand one. Mine host at the Hotel de Bretagne would now be grand duke if any of us had the power to make him one. He is the jolliest and most light-hearted of all the gay Frenchmen we have seen, and has taken the greatest interest in us from the time of our arrival. But when we were all gabbed in our khakis and soft hats ready for the departure, his feelings completely overcame him. Calling on us to wait, he vanished into the cellar and presently returned with two bottle* of champagne in each hand. With this lavish supply on tap he proceeded to offer first our health, then bon voyage, and then our health again, and as soon as we got a chance we reciprocated with a glass to himself, another to his wife, and a third to the Hotel de Bretagne. By this time the champagne was pretty Well depleted, and mine host, in whom the spirit of good-fellowship had been expanding with each successive glass, made another hurried visit to his reserve. When the time for parting did at last arrive, everyone was fully convinced that we were making the mistake of our lives. Mine host kissed us all on both cheeks, his wife curtseyed and smiled, and both waved farewells until the crowding traffic swallowed us. That ride from Paris was a nightmare of un-Christian cobbles and rushing, disorderly vehicles It was the eve of the "Fourteenth of July," the French national holiday, and everywhere the bands were playing madly, while the populace sang and promenaded. They apparently thought that we nine were part of the bicycle corps of the French, parading in fatigue uniform, for everywhere the people stood respectfully aside and cheered us lustily as we passed. We reached the- Amiena road at last, but even the exhilaration of the champagne could not carry us much further. We stopped for dinner at a little inn near the city. For a franc and a-half We dined deliciously, with red and wliite wine thrown in, and about five miles further on camped by the roadside in a sheltered grove of poplar. We were soon wrapped in. our blankets and oilskins, and fast asleep — all but George, who had changed to pyjamas, and was kept awake by the cold. George avers that a gang of patriotic revellers nad a song and drink session most of the night not ten yards from where we were sleeping, and that a - light was shining for hours after their departure. When George investigated this phenomenon in the moiniong, he discovered a smutty candle planted in the ground, v confirming evidence j

SOME OVERCHARGES. Acheux (near Amiens), 15th July. Yesterday the cold and dampness woke us early, and we were on the road agair by half-past 4, riding twelve miles or more without seeing a town. When at last we coasted into Chantilly nothing figured in our thoughts but breakfast and the quickest way to get it. As we rode about looking 1 for an inn, Mac got separated from the rest of the party, but soon reappeared joyfully with the news that he had discovered a splendid place just around the corner. That sounded pretty good, and we followed him hungrily. He led us straight to an official-looking building in the centre of the town, on the front of which were emblazoned the arms of France and underneath, in large, gilt letters, the sign ' that had excited Mac's stomach so much— "Hotel de "Ville." At this point our feelings overcame us. After the maledictions we heaped upon him 1 don't think Mac will confuse the Town Hall with a restaurant again. We found another "hotel" finally, and got our breakfast, being charged the exorbitant price of one franc and seventy-five centimes each, but remembering that we were still in the vicinity of Paris, we paid lip without a. murmur. This was the day of overcharging, which almost culminated in a pitched battle at Beauvais, where the price of cherry pie took a rise of fifty per cent, in the course of consumption. We left the baker loudly bawling for a gendarme, but as none materialised I expect we were right in putting it down to bluff. Sleeping in a haystack that night, Scrib dreamed that the proprietor of the field appeared before him with a gun, and demanded fifty francs for lodging. He woke up, he says, in a cold sweat, with his hands full of express checks. We breakfasted next morning at a little inn beyond Beauvais, where everything was wonderfully good and no less wonderfully cheap. Woody finished breakfast before the rest of us and took bis pipe out on the steps, about which our nine bicycles were stacked in an imposing heap. Presently we heard some excited conversation under the breakfast window, and looked out. A gendarme was inspecting our wheels and was asking Woody why they had no license tags or "plaques." Woody, whose knowledge is limited to a few stock phrases, was wishing him good morning. The Frenchman insisted that each bicycle should show ■ a license number, and Woody admitted that it was a fine day, but showed signs of rain. Thereupon the gendarme lost his temper, and, telling the Virginian that he was under arrest, beckoned him to follow, while Woody expressed his thanks but stated that he never drank at that hour of the morning. What the outcome would have been we never knew, for George, fearing a catastrophe, promptly interfered and explained that, as members of the Cyclists' Touring Club (we had joined it in London), we were not required to license our machines. A glance at our Customs tickets was sufficient evidence, and the incident was closed, except for Woody's puzzled enquiry as to what it was all about. We had expected to reach Amiens by noon, but were delayed by the gay crowds that were thronging to thb "Champs d'Aviation d' Amiens." It appears that an aeroplane race from Paris to Amiens and back to' Paris was scheduled for to-day, but on account of .the high wind it nad been postponed, and the populace were forced to console themselves for five hours' patient waiting with a couple of exhibition flights by local amateurs. The deserted condition of the town gave us a splendid opportunity to see the cathedral and other points of interest. The tiny inn was so attractive that we decided to spend the night indoors, and slept in vvonderful beds that you climb into and sink half way to the floor in the softest of .feather mattresses. A FRIEND IN NEED. ' . ' Lille, 17th July. We left Acheux yesterday in three parties with the understanding that we Would meet for lunch in AiTfis at some restaurant near the railroad station. Two detachmenta had arrived by noon, but George and Doc Cook, one of the Virginians, ware nowhere to be found. After waiting, a etort time we ordered lunch without them. The meal was neatly over when George showed up" at last, with the news that Doc had punctured his rear tire, and after many vain attempts to mend it had resigned himself to pushing his wheel into town. George snatched a few hasty mouthfuls, bought a new: inner tube for Doc at a near-by shop, and did the Good Samari* tan act by riding out to meet him. Five miles out of town they m«fc, both cycling briskly, and George, who had been looking forward to seven more miles of uphill work, hailed the other joyfully. They made a qtiick journey into town, where the rest of us were waiting for them, and Doc explained his renovated tire. If appears that he bad stopped at a cafe lor refreshment after pushing his bike up a particularly long hill, and started telling his trouble to his host as well as Ma French would permit. As his French consisted altogether, however, of a few words written by George on the back of an envelope, he did not get along too famously, and soon relapsed into silence. He was about to depart when one of the bystanders, who had been regarding him with interest, approached, and with some effort wished him good morning in English. "What 'ees ze mataire!" he asked by way of further conversation. Doc pointed to his flat tire. "Englishman?" enquired the linguist doubtfully. "No, American," replied Doc; and, as the stranger did not seem to understand, "America, America, The States, States, you know." "Oh, ze States," cried the other waving his hand excitedly, whereupon off he Tushed like mad. Back he sped with a piece of rubber, off came the outer tnbe, out came the mucilage, on went the patch, and in lees than two minutes the tire was as hard as a rock. "How much?" gasped Doc, reaching in his pocket. But his only answer was a wave of the hand as his saviour jumped on his bicycle and disappeared in a cloud of dust. For the four days since leaving Paris, my cyclometer registers two hundred and forty-one miles.