If we should try to trace the rise of the bicycle I imagine that the
multitude of queer contrivances which would be brought together could
hardly be surpassed by a collection of the flying machines of the
world, or of the instruments for producing perpetual motion. Since Von
Drais’ _draisine_ of 1817 we have had a series of curious and ingenious
inventions, all aiming at the same result—a steel horse which would never
tire, which would eat no oats and need no groom, but which, while subject
to none of the drawbacks of horseflesh, would carry its owner to his
business, on pleasure trips across the country—anywhere and everywhere.
Has it been found at last? Truly, it seems so. To our few standard
methods of traveling, by steam, by rail, by carriage, by horse, and by
foot, we must certainly add by bicycle.
Most people remember the forerunner of the present light and noiseless
“wheel,” for it was not until 1865 that the first bicycle—we called it
a velocipede then—was brought to America. Every one will remember too
the velocipede craze that possessed the whole race of boys, young and
old, in 1869-’70. Many a town still contains the shattered remnant of
a velocipede rink, which in those days was its most popular place of
amusement, and in many a wood-shed, garret or barn loft there is still
stowed away the remnant of an old-fashioned velocipede which once made
happy a now grown-up-and-gone-away son.
Since those days there has been a decided change in the construction of
the machine, the almost clumsy velocipede has become the airy “wheel.”
The general structure has not been changed, but improved mechanical
work and greater skill in adapting certain points so that they will do
more effective work has brought the vehicle to a very high degree of
perfection. The bicycle and tricycle in their improved forms are meeting
with remarkable success. It is said that there are 30,000 bicyclers in
the United States, nearly all having joined the ranks in the past six
years, and that these 30,000 have four hundred organized clubs. The
national club, called “The League of American Wheelmen,” numbers already
4,000 members, two excellent magazines, _Outing_ and _The Wheelman_, and
several papers are devoted to its interests, and are spreading everywhere
information and enthusiasm.
Tricycles are rapidly gaining the favor among ladies that the bicycle
already has won among gentlemen. Hundreds of them are in use in the
cities, where a common sight on the boulevards and in the parks is a
tricycle party of ladies and portly men taking a morning constitutional
or an afternoon’s pleasure ride.
So many of our hobbies have their day and die, are popular because some
shrewd fellow has made them fashionable that people of good common sense
are becoming a little slow in adopting new things. Many are now inquiring
about the validity of the bicycle’s claim. Is it as useful, as healthful,
as pleasant a steed as avowed? No doubt an unqualified affirmative in
answer to this question would be wrong, but that there are many strong
points in favor the facts will prove. To fairly test its capabilities
one should not take the experience of the first day’s riding, or of a
would-be wheelman who is yet in the A B Cs of bicycling. It is an art
and must be learned. A novice can not mount and ride away without a few
tumbles; he can not at first “take” a curb or, in fact, any obstruction.
If he try to use the brake in going down hill he will undoubtedly be
thrown overboard and roll instead of wheel to the foot. He will ache and
groan over long rides, and if easily discouraged, give up his efforts.
But are these results any worse, or even so bad as the results of the
first experiences on horseback? What is the bicycle or tricycle worth to
the one who can handle it? is the question.
We are accustomed to think of it as useful only on a level where the
roads are hard and smooth and unobstructed, but he is a poor wheelman
indeed, who can ride only on smooth ground. Any ordinary road, though
it may be encumbered by ruts, pebbles, or mud, may be safely traveled.
Snowy roads, of course, are hard traveling, but it is recorded of an
enthusiastic New Hampshire bicycler that he was on the roads a part of
each day during the year 1881. Candidly, it requires an unusual amount
of skill and enthusiasm to use a bicycle on snowy or rugged roads for
any long distance, although a quite possible task. By far the worst
impediment which the “wheel” encounters is a stretch of loose sand, then
all momentum is lost by the friction, and to go at all is very hard work;
however, there is rarely a road so located that turf or a beaten walk
does not lie near, to which the rider may resort. Nor are the hills a
disadvantage, unless they are very long and steep. The ordinary grade can
be easily mounted, though, as in walking, there is of course a greater
degree of exertion required than on the level. The true answer to the
question, where the bicycle may be ridden, is: On any road where one can
drive safely and pleasantly.
The question of speed is a very important one. Unless something can be
gained in point of time it is no advantage to rushing clerks and brokers
and students to bicycle their way to business and back; but the fact that
something can be gained is a very strong point in favor of the “wheel.”
The rate of speed compared with walking is three to one, and the exertion
on level ground is but one-third of that of walking. On our steel horse,
too, we make better time than on horseback. In a day’s travel the gain
is very noticeable. The bicycle will take you four or five times as far
as you can walk and twice as far as you can ride on horseback. The real
advantage of a mode of travel which exercises and exhilarates, which is
less wearisome than walking and which, while it gives as high speed as a
horse, yet causes none of the trouble, the possible risk and no expense,
is very apparent. This is no whimsical fancy either, but a fact. Many
physicians, clergymen and business men are finding it invaluable in their
work. A certain physician of high rank has given it as his opinion,
that the “bicycle or tricycle can be practically and profitably used by
physicians as an adjunct to, or even in place of, the horse; and that it
solves, beyond any question, the problem of exercise for a very large
class of our patients.” And another writing of its merits, says: “This
summer I have turned both my horses out to grass and have trusted to my
bicycle alone, doing, on an average, about 50 miles a day. I find I get
through my day’s work with less fatigue than on horseback, and without
the monotony of driving.” If it will serve the purpose of a doctor it
will of any and all busy men.
More important than its practical value is its health giving qualities.
It is a veritable cure-all. The pleasure of the exercise, the fine play
it gives to the muscles of the upper and lower limbs, and the free
exposure to sun and air are the best possible medicines. _Ennui_, the
wretched, worn-out feeling of so many over-worked students, bookkeepers
and professional men, dyspepsia and nervousness can have no better
prescription than bicycle or tricycle riding. Indeed, of the latter
no less an authority than B. W. Richardson, M. D., a famous English
physician, says: “I am of the opinion that no exercise for women has ever
been discovered that is to them so really useful. Young and middle aged
ladies can learn to ride the tricycle with the greatest facility, and
they become excellently skillful. The tricycle is, in fact, now with me a
not uncommon prescription, and is far more useful than many a dry, formal
medicinal one which I have had to write on paper.”
The real enjoyment of the exercise is wonderfully in its favor. No finer
sport can be found than the rapid spinning by green fields, through shady
woods and along clear streams, lifted so far above the earth that you
half believe you are treading air, so still and smoothly your “wheels”
carry you. The bounding life that gentle exercise and abundant air and
sunshine bring is yours. You seem almost a creature of the air as you
whirl along. It is pure, perfect pleasure—the perfection of motion. One
feature of bicycle and tricycle riding that commends it to many is the
opportunity it offers for delightful summer trips. The bicycle clubs
of many cities make daily morning runs of ten or twelve miles into the
country, returning in time for a club breakfast at the home of some
member—longer trips which occupy a day are common, and a month’s travel
through a pleasant country is becoming a very fashionable as well as
healthful and inexpensive way of spending a vacation. An English lady and
her sister recently made a trip of 470 miles through the pleasant country
of South England on tricycles, and declare that they had so pleasant a
time they intend to make another tour next year. Indeed, so successful
have bicycle and tricycle excursions become that they threaten to rival
the railway and steamer.
The expense is of course an important item to most people, and is
decidedly in favor of the wheel. As in all goods, the prices vary with
quality and finish. The price of a bicycle varies from $7 to $175, of
a tricycle from $20 to $240. The medium prices give as durable and
useful an instrument as the higher. When once owned there is little more
expense—a trifle will be spent in repairs each year, and if desired,
there are certain accessories which can be added. New tires are needed
about once in four years, and cost about $10 for a fifty-inch bicycle.
But there is no feeding nor stalling nor grooming. Your steel horse makes
no demands upon your purse, your sympathies, or your time.
What is the bicycle coming to? Certainly to be a very important factor
in our civilization. We may expect to see it some day in war—already the
mounted orderlies in the Italian army use it. In twenty years, maybe
less, we shall all be taking our wedding trips by bicycle, and it may
not be wild to suppose that the enterprising wheelman will soon have a
highway from New York to San Francisco, and that our summer trips to the
Golden Gate or the Atlantic will be _via_ bicycle.
* * * * *
Never, never has one forgotten his pure, right-educating mother. On the
blue mountains of our dim childhood, toward which we ever turn and look,
stand the mothers, who marked out to us from thence our life; the most
blessed age must be forgotten ere we can forget the warmest heart. You
wish, O woman! to be ardently loved, and forever, even till death. Be,
then, the mothers of your children.—_Richter._