invention of the tricycle, or three-wheeled machine; necessarily it was
out of the question for anyone wearing skirts, divided or otherwise, to
mount the tall bicycle, or "ordinary." In 1878 tricycles, invented at a
still earlier date, were first practically advertised, and one of the
authors of the book on cycling in the _Badminton Library_ says, that
already in that year "tradition told of a lady rider, who, in company
with her husband, made an extended tour along the south coast; and in
quiet lanes and private gardens feminine riders began to initiate
themselves into the pastime." But, despite the courage of their
pioneer, not until a few years later did they desert private lanes for
public roads, and then it was only in small numbers. Had they been more
enterprising, a serious hindrance in their way was the fact that at
first makers refused to understand their requirements. The early
tricycles made for us were meant to be very ladylike, but they were
sadly inappropriate. It was really the tandem which did most to
increase the popularity of the sport among women. The sociable, where
the riders sit side by side, was the first of the double machines, but
it is an instrument of torture rather than of pleasure, as whoever has
tried to work it knows to his or her cost. Its width makes it awkward
and cumbersome even on good roads, and when there is a head wind--and
the wind always blows in one's face--the treadmill is child's play in
comparison. The tandem, on which, as the name explains, one rider sits
behind the other, takes up no more space than a single tricycle and
offers no more resistance to the wind, and this means far less work.
Besides, for many women to have a man to attend to the steering and
braking, in those early days was not exactly a drawback; but even with
the tandem progress was not rapid. I remember my first experience in
1884, when I practised on a Coventry "Rotary" in the country round
Philadelphia, and felt keenly that a woman on a cycle was still a
novelty in the United States. I came to England that same summer, but
the women riders whom I met on my runs through London and the Southern
Counties, I could count on the fingers of one hand. The Humbers had
then brought out their tandem, and for it my husband and I exchanged
our "Rotary," and started off in the autumn for Italy, where we rode
from Florence to Rome. I have never made such a sensation in my life,
and, for my own comfort, I hope I may never make such another: I ride
to amuse myself, not the public. It was clear that Italian women were
more behindhand than the English or Americans. There are, nowadays,
more women riders in France, probably, than in any country, but in the
summer of 1885, on the road from Calais to Switzerland, by Sterne's
route, I was scarce accepted as an everyday occurrence.
Single tricycles improved with every year, and the introduction of the
direct-steerer, or well-known "Cripper" type, assured their popularity.
More attention being paid by makers to women's machines, more women
were seen on the roads. Then came the greatest invention of all, the
"Woman's Safety." A certain benevolent Mr Sparrow, had, some years
before, in 1880 to be accurate, built a woman's bicycle, a high one
with the little wheel in front, something like the American "Star"; but
the awkwardness of mounting and dismounting made it impracticable. Men
had been riding the dwarf bicycle for two or three years before one was
introduced with a frame that made it as suitable and possible for
women. How near this brings us to the present, is proved by the fact
that in the Badminton book, published in 1887, though there is a
chapter on "Tricycling for Ladies," there is nothing about bicycling
for them. I experimented in 1889 with a tandem safety, on which the
front seat was designed for women, and then the single safety, with a
dropped instead of a diamond frame, was already in the market. But it
had made slight headway. In America it grew more rapidly in favour. The
average road there is worse than here, and therefore the one track--the
bicycle's great advantage--was much sooner appreciated. Cycling for
women has never become fashionable in the United States, but, in
proportion, a far greater number of American women ride, and with
almost all the safety is the favourite mount. In France also the sport
is more popular with women than in Great Britain, and one might almost
say that it is the safety which has made it so. Riding through Prussia,
Saxony and Bavaria in the summer of 1891, I met but two women cyclists,
and they both rode safeties. In England, however, women, until very
recently, have seemed absurdly conservative in this matter; they clung
to the three wheels, as if to do so were the one concession that made
their cycling proper. A few of the more radical--"wild women" Mrs Lynn
Linton would call them--saw what folly this was, and many have now
become safety riders; but not the majority. Only the other day, in
Bushey Park, I met a large club on their Saturday afternoon run; half
the members were women, but not one was on a bicycle. This, I know, is
but a single isolated instance, but it is fairly typical.
And yet the safety is the machine of all others, which, were my advice
asked, I would most care to recommend. And I would have the wheels
fitted with cushion tyres--the large rubber tyre with a small hole down
the centre--or, better still, with pneumatics, the tyres that are
inflated with air. Both deaden vibration. The latter necessitate
carrying an air-pump and a repairing kit, for if the rubber be cut or
punctured, as frequently happens, the air, of course, escapes at once,
and the cut or puncture must be mended and the tube blown up again,
which means trouble. But the many improvements introduced make the task
of repairing easier every day. My career as a bicyclist began in 1891,
but, short as it may seem, I think it has qualified me to speak with
authority. For my little Marriot, and Cooper's "Ladies' Safety,"
carried me across Central Europe, and as far east as the Roumanian
frontier. My experience agrees with that of all other safety riders,
men or women. The chief advantage of the machine is, as I have said,
its one track, but this cannot be over-estimated. Roads must be,
indeed, in a dreadful condition if space for one wheel to be driven
easily over them cannot be found. The bicyclist can scorch in triumph
along the tiniest footpath, while the tricyclist trudges on foot,
pushing her three wheels through the mud or sand. Moreover, there is
less resistance to the wind, and in touring, it is far easier to
dispose of the small light safety than of the wider machine when you
put up in a little inn at night, or are forced for a time to take the
train. Many a night in Germany, Austria, and Hungary did my bicycle
share my bedroom with me.
The chief drawback to the safety is usually found in learning to mount
and steer. I shall be honest, and admit that there is a difficulty. The
tricycle has the grace to stand still while the beginner experiments,
but the safety is not to be trifled with. Sometimes it seems as if a
look were enough to upset it. Of course, at first, it is well to let
someone hold and steady it until its eccentricities are mastered, for
it is entirely in the balancing that the trouble lies; the mount in
itself is as simple as possible. The rider stands to the left of the
machine by the pedals; taking hold of the handle bars she slowly wheels
it until the right pedal is at the highest point, turns the front wheel
a little to the right, and puts her right foot on the right pedal; this
at once starts the machine and raises her into the saddle, and as the
left pedal comes up, it is caught with her left foot. The great thing
is to have confidence in the machine; she who shows the least fear or
distrust is completely at its mercy. To dismount is as simple: when the
left pedal is at its lowest point, the right foot is brought over the
frame and the rider steps to the ground. If a sudden stop be necessary,
she must put the brake on, not too abruptly, or she may be jerked out
of the saddle.
The steering is the true difficulty in safety riding, and yet it cannot
well be taught; it must come by practice, with some very painful
experiences in the coming. The obstinacy of the safety seems at first
unconquerable. During my apprenticeship, many a time have I been going
in a straight line with every intention of keeping on in it, when,
without warning, my safety has turned sharply at a right angle, rushed
to the ditch and deposited me there. But the funny part of it is, that
the woman who perseveres, gradually, she can scarcely explain how, gets
the better of its self-willed peculiarities until she has it under
perfect control.
The best plan is, in the very beginning, to take a few practical
lessons. There is an excellent teacher to be found at Singers' shop, in
Holborn Viaduct, where a cellar paved with asphalt is kept as a school.
The beginner would do well to practise there until she can at least sit
up on the machine and balance it a little, and until she begins to
understand the first principles of steering. At this point in bicycling
education I would urge her to leave the schoolroom for the high road.
If she waits until she is too far advanced on asphalt, where the
machine goes almost by itself, she may have to commence all over again
on an ordinary road. She should learn what is called ankle action from
the start. Once the cyclist gets into a bad style of riding it is hard
for her to get out of it; and the more the ankle comes into play the
less strain is there on the muscles of the legs. A good rider expends
half as much energy and makes far better time than the woman who has
not mastered the art. If going up hill be exhausting, why, then it is
wise to walk. Going down, if the hill be long, the brake must be used
from the start, and to know how to back-pedal is important. To
back-pedal is to press on the pedal when it is coming up instead of
when it is going down. Nothing could be more dangerous than to lose
control of a machine on a down grade. Some of the most serious
accidents have been the result of the rider's letting her cycle run
away with her in coasting.
I have enumerated the virtues of the bicycle. As to its vices, I do not
find that it has any. An objection often is raised against it because,
if brought to a stand-still by traffic or any other cause, the rider
must dismount at once. But I do not count this a serious hardship; I
have never been inconvenienced by it. Again, it is urged that the
luggage-carrying capacity of the safety is small compared to that of
the three-wheeled machine. This is truer of the woman's than of the
man's bicycle, since we, poor things, must carry our knapsack behind
the saddle or on the handle bars, while a most delightful and clever
little bag is made by Rendell & Underwood to fit into the diamond frame
of a man's safety. But, for a short trip, actual necessities--that is,
a complete change of underclothing, a night-dress, and a not too
luxurious toilet case--can be carried in the knapsack slung behind. For
a long trip it is always advisable to send a large bag or trunk,
according to the individual's wants, from one big town to the next on
the route.
Luggage suggests the subject of dress, as important to the woman who
cycles as to the woman who dances. A grey tweed that defies dust and
rain alike, makes the perfect gown; if a good, strong waterproof be
added, a second dress will not be needed. For summer, a linen or thin
flannel blouse and jacket--perhaps a silk blouse, for evening, in the
knapsack--and, for all seasons, one of Henry Heath's felt hats complete
the costume. For underwear, the rule is wool next the skin,
combinations by choice. Woollen stays contribute to one's comfort, and
each rider can decide for herself between knickerbockers and a short
petticoat. There is something to be said for each. This is practically
the outfit supplied by the Cyclists Touring Club for its women members.
As for style, an ordinary tailor-made gown, simple rather than
elaborate, answers the purpose of the tricyclist. The bicyclist does
not get off so easily. Even with a suitable dress-guard, and, no matter
what the makers say, the dress-guard should extend over the entire
upper half of the rear wheel, there is ever danger of full long skirts
catching in the spokes and bringing the wearer in humiliation and
sorrow to the ground. Many strange and awful costumes have been
invented to obviate the danger--one that is skirt without and
knickerbockers within; another that is nothing more nor less than a
shapeless bag, when all that is needed is a dress shorter and skimpier
than usual, with hem turned up on the outside, and absolutely nothing
on the inner side to catch in the pedals. Now, the trouble is that for
the tourist, who carries but one gown, and who objects to being stared
at as a "Freak" escaped from a side show, it is awkward, when off the
bicycle, to be obliged to appear in large towns in a dress up to her
ankles; she might pass unnoticed in Great Britain, but on the Continent
she becomes the observed of all observers. At the risk of seeming
egotistic, I will explain, as I have already explained elsewhere, the
device by which I make my one cycling gown long and short, as occasion
requires. There is a row of safety hooks, five in all, around the
waistband, and a row of eyes on the skirt about a foot below. In a
skirt so provided, I look like every other woman when off the machine.
Just before I mount, I hook it up, and I wheel off with an easy mind,
knowing there is absolutely nothing to catch anywhere. I have read in
cycling papers many descriptions of other women's bicycling costumes,
but never yet have I discovered one which, for simplicity and
appropriateness, could compete with mine.[9]
[9] Since printing this, a few Englishwomen have appeared on
the public roads in knickerbockers, and have made, as was to
be expected, great talk in the cycling press. Frenchwomen
gave them the example; in France, there is scarce a woman
bicyclist who has not adopted knickerbockers, or else a sort
of gymnasium dress. Of the greater comfort and safety
secured, there can be no question; the chief drawback to this
costume, especially for the tourist, is its conspicuousness.
On all that concerns touring, it is important to dwell, for it is in
travelling on the road that women must find chief use for their cycles,
and this they have had the common sense to realise. Quite a number
belong to the Cyclists' Touring Club, and are among its more active
members. True, a few have appeared on the path, have turned the highway
into a race course, and occasionally, have broken records and done the
other wonders to which I, personally, attach no value, whether they be
performed by men or women. Mrs J. S. Smith, whose husband is the
manufacturer of the "Invincible" cycles, has with him, on his
"sociable" and tandem, run at several Surrey meetings and in other
places, and her feats are included in the list of the world's records.
Mrs Allen of Birmingham, once rode two hundred miles in twenty-four
hours. Fraulein Johanne Jörgensen, the woman champion of Denmark, is
fast breaking the records of her own country, and threatens to come
over and break those of England. The ease with which Mrs Preston Davies
(wife of the inventor of the Preston Davies tyre) rode up Petersham
Hill, though not exactly a record, made quite a little talk among
cyclists. Miss Reynolds, who rode from Brighton to London and back in
eight hours, is the heroine of the day. We have even seen a team of
women professionals imported from America only to meet with the failure
they deserved. But, fortunately, these are the exceptions. I say
fortunately, because, while I am not prudish enough to be shocked by
the mere appearance of women on the path, I do not think they have the
physical strength to risk the fearful strain and exertion. If men
cannot stand it for many years, women can still less. Cycling is
healthy; to this fact we have the testimony of such men as Dr
Richardson and Dr Oscar Jennings, whose books on the subject should be
consulted by all interested; especially Dr Jenning's "_Cycling and
Health_," since in his chapter on "Cycling for Women," he has
collected together the opinions of leading authorities. Like everything
else, however, if carried to excess, cycling becomes a positive evil.
It can be overdone on the road, but here the temptations are not so
great. I know many women who have toured often and far, and are none
the worse for it. There are few, however, who have taken notable rides.
Mrs Harold Lewis of Philadelphia, once, with her husband, travelled on
a tandem from Calais across France and Switzerland, and over some of
the highest Swiss passes. In the Elwell tours from America--a species
of personally-conducted tours on wheels--women have more than once been
in the party. But of other long journeys so seldom have I heard, that
sometimes I wonder if, without meaning to, I have broken the record as
touring wheel-woman. But the truth is, that, while every racing event
is chronicled far and wide in the press, the tourist accomplishes her
feats without advertisement, solely for the pleasure of travelling by
cycle.
And what stronger inducement could she have? Hers is all the joy of
motion, not to be under-estimated, and of long days in the open air;
all the joy of adventure and change. Hers is the delightful sense of
independence and power, the charm of seeing the country in the only way
in which it can be seen; instead of being carried at lightning speed
from one town to another where the traveller is expected and prepared
for, the cyclist's is a journey of discovery through little forgotten
villages and by lonely farm-houses where the sight-seer is unknown.
And, above all, cycling day after day and all day long will speedily
reduce, or elevate, her to that perfect state of physical well-being,
to that healthy animal condition, which in itself is one of the
greatest pleasures in life.
Women have used cycles for other purposes. Doctors ride them to visit
their patients, the less serious go shopping on them. Clubs have been
formed here, and more successfully in America. There is at least one
journalist, Miss Lilias Campbell Davidson, who is on the staff of the
_Bicycling News_ and the _Cyclists' Touring Club Gazette_. But, when
all is said, the true function of the cycle is to contribute to the
amusement and not the duties of life, and it is in touring that this
end is best fulfilled.
ELIZABETH ROBINS PENNELL.
PUNTING.
BY MISS SYBIL SALAMAN.
That punting is an art, and a very graceful one, was borne in upon me
late one hot, lazy, summer afternoon, while idly musing under the
verandah of a houseboat on the upper Thames, and from that day to this,
one of my most ardent desires has been to become an expert punter. It
was in the prettiest reach on the river, just above the lock, that the
houseboat lay. The sun was setting behind the trees, and tinting with a
rosy glow the mist that was creeping up from the bank. Perfect peace
was over the scene, and did not Nature abhor silence as much as she
does a vacuum, I might almost say that silence rested upon the river.
But birds sang, now and then a fish would jump, curl its silver body in
the air, and return to its watery home with a splash, the mooring
chains of the houseboat were grating as the river rippled by, and in
the distance was the hissing sound of the weir. Suddenly there came a
noisy intrusion, the peacefulness was disturbed, the air was full of
discordant voices and the irregular splashes of ill-managed oars, for
the lock-gates had opened and let loose a crowd of noisy, scrambling,
Saturday half-holiday folk. Happily, they soon passed by, and the sound
of their incongruous chatter and laughter, and intermittent splashing
followed them out of my ken, and then all was quiet and peaceful again,
and I was left gazing dreamily at the disturbed fishes darting about in
the shallow water where the houseboat lay.
Presently a gentle rippling sound caused me to look up. A girl was
punting past, there was no splashing, no scramble, apparently no
effort. The girl never moved from where she stood, only her body swayed
backwards and forwards on her pole, easily and evenly, and the long
straight craft glided by, answering to every touch. I hardly realised
then that this slim, graceful girl was doing all the work herself, it
looked so easy and simple. The water bubbled aloud under the bow of the
punt, and the girl's shadow floated on the water, the red sunlight lay
like a pathway before her, and the ripples seemed to part to make way
for her as she brought her punt steadily along. She made a lovely
picture, and I watched her as she went down the river, in the rising
mist and the sunlight, marvelling at the straight line she kept,
watching the monotonous motion of the pole rising and falling, and
listening almost unconsciously for the hollow ring of the shoe striking
on the hard ground, till a sudden bend in the river took her out of
sight, though, for some time, I still saw the top of her pole over the
bushes rhythmically rising high in the air and disappearing from view.
From that moment I decided to be a punter--this girl was once only a
beginner--surely, I thought, there was hope for me.
I need not dwell on all my personal experiences--there is a great
sameness about the first efforts of all punters, they all go round in
circles. But there are certain hints which beginners will do well to
follow.
First of all they must not be discouraged by the inevitable clumsiness
of their first endeavours, the ease and grace of punting comes only
after much experience.
To the girl who wishes seriously to become a punter, it is far better,
having once understood the principle by which a punt is propelled and
steered, to go out and struggle alone. If someone is always by to take
the pole from her, should any difficulty arise, she will not gain that
independence which is so absolutely essential to every punter.
Just a word as to dress.
A good punter can dress as she pleases, but all beginners get wet; no
one can teach them how to avoid this until they have acquired a certain
style. Therefore I should recommend a serge skirt, not too long, that
will stand any amount of water, a loose blouse, with sleeves which can
unbutton and roll up; shoes with low heels, and, for preference,
india-rubber soles, as they prevent slipping if the punt be at all wet.
As in rowing and sculling the work in punting is distributed all over
the body, and does not only exercise the arm, as so many beginners
imagine. In punting, all the weight of the body should be thrown back
on the pole with the push, which, by the way, should never be given
until the shoe has gripped the ground. This brings into play all the
muscles of the back, shoulders, and arms, also the hips. This upright
position is attained by swinging the body back on the pole when the
shoe has gripped the ground, while one foot is firmly planted a little
in advance, and the other leg rests behind with bended knee, thus
enabling the arms to be kept nearly straight and the hands well over
the water.
Punting in this stationary position is technically called "pricking."
Of the different styles of punting I shall speak more fully later on.
The greatest difficulty for the beginner is to keep the punt straight,
but to achieve this it is only necessary to be always watching the bow
of the punt, and to remember that whichever way the top of the pole
points, the bow will run in the opposite direction. In steering there
are, practically speaking, two strokes--in one the pole is thrown in
away from the side of the punt, which brings the bow in towards the
bank, and in the other the pole is dropped in under the bottom of the
punt, which turns the bow away from the bank. A punter, by the way,
always punts from the side nearest the bank. But the steering should
not be perceptible, and must never be allowed to detract from the
strength of the stroke. It is effected, as I have said, by the angle at
which the pole is thrown in, and also by the position of the shoe on
the ground at the finish of the stroke. The direction of a punt with
"way" on is altered by the slightest touch.
The very bad habit of steering with the pole behind off the ground,
using the pole as a rudder, is never practised by good punters. In very
deep water, or in a strong stream, it must either break or strain the
pole, and it is not nearly so quick or effectual a way of steering as
the proper method I have described.
There are two ways of punting, known respectively as "pricking" and
"running." Roughly speaking "running" is more general on the upper
river, that is, above Windsor, and "pricking" on the shallower and less
muddy waters of Staines and Sunbury; though "pricking" is much more
popular in all parts of the river than it was a year or so ago--very
few people "run" punts below Maidenhead now.