DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.61635#0042
[ 38 ]
of it was, that for the rest of our journey we were
never quite rid of it. To be sure it was only once
in a long while we actually rode over it, but then
we had always to be on the look-out. We came to
it in every town and village; we found bits of it in
lonely country districts ; it lay in wait for us on hill-
sides. The French roads without the pave are the
marvels of symmetry, cleanliness, and order Mark
Twain calls them. If they are not jack-planed and
sand-papered, they are at least swept every day.
With the pave, they are the ruin of a good machine
and a better temper. And yet, all things con-
sidered, France is the cycler’s promised land.
By the time we reached Pont-de-Brique the
luggage-carrier hung on by one screw. Fortunately
we found a carpenter in a cafe, and he and J-
went to work.—In the meantime I saw, under the
shade of a clump of trees, a green cart with win-
dows and chimney, a horse grazing near by, and a
man and woman sitting in front of a fire kindled
on the grass. I walked towards the cart.-
“ Kushto divvus, Pal te Pen ” (“ Good-day,
brother and sister ”), said I.
“ What ? ” asked the woman, without looking up
from the tin-pan she was mending.
“Kushto divvus,” said I, louder; adding, “Afe
shorn zine Romany chi'' (“I’m a Gipsy”).
“ Comment I”
of it was, that for the rest of our journey we were
never quite rid of it. To be sure it was only once
in a long while we actually rode over it, but then
we had always to be on the look-out. We came to
it in every town and village; we found bits of it in
lonely country districts ; it lay in wait for us on hill-
sides. The French roads without the pave are the
marvels of symmetry, cleanliness, and order Mark
Twain calls them. If they are not jack-planed and
sand-papered, they are at least swept every day.
With the pave, they are the ruin of a good machine
and a better temper. And yet, all things con-
sidered, France is the cycler’s promised land.
By the time we reached Pont-de-Brique the
luggage-carrier hung on by one screw. Fortunately
we found a carpenter in a cafe, and he and J-
went to work.—In the meantime I saw, under the
shade of a clump of trees, a green cart with win-
dows and chimney, a horse grazing near by, and a
man and woman sitting in front of a fire kindled
on the grass. I walked towards the cart.-
“ Kushto divvus, Pal te Pen ” (“ Good-day,
brother and sister ”), said I.
“ What ? ” asked the woman, without looking up
from the tin-pan she was mending.
“Kushto divvus,” said I, louder; adding, “Afe
shorn zine Romany chi'' (“I’m a Gipsy”).
“ Comment I”