Being now resolved to take upon my own shoulders all the consequences of failure—if I should fail—I erased the maker's name and substituted my own favorite word "Diamond" in its place.
If I broke down—well, a moral might be pointed on the evil results of riding an unknown make of bicycle. If there came success—well, again, I should have no objection to making my acknowledgment to civil people.
* * * *
The machine I chose and purchased came nearly up to my ideal for this present purpose. Let us look at it.
A roadster; two 28 in. wheels; weight, 29lbs; gear, 62½; handy interlocking arrangement; dust-proof caps over pedal bearings; bearings not of complicated construction; tangent spokes; the sprocket and back gear-wheels well set on their shafts.
I could not find fault with any part of the machine. Its general appearance pleased me.
The new saddle came off, and an old and comfortable one, with an appropriate tool bag, took its place. This tool bag was circular, and my drinking vessel (a "pannikin," not to put too fine a point upon it) fitted closely over its end. An old, tried, and trusty inflator was added to this part of the equipment.
Then I ordered a more than ordinarily thick tandem tyre to be fitted on the hind wheel in place of the one of the regular roadster pattern, and an endless rubber strip to be solutioned on over the tread of the front wheel.
As for the rest I did not look for gear case or cyclometer. If the country to be traversed came up to expectations in point of roughness, the former would be torn away—an objection which applied also to the cyclometer, as the only reliable make I knew of when in use protruded from the outside of one of the front forks. Neither was missed; and I was glad I did not burden myself with them.
The brake was allowed to remain, and a bell was added. Both of these I intended to throw away when the beaten roads were left behind.