We introduced ourselves as fellow-cyclers who had ridden all the way from Calais. But the agent was calmly indifferent, and scarcely civil.—Where should we find the national road to Vienne?—We had but to follow the Rhône, on the opposite bank, and he bowed us towards the door. But just as we were going, he stopped us to ask what time we could make. J—— told him that yesterday we had come from La Pacaudière, a ride of one hundred and twenty odd kilometres, which was perfectly true. But that, it appeared, was nothing. The agent could not bear to be outdone, and so, of course, had a friend who could ride four hundred kilometres in twenty-eight hours.—Then J——, to my surprise, proceeded to tell him of the wonderful records we had never made. But the agent always had a friend who could beat us by at least a minute or a kilometre. In their excitement each was bent on breaking the other’s record, not of cycling, but of lying.
At the end J—— had worked himself up to quite a frenzy. When we were alone, and I took him to task, he was not at all repentant, but swore he was tired of such nonsense, and would outlie the fellows every time.
It was now noon, and we had already seen more than we wanted of Lyons. We went back to the hotel, strapped the bag on the tricycle, and without giving another thought to the cathedral and the curiosities we had not visited, we sallied forth to follow the Rhône, determined never to set foot in this flourishing city again.
THE AUTUMN MANŒUVRES.
AFTER Lyons, adieu to all rapid movement! ’Tis a journey of caution; and it fares better with sentiments not to be in a hurry with them.
Before we were out of the city limits we lost our way, and went wandering through lanes, hunting for a road by the river. One led us to a blank wall, another to a stone pile; and when we consulted passers-by they sent us back towards the town, and into a broad street running through endless ugly suburbs, and far out of sight of the Rhône.—So much for a fellow-cycler’s directions.
In the open country the national road was bad and full of stones. It is only fair to add that the agent in Lyons had said we should find little good riding between Lyons and Vienne. The wind, tired with its efforts of yesterday, had died away, and it was warm and close on level and hill.—And we were as changed as the country and weather! Gone with the wind and good roads and fair
landscape was the joy of motion! Our force was spent, our spirit exhausted with the shortest climb.—In the first village we stopped for groseille and to rest. We sat at a little table in front of the café, silent and melancholy; and when the landlady came out and asked if my seat was on the luggage carrier, and if, perhaps, we could reach Vienne by evening (the distance from Lyons being twenty-seven kilometres), we were too weary to be amused. In parting she told us we had still four hills to cross; she ought rather to have said a dozen.—The whole afternoon we toiled up long ascents.
In near hills and valleys the French army was out manœuvring. We could hear the cannon and guns, and see clouds of smoke before we came in sight of the battle.—We had glimpses, too, of reserves entrenched behind hillocks and wooded spaces, and once we almost routed a detachment of cavalry stationed by the roadside. Scouts and officers on horseback tore by; soldiers hurried through the streets of a narrow hilly village.—What with the noise and the troops, the road was lively enough. And presently, from a high hilltop, we overlooked the field of action. A fort was being stormed; as we stopped, a new detachment of the enemy charged it. They marched in good order over a ploughed field, and then across green pastures. Both sides kept up a heavy firing.——