But of all the roads we traversed, the most interesting to cyclists will probably be the 2,900 miles and upwards on railway tracks that we covered in our circuit of the globe. We were first driven to these tracks in Russia, and this jolting and jarring method of progression may safely be recommended as an even better specific for liver troubles than a ride on the top of a London 'bus. We were crossing the Russian steppes. For several days we had been battling against the icy wind that blows from the Caucasus, dressed always in the light summer clothes which we wore in the smiling valleys of Roumania. The road was so sandy as to render riding impossible. We forced our way along, pushing our machines, through a blinding sandstorm, till at last we had to take to the railway track.
These tracks in Russia are better made than any we have come across elsewhere, and they are laid out with much elaboration. First, an array of stones, neatly planned in patterns like an ornamental flower bed; then the footway; then another pattern of stones, and then the line. Whenever possible, we rode on the path between the two rows of stones; but we were frequently obliged to try the sleepers, the interstices between which were to some extent filled up with "ballast," which assisted our progress materially. The trains near the Caucasus are few and far between, and did not interfere with us to any extent. On our arrival at a station, everybody seemed to think it quite natural that we should come along on the line, and we took our meals in the railway buffets, and slept in the waiting-rooms. Our railway-track riding in Russia amounted to about 150 miles.
HOW WE CARRIED OUR BICYCLES OVER THE RAILWAY BRIDGES.
Arriving in India, we were accompanied out of Karachi by a dozen Englishmen who were practically novices at cycling. We started on a good road, which ended a little way out of the town in deep sand, as is the way with roads in this part of India. We then suggested to our companions that we should ride on the track—a proceeding which they did not understand at all. However, they took to the idea very kindly after a time, and went with us thirty or forty miles on our way, returning by train.
We rode in this way for 800 miles, till we got within four miles of Lahore, where we struck the Grand Trunk road. At one of the little wayside stations we knocked up the native station-master and asked for food. He told us we could get nothing but rice and chupatties—a bill of fare which did not "smile upon us," as the French say.
"Are there no English people here?" we asked.
"Oh, no; no English people here—this jungle."
"But we saw some English ladies in white dresses," we persisted.
"Oh," said the official, scornfully, "those only missionary."