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Around the World on a Bicycle - Volume 1 - From San Francisco to Teheran by Thomas Stevens
page 104 of 572 (18%)
four, who wheel on to Warrington and remain overnight, with the avowed
intention of accompanying me twenty-five miles farther to-morrow morning.
Our Sunday morning experience begins with a shower of rain, which,
however, augurs well for the remainder of the day; and, save for a gentle
head wind, no reproachful remarks are heard about that much-criticised
individual, the clerk of the weather; especially as our road leads through
a country prolific of everything charming to one's sense of the beautiful.
Moreover, we are this morning bowling along the self-same highway that
in days of yore was among the favorite promenades of a distinguished and
enterprising individual known to every British juvenile as Dick Turpin - a
person who won imperishable renown, and the undying affection of the
small Briton of to-day, by making it unsafe along here for stage-coaches
and travellers indiscreet enough to carry valuables about with them.

"Think I'll get such roads as this all through England." I ask of my
escort as we wheel joyously southward along smooth, macadamized highways
that would make the "sand-papered roads" around Boston seem almost
unfit for cycling in comparison, and that lead through picturesque
villages and noble parks; occasionally catching a glimpse of a splendid
old manor among venerable trees, that makes one unconsciously begin
humming:- "The ancient homes of England, How beautiful they stand Amidst
the tall ancestral trees O'er all the pleasant land." "Oh, you'll get
much better roads than this in the southern counties," is the reply;
though, fresh from American roads, one can scarce see what shape the
improvements can possibly take. Out of Lancashire into Cheshire we wheel,
and my escort, after wishing me all manner of good fortune in hearty
Lancashire style, wheel about and hie themselves back toward the rumble
and roar of the world's greatest sea-port, leaving me to pedal pleasantly
southward along the green lanes and amid the quiet rural scenery of
Staffordshire to Stone, where I remain Sunday night. The country is
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