Entry the Third , 16th of May, 1873
The inn at St Just provided a breakfast whose quantity far outstripped its refinement,eggs of dubious lineage, rashers of bacon both heroic in girth and sullen in texture, and bread with the constitution of a paving stone. Yet, fuelled by these provisions, I set forth, the Steam Unicycle steaming with an eagerness that seemed almost companionable.
The road today proved less forgiving. Cornwall is a land perpetually folding and unfolding itself, hills that rise like the backs of great beasts, valleys that deepen with no notice. Here the unicycle displayed both its genius and its perversity. Ascents required me to feed the boiler with an almost indecent zeal, the pistons clattering like an impatient drummer as I, with some difficulty, pulled coal from the bag upon my back. Descents, by contrast, induced a swiftness verging on the criminal. At one point I passed a mail-coach at such velocity that the postilion dropped his bugle in alarm. I attempted to wave, but balance and speed were both troubling and staying aboard my wheeled- contraption demanded all of me; my greeting was reduced to a wild oscillation of limbs which he may well have interpreted as lunacy.
Children continue to be my most enthusiastic audience. Near Pendeen, a whole troop ran beside me, chanting “Steam wheel! Steam wheel!” like acolytes at some new, brass-clad religion. I considered sermonising on the union of art and machinery, but feared the difficult incline might upend me mid-homily. Better to allow mystery its reign.
By afternoon I, or rather my machine, had issues. I stopped at a smithy to secure a minor repair,the tightening of a valve that had grown insolent with vibration. The blacksmith, a taciturn man, struck the iron as if he were chastising it. At length, after hardly speaking, he said in a loud voice, “This will kill you.” Then, after a pause, “But I should like to see how.” I laughed at his witticism – he just handed me the bill.
I end the day lodged in a modest inn at Hayle. The unicycle rests in the corner of my chamber, glinting faintly in the candlelight, like a coiled animal awaiting command. My limbs ache, my ears ring with the hiss of steam, yet my spirits remain untamed. The road, if it may be called that, has begun to write itself beneath my wheel.
