CHAPTER I.PROGRESS ARRESTED BY A POLICE OFFICER IN MELROSE PARK—A PLEASANT RIDE OF TWO AND A HALF DAYS INTO IOWA AND NEBRASKA.When I consented to the plan of going around the world I intended to make the trip alone, but my wife pleaded so hard to accompany me that I finally concluded to take her. She is a brave little girl, and rather than considering her a burden, I now look upon her as having been of great help to me on our memorable voyage. Aside from the fact that she is an expert wheelwoman, she is also an unerring shot. Nerve she possesses in abundance, as all will agree after reading of the adventures which befell us. The outfit with which we started did not exceed fifty pounds each. Both of us rode diamond truss-frame Fowler wheels, weighing 26 and 27 pounds each. The saddles were Christy anatomical, with Palmer tires, and everything from handle-bar to pedal was stoutly made. Mrs. McIlrath wore the “rational” costume so often derided by dress reformers, and I may say here, that had these same reformers witnessed the advantage of the “rational” costume upon some of the haps and mishaps which come to world’s tourists, their arguments would be forever silenced. All of our luggage was carried in a leather case which neatly fitted the inside angles of the bicycle frames. Our personal apparel consisted merely of a change of underwear, as we depended upon the stores in towns along our route for new clothes whenever we should need them. The remainder of our luggage cases contained photograph films, medicines, repair outfits, etc. My “artillery,” for which there was great use as it afterward happened, consisted of two 38-caliber and one 44-caliber revolvers.To cyclists who contemplate a trip such as I have just made, or even one of lesser proportions, I can say that these three cannon are as necessary as a repair kit. They come in handy at the most unexpected times, and next to the pistols, I know of no better arms to carry than credentials from such a paper as the Inter Ocean. My credentials were necessary before we had been three hours out of Chicago, since through them we escaped an arrest, which meant certainly ten days or ten dollars. It happened in Melrose Park. We had come through Garfield Park to Washington Boulevard, through Austin, Oak Park and Melrose Park. The roads were abominable, and in order to take to the Northwestern tracks we were forced to return to MelrosePark. Being overjoyed at the sight of any smooth surface, we could not resist the temptation to ride on the sidewalks of this pretty suburb. Then it was that we were arrested. I pleaded with the officer and offered to pay a fine without the delay and inconvenience of standing trial, but he was firm in refusing to release us. At last I showed him my Inter Ocean credentials. Just as promptly he let us go, and remarking to a fellow officer that “it did not pay to buck against newspapers,” he went so far as to assist Mrs. McIlrath on her wheel and start us again upon our way.When we took the Northwestern tracks at Melrose Park our party numbered ten. They were: Ed. Porter, Tom Haywood, William Floyd, G. M. Williams, A. E. Wood, William J. Dilner, J. M. Bacon, F. W. Mechener, E. M. Lauterman and Miss Annis Porter. So far as Geneva, where we had supper, and where our escort left us to return to Chicago, the journey was without event. Two and a half days out from Chicago we were in Clinton, Iowa. We met friends all along the line who extended us hearty greetings. Not one of them was in ignorance of our tour and the Inter Ocean enterprise. Farmers called to us from their fields; engineers, as they whizzed by us, saluted with their whistles, and passengers in the coaches behind threw us notes, fruits and flowers. Since leaving Chicago we had eaten four meals daily, sandwiched with countless drafts of creamy milk, and yet the cry arose from us both, “I am so hungry.” But the farmers were generous and we were never refused, and wherever remuneration was offered It was invariably declined.We were met at Clinton by a party of twenty-five wheelmen and escorted into the city. Mrs. McIlrath and I had been reinforced by Messrs. William Boyd and J. E. Spofford of Dixon, Ill., through which city we had passed; Mrs. Scoville, who had been our hostess at Dixon, and herself so ardent a wheelwoman that she could not refrain from joining us for a few miles; and Harry Ferguson, a son of State Senator Ferguson of Sterling, Ill. When we left Clinton on Saturday, April 13, we had been invited by the press, municipal officers and the entire cycling fraternity to remain over for Sunday, which was Easter. The bright weather and the prospects of good roads, however, overweighed the social inducements, and we started at 4 o’clock Saturday afternoon. The promises of good weather were not fulfilled, and Mrs. McIlrath and I spent our Easter of ’95 on the road in mud above our tires. In a chilling rain we rode into Cedar Rapids, where our entertainment and reception was royal. Frank Harold Putnam of the Merchants' National Bank, who, it is needless to say, is a devotee of the wheel, and his sister, Miss Caroline Putnam, of the Saturday Record, Cedar Rapids' society journal, gave us a warm greeting. With them wedined at the beautiful home of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bell and through them we received from Messrs. C. D. Whelpley, Ben E. Miller and Harry Hodges of the Occidental Cycling Club, a letter of introduction to the Hon. Nicholas M. McIvor, United States Consul at Yokohama. There was much of interest to record during our stay in Cedar Rapids, chief of which was our visit to the Indian Reservation near Tama. Of this visit, I may mention that the squaws and the noble red men which came under our observation were more thansufficientto disillusion us, who had been fond readers of Longfellow’s “Hiawatha.”MR. AND MRS. H. DARWIN McILRATH.MR. AND MRS. H. DARWIN McILRATH.[From photographs taken two years ago in China.]Hard riding, rain and the consequent exposure had got in its work upon me by the time we struck Marshalltown, but on the 19th, in spite of the advice of physicians, I started our party, being aided in the carrying of luggage by Mr. Ferguson, who remained with us. At 4:30 o’clock on the afternoon of April 19 we pedaled into Des Moines, the capital of Iowa. The dime museum man was on the alert for us, and we had been in the Kirk wood Hotel scarcely half an hour before my wife and I were offered $25 an hour each, for four hours' exhibition of ourselves. It is a waste of ink to say that the offer was declined without thanks. Our night in Des Moines was the most comfortable we had yet spent. The following day we were entertained at the State House by Governor and Mrs. Jackson and Private Secretary Richards. The Governor is a hearty believer in better roads and he is an admirer of cycling. He expressed sincere admiration for the world’s tour awheel, and declared his admiration for the Inter Ocean in furthering such a project. The Des Moines Wheel Club entertained us lavishly in the evening, though while at the club house the tour of the globe was menaced with sudden termination. The brand of Marshalltown fever, which I carried away with me, was such that a physician ordered me promptly to bed. The sun, I am confident, was responsible for my condition. We had been out of Chicago ten days, and two-thirds of the distance was done over railroad beds. We had journeyed almost 300 miles over ties and trestles, suffering intermittently with paralysis of the hands. Often we were compelled to ride along a narrow shelf scarcely 12 inches in width just outside the track and ballast, where the slightest deviation from the course would have caused a plunge down an embankment frequently 30 feet deep. This, too, was accomplished upon a heavy laden wheel with the glare of the burnished steel in our eyes. My physician’s advice was that I remain for several days in Des Moines, but anxiety to reach the coast moved me to depart Sunday, April 21. Fifty cyclists rode out of town with us and saw us fairly upon our hilly ride to Council Bluffs. Bad weather was encountered, delaying our arrival in Council Bluffs until April 23. Wheelmen from Omaha and CouncilBluffs awaited us upon the outskirts of the latter named city, and in triumph we rolled into that splendid center of the Republic—Omaha. Here we found that the veteran Jack Prince had stirred much enthusiasm in wheeling, and a banquet at the “Pump House” was the first of the chain of entertainment in store. The “Pump House,” it should be known, is a handsomely appointed club house under the patronage of the Omaha Wheel Club. Its name is derived from a large pneumatic pump which stands invitingly to all cyclists outside of the main entrance. Our stay in Omaha was pleasant and, from our selfish standpoint, only too brief. When we started away the afternoon of April 25, a pretty surprise and compliment was Mrs. McIlrath’s when she found her wheel literally one of gorgeous flowers. Since we left Chicago no larger crowd has wished us good-bye than the one in Omaha. Our friend Ferguson left us here, stubbornly refusing to bear back with him our cargo of souvenir spoons. These precious mementos are all very well in their way, but hardly the thing for two persons who intend pedaling their way over the world. We were already threatened with having to charge ourselves excess baggage. Lincoln, the capital of the state, turned out almost to a man to receive us. The Capital City Cycling Club escorted us on our visit to Governor Holcomb, to whom we presented a letter of introduction. It was through the kindness of the Governor that we visited the State University, and with him we attended the theater in the evening.
CHAPTER I.PROGRESS ARRESTED BY A POLICE OFFICER IN MELROSE PARK—A PLEASANT RIDE OF TWO AND A HALF DAYS INTO IOWA AND NEBRASKA.When I consented to the plan of going around the world I intended to make the trip alone, but my wife pleaded so hard to accompany me that I finally concluded to take her. She is a brave little girl, and rather than considering her a burden, I now look upon her as having been of great help to me on our memorable voyage. Aside from the fact that she is an expert wheelwoman, she is also an unerring shot. Nerve she possesses in abundance, as all will agree after reading of the adventures which befell us. The outfit with which we started did not exceed fifty pounds each. Both of us rode diamond truss-frame Fowler wheels, weighing 26 and 27 pounds each. The saddles were Christy anatomical, with Palmer tires, and everything from handle-bar to pedal was stoutly made. Mrs. McIlrath wore the “rational” costume so often derided by dress reformers, and I may say here, that had these same reformers witnessed the advantage of the “rational” costume upon some of the haps and mishaps which come to world’s tourists, their arguments would be forever silenced. All of our luggage was carried in a leather case which neatly fitted the inside angles of the bicycle frames. Our personal apparel consisted merely of a change of underwear, as we depended upon the stores in towns along our route for new clothes whenever we should need them. The remainder of our luggage cases contained photograph films, medicines, repair outfits, etc. My “artillery,” for which there was great use as it afterward happened, consisted of two 38-caliber and one 44-caliber revolvers.To cyclists who contemplate a trip such as I have just made, or even one of lesser proportions, I can say that these three cannon are as necessary as a repair kit. They come in handy at the most unexpected times, and next to the pistols, I know of no better arms to carry than credentials from such a paper as the Inter Ocean. My credentials were necessary before we had been three hours out of Chicago, since through them we escaped an arrest, which meant certainly ten days or ten dollars. It happened in Melrose Park. We had come through Garfield Park to Washington Boulevard, through Austin, Oak Park and Melrose Park. The roads were abominable, and in order to take to the Northwestern tracks we were forced to return to MelrosePark. Being overjoyed at the sight of any smooth surface, we could not resist the temptation to ride on the sidewalks of this pretty suburb. Then it was that we were arrested. I pleaded with the officer and offered to pay a fine without the delay and inconvenience of standing trial, but he was firm in refusing to release us. At last I showed him my Inter Ocean credentials. Just as promptly he let us go, and remarking to a fellow officer that “it did not pay to buck against newspapers,” he went so far as to assist Mrs. McIlrath on her wheel and start us again upon our way.When we took the Northwestern tracks at Melrose Park our party numbered ten. They were: Ed. Porter, Tom Haywood, William Floyd, G. M. Williams, A. E. Wood, William J. Dilner, J. M. Bacon, F. W. Mechener, E. M. Lauterman and Miss Annis Porter. So far as Geneva, where we had supper, and where our escort left us to return to Chicago, the journey was without event. Two and a half days out from Chicago we were in Clinton, Iowa. We met friends all along the line who extended us hearty greetings. Not one of them was in ignorance of our tour and the Inter Ocean enterprise. Farmers called to us from their fields; engineers, as they whizzed by us, saluted with their whistles, and passengers in the coaches behind threw us notes, fruits and flowers. Since leaving Chicago we had eaten four meals daily, sandwiched with countless drafts of creamy milk, and yet the cry arose from us both, “I am so hungry.” But the farmers were generous and we were never refused, and wherever remuneration was offered It was invariably declined.We were met at Clinton by a party of twenty-five wheelmen and escorted into the city. Mrs. McIlrath and I had been reinforced by Messrs. William Boyd and J. E. Spofford of Dixon, Ill., through which city we had passed; Mrs. Scoville, who had been our hostess at Dixon, and herself so ardent a wheelwoman that she could not refrain from joining us for a few miles; and Harry Ferguson, a son of State Senator Ferguson of Sterling, Ill. When we left Clinton on Saturday, April 13, we had been invited by the press, municipal officers and the entire cycling fraternity to remain over for Sunday, which was Easter. The bright weather and the prospects of good roads, however, overweighed the social inducements, and we started at 4 o’clock Saturday afternoon. The promises of good weather were not fulfilled, and Mrs. McIlrath and I spent our Easter of ’95 on the road in mud above our tires. In a chilling rain we rode into Cedar Rapids, where our entertainment and reception was royal. Frank Harold Putnam of the Merchants' National Bank, who, it is needless to say, is a devotee of the wheel, and his sister, Miss Caroline Putnam, of the Saturday Record, Cedar Rapids' society journal, gave us a warm greeting. With them wedined at the beautiful home of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bell and through them we received from Messrs. C. D. Whelpley, Ben E. Miller and Harry Hodges of the Occidental Cycling Club, a letter of introduction to the Hon. Nicholas M. McIvor, United States Consul at Yokohama. There was much of interest to record during our stay in Cedar Rapids, chief of which was our visit to the Indian Reservation near Tama. Of this visit, I may mention that the squaws and the noble red men which came under our observation were more thansufficientto disillusion us, who had been fond readers of Longfellow’s “Hiawatha.”MR. AND MRS. H. DARWIN McILRATH.MR. AND MRS. H. DARWIN McILRATH.[From photographs taken two years ago in China.]Hard riding, rain and the consequent exposure had got in its work upon me by the time we struck Marshalltown, but on the 19th, in spite of the advice of physicians, I started our party, being aided in the carrying of luggage by Mr. Ferguson, who remained with us. At 4:30 o’clock on the afternoon of April 19 we pedaled into Des Moines, the capital of Iowa. The dime museum man was on the alert for us, and we had been in the Kirk wood Hotel scarcely half an hour before my wife and I were offered $25 an hour each, for four hours' exhibition of ourselves. It is a waste of ink to say that the offer was declined without thanks. Our night in Des Moines was the most comfortable we had yet spent. The following day we were entertained at the State House by Governor and Mrs. Jackson and Private Secretary Richards. The Governor is a hearty believer in better roads and he is an admirer of cycling. He expressed sincere admiration for the world’s tour awheel, and declared his admiration for the Inter Ocean in furthering such a project. The Des Moines Wheel Club entertained us lavishly in the evening, though while at the club house the tour of the globe was menaced with sudden termination. The brand of Marshalltown fever, which I carried away with me, was such that a physician ordered me promptly to bed. The sun, I am confident, was responsible for my condition. We had been out of Chicago ten days, and two-thirds of the distance was done over railroad beds. We had journeyed almost 300 miles over ties and trestles, suffering intermittently with paralysis of the hands. Often we were compelled to ride along a narrow shelf scarcely 12 inches in width just outside the track and ballast, where the slightest deviation from the course would have caused a plunge down an embankment frequently 30 feet deep. This, too, was accomplished upon a heavy laden wheel with the glare of the burnished steel in our eyes. My physician’s advice was that I remain for several days in Des Moines, but anxiety to reach the coast moved me to depart Sunday, April 21. Fifty cyclists rode out of town with us and saw us fairly upon our hilly ride to Council Bluffs. Bad weather was encountered, delaying our arrival in Council Bluffs until April 23. Wheelmen from Omaha and CouncilBluffs awaited us upon the outskirts of the latter named city, and in triumph we rolled into that splendid center of the Republic—Omaha. Here we found that the veteran Jack Prince had stirred much enthusiasm in wheeling, and a banquet at the “Pump House” was the first of the chain of entertainment in store. The “Pump House,” it should be known, is a handsomely appointed club house under the patronage of the Omaha Wheel Club. Its name is derived from a large pneumatic pump which stands invitingly to all cyclists outside of the main entrance. Our stay in Omaha was pleasant and, from our selfish standpoint, only too brief. When we started away the afternoon of April 25, a pretty surprise and compliment was Mrs. McIlrath’s when she found her wheel literally one of gorgeous flowers. Since we left Chicago no larger crowd has wished us good-bye than the one in Omaha. Our friend Ferguson left us here, stubbornly refusing to bear back with him our cargo of souvenir spoons. These precious mementos are all very well in their way, but hardly the thing for two persons who intend pedaling their way over the world. We were already threatened with having to charge ourselves excess baggage. Lincoln, the capital of the state, turned out almost to a man to receive us. The Capital City Cycling Club escorted us on our visit to Governor Holcomb, to whom we presented a letter of introduction. It was through the kindness of the Governor that we visited the State University, and with him we attended the theater in the evening.
CHAPTER I.PROGRESS ARRESTED BY A POLICE OFFICER IN MELROSE PARK—A PLEASANT RIDE OF TWO AND A HALF DAYS INTO IOWA AND NEBRASKA.
PROGRESS ARRESTED BY A POLICE OFFICER IN MELROSE PARK—A PLEASANT RIDE OF TWO AND A HALF DAYS INTO IOWA AND NEBRASKA.
PROGRESS ARRESTED BY A POLICE OFFICER IN MELROSE PARK—A PLEASANT RIDE OF TWO AND A HALF DAYS INTO IOWA AND NEBRASKA.
When I consented to the plan of going around the world I intended to make the trip alone, but my wife pleaded so hard to accompany me that I finally concluded to take her. She is a brave little girl, and rather than considering her a burden, I now look upon her as having been of great help to me on our memorable voyage. Aside from the fact that she is an expert wheelwoman, she is also an unerring shot. Nerve she possesses in abundance, as all will agree after reading of the adventures which befell us. The outfit with which we started did not exceed fifty pounds each. Both of us rode diamond truss-frame Fowler wheels, weighing 26 and 27 pounds each. The saddles were Christy anatomical, with Palmer tires, and everything from handle-bar to pedal was stoutly made. Mrs. McIlrath wore the “rational” costume so often derided by dress reformers, and I may say here, that had these same reformers witnessed the advantage of the “rational” costume upon some of the haps and mishaps which come to world’s tourists, their arguments would be forever silenced. All of our luggage was carried in a leather case which neatly fitted the inside angles of the bicycle frames. Our personal apparel consisted merely of a change of underwear, as we depended upon the stores in towns along our route for new clothes whenever we should need them. The remainder of our luggage cases contained photograph films, medicines, repair outfits, etc. My “artillery,” for which there was great use as it afterward happened, consisted of two 38-caliber and one 44-caliber revolvers.To cyclists who contemplate a trip such as I have just made, or even one of lesser proportions, I can say that these three cannon are as necessary as a repair kit. They come in handy at the most unexpected times, and next to the pistols, I know of no better arms to carry than credentials from such a paper as the Inter Ocean. My credentials were necessary before we had been three hours out of Chicago, since through them we escaped an arrest, which meant certainly ten days or ten dollars. It happened in Melrose Park. We had come through Garfield Park to Washington Boulevard, through Austin, Oak Park and Melrose Park. The roads were abominable, and in order to take to the Northwestern tracks we were forced to return to MelrosePark. Being overjoyed at the sight of any smooth surface, we could not resist the temptation to ride on the sidewalks of this pretty suburb. Then it was that we were arrested. I pleaded with the officer and offered to pay a fine without the delay and inconvenience of standing trial, but he was firm in refusing to release us. At last I showed him my Inter Ocean credentials. Just as promptly he let us go, and remarking to a fellow officer that “it did not pay to buck against newspapers,” he went so far as to assist Mrs. McIlrath on her wheel and start us again upon our way.When we took the Northwestern tracks at Melrose Park our party numbered ten. They were: Ed. Porter, Tom Haywood, William Floyd, G. M. Williams, A. E. Wood, William J. Dilner, J. M. Bacon, F. W. Mechener, E. M. Lauterman and Miss Annis Porter. So far as Geneva, where we had supper, and where our escort left us to return to Chicago, the journey was without event. Two and a half days out from Chicago we were in Clinton, Iowa. We met friends all along the line who extended us hearty greetings. Not one of them was in ignorance of our tour and the Inter Ocean enterprise. Farmers called to us from their fields; engineers, as they whizzed by us, saluted with their whistles, and passengers in the coaches behind threw us notes, fruits and flowers. Since leaving Chicago we had eaten four meals daily, sandwiched with countless drafts of creamy milk, and yet the cry arose from us both, “I am so hungry.” But the farmers were generous and we were never refused, and wherever remuneration was offered It was invariably declined.We were met at Clinton by a party of twenty-five wheelmen and escorted into the city. Mrs. McIlrath and I had been reinforced by Messrs. William Boyd and J. E. Spofford of Dixon, Ill., through which city we had passed; Mrs. Scoville, who had been our hostess at Dixon, and herself so ardent a wheelwoman that she could not refrain from joining us for a few miles; and Harry Ferguson, a son of State Senator Ferguson of Sterling, Ill. When we left Clinton on Saturday, April 13, we had been invited by the press, municipal officers and the entire cycling fraternity to remain over for Sunday, which was Easter. The bright weather and the prospects of good roads, however, overweighed the social inducements, and we started at 4 o’clock Saturday afternoon. The promises of good weather were not fulfilled, and Mrs. McIlrath and I spent our Easter of ’95 on the road in mud above our tires. In a chilling rain we rode into Cedar Rapids, where our entertainment and reception was royal. Frank Harold Putnam of the Merchants' National Bank, who, it is needless to say, is a devotee of the wheel, and his sister, Miss Caroline Putnam, of the Saturday Record, Cedar Rapids' society journal, gave us a warm greeting. With them wedined at the beautiful home of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bell and through them we received from Messrs. C. D. Whelpley, Ben E. Miller and Harry Hodges of the Occidental Cycling Club, a letter of introduction to the Hon. Nicholas M. McIvor, United States Consul at Yokohama. There was much of interest to record during our stay in Cedar Rapids, chief of which was our visit to the Indian Reservation near Tama. Of this visit, I may mention that the squaws and the noble red men which came under our observation were more thansufficientto disillusion us, who had been fond readers of Longfellow’s “Hiawatha.”MR. AND MRS. H. DARWIN McILRATH.MR. AND MRS. H. DARWIN McILRATH.[From photographs taken two years ago in China.]Hard riding, rain and the consequent exposure had got in its work upon me by the time we struck Marshalltown, but on the 19th, in spite of the advice of physicians, I started our party, being aided in the carrying of luggage by Mr. Ferguson, who remained with us. At 4:30 o’clock on the afternoon of April 19 we pedaled into Des Moines, the capital of Iowa. The dime museum man was on the alert for us, and we had been in the Kirk wood Hotel scarcely half an hour before my wife and I were offered $25 an hour each, for four hours' exhibition of ourselves. It is a waste of ink to say that the offer was declined without thanks. Our night in Des Moines was the most comfortable we had yet spent. The following day we were entertained at the State House by Governor and Mrs. Jackson and Private Secretary Richards. The Governor is a hearty believer in better roads and he is an admirer of cycling. He expressed sincere admiration for the world’s tour awheel, and declared his admiration for the Inter Ocean in furthering such a project. The Des Moines Wheel Club entertained us lavishly in the evening, though while at the club house the tour of the globe was menaced with sudden termination. The brand of Marshalltown fever, which I carried away with me, was such that a physician ordered me promptly to bed. The sun, I am confident, was responsible for my condition. We had been out of Chicago ten days, and two-thirds of the distance was done over railroad beds. We had journeyed almost 300 miles over ties and trestles, suffering intermittently with paralysis of the hands. Often we were compelled to ride along a narrow shelf scarcely 12 inches in width just outside the track and ballast, where the slightest deviation from the course would have caused a plunge down an embankment frequently 30 feet deep. This, too, was accomplished upon a heavy laden wheel with the glare of the burnished steel in our eyes. My physician’s advice was that I remain for several days in Des Moines, but anxiety to reach the coast moved me to depart Sunday, April 21. Fifty cyclists rode out of town with us and saw us fairly upon our hilly ride to Council Bluffs. Bad weather was encountered, delaying our arrival in Council Bluffs until April 23. Wheelmen from Omaha and CouncilBluffs awaited us upon the outskirts of the latter named city, and in triumph we rolled into that splendid center of the Republic—Omaha. Here we found that the veteran Jack Prince had stirred much enthusiasm in wheeling, and a banquet at the “Pump House” was the first of the chain of entertainment in store. The “Pump House,” it should be known, is a handsomely appointed club house under the patronage of the Omaha Wheel Club. Its name is derived from a large pneumatic pump which stands invitingly to all cyclists outside of the main entrance. Our stay in Omaha was pleasant and, from our selfish standpoint, only too brief. When we started away the afternoon of April 25, a pretty surprise and compliment was Mrs. McIlrath’s when she found her wheel literally one of gorgeous flowers. Since we left Chicago no larger crowd has wished us good-bye than the one in Omaha. Our friend Ferguson left us here, stubbornly refusing to bear back with him our cargo of souvenir spoons. These precious mementos are all very well in their way, but hardly the thing for two persons who intend pedaling their way over the world. We were already threatened with having to charge ourselves excess baggage. Lincoln, the capital of the state, turned out almost to a man to receive us. The Capital City Cycling Club escorted us on our visit to Governor Holcomb, to whom we presented a letter of introduction. It was through the kindness of the Governor that we visited the State University, and with him we attended the theater in the evening.
When I consented to the plan of going around the world I intended to make the trip alone, but my wife pleaded so hard to accompany me that I finally concluded to take her. She is a brave little girl, and rather than considering her a burden, I now look upon her as having been of great help to me on our memorable voyage. Aside from the fact that she is an expert wheelwoman, she is also an unerring shot. Nerve she possesses in abundance, as all will agree after reading of the adventures which befell us. The outfit with which we started did not exceed fifty pounds each. Both of us rode diamond truss-frame Fowler wheels, weighing 26 and 27 pounds each. The saddles were Christy anatomical, with Palmer tires, and everything from handle-bar to pedal was stoutly made. Mrs. McIlrath wore the “rational” costume so often derided by dress reformers, and I may say here, that had these same reformers witnessed the advantage of the “rational” costume upon some of the haps and mishaps which come to world’s tourists, their arguments would be forever silenced. All of our luggage was carried in a leather case which neatly fitted the inside angles of the bicycle frames. Our personal apparel consisted merely of a change of underwear, as we depended upon the stores in towns along our route for new clothes whenever we should need them. The remainder of our luggage cases contained photograph films, medicines, repair outfits, etc. My “artillery,” for which there was great use as it afterward happened, consisted of two 38-caliber and one 44-caliber revolvers.
To cyclists who contemplate a trip such as I have just made, or even one of lesser proportions, I can say that these three cannon are as necessary as a repair kit. They come in handy at the most unexpected times, and next to the pistols, I know of no better arms to carry than credentials from such a paper as the Inter Ocean. My credentials were necessary before we had been three hours out of Chicago, since through them we escaped an arrest, which meant certainly ten days or ten dollars. It happened in Melrose Park. We had come through Garfield Park to Washington Boulevard, through Austin, Oak Park and Melrose Park. The roads were abominable, and in order to take to the Northwestern tracks we were forced to return to MelrosePark. Being overjoyed at the sight of any smooth surface, we could not resist the temptation to ride on the sidewalks of this pretty suburb. Then it was that we were arrested. I pleaded with the officer and offered to pay a fine without the delay and inconvenience of standing trial, but he was firm in refusing to release us. At last I showed him my Inter Ocean credentials. Just as promptly he let us go, and remarking to a fellow officer that “it did not pay to buck against newspapers,” he went so far as to assist Mrs. McIlrath on her wheel and start us again upon our way.
When we took the Northwestern tracks at Melrose Park our party numbered ten. They were: Ed. Porter, Tom Haywood, William Floyd, G. M. Williams, A. E. Wood, William J. Dilner, J. M. Bacon, F. W. Mechener, E. M. Lauterman and Miss Annis Porter. So far as Geneva, where we had supper, and where our escort left us to return to Chicago, the journey was without event. Two and a half days out from Chicago we were in Clinton, Iowa. We met friends all along the line who extended us hearty greetings. Not one of them was in ignorance of our tour and the Inter Ocean enterprise. Farmers called to us from their fields; engineers, as they whizzed by us, saluted with their whistles, and passengers in the coaches behind threw us notes, fruits and flowers. Since leaving Chicago we had eaten four meals daily, sandwiched with countless drafts of creamy milk, and yet the cry arose from us both, “I am so hungry.” But the farmers were generous and we were never refused, and wherever remuneration was offered It was invariably declined.
We were met at Clinton by a party of twenty-five wheelmen and escorted into the city. Mrs. McIlrath and I had been reinforced by Messrs. William Boyd and J. E. Spofford of Dixon, Ill., through which city we had passed; Mrs. Scoville, who had been our hostess at Dixon, and herself so ardent a wheelwoman that she could not refrain from joining us for a few miles; and Harry Ferguson, a son of State Senator Ferguson of Sterling, Ill. When we left Clinton on Saturday, April 13, we had been invited by the press, municipal officers and the entire cycling fraternity to remain over for Sunday, which was Easter. The bright weather and the prospects of good roads, however, overweighed the social inducements, and we started at 4 o’clock Saturday afternoon. The promises of good weather were not fulfilled, and Mrs. McIlrath and I spent our Easter of ’95 on the road in mud above our tires. In a chilling rain we rode into Cedar Rapids, where our entertainment and reception was royal. Frank Harold Putnam of the Merchants' National Bank, who, it is needless to say, is a devotee of the wheel, and his sister, Miss Caroline Putnam, of the Saturday Record, Cedar Rapids' society journal, gave us a warm greeting. With them wedined at the beautiful home of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bell and through them we received from Messrs. C. D. Whelpley, Ben E. Miller and Harry Hodges of the Occidental Cycling Club, a letter of introduction to the Hon. Nicholas M. McIvor, United States Consul at Yokohama. There was much of interest to record during our stay in Cedar Rapids, chief of which was our visit to the Indian Reservation near Tama. Of this visit, I may mention that the squaws and the noble red men which came under our observation were more thansufficientto disillusion us, who had been fond readers of Longfellow’s “Hiawatha.”
MR. AND MRS. H. DARWIN McILRATH.MR. AND MRS. H. DARWIN McILRATH.[From photographs taken two years ago in China.]
MR. AND MRS. H. DARWIN McILRATH.
[From photographs taken two years ago in China.]
Hard riding, rain and the consequent exposure had got in its work upon me by the time we struck Marshalltown, but on the 19th, in spite of the advice of physicians, I started our party, being aided in the carrying of luggage by Mr. Ferguson, who remained with us. At 4:30 o’clock on the afternoon of April 19 we pedaled into Des Moines, the capital of Iowa. The dime museum man was on the alert for us, and we had been in the Kirk wood Hotel scarcely half an hour before my wife and I were offered $25 an hour each, for four hours' exhibition of ourselves. It is a waste of ink to say that the offer was declined without thanks. Our night in Des Moines was the most comfortable we had yet spent. The following day we were entertained at the State House by Governor and Mrs. Jackson and Private Secretary Richards. The Governor is a hearty believer in better roads and he is an admirer of cycling. He expressed sincere admiration for the world’s tour awheel, and declared his admiration for the Inter Ocean in furthering such a project. The Des Moines Wheel Club entertained us lavishly in the evening, though while at the club house the tour of the globe was menaced with sudden termination. The brand of Marshalltown fever, which I carried away with me, was such that a physician ordered me promptly to bed. The sun, I am confident, was responsible for my condition. We had been out of Chicago ten days, and two-thirds of the distance was done over railroad beds. We had journeyed almost 300 miles over ties and trestles, suffering intermittently with paralysis of the hands. Often we were compelled to ride along a narrow shelf scarcely 12 inches in width just outside the track and ballast, where the slightest deviation from the course would have caused a plunge down an embankment frequently 30 feet deep. This, too, was accomplished upon a heavy laden wheel with the glare of the burnished steel in our eyes. My physician’s advice was that I remain for several days in Des Moines, but anxiety to reach the coast moved me to depart Sunday, April 21. Fifty cyclists rode out of town with us and saw us fairly upon our hilly ride to Council Bluffs. Bad weather was encountered, delaying our arrival in Council Bluffs until April 23. Wheelmen from Omaha and CouncilBluffs awaited us upon the outskirts of the latter named city, and in triumph we rolled into that splendid center of the Republic—Omaha. Here we found that the veteran Jack Prince had stirred much enthusiasm in wheeling, and a banquet at the “Pump House” was the first of the chain of entertainment in store. The “Pump House,” it should be known, is a handsomely appointed club house under the patronage of the Omaha Wheel Club. Its name is derived from a large pneumatic pump which stands invitingly to all cyclists outside of the main entrance. Our stay in Omaha was pleasant and, from our selfish standpoint, only too brief. When we started away the afternoon of April 25, a pretty surprise and compliment was Mrs. McIlrath’s when she found her wheel literally one of gorgeous flowers. Since we left Chicago no larger crowd has wished us good-bye than the one in Omaha. Our friend Ferguson left us here, stubbornly refusing to bear back with him our cargo of souvenir spoons. These precious mementos are all very well in their way, but hardly the thing for two persons who intend pedaling their way over the world. We were already threatened with having to charge ourselves excess baggage. Lincoln, the capital of the state, turned out almost to a man to receive us. The Capital City Cycling Club escorted us on our visit to Governor Holcomb, to whom we presented a letter of introduction. It was through the kindness of the Governor that we visited the State University, and with him we attended the theater in the evening.