The Right Rollicking Race

It could only happen to old Tiberius …

That is meant to be his head, right…?

…and the fellow is standing up…?

Hang on… Hang on, if thats his head, those must be his arms and that there must be his Ding Dong!

Not sure I quite get this modern art Hans, but you know me, always one to support the arts. Oh look – free white wine.

What’s this one meant to be ?

Looks more like a bunch of twisted metal to me. You know, it reminds me actually of when old Curtis Seaford got taken down a peg or two and came off his bike. Did I ever tell you about the Right Rollicking Race ?

Well, it was when I was in my first year at Oxford, where I was reading Latin. Curtis Seaford was the sort of fellow who took great delight in telling others, that for his birthday, his parents got him a real live Zulu. He would also at every opportunity, point out that his family had a pure Anglo-Saxon bloodline which he could trace back to Cnut the Great. When I say pure ,the whole family had a somewhat funny look to them. All looked like they could get a bit more sun and though Curtis was only 20, he looked about forty – oh, and he had that webbing between his toes,too, I remember.

There were quite a few students at Oxford from the British Raj and other colonies and Curtis would take great pleasure in putting them down at every opportunity. Now you know me ,Hans, and as long as the cut of one’s jib is ok, then I really don’t give a hoot about one’s background.

Well it was one of those fine English spring afternoons, where the sun is shining, the bandstand is alive and you feel like flying a kite and singing ‘God Save the Queen’.

I and my chum Rajendra had found a couple of old Penny-farthing bicycles and were sitting out in old Tom Quad – the quadrangle outside Christ Church, oiling them up and getting ready to give them a go.

It was a joyful scene and quite a crowd had gathered around with some playful bets being made. A course had been drawn up that would involve us going around the entire town, ending back in Tom Quad.

We were about to get underway for a first test spin when Curtis appeared. He had one of those new at the time Safety bicycles. I won’t repeat exactly what he said, for it was rather rude. Lets just say the Irishman and the Indian accepted his challenge.

Word of the race spread like wildfire, and it seemed that the entire university was now coming to the start line. The playful bets had now become serious money, and I believe Cuthbert Delfont, who was running the book, made enough money that day to take a week-long trip to the South of France and spend the entire time in a brothel.

We lined up by the Mercury fountain and Cuthbert, being one for the dramatics, declared the start would be on the third stroke of the clock striking three. This meant we had to wait twenty minutes at the start, which was spent with Curtis shouting out his racial ideology, which thankfully was met with a lot of boos from the crowd.

When that third stroke came, we all bolted off and a huge cheer went up as we exited the gates of Tom Quad. Do you know what Curtis did the moment were out of sight of the crowd? He bloody well gave me a kick and sent me flying into a nearby bush. Te Iuppiter dique omnes perdant! I cried before getting back onto my bike.

I was some distance behind when we went around the Radcliffe Camera and I could see that Curtis was trying the same trick on Rajendra, though thankfully Rajendra was holding on and I shouted encouragement as loudly as I could.

As we were coming down Cornmarket Street, disaster struck; the small wheel on Rajendra’s bike buckled and he was bought to a depressing halt. What Curtis did next would be his downfall. He stopped to shout a barrage of insults and laughs, which gave me plenty of time to catch up, and catch up I did.

We were neck and neck as we came on to the final straight on St.Aldates, and Curtis had another go at trying to knock one off. But I held tight and pedalled harder than I had ever pedalled before. We were at some speed when we came back through the gates and what happened next was just as if Jupiter had heard my curse. You see Hans, those early safety cycles didn’t have brakes as you and me know or that chain and freewheel business. Instead there were treadles connecting the pedals to the wheel. So if you wanted to slow down, you just simply pedalled slowly. As we came through the gates, I saw both treadles of Curtis’s bike literally “drop off” – the look of terror on his face was ruddy marvellous.

As Curtis flew past the crowd, he wet himself in terror, which resulted in several professors who had come to watch the proceedings, getting a most unwelcome shower. In what I guess was an attempt to slow down, he moved onto the grass which gave me the opportunity to reach the finishing line. There were no cheers as everyone, myself included, watched in silence as Curtis continued on his one way ride of terror and went crashing straight into the ornamental pond. Which was then the cue for the whole crowd to erupt in cheers.

Rajendra made it back just in time to witness the site of a humiliated Curtis, entangled in the frame of his bike, being dragged from the pond by some of the University ground-staff. The next three years at the university must have been very long for him, and it certainly shut him up.

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Tags: #fridayflash, 1880's, 1885, bicycles, Christ Church, Curtis Seaford, Cuthbert Delfont, England, Europe, Hans, Oxford, Penny Farthing, Race, Radcliffe Camera, Rajendra, Tiberius, Tom Quad