Eventually, Hoopdriver reached Esher.
He passed beneath the railway bridge and saw the Marquis of Granby inn ahead.
He stopped for a moment, then climbed back onto his bicycle and proudly rode up to the entrance.
Inside, he ordered a simple meal of bread, cheese, and Burton ale.
It was a perfectly satisfying combination.
While he was eating, another cyclist came into the inn.
The man was middle-aged and wore a dull brown cycling suit.
His face was bright red and covered in sweat.
He looked extremely angry.
“Lemon squash, please.”
He sat down on a bench near the bar and wiped his face with a handkerchief.
But he had barely sat down when he suddenly stood again and stared through the doorway.
“Damn!”
He paused.
“I’m such a damned fool!”
Hoopdriver looked up quickly, a piece of cheese still in his mouth.
“Sorry?”
The man turned toward him.
“I was talking about myself, sir. I called myself a damned fool. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Oh, no. Not at all.”
Hoopdriver swallowed the cheese.
“I thought you were talking to me. I didn’t quite hear you.”
The stranger sighed.
“It’s a terrible thing to have an energetic body and a thoughtful mind.”
Hoopdriver looked interested but wasn’t sure what response was expected.
The man continued.
“If you’re thoughtful and lazy, that’s fine. You can sit somewhere and think all day.”
“But if you’re thoughtful and full of energy, you’re in trouble.”
Hoopdriver nodded politely.
The man leaned forward.
“There is absolutely no need for me to hurry anywhere. I came out today for a quiet ride.”
“A little exercise. Some fresh air. A chance to look at the countryside.”
“That sounds pleasant,” Hoopdriver said.
“It should be.”
The man’s face became even more frustrated.
“But the moment I get on that cursed bicycle, I can’t control myself.”
“I start racing.”
“I don’t look to the left.”
“I don’t look to the right.”
“I don’t notice the trees.”
“I don’t see the flowers.”
“I don’t enjoy the scenery at all.”
“I simply keep going faster and faster until I’m red, sweating, and exhausted.”
He wiped his forehead again.
“Look at me. I came all the way from Guildford in less than an hour.”
Hoopdriver stared at him.
“Why?”
The man threw up his hands.
“Because I’m a damned fool!”
Hoopdriver wisely said nothing.
“I have more energy than I know what to do with.”
“It feels as if I’ve got several huge tanks of energy inside me, and there’s always a leak somewhere.”
He pointed toward the road.
“This countryside is probably beautiful.”
“There must be birds, trees, flowers, interesting little villages.”
“I would love nothing more than to stop and look at them.”
“But can I?”
“No!”
“The moment I’m on that bicycle, something takes over.”
“Put me on a bicycle and I have to ride.”
“Put me on anything with wheels and I have to move.”
He shook his head angrily.
“And I don’t even want to!”
Hoopdriver finally said:
“Then why not ride more slowly?”
The man stared at him.
“Exactly!”
“That is precisely what I should do.”
“But I can’t.”
“Why should a sensible man rush down the road like a rocket?”
“Why should I spend the whole day racing through the countryside?”
“I hate it!”
“Believe me, sir, I sometimes ride as fast as I possibly can while shouting at myself for being such an idiot.”
He took a deep breath.
“Deep down, I’m actually a quiet and thoughtful man.”
“Or at least, that’s what I like to believe.”
“And yet here I am, furious, sweating, and swearing at a complete stranger.”
Hoopdriver wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to apologize.
The man continued without waiting for a response.
“And now I’ve ruined my whole morning.”
“I’ve missed all the countryside between Guildford and here.”
“Instead of enjoying a peaceful ride, I’ve raced all the way back toward London.”
“I could have spent the entire morning wandering along the road.”
He shook his head in disgust.
“What a waste.”
Hoopdriver quietly ate another piece of cheese.
The stranger looked at him with sudden sympathy.
“You’re lucky.”
“You don’t seem to have this problem.”
“You probably have a calm nature.”
“Thank heaven for that.”
“You don’t have two halves of yourself constantly fighting each other.”
“I do.”
“My mind wants peace.”
“My body wants speed.”
“And the two of them are at war all day long.”
He gave a bitter laugh.
“I live like a man and his wife who can’t stand each other.”
“But what’s the point of telling you all this?”
“It’s always the same.”
He finished his lemon squash in one long swallow.
Then he paid for the drink.
Without another word, he walked toward the door.
Hoopdriver was still trying to think of something intelligent to say.
Before he could find the words, the man was gone.
Hoopdriver heard the sharp sound of a shoe scraping across the gravel outside.
He hurried to the doorway.
The cyclist was already some distance down the road toward London.
He was pedaling furiously.
His shoulders were tense.
His head was lowered.
Even from a distance, Hoopdriver could see that he was still angry with himself.
Within moments, the man disappeared beneath the railway bridge.
Hoopdriver never saw him again.
He stood there for a moment, watching the empty road.
Then he went back inside.