Wonder if my doctor was right in ordering me to take this sort of exercise.
Wonder whether I look very absurd while accepting the assistance of an attendant who walks by my side and keeps me from falling by clutches at my waistbelt.
Wonder whether it would have been better to go to Hyde Park instead of Battersea.
Wonder whether the policeman, the postman, the nurse with the perambulator, the young lady reading the novel, and the deck passengers on the passing steamboat are laughing at me.
Wonder whether I shall keep on now that my attendant has let go.
Wonder whether the leading wheel will keep straight on until we have passed that lamp-post.
Wonder whether the next spill I have will be less painful than the last.
Wonder why mats are not laid down by the County Council in the roads for the comfort of falling cyclists.
Wonder why the cycle suddenly doubled up and landed me in the gutter.
Wonder whether the pretty girl in the hat, whose face is hidden by a novel, smiled at my misadventure.
Wonder whether the person who has just come to grief over yonder is using good language or words of an inferior quality.
Wonder whether my attendant is right in urging me to remount and have another try.
Wonder whether I look well wobbling.
Wonder whether the elderly spinster with the anxious manner and air of determination is really enjoying herself.
Wonder whether, when I have completed my first hour, I shall want another.
Wonder whether the imp of a boy will run with me.
Wonder whether my second fall in five minutes beats the record.
Wonder, considering the difficulty of progressing half a dozen paces in as many minutes, how those marvellous feats are performed at Olympia.
Wonder if I shall ever advance upon my present rate of speed, i.e., three-quarters of a mile an hour.
Wonder, finally, if the placards warning cyclists in Battersea Park against the dangers of "furious riding" can possibly be posted for my edification.
