Surprised to hear the regular clicking, as well as the grating sound of the worn bearings, a good half-minute after what I had supposed must be the catastrophe, I opened my eyes again and couldn’t believe them – I couldn’t even believe that they were open. The Road hog was still gliding along on our left, on the track! The locomotive was up against him and he seemed in no way inconvenienced by it. Then I saw the explanation of this marvel: the wretched fellow was no doubt unaware of the arrival of the great train behind him, otherwise he would not have shown such perfect composure. The locomotive had bumped into his bicycle and was now pushing it by the rear mudguard! As for the chain – for of course the ridiculous and senseless character would not have been able to move his legs at such a speed – the chain had been snapped in two by the impact, and the Road hog was pedaling joyfully in space – needlessly; moreover, since the elimination of all transmission constituted for him an excellent and uncontrolled “free wheeling” – congratulating himself on his performance which he attributed, no doubt, to his natural capacities!

The light of an apotheosis appeared on the horizon, and the Road hog was the first to appear in its aureole. It was the illumination of the terminal point of the Ten Thousand Miles!

I had the impression that a nightmare was ending.

“Come on! One more effort,” the corporal was saying. “The five of us should be able to leave our buddy behind!”

This clear voice – in the same way as the sight of a fixed landmark emphasizes the rolling of a ship to a seasick man lying in his hammock – that voice of the corporal made me realize that I was drunk, dead drunk from fatigue or from the alcohol in our Perpetual Motion Food – Jewey Jacobs had died of it, hadn’t he? – and sobered me at the same time.