For me, the most refined and civilized mode of travel shall always be the robotic rickshaw.
Yes, there are those among the gentry who plead the superiority of the autogyro, or who insist that personal transport reached its zenith with Mr. Trevithick’s Puffing Devil. Fie, I say! They can have their funiculars and their super yachts. It’s the open road for me. Looking jaunty in goggles, scarf, and flying leathers (because the coal-fired, steam-powered Mr. Calliope creates quite a draft when his velocity governor is set to maximum) I will be the talk of the season when I arrive at the picture palace for the debut of the latest moving daguerreotypes from Paris. And, should any passersby feel compelled to visit damage upon my conveyance, a single glimpse of the infernal glow in Mr. Calliope’s eyes shall set them aright!