The Fastest Bicycle Rider in the World/Chapter II
CHAPTER II
WHEN FEAR PACED ME TO VICTORY
My next race was in Peoria, Illinois, in the summer of 1892, an event for boys under sixteen. I was fourteen at the time. Although I did not win the race, I was third, but the kindly manner of the public toward me created a lasting impression in my mind. Little did I imagine then that the next time I appeared on this track that I would be greeted as the Champion of America and it is a safe bet that nobody else imagined so. Thanks to the encouragement given me on that occasion I continued striving towards championship honors, and was elated several years later to be able to return to Peoria as champion sprinter of America.
Peoria was the Mecca of bicycle racing in those days. On its historical track all of the fastest riders in the world struggled for fame and glory. Among the most noted of them were: Zimmerman, Windle, Van Sicklen, Lumsden, Munger, Spooner, Githens, Stone, Temple, Davis, Thorne, Dernberger, Barrett, Kinsley and Hollinsworth, in fact that galaxy of stars participated in the feature event of the program which included the race for boys under sixteen in which I rode.
I clearly recall seeing one of the racers in that meet, William Laurie, participating on his racing machine which was equipped with the first pneumatic tires ever ridden in a bicycle race in this country. Hitherto all racers had their wheels equipped with solid rubber tires as pneumatics had not been perfected up to that time. Hoots and jeers greeted Laurie throughout the afternoon as he blazed the trail for the use of pneumatic tires, which revolutionized bicycle racing, and the manufacture of bicycles simultaneously. Shortly came the cushion tires and soon thereafter the self same pneumatic tires that Laurie demonstrated so well that day came into common use on the bicycle tracks in the country.
The following spring I went to work for H. T. Hearsey, a bicycle dealer in Indianapolis. My principle occupation was giving bicycle lessons, although I also did general work about the store.
While in the employ of Mr. Hearsey I won a number of races, the most important one being a 75-mile road race from Indianapolis to Matthews, Indiana. It was promoted by Mr. George Catterson, a very wealthy sportsman who made his home in Indianapolis. Because of a growing feeling against me on the part of the crack bicycle riders of the day, due wholly to the fact that I was colored, the greatest secrecy surrounded the arrangements for this big event.
It may be well at this time for me to outline just how this race prejudice feeling against me came to a head. A few months before the 75-mile road race was held, Walter Sanger, one of the greatest bicycle riders of the day, made an attempt to establish a new track record for I-mile on the Capital City race track in Indianapolis. Before an immense throng he established a mark of 2.18 and was paid a handsome bonus for his stunt.
A number of my friends secretly arranged to have me make an attempt on Sanger’s record shortly after he left the track. Because of the color prejudice that my previous success had earned for me I had to be taken into a dressing room secretly. Hardly had the cheers of the immense throng which greeted the announcement of Sanger’s time died away before I made my appearance on the track ready to endeavor to lower Sanger’s record. Quickly the news flashed through the crowd that I was to make an attack on his recently established mark, and the crowd held their seats as I took a few preliminary trips around the track, which measured one-fifth of a mile to a lap.
One could hear a pin fall as I made my way up the track for a flying start against Sanger’s record. I was paced by a number of my friends who were mounted on tandems. The first one paced me on the first three laps, and a second tandem took me over the balance of the distance going as fast as the track would permit. Those pacemakers were spurred on in their efforts by the thought that they were fighting for a principle as well as for my personal success. They were all white men, and had stacked their all in the belief that I was capable of breaking Sanger’s newly established record. Because of the feeling that was stirred up against me among the bicycle riders in general simply because of my color, my pacemakers stood a chance of being scoffed at had I failed to break his record.
I made my last great effort and pulled up alongside the tandem in the last fifty yards, beating them about two lengths across the tape, and finishing the mile in 2:11, seven seconds under the highly paid Sanger.
Just to show what I could do, I came out on the track later in the evening and did a fifth of a mile unpaced. I rode around the track twice to get going properly, and then took the word. The crowd grew enthusiastic, for it was seen that the way I was riding I would come close to the fifth of a mile record on a five-lap track: The time-keepers compared watches, and I was surprised to learn that I had made a record of :23 3/5, beating the record made in Europe that spring by Macdonald, on the famous Paris track 2/5 of a second.
When the time for my ride was announced I received one of my most flattering ovations. The white riders attracted by the cheering of the spectators, crowded on to the track to see what was going on. As I passed through them to my dressing room I heard several threatening remarks aimed at me. They were not only angry at me for having broken the records, but also at the track manager as well for having allowed me to race on the track, even though I had no white men opposing me. Incidentally my track records stood as long as the track remained.
My friends had put over a clever little trick in smuggling me on the track for my record-breaking ride, but in so doing they incurred the enmity of a group of narrow-minded people. I received no pay for my record-breaking mile, other than the satisfaction that it gave me, that feeling being enjoyed also by my good friends who were pleased that they had a part in my demonstration to the public of my riding ability provided I got a square deal. Down in my heart I felt that if I could get an even break I could make good as a sprinter on the bicycle tracks of the country. That was ample pay for me.
Thereafter I was barred from ever competing again on any track in Indianapolis. However, my being debarred from those tracks fortunately paved the way for one of the greatest races I ever participated in.
Several weeks after I had established the record for the Capital City track in Indianapolis, the See-Saw Circle Club which was composed of more than 100 colored riders, held a ten-mile road race. It was announced in advance of the event that the nder who won from scratch would represent the club in a big ten-mile road race in Chicago, all expenses being paid for by the club, including a trainer. This event was open only to Negro riders, and they came from all parts of the country.
Henry Stewart, who was known the country over as the “St. Louis Flyer,” was easily the outstanding star of the event. Just before the race started one of the club officials accompanied Stewart into my tent and introduced him to me. Stewart and I were the scratch men of the occasion. He was a man of powerful physique, having well- developed legs and muscular arms and shoulders. He smiled at me cynically, being evidently bent on unnerving me. For a time it had the desired effect on me as I grew weak and nervous. It was the first time in my life that I had experienced such a reaction. As I lay trembling on my cot I heard Stewart talking, evidently for my benefit just outside. He ridiculed me and requested the secretary of the race to give me the limit handicap, as he said he felt I looked as though I needed it. His sarcastic remarks proved to be his undoing, however, as they stirred me as I never had been stirred before. Instantly all my fighting spirit rushed back to me, and I jumped into my racing togs determined to beat Stewart at any cost.
As he strutted to the starting line in his bright bath robe, I became more determined than ever to defeat him. He got a wonderful reception from the immense gathering, but I don't recall whether there was any applause for me or not—that’s how worked up I was.
When the starter sent us away Stewart promptly jumped into the front and started to sprint right from the very outset, riding as if he was in a quarter of a mile race instead of a ten-mile grind. He set a heartbreaking pace in an effort to shake me off in the first half-mile, but finding me right up even with him he decided that he had better settle down and let me do a share of the pacemaking. However, I had an advantage over him as his big frame served as a fine wind-shield for me while I was so small that he did not get a similar advantage while riding at my rear wheel.
After alternating in the pacemaking positions for several miles, and with half the distance gone Stewart's rear tire blew out. Another rider turned his wheel over to Stewart and the latter promptly took up the race again. As soon as I saw Stewart in trouble I slowed down. Soon we were at our task again, and I noticed after we had reeled off several very hot miles that the grind was beginning to have its effect on Stewart. My first thought was that it was a ruse on Stewart's part to save himself for the final dash to the tape, as I knew him to be a very tricky rider. Shortly, however, with less than a mile to go, I could plainly see that Stewart was in distress. I held my sprint for the last quarter of a mile, and then bolted for the tape. Stewart fought gamely as I passed him, but I led him over the line by ten lengths.
I was carried about on the shoulders of a number of Indianapolis men and received a flattering ovation from the packed stands.
Stewart claimed that he lost the race to me through having to use a strange bicycle. He challenged me to a match race for five miles, and I promptly accepted. We raced at Rushville, Indiana, and again I made Stewart trail me over the line. Thereafter I won three other races on the same program.
Upon my return to Indianapolis I was accorded a splendid reception, but I honestly believe that the greatest benefit that came out of my victory over Stewart was the fact that it gave me confidence and assurance. After I had disposed of Stewart in those two races I felt very certain that no rider, regardless of his size or physique could ever shake me off his rear wheel, and no man ever did.
I wound up that very colorful racing season by winning three races, quarter, half and mile, that were held at the Lexington, Kentucky Fair in that city, under the auspices of the colored citizens. Those were the only bicycle races on the program, but they attracted the fastest riders from Louisville, St. Louis, Chicago and Cincinnati.
As word spread about my being barred from the tracks in Indianapolis, because of color, Mr. George Catterson gave me a chance to again demonstrate my ability as a bicycle rider. He decided that from Indianapolis to the town of Matthews would be the course. Keeping the fact that I was to be a competitor secret Mr. Catterson offered prizes that were sufficiently attractive to interest the best bicycle riders in the state. Had they known I was to start, none of them would have entered. However, they did not share Mr. Catterson's secret, and all of them were on hand when the starter took up his position.
Shortly after his pistol shot sent the bunch away on the 75-mile grind, I jumped from my hiding place and started in hot pursuit of the fifty-odd riders who were pedalling for all they were worth down the roadway. I trailed along in the rear for several miles and was resting up in good shape before they were aware that I was in the race. They made things disagreeable for me by calling me vile names, and trying to put me down, and they even threatened to do me bodily harm if I did not turn back. I decided that if my time had come I might just as well die trying to keep ahead of the bunch of riders, so I jumped through the first opening and went out front, never to be overtaken in the feverish dash for the finish line.
When I took the lead we had covered about half the distance and were on a weird stretch of road that was thinly inhabited, with weeping willows on one side and a cemetery opposite. The thought ran through my mind that this would make an ideal spot for my competitors to carry out their dire threats. Spurred on by such thoughts I opened up the distance between my wheel and the balance of the field to make doubly sure that none of them caught up to me and got a chance to do me bodily injury.
As we neared Marion, Indiana, I noticed a number of local riders waiting for us to pace the leaders through that city. At first I was afraid they were out to do harm and rode cautiously towards them. I was agreeably surprised, however, when I found out they were friendly to me and very anxious to pace me the final twenty miles of the race. I finished fairly fresh, considering that the last 25-miles were ridden in a hard rainstorm. I finished more than an hour ahead of the second man and happy as I was over my victory, Mr. Catterson was even more pleased. He had proven that with a square deal I was one of the fastest riders in the state.
First prize was a house lot which was located in the center of the town of Matthews, Indiana. As soon as I had tucked the deed therefor into my pocket I rushed home, and presented it to my mother, explaining how it had come into my possession. I had not previously told her of my plans to enter the race because I felt she would worry about me until I returned home. Of course she was elated over my success, but she made me promise that I would never ride such a long race again. I was only sixteen years old at the time.
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Louis D. "Birdie" Munger