knew in extricating myself from my dangerous position. With but 250 yards to go, and the field sprinting like mad, I managed to wiggle my way out of my bad position without interfering with any other rider. It was the tightest box I was ever in.
In the end I was forced to pick up and come around on the outside of the entire field. Once clear, I made a last desperate plunge for the tape and got across the line a few inches ahead of Bowler with Coleman in third place.
As the three of us bolted across the line a crowd of riders sitting near the tape immediately started shouting for Coleman. It was an old trick, the object of it being to influence the officials and the spectators to favor Coleman for his place. This was one of the most sensational races I had ever figured in and it was extremely difficult to judge. Realizing the shabby deals that had been given me under similar circumstances in other races, I fully expected to be awarded second or even third place. But I was pleasantly surprised when the judges rendered the verdict in my favor—the first close decision that had ever been given me.
It was a strange freak of fate that Bowler and myself figured in another very close race only a short time previous. It happened in Chicago, Bowler’s home town. In that race the judges decided Bowler and I had ridden a dead heat although the grand stand hissed the decision and yelled wildly for the verdict for me.
The officials who rendered the decision in my favor on this eventful occasion unfortunately became involved in a dispute which became bitter, and did not end with the closing of the races, but almost resulted in a feud. It went so far as to break up friendships of years’ standing in Brockton.
