Our low-slung bikes were much more approachable, much less intimidating. Several ticket holders approached Gary afterward and praised the bike. They asked where they could buy a safety and wanted to know what it was like to ride. One woman declared she would purchase one like mine on the morrow.
We witnessed the death of the high-wheeler, and nobody shed a tear. Technology continued transforming the bicycle, enticing hundreds of thousands more people onto bikes. This contest proved the safety had every advantage, and few disadvantages compared to the high-wheeler.
Mr. Napp might already know and wouldn’t admit it out of pride. His brutish behavior lent itself to the big wheel. Six days to go. Rose knew the end was nigh. I’m sure Mr. Hayden did too, but he bet on promoting high-wheeler racing to its conclusion.
Karen Eckert, the Pretty Pusher, came by. Her piercing black eyes stared down on me as I rested on my cot. She had long black hair rolled in a bun and a squeaky voice like a child’s. Her facial expression told me she was about to reveal a dark secret.
“I’ve got some helpful advice.”
“Have a seat.”
“This is just between us. I don’t want you saying anything in your paper. What are you taking?”
As Rose’s closest friend, her question surprised me.
“Some Chinese herbs.”
“I’ve been riding with Rose for several years. We’ve earned our place in these six-day races. She has all the talent. I win by other means. If you expect to finish, you’ll need to take something proven to work.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Strychnine, a stimulant. Coach Van Thrust gives it to us.”
“Who takes it?”
“Napp does his fair share. The Colorado Kid uses it too.”
Silicon Valley Cyclist 
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