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SHOWMAN
on the Long Island Railroad. He was paced by a locomotive, you see, which carried a huge windshield behind to help him by creating suction.
Miller had nothing but two wheels and two feet to help him. People refused to believe that he could have lived through six days of such exertion without more sleep than that. But those figures were straight. A Professor Atwater from Wesleyan was there all the time, getting data for the government on the relation between food and energy, and his assistants had every rider's sleep and rations checked down to a gnat's heel.
That sort of record started the humane societies— and the disgruntled politicians who were failing to get theirs out of the big money in cycle-races— protesting about cruelty to riders. It was nonsense, of course. Why, Miller took it so easy knocking off his two thousand seven miles that, the last afternoon of the race, he stopped to get married to his best girl, who'd been loyally cheering him on for five days. I was one of the witnesses, blissfully conscious of the publicity values involved, and ' 'Dutch" Waller, Miller's most deadly rival in the race, was the first man to kiss the bride. As soon as the ceremony was over, they hopped back on their wheels. After Miller won the race, he went straight on to his wedding breakfast at the Hotel Bartholdi. He refused even to consider making up any sleep until he'd been properly wined and dined— which is hardly the behavior of a man suffering from exhaustion.
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