“Then came the two-mile national championship. Frank Kramer was an important factor in this event. He defeated Major Taylor in the preliminary heat but the colored boy got in on the final. The second and third men in the two heats rode another heat to decide who should be entitled to start in the final. The starters in this heat were Taylor, Howard Freeman, and Jimmie Bowler. Both gave Taylor something of an argument but he won out hands down. In the final of this event Taylor led Kramer and Owen Kimble over the tape.”
The following item is quoted from an Indianapolis newspaper:
“Major Taylor’s Early Sprint. Taylor, Kimble and Kramer lined up for the final of this great two-mile national championship race. In the last lap of this event Taylor gave one of the most remarkable exhibitions of sprinting ever seen in this decade. All three were following single pace furnished by the Stinemetz boys and allowing things to take their own course. As they passed the press box Major Taylor was seen beginning to edge to the outside, as he was the last man in the vanguard.
“With a sudden jump on the first turn Taylor passed the other two men as though they were stationary. Usually the fate of a rider who starts a sprint that early is to finish in about the lowest possible position, but it was not so with Taylor, who gained about two wheel’s lengths before the other two men were aware that there was anything doing and he kept right on sprinting. They tore after him like mad, Kramer leaving Kimble in the rear as he pushed after the Negro. It was to no avail, however, and Taylor won by over a wheel’s length in 4:43.” The applause was again thunderous.
Of all the incentives that spur athletes to their best efforts, I believe the most outstanding is the desire to dethrone a champion in his home town before a host of admiring friends. I realize a handsome purse, a diamond-studded medal, a gold or silver trophy and even a champion’s best girl seated in the grandstand are wonderful inspirations for any competitor. However, that almost fiendish desire on the part of a field to humble a champion in his native city outdoes them all by a wide margin. I speak from experience as I’m frank to say that no rider ever exerted himself more than I did to beat the great Eddie “Cannon” Bald on the Buffalo Athletic Field Track. Bald lived in Buffalo. I never defeated Bald in Buffalo.
For this and other reasons Kimble and Kramer, my bitter rivals, combined against me in both the championship races on this occasion particularly in the two-mile event. Their tactics in this race were the more noticeable because, the distance being longer, they had better opportunities to pull something.
After his stinging defeat in the third of a mile championship match only a few moments before, the stalwart Kimble’s hot southern blood
