My son, Arthur, then famous as one of the long distance riders of the west, got up a party of about twenty aspirants to take over the 100-mile Elgin and Aurora course at a breakneck speed. I was not fitted for such a run, but I fell in and we were all off at about five o'clock in the morning.

The wind blew almost a gale in our faces and before we reached Elgin all had dropped out but Walton Aborn, Jim Carroll, Billy Push, Arthur and myself.

Down the Fox River Arthur increased the pace to that extent that Billy threw himself into the shade of a barn and refused to budge, so we left him there.

On the home run from Aurora, Jim Carroll declared his intention not to alight, as was customary at the S. Hill, but ride his wheel down, a feat which Arthur told him no fatigued rider should attempt.

We fell back and let him lead, and held our breath as he shot out of sight around the first corner at a thirty-mile pace.

When we turned the corner hoping to see Jim far away across the Skunkamunk Valley, we discovered a swath in the roadside down through the underbrush, briers and brambles nearly to the foot of the hill. At the end of the swath under an immense heap of rubbish we found Jim and his wheel, he blinking like a toad under a harrow.

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Jim groaned and grunted and finally told us he did not think he was dead, but his back was probably broken. We soon had him on his feet with his wheel righted and was pleased to learn that, with the exception of the few tufts of hair and chunks of hide left in the trail where he had slidden down, he was the same man, only his eyes were so full of gravel that he could not see.

He now proposed to take a bath in the creek in order to find out just how much skin he had left on his body. For this purpose he attempted to crawl under the barbed wire fence, into which his clothes got caught in such a way that he could neither raise up nor let down, back out or push forward, work his pants off, or keep his shirt on.

When we began to laugh and roar, Jim began to swear and cry, and said if we would go on about our own business he would get out and come home when he got good and ready.

Now there were only three of us, and Arthur lit out, leaving Walton and myself to come as fast as we could. We got into a mixup and both took headers over our wheels, when we sung out to Arthur to come back and help us.

When he returned I showed deep regret that my wheel was broken, for, of course, I was not much tired, but when he pronounced both wheels in good running order, I felt awfully, for I would have given most anything for an excuse to go no farther.

Arthur now encouraged us by saying he would run on a while and then wait for us, so we took it steady, and in some way got past him. Then we sat down in the shade and waited, for we did not want to report at the club house that we had left him in the country, for fear they would blame us. We finally started on and came slowly, stopping in every shade, waiting for Arthur, until we reached Garfield Park, where we met Minnie, my eldest daughter, with Dr. Chamberlain, her husband, and Alberta, my next, with her husband, George Carlson, together with several other neighbors, all riding their wheels, who laughed at us and said Arthur arrived home about three hours before.

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