First in the Chain Were Grueling Six-Day Races

Long before television piped the Tour de France into your living room, even before the Tour de France was considered important enough to rate a line in America’s newspapers, there were six-day bicycle races. The first one, in New York City in 1899, was four years before the first Tour de France.

In the 1920s, when the so-called Golden Age of sports heralded legends such as Jack Dempsey, Red Grange and the Four Horsemen, Bill Tilden and Bobby Jones, bicycle racing’s Reggie McNamara, Torchy Peden and Bobby Walthour shared the nation’s headlines.

The “Ride to Nowhere,” six days of 24-hour pedaling around a tiny plywood oval in Madison Square Garden, was one of New York’s prime entertainments during the Great Depression, like marathon dancing, flagpole sitting and the Roller Derby.

It was so successful that promoters organized nationwide tours in the ‘30s.

Six times they came to Los Angeles, racing on steeply banked tracks in the Pan-Pacific Auditorium.

The experience couldn’t be duplicated today, not with California’s indoor nonsmoking law.

One of the lingering memories about the six-days was the thick layer of smoke that hung heavily over the arena, giving the illusion that the riders were racing in a fog. But like the fights at Hollywood Legion, it was a social event -- the place to go for movie stars, socialites, power brokers, politicians and the curious.

When the late-evening crowd was arriving, the promoter would announce that some fan had donated $25 for a sprint. These were called “preems.” They were like a shot in the arm for the riders, who would take off in a wild race for a half-mile or a mile, depending on the prize. Most tracks were 10 laps to the mile.

This became contagious, as one celebrity after another would offer $10, $15 or more for a sprint. It was the only way to get the riders to give it their all, as most of the time, when the stands were empty, they pedaled around with little speed or interest.

“Hey, 10 bucks was a lot of money for us back then,” Peden said in an interview before his death in 1980. The Canadian rode in 148 six-day races and won 38 times. “And there was no reason to exhaust ourselves when nobody was looking.”

Sometimes the “preem” was for merchandise. A bag of groceries was a handsome prize in the ‘30s.

The racing was done by two-rider teams. One rider or another had to be on the track at all times, a total of 147 hours, three more than a precise six days because on the final night the promoters wanted to get the maximum from the crowd and extended closing to midnight.

One of the sorriest sights was dropping in around 4 a.m. when the place was empty and the riders were still pedaling in circles. Once in a while, to the disgust of the riders, some night-owl spectator would buy a “preem” during a quiet period and riders trying to catch a catnap would be awakened and sent back out to help a tired teammate.

Speed was less important than stamina.

Six days of riding could produce more miles than the Tour de France. The tour will cover 2,128.48 miles this year. In a 1937 six-day at the Pan-Pacific, the winners rode 2,418 miles.

In post-World War II races, the schedule was more humane. Racing was only from 8 p.m. to midnight and from 2 to 6 p.m. It never caught on again and six-days have disappeared from the sporting consciousness.

There were a number of types of races besides the all-out sprint. The most popular was the Madison, named for Madison Square Garden, where it originated. In France, where track racing remains popular, it is called la chasse Americaine.

At times, a Madison looked like a free-for-all, with both team riders on the track at the same time, but only one racing. The other rode slowly along the bottom of the track, waiting for the moment when he got into gear, sliding up the track to get a sling from his teammate during a rider exchange. The idea was to gain a lap, or a point, on the other teams.

Madisons could last anywhere from 15 to 60 minutes with the longer ones usually the evening’s closing number.

The infield of the velodrome was often as busy as the track as trainers worked over tired riders with eucalyptus oil massages, mechanics pored over bikes, tightening spokes and truing wheels. When they could, riders would try to catch an hour or two of sleep.

Willie Spencer, who followed a world championship riding career by promoting races, said in 1949 that the ideal competition was a mix of U.S. and foreign riders.

“U.S. fans won’t flock to races strictly between foreigners, and today there’s a lack of American talent,” he said, a comment that could today be aimed toward open-wheel automobile racing.

Winners of the Los Angeles races were Louis Berti-Henri “Cocky” O’Brien, 1932; Gerry May-Felix Lafentre, and Eddy Testa-Lew Rush, 1934; Alf Crossley-Jim Walthour, 1935; Oscar Juner-Bobby Walthour and Archie Bollaret-George Bollaret, 1937.

Testa, who lived in Los Angeles, often rode with Southern California amateurs in the late ‘30s to encourage them, offering them a chance to sprint with him to the finish line. He was once stopped by a police officer for riding 35 mph through the signal at Glendale and Silver Lake boulevards.

“I was training for a race,” Testa told the judge.

“Well, you were risking your own neck and no one else’s, so I’ll fine you $10 and suspend it,” said the judge.

The final 1937 race, won by the Belgian Bollaret brothers, packed the Pan-Pacific on the final night when the Bollarets did not take the lead until the final hour -- after midnight.

Bicycle racing was all but suspended during World War II because of rubber and steel restrictions.

In 1973, Charles Ruys, a promoter from Holland, tried to revive it in the Sports Arena. But a TV contract never materialized and neither did a crowd. Critics were impressed with the professionalism of the event, but attendance was so sparse it was a financial nightmare.

It had been 35 years between six-day races in L.A., and now it has been 30 years since the last one. Don’t expect another soon. Not when you can tune in the Tour de France and watch Lance Armstrong in the Pyrenees.