Naturally in those early days of my racing I had many spills, and unlike some of the others, I did not always come through without injuries. I recall one race at Marion, Iowa, that really opend my eyes to some of the possibilities of racing. We were riding a half-mile dirt track. One fellow who was a little wilder than the rest of us took off at a tremendous speed. He got into the lead and we all fell in behind him, close to the pole. The fellow was riding faster than he could hope to last and sure enough went down in a turn. Of course there was so much dust you could not see. Out of the 14 starters, 11 of us ran over the poor fellow. Only two riders who happened to be way to the outside missed him.