Unless too badly injured in an accident I always try to keep on. In Cincinnati, Ohio in 1916, I hung up the world’s 12-hour, 500-mile, and the 24-hour, 1,000-mile motorcycle track record. One of the narrowest of many narrow escapes marked the performance during which I was shooting for the 24-hour record. It was about one o’clock in the morning, with the race well along and the bunch of us tearing around the track was the stiffest pace we’d set up to that time. I was far enough ahead that I felt I had things pretty well sewed up.