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grew, his name came to the attention of one of the most popular and successful riders of the era: Louis D. “Birdie” Munger. Munger became one of his “staunchest supporters and advisers” and made the promise to turn Taylor into the “fastest bicycle rider in the world.”

He soon met Arthur A. Zimmerman and Willie Windle, both champion racers. Munger, Zimmerman, and Windle recognized they were in the presence of a young phenom and wanted to help him succeed. Their kindness left a lasting impression. “There was no race prejudice in the make-ups of Zimmerman and Windle•they were too big for that,” he recalled. “I remembered their sterling qualities and did my best to live up to them.”

Though the trio of champions supported

Taylor in his quest to also become a champion, the League of American Wheelmen (LAW) did not. Obviously noticing Taylor’s rise, they voted to bar black riders from becoming members. With the membership ban and Taylor’s ban from local tracks, he and Munger moved to Worcester, Massachusetts, in September 1895. Taylor noted “there was no such race prejudice existing among the bicycle riders there as I experienced in Indiana.”

The 1896 season would prove successful as he would dominate the amateur field. In the winter of 1896, however, the 18-year-old would make his leap from amateur to professional in the biggest racing event of the year at one of the most prominent venues: the Six-Day Race at Madison Square Garden.

In 1896, the 18-yearold Taylor competed in the biggest racing event of the year: the Six-Day Race at Madison Square

Six Brutal, Triumphant Days

More than 50 of the world’s best long-distance riders assembled for the event. There were many who worried the demands of the race would ruin Taylor’s career as a sprinter. Certainly, it had physically and psychologically damaged others, causing many to hallucinate or drift off to sleep and crash. Only three years after Taylor competed, the New York legislature passed legislation banning individual racers from competing for more than 12 hours per day.

At the start of the festivities, Taylor won the half-mile race against some of the top riders, including the nation’s most popular sprinter, Edward “Cannon” Bald. Taylor won $200•his first money prize, which he immediately wired to his mother.

At midnight, the Six Day Race began, and Taylor rode for 18 hours straight. He was only afforded a 15-minute break before his trainer rushed him back to the track. He began the second day in eleventh place and ended it in fourth; by then more than half of the riders had quit due to exhaustion or injury.

Deep into the race, completely exhausted and hallucinating, he told his trainers, “I cannot go on with safety, for there is a man chasing me around the ring with a knife in his hand.” His trainers decided to fasten a pillow to his handlebars so he could race without raising his head. One reporter for the Brooklyn Eagle noticed Taylor was “fast asleep while on his wheel.” As more riders fell to the wayside, Taylor pressed on.

Into the sixth day, with only 30 minutes remaining in the race, Taylor crashed into another rider and collapsed in a heap. Despite the cheers from the crowd to keep going, he was through. He had covered 1,787 miles, finished eighth, and was awarded $125.

A Champion Denied

The following year, 1897, he proved the Six Day Race hadn’t ruined him. Despite not being granted membership into the LAW, he was able to race in their sanctioned National Circuit events. He won the 1-mile race at the Charles River track in Boston, then the 1-mile race in Providence, Rhode Island, both times defeating Tom, Nat, and Frank Butler, who were considered “practically invincible.”

Regardless of the rules, there were still tracks on the National Circuit that refused Taylor’s participation. These refusals eliminated crucial points from Taylor in his pursuit of the 1898 Championship of America. At the time, the title was between Bald and Taylor. The LAW threatened to blacklist tracks for not adhering to its sanctioning rules. Many of the riders, however, decided to form a cycling union and a new cycling organization: the American Racing Cyclists Union and the National Cycling Association (NCA). Taylor reluctantly signed on to ride under the new NCA with the caveat that races not be held on Sundays. This “gentlemen’s agreement” was broken, as the first race was scheduled for Sunday in St. Louis. “I steadfastly refused to ride on Sunday as it was against my religious scruples,” he wrote.

Taylor did not compete, and Bald lost. Heading into the final portion of the National Circuit in Cape Girardeau, Missouri, Bald was ahead in the title chase by only two points. When Taylor arrived at the Riverview Hotel in Cape Girardeau, he was informed by the very man, Henry Dunlop, who invited him to compete in the race and stay at the hotel that he couldn’t room there due to his skin color. Taylor had been pushed far enough and went home the next morning. His exit was a forfeiture of the title run, and it also resulted in a fine from the NCA and a potential lifetime ban.

The media came to his defense, as it often did. “Major Taylor is a stern reality. He is here in flesh and blood, and must be dealt with as a human being, and he is entitled to every human right,” wrote the Philadelphia Press.

The Syracuse Journal added that “public sentiment is with Taylor, but its sympathy is not pronounced enough to have much weight with a body of riders who are jealous of Major Taylor’s successes, and are determined to keep him out at all costs.”

Public sentiment, however, did prove enough to force the Executive Committee of the American Racing Cyclists Union to drop its lifetime ban and only fine Taylor $500. But Taylor would not crater to such a demand and threatened retirement. “It would have made no difference to me whether the fine was $5 or $5,000,” he wrote.

It was not the first or the last time Taylor’s principles triumphed over his love of the sport. He had turned down big paydays, refused to compete or even attempt a new record on the Sabbath, and had now walked away from a near certain championship title. It was an example of his promise to reflect the “sterling qualities” of those champions who had supported him.

The fine, however, was paid by Fred Johnson, President of Iver Johnson Arms & Cycle Company, after Taylor agreed to ride the company’s bicycles in the upcoming season.

A Champion Made

Taylor looked to have a “banner season” in 1899 and set his sights on something greater than a national championship. He would compete for the world championship before 18,000 fans at Queen’s Park in Montreal and would face the world’s best riders hailing from America, Canada, England, France, Germany, and Australia, including two old foes, Nat and Tom Butler.

As the riders took their places at the starting line, a hush fell over the crowd. The gun was raised. Knowing the stiff competition, Taylor admitted to being a “trifle nervous,” but “within only a few moments more that terrible nervous suspense would surely be