Grind

The glaring lights of Madison Square Garden, Manhattan, never went out all last week. The seats of the great amphitheatre filled and emptied, filled and emptied as the days wore on. Still the lights burned steadily. Beneath them, around and around and around a broad wooden track, banked steep and high at the corners, a band of hunched-over bicycle riders ground their pedals up and down incessantly, circling lap after lap, mile after mile without leaving the ellipse. It was an international six-day race, for Distance against...

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