The coats of watchers at a six-day race show spots from the drop that runs down a bottle of pop when you drink out of it. Their heads keep turning from side to side as if they were rapidly reading the page of a book a block wide. All week in Madison Square Garden drops fell onto coats and faces turned from side to side, from side to side, all morning, all afternoon, all night, for six days. And round the pale pine dish the riders pedaled, jammed, sprinted, drank beef juice out of paper cups, pasted their burned legs with...
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