Paul Hall was riding the Vincent, and never before had we attempted such a run as this, and with the Sporty seemingly half way down the track from where we were, the outcome seemed very much in doubt. In addition to the increased danger inherent in passing so many bikes spread across the track, it seemed foolish even to us to think that any machine could catch that last opponent, already so near the finish line. The flagman walked down the track, stopping well beyond the Harley, standing in such a position so that all could observe the flag. The combined din of seven motors split the air as the flag stayed down, fluttering in the chill breeze, momentarily paused before its rise, allowing the riders time to prepare their launch. All motors screamed in unison, clutches withdrawn and low gear engaged. Bracing for the violent launch, Paul leaned well forward and slid his body as far up the tiny seat as possible to minimize lifting, as he knew the unleashed power would try to rotate the front end up and around. As the fluttering pennant held steady, Paul leveled out at approximately 5000 rpm, and hanging there, the unearthly snarl of the Vincent came as a painful sweetness to the ears. The flag went up, and Paul dropped the hammer against a smothly rising throttle. As the Vincent leaped from a stand still to a blur in one brief instant, the rear wheel screached in protest-- Paul had uncorked too much spin, and a rapid jack hammer effect set in, the rear wheel beating a tattoo against the concrete. All seemed lost, and then she hooked up and he flat disappeared. I wondered where he went, and then the insane cry I heard as she bit second brought my mind and eye on to his fleeting image, already vanishing up the track with two bikes in his wake.

One by one Paul caught them all, only that damn thundering Harley remained. As they neared the finish line, Paul continued his relentless charge. Would he pull it off?

Amid the din, the Sportster rider could not hear our challange as he romped toward that bit of paint and victory. Paul flew by him no more than ten feet from the line. The Sportster rider told me afterwards that the fearsome noise of the Vincent as it blew by him casued such surprise and fright that it nearly unseated him. Indeed the scare was such that he vowed never to race again!

Paul had pulled it off, executing what was probably his most brutal run ever, in response to this unusual challange.

A shot of the Rattler in another unusual race . . .