As a young man my father raced bicycles. That was the late 1930s. He was a very good amateur racer who won 100-mile road races in the Midwest and also competed in six-day team races on very short indoor board tracks. He met my mother then, and because she couldn’t stand to see the inevitable crashes and injuries, he did not pursue a professional career but instead became a journeyman carpenter.
The bike was put aside (I have that bike) as the country became involved in World War II. Because of his carpentry skill, Dad was put to work building barracks, finally becoming a crew chief working in Yakima, Washington, on the building in which the atomic bomb was created.
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