Old Rattler Led the Field

THE GREAT VELOCIPEDE RACE In 1888 it was all the rage, horse against bicycle in a long competition of speed and stamina

The Great Velocipede Race of 1888, which pitted a horse against a newfangled contraption we now call a bicycle, excited the Southwest as few other sporting events have. The race, born of a barroom bet, was run over the gravely road that connected Silver City, New Mexico, with Deming, New Mexico, a tad under 50 miles in length.

The event attracted cowmen, miners, settlers, and townsfolk from all over southern Arizona and New Mexico. Well-heeled "sports," as professional gamblers were then called, flocked to the scene from as far away as Chicago, and all the sporting papers like the Police Gazette, the Clipper, and the Sportsman and Breeder had stories of the race.

Interest ran so high that fans chartered a special train and it paced the racers, running along the railroad tracks that paralleled the Silver City-Deming road.

The popularity of the race is not hard to understand. First there was the uniqueness of the contest: the pitting of a four-legged animal against a two-wheeled machine. And then there was the East - West connection: the much-loved and appreciated horse of the Western range was being challenged by, God forbid, a crazy-looking vehicle born and bred in the effete East.

The bicycles, or velocipedes as they were often called in those early days, consisted of a high front wheel and a tiny rear wheel. The rider, who usually had to have assistance to mount his iron steed, sat on a tiny seat and grasped a set of small narrow handlebars.

But could a bike beat a horse, especially a rugged cow pony hardened to the arid Southwest?

No, said countless cowboys and ranchers, who knew in their hearts that real men rode only horses.

It was during a Fourth of July round of drinks in the Timmer Hotel bar in Silver City that the question came up of just how fast a bicycle could go. J.W. Clayton, a cowman and horse racer, said he'd bet a horse could beat any bicycle rider.

Whoever the person was who took up Clayton's bet is a matter of question. Early news stories put the opponent as Doc Bolton, who the late historian C.L. Sonnichsen says was a black sheep nonpracticing physician.

Clayton put up 5,000 head of Mexican cattle as his wager while a lesser number of more valuable American cattle was the matching bet. Side bets and individual wagers from other gamblers raised the stakes considerably. The Silver City Enterprise said the total cash stakes from side bets were $5,400.

The horse Clayton was banking on was named Rattler, a big bay with bad habits. By all accounts Rattler was an outlaw, but unlike the deadly snake, he never gave warning when he lashed out.

The bike rider selected was H.J. Kennedy, 23, of Denver and a member of the Ramblers, a bicycling club in that town. An Enterprise story of September 7, 1888, described Kennedy as 5 feet, 8 inches in height and weighing 140 pounds "and is in splendid training.

The Enterprise said Kennedy "navigates a bicycle in a manner that would indicate that he is capable of getting some speed out of the vehicle." He made a number of practice runs over the road which the newspaper said consisted of 26 miles in excellent condition and 23 miles that were hilly, sandy, and badly broken with two difficult hills.

Kennedy's clean-cut athleticism and dedicated training won the hearts of most of the Silver City residents and established him as a slight favorite over the horse. They ignored his dress: a cricket cap, a red-and-whitestriped turtleneck jersey, and knickers.

But who was to ride the horse? The historical record says precious little of the horse rider.

The Enterprise identified the jockey as J.E. Wilson, one of the owners of the race mare Bellflower. Bill McGaw, editor of The Southwesterner (Columbus, New Mexico), said in a two-part story beginning November 26, 1960, that Rattler's rider was "J.E. Wilson of the Mimbres."

Sonnichsen, the dean of Southwestern historians, said the rider was actually Billy King of Tombstone, riding under a false name.

King, who led a colorful life as a cowboy, bartender, gambler, saloonkeeper, and lawman, was a Cochise County deputy sheriff under famed Sheriff John Slaughter. Sonnichsen, in his book Billy King's Tombstone, said King used an alias because he did not want it known he was racing in New Mexico when he should have been working in Tombstone. Slaughter, Sonnichsen wrote, gave King permission to race and covered for him, telling anyone who asked that Billy was out of town “on business.”

'Kennedy was forced to duck and turn his head to avoid having his teeth knocked out and his eyes closed by a steady stream of rock.'

who asked that Billy was out of town “on business.” In Silver City, King took over the training of Rattler under a $150 a month expense account and the promise of $1,000 if he won.

Rattler, a tall 15 hands high, had tremendous stamina to go along with his bad temper. He bit and kicked out unexpectedly with his front feet, most dangerous to an unsuspecting cowboy.

Billy King told Sonnichsen the horse could “kick a chew of tobacco out of your mouth when you were standing in front of him” and “would try and kill you every time you put the bridle on him.” Early every morning, King carefully mounted Rattler and took him down the road to Deming until “both horse and rider knew every pebble along the highway.” Then King would return to Silver City and spend the rest of the day in the Timmer Hotel barroom, where he drank and “played monte most of the day and a couple of fillies [dancehall girls] a good share of the night, with indifferent success in each case.” Kennedy trained daily, too, and would drink only lemonade, Sonnichsen wrote.

The day of the race, September 13, 1888, dawned cool under a bright sun, and by the 10 A.M. race time Silver City was jammed with spectators and festooned with colored bunting. Nearby, the special train, loaded with spectators, waited with a full head of steam to follow the racers.

Crowds lined the road for 12 to 15 miles. At Hudson's Hot Springs, an early resort at about the 37-mile mark on the road, guests were in a celebrating mood as they waited for the approach of the riders.

On the outskirts of Deming, a similar crowd had gathered, and at the finish line in front of Harry Catlett's Cabinet Saloon, the spectators were many rows deep.

King was aboard Rattler, nervous and prancing as the town band played and made even more fractious by the antics of O.C. Hinman, Silver City's furniture man, undertaker, and photographer who was trying to focus his camera under a large black cloth.

Backers of the bicycle were holding up the nearly six-foot-high front wheel as Kennedy struggled to maintain balance. Bets were being made right up to the starting gun.

Who was to fire the gun is unclear.

Sonnichsen says it was Mayor Jack Fleming. McGaw writes it was Sheriff Harvey Whitehill.

No matter. The raised gun hesitated and then was lowered. Up the street a lone cowboy on a pinto horse approached, despite warning yells to get off the racetrack.

McGaw quotes him as asking, “Is this a private race or can anybody get in on it?” The sheriff said he could race, but all the bets were between Rattler and the bicycle.

“Well, anyway,” said the cowboy, “I'll have a good view of the whole race if I jes' ride along.” And he lined up with the other two racers.

McGaw said the rider of the pinto horse was Cipriano Baca, a cousin of Elfego Baca, a famous New Mexican lawman.

Sonnichsen, who hardly mentions the pinto in his account of the race, quotes W.W. Whitehill, son of Sheriff Whitehill, as saying the pinto was ridden by J.E. “Ed” Wilson while Cipriano Baca was the owner of the livery stable that housed the pinto.

Whatever or whoever, when the gun finally went off, the bike and the pinto took off. Rattler, said Sonnichsen, had a pitching, bucking fit because of the noise and excitement. When King got his mount under control and straightened out, he was a poor third.

Kennedy, legs pumping steadily, led the race until all three competitors were out of sight of Hudson's Hot Springs, the last spectator stand until Deming was reached. Also out of sight was the train, as the tracks veered from the road.

It was here that the horse riders made their moves.

Sonnichsen said it was King's secret plan once he got in front to bombard the bike rider with gravel. Apparently the rider of the pinto horse had the same idea.

According to McGaw, the pinto was the first horse to pass Kennedy. Once in front, the horse sprayed rocks and gravel from his hooves back into Kennedy's face, slowing him enough to allow Rattler to pass.

“Kennedy was forced to duck and turn his head to avoid having his teeth knocked out and his eyes closed by a steady stream of rock,” McGaw wrote.

Both horses raced side by side, and Kennedy was “well massaged with pebbles” whenever he tried to pass, Sonnichsen said.

Ten miles from Deming, the pinto's rider let out a cowboy yell, sank his spurs into the horse's flanks, and lashed away with his quirt. The pinto leaped into a dead run and galloped into Deming the winner by a full minute over King's Rattler.

The pinto and his rider didn't win a cent, of course, but covered themselves with glory. The pinto's winning time was three hours, 45 minutes, a new world record by nine minutes, the Enterprise noted.

King, said Sonnichsen, was exhausted and half conscious at the end of the race. He had to be carried from the horse and into Harry Catlett's Saloon, where ecstatic bettors proceeded to pour drinks down his throat. King couldn't handle it. He keeled over and passed out and was put to bed in the Buffalo Head Hotel.

Kennedy, who came in last, was furious, and said he had been fouled by the horse riders peppering him with rocks and preventing him from passing. Trouble was, there were no witnesses except for the horse riders. And they wouldn't talk.

In 1978 in Mesa I interviewed Clayton's widow, Roberta Flake Clayton, who was 100 years old then, about the race.

Although she had not seen the race she married J.W. in 1910 in El Paso - she had often heard her husband talk about it.

Mrs. Clayton, a member of the Flake family that, with the Snow family, founded the town of Snowflake, Arizona, denied that Rattler was an outlaw horse.

“He was no outlaw; he was just a regular cow pony. I think he had been used to trail cows to Dodge City along the Chisholm Trail,” said Mrs. Clayton. “Why after the race, the sheriff of Deming put his little daughter on him so she could ride him and cool him down,” said Mrs. Clayton.

“J.W. was so happy that his horse won that he told the bartender at Harry Catlett's Saloon that everyone could drink as much as they wanted, and the tab was on him.

“I don't know how much my husband won on that race, but it was enough to pay for all those drinks,” she said.