and muscle, but what there is of him is sound, and his performance will be long remembered.29
Unprepared for the attention, Opperman posed for the cameras but spoke haltingly to the press. His shyness, born of modesty and inexperience, made him appear somewhat aloof. He had yet to develop the easy rapport with journalists that would become a defining feature of his celebrity. The dramatic race and the sheer unlikelihood of Opperman’s speed over such a long distance, started sports writers and fans talking about the Victorian’s future prospects. For all he gained, he also lost an important advantage for any competitor. While not yet a national figure, Opperman would never race with the element of surprise again.
_________
1 Age, 12 December 1918; Age, 17 December 1918.
2 Age, 12 December 1918.
3 Australasian, 14 December 1918.
4 Hubert Opperman, Pedals, Politics and People (Sydney: Haldane Publishing, 1977), pp. 17–18.
5 Opperman, Pedals, p. 19.
6 Opperman, Pedals, p. 24.
7 Opperman, Pedals, p. 19.
8 Sporting Globe, 15 November 1922.
9 Service Record, NAA: B2455, ADOLPHUS SAMUEL FERDINAND OPPERMANN.
10 Opperman, Pedals, p. 26.
11 Opperman, Pedals, p. 29.
12 Opperman, Pedals, p. 32.
13 Opperman, Pedals, p.31.
14 Prahran Telegraph, 21 May 1921.
15 Age, 5 September 1921.
16 Argus, 3 October 1921.
17 See Rolf Lunsmann’s webpage: http://bicyclehistory.com.au/MalvernStar/
18 Opperman, Pedals, p. 35
19 Argus, 24 October 1921.
20 The Lone Hand, 1 February 1913.
21 Opperman, Pedals, p. 42.
22 Opperman, Pedals, p. 43.
23 Sunday Times (Perth), 18 May 1930.
24 Opperman, Pedals, pp. 19, 46.
25 Mail (Adelaide), 8 May 1915.
26 Daily Telegraph (Launceston), 6 November 1922.
27 Referee, 29 July 1931.
28 Examiner, 6 November 1922.
29 Mercury, 6 November 1922.
Chapter 3
Scratch Man
When Opperman smiled for the cameras, his cheeky, impish grin widened just enough to show a mouth of chalky, broken teeth. Most people being photographed in the pre-fluoride era chose to contain their broad smiles, but this was proving increasingly difficult for the young cyclist as he won more races and had more pictures taken for the newspapers.
Since his late-teens Opperman suffered from toothache. Like most of his generation, he accepted infections and cavities as a part of life and resisted all entreaties to visit the dentist. His health – and his cycling – started to suffer. Bruce Small, who now served interchangeably as Opperman’s coach, mentor and father figure, told him to get them looked at. When he did, he left the dental rooms without a single tooth in his head. Once his gums healed he ‘returned to buoyant health’ with a corresponding improvement in his training and racing results.1 The price was a lifetime of using dentures, yet another feature of early twentieth century life that typically passed without complaint.
* * *
Before Opperman left the public service, he had started track racing at Melbourne’s most popular cycling venue, the Royal Exhibition Buildings in Carlton. He did so, not because he had developed any notable capacity to sprint, but because it paid. The outdoor track had been at the centre of the cycling craze that captured Australia in the late nineteenth century. Improvements to the viewing facilities and the installation of floodlights in the early twentieth century made the arena a spectacular venue for track racing in Australia. Weather permitting, track events were held twice a week and attracted thousands of paying (and betting) spectators. Contracted cyclists could supplement their regular income with generous prize purses, as well as ‘lap’ or ‘sprint’ prizes offered to create interest during the events.2
Opperman relied on his staying power to earn his prize money. To increase the interest in the track events, ‘lap prizes’ were on offer to those riders who led the field at certain stages of the race. Pushing to the front early in the piece, Opperman took advantage of the sprinters and their reluctance to expend too much energy before the final dash to the line. On a good night, Opperman would expect to take between five and ten laps and £2 or £3 in winnings. He became known as the ‘Lap King’. This was solid and reliable riding, if a little too conservative to be considered exciting. Nevertheless, it provided a handy supplement to his regular income and kept his name in the papers and on people’s lips as a rider to watch. All the while he developed his physical capacity and his tactical nous.
In early 1923, having had a chance to observe his racing more closely, Small reckoned that Opperman might be suited to the latest craze that was sweeping sports arenas around the world: motor-paced cycling. Loud, fast and dangerous, motor-pacing offered spectators the thrilling combination of a human-powered bicycle and a mechanically power motorcycle. Specially modified motorbikes, where the rider sat in an almost upright position, allowed a cyclist to ride in the slipstream. Without the normal wind-resistance to restrict the bike rider’s progress, the best cyclists could achieve speeds in excess of 100 kilometres per hour, although speeds of between seventy and eighty kilometres per hour were more usual. The bicycles were fitted with huge front chain rings to generate the necessary speeds. A smaller front wheel was often fitted to lower the rider’s profile in order to gain more protection from the wind. The pacing machines had a roller set behind the back wheel to avoid crashes caused by the rider’s front wheel touching the back wheel of the motorcycle.
Motor-pacing racing was wild, working-class entertainment. If road cycling attracted the cycling connoisseur, then motor-pacing was for the drinking, gambling masses. It also attracted flamboyant promoters and reckless, hot-headed cyclists who manipulated betting odds by making outrageous statements to the press. The combination of using human and non-human power to race around a circular track was a visceral echo of the horse-drawn chariot contests around the hippodromes of the ancient world. Although officially sanctioned by Australia’s cycling governing bodies, motor-paced bicycle racing was a largely self-regulated affair. Which is to say, that for the most part, it was unregulated and suffered from all the showmanship and jiggery-pokery that one might expect from such theatrical entertainment. For spectators, its primal appeal was undeniable. Spectacular (and sometime fatal) accidents on motor-pacing arenas added to the excitement and interest of the paying public who attended in their thousands.
For Small, getting his bikes seen at motor-pacing events was an important commercial opportunity to show the versatility, speed and reliability of Malvern Star machines. Motor-pacing was also a happy convergence of his passion for bicycle and motorcycle racing. No slouch astride the motorbike himself, Small had set the world speed record for racing a motorcycle and side-car over one mile before he ventured into the bicycle business. The sheer range of Small’s interests was a constant surprise to Opperman.
By virtue of his small stature and smooth pedalling action, Opperman was ergonomically and aerodynamically suited to motor-paced racing. Tucked in behind a skilful motor-pacer, Opperman’s excellent stamina could also help him simply outlast a more powerfully built rival in the longer contests.
When the mercurial sports promoter at the Exhibition track, Jack Campbell, rebuffed Small’s attempts to get Opperman a race at the venue, he simply decided to stage one himself. If racing behind motorcycles on public roads was illegal (and it was), Small was not the kind of man to ask for permission. One Saturday afternoon, Opperman lined up next