One of these days, I’m telling you, I’m going to ride a bike across the country, from wheel in the Pacific to wheel in the Atlantic. Route 20, the longest road in the United States, goes from Newport, Oregon all the way to Boston, passing just 0.7 miles from where I sit. (I can see Route 20 from my house!) But alas, I still need to put two kids through college, which means I’ve gotta like, work, so I guess that’s a story for a decade from now, assuming the United States and I are both still functional then. Meanwhile I’ll just have to do this vicariously…..
A hundred and twenty-five years ago this Sunday, the 25th Infantry rolled into St. Louis, then the fourth-largest city in the U.S., having pedaled for 41 days from Missoula, Montana through mud, sand, rain, deep snow, and intense heat. They were on a mission to demonstrate the utility of the bicycle for the modern military. This was the same segregated unit of “Buffalo Soldiers” who, you may remember, performed heroic service in the Great Fire of 1910.
They were under the command of 2nd Lt. James A. Moss, who had graduated near the bottom of his class at West Point and thus was sent way out west to Fort Missoula. The Army liked to keep segregated units out of the way, too, so most Americans didn’t need to bother knowing they existed.
But Moss and his unit would begin to change that, at least a little, because their ride to St. Louis generated national fanfare. A typical town report looked like this:
Moss had gotten the idea, with enthusiastic support from Maj. Gen. Nelson A. Miles, that the bicycle could be a great complement to the horse, and he knew that some European armies were beginning to use them. His reasoning appeared in the Daily Missoulian on June 19, 1897:
The bicycle has a number of advantages over the horse – it does not require much care, it needs no forage, it moves much faster over fair roads, it is not as conspicuous and can be hidden from sight more easily; it is noiseless and raises but little dust, and it is impossible to tell direction from its track.
Bicycles had gained a new place in the national consciousness. The “penny farthing” bicycle — the one with the obnoxiously tall front wheel — had been supplanted over the previous decade by the “safety” bicycle, with a design not too different from what we still use today. That, along with newly inflatable tires and other comforts, started a nationwide bicycling craze for both men and women.
Moss’ plan was approved on May 12, 1896. He convinced a company called Spalding, which you may be familiar with, to provide bicycles fit for tough conditions to the Army at no cost. He assembled a group of eight men from the 25th, including Pvt. John Findley, who had worked in bike shops in Chicago and Syracuse and would serve as the Bicycle Corps’ mechanic. Findley and Moss began training the rest of the troops on the ins and outs of bicycle riding and maintenance.
They took a few “practice” trips that produced a series of beautiful photos, including the one you see in Yellowstone at the top of this diary.
- Lake McDonald, August 6-9, 126 miles
- Yellowstone National Park, August 15-September 8, 300 miles
- Bitter Root Valley, September 11-16, 72 miles
Maj. Gen. Miles was pleased with the progress the unit was making and encouraged Moss to plan a longer trip for the next summer, one that would prove beyond all doubt that the bicycle could be a durable implement for traversing all kinds of landscapes.
Moss assembled a larger group of 20 men from his unit, including several that had made the trip to Yellowstone (Findley among them, of course). He also recruited surgeon James M. Kennedy and 19-year-old reporter Eddie Boos, who was to send periodic dispatches back to the Daily Missoulian and other newspapers across the country. Moss had continued to work with Spalding to update the military bicycle based on the unit’s experiences:
You can appreciate exactly what the riders sat on — the “Christy” Saddle — examples of which are still around today. Here is a real one, fitted to a different bike:
The 25th left Missoula at 5:40 A.M. on June 14, 1897 with no great sendoff, because of course the rest of the town was still asleep. This is the route they would follow, each of the 41 flags a starting point for the day:
The National Archives shows the route this way:
I think it’s best for me to let some of the difficulties be relayed firsthand by Moss and Boos themselves:
The first day of the trip [June 14] was a hard one. [...] For a while we fairly flew through the woods, but the rain was soon upon us again; and for several miles we plodded along in this viscous, gumbo mud. Wet and slushy, we rolled our wheels through weeds and underbrush on the road side in order to avoid the mud, and then would carry them a few paces and stop for second wind, as it were. Occasionally we would stop and scrape the mud off the tires with our meat knives, or flat pieces of wood.
— Lt. Moss Report to the Adjutant General (pg. 4)
"The sight which presented itself before us on the third day [June 16] was anything but a pleasant one. An inch of water covered the ground and not a road in sight. We started about 10 o’clock towards Elliston, taking the railroad track, walking now, and riding when the ballasting would permit. We followed the track for four and a half miles, having to get off twice for trains, one occasion being on very short notice. After leaving the track we took the country road and slewed and slipped in the mud for five miles, finally reaching Elliston at 1 o’clock, having ridden 10 miles in a solid rain; we were wet through and through and were bordering on the chills. As the storm showed no signs of abatement we concluded to stop here for the balance of the day and night, being sheltered in an old log house."
— E.H. Boos Daily Missoulian Wheeling South [Missoula, MT] July 3, 1897
Bright and early the fourth day [June 17] we started out to cross the main divide of the Rocky Mountains[...] Our line of march extended straight up for a mile—we were getting along as well as possible when a gale sprang up and a terrific snow storm set in. The snow was so thick that we could not see 20 feet in front of us, and the air very cold and icy. Our ears and finger tips were numb, but there was no alternative. We had to go on, and on we went. After a hard struggle, our wheels being almost a mass of slush, we reached the summit and commenced our descent on the east side of the main divide. The ascent was a great test for the machines and for physical endurance, but it was easy compared with the descent. It took about 10 miles to ascend and only three to descend, so the reader may have an idea of the pitch we had to travel. We walked all the way, the same rain and snow continuing, but going off faster. All the ravines were rushing torrents, and it took a long time and hard work to get down the worse part and we were not sorry when we saw the narrow valley before us leading out of the mountains.
— E.H. Boos Daily Missoulian Wheeling South [Missoula, MT] July 3, 1897
What natural-born “cheerful liars” some men are was well illustrated by an incident that happened soon after we left camp [June 21]. A clever-looking and apparently truthful fellow informed us that when we reached Gallatin, four miles away, we would find as good a road as any one could wish for. Upon reaching Gallatin, however, we found that the road referred to consisted of a blind trail, which led us through an old marshy field filled with myriads of vicious mosquitoes, and thence into the foothills beyond.
— Lt. Moss, Los Angeles Times The Army A-Wheel, Nov. 7, 1897
On June 23rd, [at] 5.15 P.M. we started across the Crow Indian Reservation, with a head-wind and up a stiff grade. About half an hour later, as the command was leaving the Valley of the Yellowstone and entering the mountains, it began to rain, and continued almost incessantly until the next morning. The soil was a kind of clay-gumbo, and we had an extremely hard time pushing and carrying our bicycles up and down those muddy, sticky mountain sides. Mile after mile we jogged along as best we could over sinuous hilly trails, stopping again and again to scrape off the caked mud from the choked wheels.
— Lt. Moss Report to the Adjutant General (pg. 5)
“On June 29th, after having ridden somewhat over twenty miles up an almost continuous grade, under a broiling sun, we stopped, about 2 P.M. at Gillette, Wyo. for lunch. The next point along the route where water could be obtained, was Moorcroft, 30 miles away. Being told at Gillette that the road to Moorcroft was very good, and slightly down grade, I thought the run could be made easily in four hours; and at 4 o’clock we left Gillette. By 7 o’clock we had covered about sixteen miles, and were bounding along at an eight-mile gait, when all at once the clouds began to gather thick and fast, and almost immediately darkness was upon us. The road being
entirely unknown, we were compelled to decrease speed considerably, and a few minutes later, one of the soldiers broke his front axle.
As we had no extra ones he had to roll his bicycle the whole way to Moorcroft. I then turned the Corps over to the Acting First Sergeant [Mingo Sanders], and taking with me one cook and two soldiers who had flour, bacon and coffee in their luggage cases, we started out ahead, intending to reach Moorcroft an hour or more before the command and have supper ready as soon as they arrived. We had not, however, ridden more than four miles before the intense darkness and the condition of the roads forced us to dismount and roll our wheels along. While almost feeling our way along a road wet and muddy from a rain of the previous day, we walked, and walked and walked, pushing our wheels before us.
About mid-night, we struck the B & M track. The night air was damp, chilly and penetrating, and we were cold, hungry and tired. The soldiers tried to make a fire, but could find no wood, and we then stopped for a rest. About half an hour later, the report of a rifle was heard: I had one of the soldiers discharge his piece in reply, and shortly afterwards three soldiers, who had pushed on ahead of the command and lost their way in the darkness, came up. We then resumed the march for Moorcroft— it was then about 1 o’clock. Almost exhausted from fatigue, we wearily walked along a mile or two further, when a soldier a few yards behind me exclaimed, “My God I can’t go any further” – and stopped: the rest of the party continuing. It now began to grow lighter, and I was so tired and sleepy that the horizon appeared like a clothes-line – I was really sleeping on my feet. At about 2 o’clock I was completely overcome from sheer exhaustion and lay down on the west mountain side, with a shelter-tent half under me, and a blanket over me.”
— Lt. Moss Report to the Adjutant General (pg. 5-6)
“Between six and seven o’clock on the morning of July 5th, we struck the sand hills of Nebraska. An hour or two later, when about 9 miles from Alliance, I was overcome from the effects of alkali water, and taken back to town. For the next four days the Corps was in command of Asst. Surgeon J.M. Kennedy. This part of the trip was a real nightmare. It was impossible to make any headway by following the wagon road in loose sand ankle-deep, and the Corps therefore followed the rail road track for 170 miles, before they got out of the sand. By almost superhuman efforts this distance was covered in 4 1/2 days, averaging 37.7 miles per day. The alkali water was abominable and the heat terrific.”
— Lt. Moss Report to the Adjutant General (pg. 6)
“On July 7th the thermometer registered 110 degrees in the shade, and over half the Corps were sick, two soldiers having their feet badly blistered from the burning sand.”
— Lt. Moss Report to the Adjutant General (pg. 6)
“In their travel of 178 miles from Alliance, Neb., a distance of fifteen miles was ridden on their wheels, the balance of the distance they walked and led their wheels through the sand hill country. The intense heat and bad water [tolled] severly on the men and many became prostrate and they longed for that Eldorado, Broken Bow. The last thirty hours before they reached Broken Bow [July 9] they were drenched with rain and they wheeled into town soaking wet. In anticipation of their coming the armory was put in shape to receive them, a good fire was built and they were put through the drying process, and gasoline stoves were provided for their cooking and straw for bedding, and with a good warm supper the men retired early for a well earned rest.”
— Nebraska State Journal, Tuesday morning, July 13, 1897
“Finally, about 6:30 pm, July 16, we were ferried across the Missouri River at Rulo, Neb., and landed on Missouri soil with a we’re-on-the-last heat feeling. Camp was made that night at Napier, where we drew a fresh supply of rations. The corps followed the river bottom for a number of miles and then started “across the country” – across the land of corn. Morning, noon and evening we were riding surrounded by the waving corn fields of historic Missouri.”
— Lt. Moss, Los Angeles Times The Army A-Wheel Nov. 21, 1897
“Our last camp was made three miles from St. Peter and the next morning, July 24, at 5:30, we mounted our wheels and started for the goal — St. Louis. We had but thirty miles to go but Providence was very unkind to us, and before the command had travelled five miles, a heavy rain was upon us.
At 1:30 p.m. the Missouri River was crossed again at St. Charles, twenty miles from St. Louis. Rolling our wheels in the broiling sun, through the muddy river bottom and then a mile or two on a rough railroad track, we finally struck the Rock Road. About 4:30 we got our first view of St. Louis, and an hour later, entered the city—and thus it came to pass that the Twenty-fifth United States Infantry Bicycle Corps made the greatest march known of in military history.
— Lt. Moss, Los Angeles Times The Army A-Wheel, Nov. 21, 1897
When they did finally reach their destination, Moss said to his troops, noting the time as 6 P.M., “Gentlemen, our trip is ended. I thank you for your fortitude. You will now rest your wheels and fall in for mess.” They had completed the trip in half the time an infantry could do it, at one third the cost. It was, the St. Louis Star reported, “the most marvelous cycling trip in the history of the wheel and the most rapid military march on record.”
There was quite a crowd of pleasure seekers and wheelmen at the Cottage in Forest Park to greet the soldiers. As the mounted police rode up the hill, followed by the local wheelmen and then the travel-stained soldiers, three hearty cheers of welcome were given by the crowd at the Cottage. The soldiers dismounted, and after a few minutes conversation between Mr. Lucas and Lieut. Moss the latter ordered his men to camp on a hill beneath the oaks just south of the Cottage, which had been selected by the wheelmen’s committee as a most suitable spot. Lieut. Moss and Dr. Kennedy took supper at the Cottage with Henry V. Lucas and other local wheelmen. The troops enjoyed a meal of rich, juicy beefsteaks, and other substantial articles of food at a long table in the bicycle shed, and they seemed to appreciate the repast after a day’s hot travel with nothing but hardtack and bacon and coffee to supply the inner man. As the soldiers rode up the hill at the Cottage and dismounted they bore in their looks the evidence of forty odd days of severe travel over mountain and desert for a run of almost 2,000 miles.
— The St. Louis Globe-Democrat, July 24, 1897
We must note, of course, that although the St. Louis Wheelmen escorted the unit into the City, they would not permit Black cyclists to join their club, and we see that in St. Louis (though not in Missoula), the dining was segregated. We also do not have firsthand accounts from the Black troops, because few newspapers would have published them.
After all they’d been through, the 25th were actually game for a return trip to Missoula on bicycles, but the Army felt they’d clearly proven the point and sent them back to Missoula on a train.
Against the grain of his time, after much experience fighting (and riding!) alongside Black soldiers, Moss would later have advice for other commanders:
“[...] Treat and handle the colored man as you would any other human being out of whom you would make a good soldier, out of whom you would get the best there is in him, and you will have as good a soldier as history has ever known.”
Another commander of the 25th, Colonel Andrew S. Burt, would say in 1902:
“For ten years I have had the proud privilege of boasting that ‘I am Colonel of one of the best regiments in the United States Army, the 25th Infantry.’ This is no idle boast. It is based on your splendid record in the past. An inspector said in his official report about you: ‘This is the finest body of soldiers I have seen in the United States Army.’”
You know, there’s one aspect of this story I have not seen pointed out before:
The men of the 25th couldn’t have known this, but I believe they would have appreciated it at the end of their own pioneering journey. By the time they’d arrived in St. Louis, a baby had been born that same day not too far away in Atchison, Kansas. Her name was Amelia Mary Earhart.
THE RIDERS:
Reporter Edward H. Boos Pvt. Travis Bridges
Pvt. Francis Button Pvt. John Cook
Pvt. Hiram L. B. Dingman Pvt. John Findley (mechanic)
Pvt. Elwood Forman LCpl. William Haynes
Musician Elias Johnson Pvt. Frank L. Johnson
Pvt. Sam Johnson Pvt. Eugene Jones*
Surgeon James M. Kennedy LCpl. Abram Martin
2nd Lt. James A. Moss Pvt. William B. Proctor
Pvt. Samuel Reid Pvt. Richard Rout
Sgt. Mingo Sanders Pvt. George Scott
Pvt. Sam Williamson Pvt. William Williamson
Pvt. John H. Wilson
* did not complete the trip due to illness
I couldn’t find them all, but I found some:
As it just so happens, on the 125th anniversary of the 25th Infantry’s arrival in St. Louis, the city of Worcester, Massachusetts will hold the George Street Challenge, as it does every year, to pay tribute to a man named Marshall “Major” Taylor. Despite the refusal of some venues in his own country to allow him to race, and despite constant threats and attempted intimidation, he set seven World Records over 1898-1899 and went up to Montréal to win the 1899 World Championship in bicycle sprinting.
You can — and definitely should — read his story here, here, here, here, and here. Today, Worcester honors him with a monument:
If you’re up for it, test your mettle in Worcester on Sunday the way Taylor regularly did:
See how fast you can pedal up George Street, a two-block quad-buster that was a training ground for 1899 world champion Major Taylor, aka "the Worcester Whirlwind."
It's one rider at a time against the clock in this steep uphill time trial in downtown Worcester, Mass., on Sunday, July 24, 2022. The distance is 500 feet, and the average grade is 18 percent.
Think you can handle the wicked steep climb? Here’s a GoPro view of the ride:
Major Taylor was part of one of the first — if not the first — integrated sports teams in the United States, the 1897 Boston Pursuit Team:
There are now Major Taylor Bicycling Clubs in 32 states, the United Kingdom, Kenya, and Taiwan.
I leave you with the proud and fitting insignia of the 25th Infantry: