Watching cyclists go round and round a velodrome is fine. But for six days, non-stop? Less appealing? Think again: in our grandparents' time, it was all the rage! Welcome to the world of Six-Day Races, real events as popular as they were thrilling.

In our so-called era of spectacle, it's hard to imagine what our ancestors in the last century found so exciting about the Six-Day Races held at the Montreal Forum, on a vast circular wooden track installed for the occasion, or in one of the few velodromes in the province.

The first race of its kind took place in London in 1878, and subsequently spread to the United States, after which the migration to its northern neighbors was merely a formality.

Thus, Montreal inaugurated its first Six-Day Race on September 30, 1929. And with big names. The event's promoter, William Spencer, was delighted to have signed contracts with Montreal's two-wheeled stars, Henri Lepage, Tony Fitz, and Fioravanti Baggio. For this first edition, they faced nine teams from France, the United States, Belgium, Germany, Ireland, and Italy.

How it worked

The basic rule is simple: one member of each team of two professional cyclists must be on the track at all times, day and night, for 144 hours. This relay, as one might guess, allows the off-track rider to eat, drink, and sleep (well, like a new parent with a colicky baby, let's say). Meanwhile, the rider on the track pedals hard to maintain their team's position.

The goal of the race? To complete as many laps as possible in 144 hours. The prize? A handsome cash purse! And popular admiration, of course.

Speed! Drama! Thrills!

"The skill of the riders in this type of race thrills spectators," it was rightly said in June 1934 in the Revue de Granby. Because for crowds to flock to the uncomfortable stands of the Forum (8,000 people on the best nights), the spectacle had to be worthy. A Six-Day Race was anything but boring.

To maintain interest in the race, organizers implemented several strategies to break the continuous rotation of riders: competitions behind motorcycles (where cyclists, "glued" to the wheel of a motorcycle in front of them, could reach highway speeds thanks to the vacuum effect), intermediate sprints (triggered at regular intervals to add some oomph to the show), etc. It's clear that a ticket to a Six-Day Race offered much more!

But in this type of race, where the average speed is around 40 km/hour due to the track's 55-degree banking on turns (going too slowly = guaranteed fall, thanks to centrifugal force), these artificial stimulants for interest were almost superfluous: accidents were not just common, they were the norm. "A Six-Day Race without an accident doesn't exist," was often repeated at the time, and for good reason: falls were frequent, dramatic, and spectacular. Fractures, contusions, lesions, sprains, strains, and other less pretty injuries were commonplace, much to the delight of a public eager for thrills.

"My head is bursting, I just want to sleep..."

It's simple: the longer you stay alert, the more distance you cover, the closer you get to victory. Thus – will anyone be surprised? – to overcome the exhaustion caused by hundreds of laps, one often had to be friends with a good "soigneur."

Major Taylor can attest to this. The American sprint cycling champion, Wikipedia recounts, "refused to continue a race in New York saying: I can't go safely, because there's a man chasing me around the ring with a knife in his hand. " Was it due to fatigue or medication? We already know that nitroglycerin and cocaine were not unfamiliar to competitors of this type , but they still had to be prescribed in reasonable doses, otherwise one would hallucinate evil gentlemen.

Montreal hosted Six-Day Races annually, then bi-annually until the middle of World War II. They resumed several years after the hostilities ended, in the 1960s.