Peter Kuykendall and I worked the Oakland Twilights Series for the year of 1981. This included showing up early to place the "Caution: Bike Race" signs and orange traffic cones, sweeping and checking the course for defects, taking entry release forms, collecting the entry fees (which was done on the starting line in those days), officiating the race, determining the finishing order, distributing the prizes, picking up the signs and traffic cones, and cleaning up the parking lot (this was before PowerBar wrappers).
There are two seperate races at the Oakland Twilights; the first being for category 4 (and now 5) men, women, juniors, and veterans (now masters); the second race being for category 1, 2, and 3 men. Each race is split into two groups with the first (handicap) group being started about two-thirds of a lap before the fast guys. Peter would ride the first race as I officiated, and after his (and the other riders') warm down lap, I would pass him the results of his race, grab my bike, and join the other riders already lining up for the second race. I would then race as Peter simultaneously gave out the prizes for the first race and officiated the second race. I appeared to have an easy time keeping the riders from misbehaving as they had more respect for me than the other referees because of my expoits on that very course the previous year (see Story: King of Oakland Twilights Series ).
One week, the first race was very large. As it smoothly rolled by, my sixth sense told me that something was wrong. As the pack came by again, I heard some riders yelling at each other. When they came by the next time, two riders pulled out of the race right in front of me. They were yelling at each other, and it was starting to get physical. As one of them assumed a karate stance, the other pulled a very large cooking knife out of his jersey pocket. My requests for rational behavior were ignored. The pack rolled by again, and somebody yelled out, "Hey idiot, turn the lap cards!" I turned the laps cards, and again tried to get these two guys to put some distance between themselves. The man with the knife turned towards me, pointed the knife at me, and yelled, "Do you want a taste of this?" I explained that I felt a strong and compelling duty to ensure that nobody got hurt on my watch as chief referee. This did not appear to placate the man, and an awkward pause was terminated by a police car pulling up right behind him. A backup unit arrived so that the contestants could each have their own private accommodations. I got the police to move their cars so that I could have the race finish on the proper lap and told one of the officers that their appearance cured any of the "where are they when you need them" sentiment expressed earlier in my life. He told me that they had come in response to a complaint about a rider who had gone behind a bush to go to the bathroom and had stripped some leaves off of the bush to use as toilet paper. The shiny black surface on the building next to the offending act was in reality a window, and some people working late had to witness this behavior. Outhouses are now prevalent at bicycle races.