noon
So were those machines . Each rider , as he got into the flat , lay down along his tank , tucked his chin behind the cross-bar , and twisted both throttles out against their stops . They were in a hurry . They had a long way to go ; and if they did not get there in time to stop those trans-polar atomic missiles , all hell would be out for noon . Why was all this necessary ? This organization , this haste , this split-second timing , this city-wide exhibition of insane hippodrome riding ? Why were not all these motorcycle-racers stationed permanently at their posts , so as to be ready for any emergency ?