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to stand upright in a park position.  At five foot one, I was too short in the leg to plant one foot on the ground, support the machine and then move it manually to a parking spot. Things were great when we were in motion but when I stopped I was a heap in the dust...a most ignominious position for a student pilot!  There had to be a way to whip this problem and stop being the laughmaker for mechanics or [[strikethrough]] any [[/strikethrough]] other available bystanders.  The matter received great brow puckering and then the solution occurred. Why not park the cycle by driving up to the side of the hangar, stopping, then placing my hand flat against the wall and dismounting in an almost ladylike manner? Why not?  It worked!  At the Curtiss house without onlookers it was no problem to tumble off on the beautiful turf of the front lawn.  This I continued to do.

After Mr. Curtiss won the first International Air Race, his home became a mecca for famous people from all over the world.  Excitement of the nth degree hit us when we learned that Santos Dumont the famous flier was on his way for a short visit. Dumont was a Brazilian who was educated and grew up in France. His English was flavored with a decided French accent.  The exact time of his arrival was uncertain.  [[strikethrough]] and [[/strikethrough]] I was on my way back to the Curtiss home from the field when I saw M. Dumont and Mr. Curtiss sitting on the front porch.  My first thought was the indignity of riding up grandly on the motorcycle then falling off right before their eyes. I'd simply have to do something...anything as long as it was DIFFERENT. I succeeded beyond my wildest hopes.  I was frantically searching for a way when I remembered the huge tree situated in front of the house. Voilà!  I"ll [[sic]] ride up beside it, stop, balance against it and dismount with grace.  That was the schematic.  It disintegrated at the seams. In my excitement and anticipation of meeting this famous man something came unhinged.  Me, perhaps.