A good deal of air racing was going on then all over the country. But my feeling toward it was similar to my feeling toward any other public flying. It was not for me. I wasn’t good enough. I remember one funny offer. A group of people, wanted to stage a race and seemed to think that I was timid about entering. So they suggested that I let their own pilot fly most of the race, then come down and let me get aboard, out of sight of the audience, and finish up as the “lady flyer” who had piloted the plane to victory. Another proposal I remember. “How would you like to make some easy money?” I was asked. “How?” “Bringing some stuff across the border.” Stuff—liquor, aliens or dope? “Liquor?” I guessed. My philanthropic friend shrugged his shoulders. “A woman can get by where a man can’t. No one would ever suspect you. There’s not a thing to be afraid of. You could do it easy.” It was a pretty compliment, but I declined. One day I went up with my plane to establish its ceiling—that is, to see how high it would go. There is a point in altitude beyond which, of course, a given plane cannot climb, just as with automobiles, there is a limit to the grade that can be negotiated and a speed that can be attained. In flying, an added factor is entailed, in the rarification of atmosphere with height, which affects plane, motor and personnel. To make the record official I asked the representative of the Aero Club of Southern California to seal my barograph. This instrument records altitude in ink on a revolving drum. When sealed it is impossible for the flyer to alter it. It was a good day and I climbed easily for about 13,000 feet. Thereafter I began to have trouble. My spark control lever became disconnected and I could not regulate the spark in my engine. As a result a terrific vibration and knocking started. I thought the engine would jump out of its frame. There wasn’t anything to do but come down, although I was still climbing fifty feet a minute. As soon as the official read my barograph there was great rejoicing, for apparently I had established a woman’s altitude record. The news got in the papers. One clipping read: Miss Amelia Earhart, local aviatrix, established a new altitude record for women yesterday under the auspices of the Aero Club of Southern California. Flying her own Kinner Airster, containing a 60-foot power motor, she ascended more than 14,000 feet. Her sealed barograph registered little vibration until about 12,000 feet, where Miss Earhart said something went wrong with the motor. At the time she was climbing easily, about 50 feet a minute, which would have continued perhaps for several thousand feet more if the engine difficulty had not arisen. Although my figure of 14,000 feet was not extraordinary, the performance of my engine was interesting. With the little Lawrence power plant of less than 60 h.p. I had gone up much farther than some of the higher powered planes which should have been more efficient.