Race report: Granogue—to the tower

By Daniel McMahon

Any of the sunny, warm weather and relatively tiny fields that I enjoyed racing in a couple of weeks ago at Hudson Valley Cyclocross in Newburgh, N.Y., was a world away when I woke up at 4 in the morning last Saturday to my annoying alarm clock, the dark, dreary skies I spied through my bedroom curtains, and the dank chill that enveloped me as I headed out the door to warm up the car in Brooklyn.

At this unholy hour I could think of only two things: a cup of hot, strong coffee and racing Granogue.

Sometime around Catch Kissena I started talking to some teammates more and more about doing some cross races this fall. Since joining the team in the winter I’d learned that several Kissenas were into cross, and they began to talk about which races they were doing. One I kept hearing about was Granogue. I assumed it was pretty big but had no idea what it was or where it was.

Finally, I did my research, mostly online, and learned just what a huge event Granogue was for cross racers. I noted the iconic tower. I YouTubed and Googled videos and blog posts and pictures. I was getting psyched.

Probably I was a little too geeked because I got a $195 speeding ticket on the New Jersey Turnpike on my way to Delaware. That was dumb of me. But doesn’t everyone do 80 on the highway?

Once at Granogue, where it was raining steadily and about 35 degrees F, I kitted up and layered up and trudged through the sloppy, muddy pit that was the parking lot with my bike on my shoulder to the paved section, then rode to the registration tent. I looked up straight ahead to the finish line, then to my right, and I saw the tower. I couldn’t help notice it really: It stood so tall, way up on top of the hill, which I’d be running, or walking, up to minutes later.

Once I had my bib pinned on I set off to ride the course to warm up. I quickly got soaked and was surprised at how much mud got stuck in my brakes, and how crazy the first dismount section was. I hit it going pretty slow and still almost wiped. It was that slippery. Sharp rocks stuck up through the mud, and the course went up and up from there. I finished half the course and said to myself that riding more of it was pointless, considering the slop and rain and cold. I rode back down to the start.

As I had preregistered early I had a good start in the second row at call-up. Hearing my name and jumping out of the group of 90-plus shivering riders got me pumped. The blood was starting to flow. At the gun—which was really loud and freaked a few guys around me out a bit—I clicked into my pedal fast and started my mini sprint to the hole shot. I was about 7th wheel when we left the pavement and hit the grass.

On entering the first dismount section, the super-muddy quagmire with all the rocks that winded up and up and seemed to jack everybody’s heart rate into the red by the top. I lost a few places but managed to keep about top 15. Then we reached a short flat section that led to the main run-up to the tower.

I was about 20th wheel and in a group of about four riders. Not surprisingly, the field had been shattered by the tower on lap one. I don’t know who the guys at the front were but they had a good gap and were really looking fast. Meanwhile, I paced myself so I wouldn’t implode. If I did that I knew I’d have difficulty recovering. So at the tower run-up I hopped off fast and started running with my bike on my shoulder.

About halfway up I followed the lead of some other guys around me and dropped my bike from my shoulder and pushed my bike instead of carrying it. It was too long and too steep and too sloppy to carry, at least for me. I looked up and saw the tower. It indeed towered over us and was majestic in the early-morning mist. I struggled to keep up a good speed up the hill, and I gritted my teeth the whole way. I bobbled here and there but managed not to get passed by any riders. We raced quickly enough around the tower and through a back section that was mostly flat but had a couple of off-camber corners and short, steep inclines.

Off-camber: heading down from the tower at Granogue. Photo: Leslie Steiger

Next came the downward off-camber slippery shoot that was in front of the tower, just right of the run-up. It was somewhat relieving to see a big number of riders still struggling on the run-up, way behind my group. But that moment of joy was brought to a quick end when the two guys in front of me wiped out trying to get down the off-camber from hell. It was pure muck—cold, wet, thick mud. I took an outside line and managed to stay upright and got down the hill fairly quickly.

The rest of the race was straightforward: I got passed by a few guys but stayed in the top 30 or so. I just paced myself—I “time trialed”—and tried to keep fast in the corners and off-cambers. I really, really liked racing the second and third laps. I felt I was doing pretty well, and I was thinking, Hey, I’m in the top 30, and there are almost 100 guys here, my third cross race.

I hit the start of the fourth and final lap and started to feel it. I was now working hard to keep my position. I hit the main run-up with not a lot left in the tank, but I gritted my teeth and pushed it as hard as I could. I labored to the top, to the tower, and jumped on my bike for the last time once I reached the summit. At the bottom of hill, I rolled onto the pavement and sprinted out of the saddle to the finish. I got across in 36th place, and was profoundly happy to have completed my first Granogue.

Granogue kicked my ass, and I really, really appreciated that. What a fantastic race. Can’t wait till next year. I hope by then I’ll be racing more competitively—and get back to Delaware without a speeding ticket.

Sprinting to the finish at Granogue. Photo: Leslie Steiger

View more photos from Granogue—including the pros and The Ryan Trebon Show—here.

Full Granogue race results here.

Been racing? Submit your race report at cyclingreporter / at / gmail.com. Get published.