The Grant’s Tomb Race serves as the air horn blast that signals the beginning of the "big" races in New York City. I do not mean to imply that the races of the past weekend were not "big" in their own way—if I had managed (via miracle) to win one of those races, you can bet that I would be subtlety implying that they were some of the most important races ever—it’s just that Grant’s Tomb seems bigger because: it’s held during the daylight hours; it’s on (mostly) closed streets; and they have port-o-johns. I bet you didn’t know having portable toilets was a qualification for a race’s importance ranking—it is, you can look it up on USA Cycling’s website.

Because it is a Big Race, Grant’s Tomb triggers my pre-big race anxiety sequence (PBRAS). My PBRAS is my way of dealing with the nerves that come before a big race. It includes familiar rituals such as my "double deuce" strategy (explained in revolting detail in my previous race journal), but it also requires special preparations, as Big Races occur in new and unique venues. The foremost of these preparations is the bag check and re-check. Since the Big Races occur in foreign territory, it is paramount to not forget anything, as forgetting an important piece of equipment turns one from "racer" into "spectator", and as my wife can tell you, bike races can be a bit boring sometimes. This apprehension about missing any important items prompts an obsession that manifests itself in compulsive checks and re-checks to prove that, yes I did pack my race shoes, and they are still in fact in the same place they were five minutes ago.

These activities all serve to keep my mind fixated on concerns other than the concerns that I really should be concerned with. Concerns like: lack of training, poor race preparation, slowness, and (especially for Grant’s Tomb) catastrophic crashes. You see, fiddling with my bag keeps me from shrieking with fear and terror at random intervals before the race begins—and it also keeps my race bag tidily arranged. I spent my morning before the Grant’s Tomb race fiddling and fidgeting in order to smother my apprehension. In fact, I did such a good job that I wasn’t thrown off at all when the officials announced that we’d be racing on a new truncated course due to the extra pace vehicles on the course, and by "pace vehicles" I mean "parked vehicles", specifically vehicles parked in the streets behind the church. Evidently New York Police folk like cars so much that they can’t bear to disturb them.

The new course with its hairpin turn meant that the chances for a field sprint (which are always high at Grant’s Tomb) increased, as the small climb up the hill was removed, making sitting in that much easier. There were six of us BHes in the race, myself, Alvin, Eric, Aaron, Chas and Andrew. The race would suit both Andrew and Eric, as they are big powerful fellows, and powerful racers always have a good chance at Grant’s. We decided to work for Andrew and let Eric take opportunities as they presented themselves. After a warm up that was equal parts complaining and shivering, we shoved off.

From the start, it was evident that Ben Woodbury of Mengoni was feeling frisky, or at least was trying to split the race apart. He might’ve jumped away about ten times, either by himself or with a bit of company, teammate Andrew went along for some of these moves, but none of the efforts amounted to anything (it seems that cat 3s like to think of themselves as pack animals). The first half of the race served to separate the racers who decided to make Grant’s Tomb their first race of the year from the rest of the pack by depositing them into the spectator section. It’s never wise to make Grant’s Tomb your first race of the year (a certain Mr. G of Ridgewood, New Jersey seems to make that same mistake every year) as those without any racing miles are unready for the seemingly endless succession of short hard efforts the race plops on your Chinet plate at the discomfort buffet.

We rolled along and supped on many heart racing platefuls until we found ourselves facing the end of our time at the table. With three laps to go, Andrew was at the front of the race, which was probably unwise, as the effort to stay there would most likely use up his energy for the final sprint. I was a few places behind him with Eric, but the pave of the race was high enough that it dissuaded us from riding up to Andrew and telling him to hang back and follow us. Eric and I moved up slowly as the last laps went by. Andrew stayed at the front. Our plan was to have someone jump just after the last corner, as I like my sprints like I like my Schleck Brothers, thinned out and open to experimentation, but the race was clogged after the turn. Andrew was still near the front, and Eric wisely moved up. I waited for a chance to collect Andrew, but I was lodged behind the dead weight being shoved back from the front of the race. I had two options, I could roll in safely to the line, or I could sprint and lodge myself in the termination of anopther racer’s digestive system. I chose to roll in.

Eric’s move proved to be a wise one, as he ended up fourth. Mitch Jacaruso of Alder rode a smart race and won the race in a field sprint. Andrew paid the price for front running, but he is a strong fellow and will have many opportunities for success this year. I rolled back to the registration table, packed my bag and drove to Jersey with the first Big Race of the year in the can.

The head song for the race was "Without Blinking" by Superchunk, which is not on the internet anywhere, so I’ll embed this video of them covering "Where Eagles Dare".