Noah's Tour of Sommervile

We asked Noah Granigan what his favorite race is, and here’s what he had to say.

I never have to think twice when asked what my favorite race is. It’s on a course that doesn’t suit me—and I haven’t been able to race it for the past three years—but there isn’t another race quite like the Tour of Somerville.

Somerville doesn’t get the spotlight that it used to, but the longest-running race in America has a special place in my family. My grandpa first raced Somerville in 1956 and has announced it for the past 40+ years. He and my grandma both won the masters race, and soon after that I was spending my Memorial Days in Somerville, New Jersey each year. I have memories as a kid standing on the announcer’s stage with my cousins and grandparents watching the pro races, wondering when I’d be in there.

The 2017 race was a pretty crazy one. For the 8 days leading up to Somerville, I was in Ireland racing the An Post Ras. It finished on Sunday, and with the time difference, I could fly from Dublin to Newark on Monday morning and make it to Somerville with enough time to start the Kugler Anderson Memorial pro race. But I didn’t expect I’d really want to race. This would have been 9 race days in a row, plus I’d be tired from the flight, adjusting to the time change, and recovering from the Guinness and Jameson from the night before. I expected to just watch the race with my family and enjoy the spectacle of Somerville.

When I pulled up it was the coldest Memorial Day I could remember and there was a slight drizzle. Just like in Ireland. When I heard my grandpa’s voice on the speaker, I knew I had to race—or at least try to. I built my bike, pinned my number, and figured I’d at least get a free hot dog and beer on the back straight after the race. For the first half of the race, I felt awful and was wondering if I’d even finish. I tail-gunned until 10 to go and suddenly my legs got back into the same stage race mode they’d been in for the past week. I was too fatigued to feel confident in my sprint, so I figured I’d attack. I have never seen a break stick it at Somerville, but I wasn’t racing for just a podium.

Three others came with me and we got a gap instantly. Everyone was committed, but as we got the bell, I knew it was going to be close. We headed down the back straight and started looking at each other. I looked back and saw the field coming. I knew I had to go. I took off and there was just enough hesitation from the rest of the breakaway. I took turn 3 faster than I ever had before, centimeters from the curb on the exit. I held off the break and the field to win, and my grandpa was speechless on the microphone. I did a 180 just seconds after crossing the line. To hell with my hotdog and beer. I needed to hug my family.