The Manaya-what? | Cyclingnews

Image 1 of 8

The Reggae band serenades the riders as they climb the Manayunk Wall.(Image credit: Mark Sharon)

Tales from the peloton, July 19, 2004

I had followed the action from the Tour of Georgia back in April, and was impressed by the reports coming back from colleagues at the race. Of course, Lance Armstrong won with cool understatement, the race being effectively his home tour. My interest was piqued particularly by Gord Fraser's win over Super Mario Cipollini. Gord and I have shared more than a few beers and had oft suggested I make the trip Stateside; I was sorry not to see this feat.

I arrived in Philadelphia (which you soon call Philly just to save time) the day before the race. In the evening I strolled over to see Gord and the Health Net team at their hotel just a freewheeling distance from the start. It was drizzling gently, but I was amazed to see a crowd of a couple of hundred gathered at the start/finish line. Surely they couldn't be here to watch gantries being erected. Parked behind them were some dozen police vehicles, so I thought something serious was up. As I got closer I realised that everyone was watching one of the giant TV screens which would broadcast the race the next day.

Were they watching re-runs of previous races perhaps? Nope. The crowd had gathered for a Philadelphian passion - horse-racing. In this case, live coverage of the Belmont Stakes in which local steed Smarty Jones was attempting to be the first horse in to take the Triple Crown in 26 years. By all accounts, every TV in every bar in Philly was tuned to the event - some dreaming that would be for a bike race in the US.

I was relieved to be able to reach the start easily thanks to Philly's wide roads. In Europe, it's often a matter of negotiating a network of medieval streets searching for the start line, arriving with barely enough time to draw breath, let alone conduct and interview. There is also the small matter of language. It is bad enough negotiating the traffic of a strange city without battling officialdom in a foreign language - simple questions like, 'Can I park there?', 'Can I stand here?' don't end up needing a translator. The answer might still be 'No!', but hey, at least you have a better chance of negotiating - and being English, I can still claim to be foreign!

Manayunk (pronounced Man-e-yunk) is a suburb some 10 miles from downtown Philadelphia. For those with a keen sense of irony, the area was first called Flat Rock - try telling that to one of the riders struggling up the Wall! Supposedly, there was a piece of flat rock in the river. Flat Rock obviously didn't ring the charming note that the original town fathers had desired, so in 1824, the name was changed to Manayunk, derived from the Lenape Indian word "manaiung", meaning 'where we go to drink'. However, I doubt when they chose the name, they could have imagined just how far their 21st century descendents would take the word quite so literally!

For 364 days of the year, the Manayunk Wall, a.k.a. Lyceum Avenue, rests in anonymity, an ordinary looking street but for one thing - its precipitous gradient. This is not a place to park a car with a dodgy handbrake. It's not a particularly long climb, perhaps a mile or so in length, but it is steep - averaging something like 17 percent - and with each passing lap, it just gets harder and harder until the mere thought of having to do it again begins to prey on the mind. Let's face it: whether you are Bobby Julich or a lowly domestique from a third division team, the Manayunk Wall is never going to be easy. More like shades of acute discomfort.

There are of course true cycling fans aplenty here, who come from all over the US to witness what is indeed a spectacular race, but they are more than matched by a raucous crowd of 'fans for a day' - many of them young locals. Some of the guys had never seen a bike race - excluding a few seconds of Lance winning the Tour on ABC. Without exception, they had developed a rapid respect for the guys on bikes, especially if they had just struggled up the hill on foot.

With each passing lap, the crowds have grown huge and vocal. If the riders dread the climb, the spectators love it with a passion. It offers the perfect vantage point as the race effectively goes into slo-mo. As riders grind by, the spectators can enjoy a long lingering view of every grimace and gasp. The decibel levels reaches deafening as the riders are cheered on. Young women scream encouragement at their heroes - "Trent", "Bobby", "FREDDY!!!"

A major milestone on the Wall is O'Brien's Water Hole - a race institution. Located at 320 Lyceum, the 'Hole' is where Bill O'Brien, a resident for 43 years, has been hosting his friends and hosing down cyclists every June since the race began. The first year O'Brien did the hosing by hand, but could hardly pick up a pin the next day his arms were so tired. The following year, he came up with outdoor misty shower that the cyclists ride under to beat the heat. That happens at the same time that "the people come out in the yard and watch [the cyclists] go through the Water Hole," O'Brien said. "It's a good crowd of people. No rowdies. No smart stuff. They drink their beer there, then come back inside and get more. Back and forth. It's a nice day for everybody."