Events: Sly Fox Cross 2026
Cover photo courtesy of Mike Emery. His work can be found @emeryphoto and @align.with.us on Instagram.
It was at the top of the Fox Hole, the infamous earthen wall at Sly Fox Cross, that I felt someone tugging at my back. Fresh off of dumping in one of the first corners, course maintainer Glenn Stephenson was next to me. I thought I had embarrassed myself so badly on the first turns of the first lap of the first race at Sly Fox that he was trying to remove my number. All I could think was, “This is hard; I’m going back to gravel!”
Back for its eleventh year, Sly Fox Cross at the sprawling Sly Fox Tastin’ Room campus in Pottstown, PA, is a major stop of the PACX calendar. For those who take the race seriously, it’s a massive haul of points toward the series. For those who falter, it’s a failed gamble. For some of us, we’re there to put on a show before joining the spectating show, or vice versa. Considering myself one of the pedestrian participants, you can understand why I thought Glenn was trying to take away my number.
My second time racing Sly Fox, and I still toed the line with excitement. I’m not there to win, but I’m not there to get lapped either. And when it comes to courses, the Sly Fox Cross crew put together a unique course. This year’s course had numerous off-camber sections, making concentration a total of about five feet in front of racers.
The 10 am race was sent down the roadway straightaway promptly.
Once off the line, the course goes into Sly Fox’s neighbor’s area. Gravel kicked up dust to add to the aura. A quick tap through some pathetic mud, the course went through the dusty woods that parallels the steep embankment down to the river. A quick trip through the gravel patch again and the route wiggles its way around Sly Fox’s yard. It was amidst the off-camber berm where I broke traction and slid into a fence post. The course tape politely wrapped itself around my bike. In full view of the swelling crowd adjacent to the Fox Hole, I unceremoniously untwisted the tape and was on my way, but not before bouncing past Glenn and shouting, “Sorry Glenn!”
Some more lines took us back into the dusty woods, into the shadow of the beastly climb looming over the pit we were about to enter. Wrong gears were punished heavily. More off-camber and then the plunge toward the Fox Hole gave little momentum to go up the dirt wall lined with passionate fans. Dismounting directly, pathetically low on the climb, I took my bike for a walk. Glenn came up to me, as I mentioned, and slid my phone back into my pocket. It fell out when I was rearranging his course tape. I was allowed to remain in the race after all!
The 10 am race was treated to the slow swelling of Fox Hole fans and their noise makers. One polite spectator offered me a donut (outside the race, so no DQ), and he went on his way farther down the Fox Hole.
Over two high plants and the course proceeds behind the brewery, back into those dusty woods behind the other neighbor’s lot, only this time with roots and moss to keep everyone guessing. I felt like a kid again, back when I would make courses in the woods to kick up some dust. The course meanders through a pine copse, actually quite picturesque, with a lovely abutment against the runway fence adjacent to the industrial complex. It was onto a downhill pavement approach to restart the laps, only this time we carried remarkable speed into lap two.
Our race was too early for Fox Hole shenanigans, but as the day progressed, so did the impulses to lure cross riders into the huge no-no of handups. Sending the competitive riders through yielded yops of enjoyment from the crowd as many of them summited the Fox Hole without dismounting. Those who ran the bike up the hill were treated to treatises of heckles. The longer it took to get up the mound, the more material was whipped at the rider. Under the watchful eye of the US Cycling official, those looking to jazz the crowd would risk disqualification by considering the oh-so-tempting handups.
Fox Hole summit consists of riders atop their bikes, climbing back on their bikes, or in my case, chased by the course designer.
There was a bucket of pickles ready to be planted into any gaping mouth indicating acceptance. Even kids got in on the action with fishing poles lured with donuts and hung over the course. Adult beverages were heisted over the plastic fencing to any dehydrated athlete. Meanwhile the race referee shook her head, with slight amazement, before taking numbers to file their disqualification.
It’s the atmosphere that keeps people coming back to Sly Fox. The brewery does the event a favor by producing some of the finest libations around. With an accepting atmosphere from Sly Fox, Topher Valenti bridges the gap with his event directions. The fire pit was raging two laps into our race. The DJ was spinning old school rap. Sly Fox’s tent was at the exit to the Fox Hole. But it keeps going: kids’ race, eager participants, team tents, and curious onlookers add to the fantastic ethos surrounding the event. Photographers snapped photos, then jumped into races. Racer directors from other events registered or rushed over to catch a race or two. Eric (we all remember Eric, right?), who also maintained the course, dashed away for a coaching gig before returning to close the event down. Sly Fox isn’t just one person’s experience, it’s the whole community’s.
They stack their planks high at Sly Fox Cross.
I was churning pathetic lap times toward the end of my race. I was in a struggle with maths to see if I would avoid the dreaded lapping. With race time coming to a close, it looked like I was going to pull it off! A dreaded epiphany came to mind that my last circuit was devoid of a bell. A quick glance on the approach to the finish line, and I saw the leaders entering the final sector of the course. As I crossed the line, I heard the tolling of the bell, except for me it was the death knell. There was no way I would make it out of the lap alive. I tried to pick up pace, but my new burden lay behind me - I had to keep an eye out for the leaders so I didn’t impede them. Sure enough, I heard, “Racers back.” I pulled it over and let them fight it out for victory. Again and again, I pulled over before I closed out my race. Maybe having my number removed on lap one would have saved me the humiliation of being lapped, also happening in front of the Fox Hole crowd.
I genuinely cannot wait for next year’s Sly Fox Cross. Maybe next year I’ll use the race predictor as motivation to race a little harder. One thing is clear about the crew for Sly Fox Cross - they are a passionate group constantly pursuing the greatest day out once a year. Maybe next year I’ll run Sly Fox with empty pockets, a rocket bike, and build a majestic lead in front of the Fox Hole cheering section. “Will he or won’t he?” the crowd will wonder of their fearless unnamed leader who could go on to victory but decides to yank a donut off a fishing line to disqualify everything that was bound to happen next. Good luck explaining that last sentence to your coworker on Monday morning.
