Some of these curling clubs have been around for a hundred years or more. The road was likely named after the club. "Granite" refers to the type of rock used in curling rocks.
The Granite Club in Toronto was originally just a curling club. Now it's a social/sports club in the highest income neighbourhood in Canada. Their main entrance and foyer open up to the ballroom, so you can't go in the main entrance unless you're wearing a tie. I am not joking. I used to drive to the Granite Club to pick up my wife when she was doing her post-grad at U of T and still curled on the same night as her parents. So I'm picking her up around 9 or 10 at night. There is a side entrance for people not wearing formal wear. I refused to use the side entrance, because I thought that was stupid. So I would walk right into the main entrance and up the main stairs to the curling lounge, every Monday night. And every Monday night a green-jacketed security guard would tell me, "You can't use that entrance, sir."
I varied my replies among things like, "Yes I can," or, "You didn't see me," or, "Look! A poor person!" and dash away up the stairs. They never bothered with me after, so I got in the habit of this.
Until one week, they caught on to me and were ready for me. The security guard stood between the sets of entry doors as I made my way to the entrance. There's only about 8 feet in the vestibule between the two sets of entry doors, but I figured this could be fun. I waltzed through the first set of doors like normal, with the guard telling me more sternly that I can not use this entrance as I opened the first door. I threw a head fake to the left, he bit on the fake and moved to my left to cut me off, and I went right and broke his ankles. I didn't break a brisk walk as a went past him, but I heard him on the radio so I bounded up the main stairs. I got to the safety of the curling lounge, but I was quickly found by the green-jacketed man whose ankles I broke earlier, and what I assumed was his green-jacketed supervisor. They started talking sternly to me as I did my best to summon a concerned look on my face. My wife was not amused. Eventually her parents came over and vouched for me, and being long-time, second generation members, nothing happened. Not even a final warning.
Then, finally, I started using the side door.