Endless Mountains 2026: Stage B

Transitioning from paddle to bike is always a welcomed endeavor following a long, cold night on the water. Once we had our boat arranged in the line up, and had retrieved our paddle bag, we set to getting ourselves in a better place both mentally and physically. We were all waterlogged and famished. We began to change our clothes and pack up our paddle bag with gear when we all simultaneously began to notice the fetid smell of decay coming from an unknown source along the edge of the parking lot. It turned our stomachs enough that we had to find a different place to work. 

After packing all our wet gear, clothes, and shoes into the paddle bag, we gathered up our packs and belongings like a trio of homeless and cracked out vagabonds and headed over to the bike boxes. I had no idea where to start. While everyone appeared to have purpose and intention in their movements, I had to really think through "what am I supposed to be doing now?" I opened my bike box and just stared inside of it for at least 3 minutes before I finally snapped out of my daze and got to work. 

While I ate heaping spoonfuls of my cold soak oatmeal (homemade recipe that hit the spot like WHOA) I assembled by bike in the order I had practiced multiple times in the weeks leading up to the race. Assembling and disassembling my bike was probably one of the biggest worries I had around the race. I am just about as far from a bike mechanic as one can be and rely embarrassingly heavily on my husband or other teammates for any needs revolving around my two-wheeled steed. I had met up with Dan on one particularly hot afternoon before the race with the sole intention of taking apart, putting back together, and packing my bike into the bike box. I think I went through it no less than 8 times on that 90 degree afternoon at the Smyrna rest stop. It was paying off. I can't say I'm flawless at it, but I am comfortable and confident enough to hop on my bike trusting I remembered all the steps to securing, aligning, and tightening the various parts.

While I was finishing up the last of my tinkering, I looked over and saw that Dan was laying on the ground with his eyes closed, catching a cat nap, and Becky was diligently finishing up her tasks. I took a second to look around now that the sun was beginning to offer some illumination and finally realized we were at the same place we had stopped on the bus ride to the start yesterday. It was such a realization that I had to pause for a moment.

 My perspective had already shifted so much in the past 20 hours that I didn't think of the boat ramp as a public place that I could connect to the "real world." It was now this microcosm of the world of adventure racing, totally separate from society and anything I was familiar with. One thing I really love to do after a race is return to some part of the course and try to remember how I felt being there while racing.  This was one of the first times (other than racing on Delmarva) that the experience was flipped during a race. I don't know why I love that reconnection so much. It's kind of like making a bridge between race Elke and life Elke, because they are two totally different women with polar opposite responsibilities and motivations. 

Once we had everything tucked back in our boxes and had carried them over to the waiting Uhaul, we went to check out from the TA. Patty gave us a few updates on the course, and we headed out into the cool, foggy morning. We peddled through the small town of Whitehall and found our way to a dirt road that would lead us to our next mandatory CP. The dirt road quickly offered up its relentless shin deep puddles that spanned the width of its boundaries. Our initial futile attempts at keeping to the sides of the massive ruts in the road were replaced with simply plowing through the little ponds praying that we wouldn't strike a rock or particularly sticky mud patch that would steal all our momentum. The thick vegetation and early morning sunlight kept the scenery enjoyable enough to maintain good spirits, thankfully. 

Becky and I kept a close eye on the map and pulled over where we figured CP 15 would be stationed. We, along with a splattering of other teams, searched high and low for the CP that was only a punch and the clue "rise of land, old fence post, inside vegetation, W side of road." You would think with that much info to go off of we would find it lickety split. Nah. We fumbled through the dense brush and bushes for at least 20 minutes fruitlessly. More and more teams were showing up joining in the search when Olga from Fragile Flowers pulled up with her team and spotted the punch within 30 seconds of looking. Some people just have the most wonderful common sense and think before they go blundering through pointless bushwacking. The punch was less that 2 feet off the road. Nice find, friend. 

As we were preparing to head on, Dan pointed out something off on his bike. From the angle I was standing I couldn't see what he was so concerned about, but I hopped back off my bike for a moment to let him tinker with his seat. Becky needed a minute to chisel the caked in mud from her bike shoes also, so I pulled to the side and looked over the maps. After what I felt like was way more time than needed for tinkering, I looked back a Dan to see what was taking so long. He had pulled out an arsenal of bike tools and was wrenching and pulling at his seat. I took a minute to see exactly what the problem was and finally noticed his dilemma. His entire seat was cocked at a 45-degree angle and obviously not conducive to comfortable riding. An entire support bar had fractured under his seat! He fiddled with it for a few more minutes before stating it was "good enough." We pushed off and were riding along for less than a kilometer with Grit, NYARA-Dark Zone, and a few other teams when Dan called out he needed to stop again. Whatever he had finagled with his seat wasn't cutting it. The seat appeared even more precariously angled. We pulled out some duct tape and he proceeded to attempt to realign his sad bike seat into an ever so slightly better position. It just looked like a Frankenstein-junkyard mess of a saddle. Again, we set off. Again, we had to stop. Things were looking gloomy for Dan's derriere. We would be able to peddle slowly for a mile or two, but eventually the angle of the bike seat became too much for his backside and we would have to pause. 

We passed crop fields, quaint creeks, beautiful meadows, and a random pile of lobster shells, and eventually found our way to Carver Falls and CP 16. Two thirds of the way down the road to the falls, Dan hopped off his bike and said he would slowly make his way towards the falls since it was an out and back point. Becky and I continued on, dropped our bikes in a small clearing, and hiked down to a tiny steep trail to the rocky outcroppings below the impressive falls. As luck would have it, a photographer was perched at the bottom of this steep and narrow footpath. Becky jokingly called ahead to him "I'm sure you're there to catch graceful falls and missteps" right before she mis stepped and graceful(ish)ly fell. He very politely turned away his lens, but Becky being the ever-cheerful good sport said "Oh, no! You can totally capture this on film!" I love her attitude! As we climbed out on the rocks, Becky felt less than steady in her clip in bike shoes, so I volunteered to push out further into the low trees and shelfy-rocks to punch the CP. On my return to the trail, the photographer snapped one of my favorite photos from the race. It might just have to become my profile picture.

After we returned to our bikes, we headed back up the hill toward Dan, who was still slowly making his way toward us. As we reemerged onto the roadways and repeated the same start, stop, start, stop routine, Becky voiced a possible solution. While Dan was a little too heavy to ride Becky's full suspension bike that had been set to her weight, my hardtail could certainly handle him. Maybe Becky and I could take turns riding Dan's bike, keeping an out of the saddle position for as long as our quads and glutes could take it, and he could cruise steady on my Trek. He declined. Dan kept insisting it wasn't really "that bad" of a ride, but anyone riding behind him couldn't help but shutter at the visual of that bike seat and his tush. Yikes. 

After a while we arrived at the welcoming town of Fair Haven and our almost favorite CP of the race; Old School Bagels. Pulling up to the shop, the sidewalks and parking area were inundated with mountain bikes, dirty packs, and filthy racers all shoveling bagels, cakes, and coffee into their mouths. It was a beautiful sight to behold. We made our way into the shop and face to face with Brent. While Becky and I headed straight for the bathroom, Dan took the chance to pour his sad situation out onto the director.

One thing about adventure racing is that you have to be self-sufficient. If you can't be self-sufficient you have to be either lucky or clever. We were hoping for lucky in the case of Dan's seat. We figured the town had to have some sort of bike shop where Dan could possibly purchase a new seat. Alas, there was no open bike shop to be had in town limits. There was no bike shop to be had within a relatively decent distance. In fact, the only option was a Dicks Sporting Goods store roughly 15 minutes away by car. Another fact about adventure racing, is that you can receive no assistance from race staff without a penalty of some sort. As mentioned earlier, this race had an official ARWS referee who was there to ensure all rules and regulations were upheld. So, while Team Irritatingly Optimistic dined on bagels and sodas, Brent talked with the ref about our options. It was decided that it would be allowable for Brent to give Dan a ride to the sporting goods store so that he could purchase a new seat, but with the allocation of a two-hour time penalty to be served at the final TA of the race. Considering the fact we were having to go so painfully slow in our current situation, it was a no brainer to take the penalty and send Dan with Brent to the store. 

After we had consumed all the deliciousness and drank all the carbonation, Dan went off with Brent, and Becky and I headed over to the park to nap like bums on the benches. We had gathered all our and Dan's gear and each chosen a rod-iron bench to rest our weary bodies. I took the opportunity to charge my Garmin, folded my raincoat under my head, and slept as best you can on a park bench, in the middle of a busy little town, in broad daylight. Becky didn't fare as well in her sleeping endeavor. A disheveled older man wondered up to her and voiced his displeasure at "women sleeping out in the open in public." We're still not sure how that created such an offense to the man, but it unsettled Becky enough to keep her from closing her eyes in that hour long break we had during Dan's absence. 

When Dan returned, he set to swapping out his tilted saddle for the sole bike seat available for purchase at the sporting goods store. There are thousands of different styles of bike seats. I can guarantee Dan would not have chosen the saddle he returned with in a thousand years, given any other choice. While it wasn't exactly a beach cruiser or banana seat, it was just about as far from a mountain bike saddle as one could imagine. Still, it wasn't at a 45-degree angle, so it had to be an improvement, right? Welllllll....

Once Dan had installed his new seat to the best of its capabilities, we had refilled our water from a local gas station and had taken the time to love on a particularly affectionate puppy walking by, we headed off toward the Slate Valley Bike Trails. As we climbed and descended the roadways to the trailhead, Dan became less and less impressed with his new seat. By the time we arrived at the trail crossing, Dan was in need of a butt break. We stopped to swap out our maps and struck up a conversation with a couple preparing to enter the trail system. They were into triathlons but were super interested and intrigued by adventure racing and wanted to know all about it. We chatted for a few minutes while Dan made adjustments to his seat again. 

The bike park held 5 mandatory points and 8 optional points. We had bagged all the mandatories up to this point and were still hopeful to maintain that standard. Entering the park, we encountered B&Z at the first turn. They had just popped into the park to hit CP 19 and were planning to drop the rest in favor of staying on East Road and bypassing the entire section. This planted a seed in Dan's mind. As we continued on into the park, Dan piped up that he really didn't want to ride any single track. In fact, he stated that he really didn't enjoy mountain biking in the least. The day before, while we had been paddling, he announced he had no love for paddling. Combining that with a comment he had made while we were hiking the Billy Goat Trail together at Great Falls earlier in the season alluding to the fact he hated hiking, I had to ask him something. "Why in the world do you do these races if you don't like any part of the racing?!?" He responded that he loved the logistics and planning for the race. Spreadsheets, timetables, packing lists. Those were what drew him into the sport. But the actual sport? He could do without. For the love. Well, here we are, and onward we must go. 

Becky and I both really enjoy a good flowy trail. While she is hands down a stronger and more able mountain biker, I still love the challenge of it. I refused to give up this chunk of the race. We had to figure out a way to keep us all moving forward. Looking at the map, we noticed that the Cotton Candy trail, which held CP 19, left and returned to Ringmaster Tail. We sent Dan along the double track trail to the following intersection where we would return after playing in the Cotton Candy. And play we did! Becky and I hooted, giggled, and squealed with delight as we took the berms, hops, and shoots along the trail. We almost missed the punch in our delight of the trail. After punching the CP, we decided we HAD to have more of the trails Brent and Abby had claimed were superior to the Kingdom trails Becky knew to be fantastic. When we returned to Dan, we devised a plan that would get us all through the park at our own comfort and abilities. Our first endeavor was to ride the Back Nine Trail that connected the two areas of the park. We would then do a few out and backs to get the mandatory points before dropping to the southernmost trail and hopping on Dayton Hill Road and returning to the route B&Z were already trucking down. 

We found our way to the Back Nine and started ticking off the twists, drops, and hairpin turns. We would pause and wait for Dan to catch up and look over how far we thought we had made it along the trail. After what seemed like a ridiculous amount of time, we began to think we had taken a wrong turn. There were far more switchbacks on the trail we were biking than there were on our map. Like at least double the number of switchbacks that were represented on the map. Time was also ticking by faster than we had expected. We paused for a few minutes to really look at the map while Dan pushed his bike along the switchbacks below us. Where could we have gone wrong? It didn't make sense. We waited for Dan to meet us and discuss what we were looking at. He was not having fun. Like any. He was ready to be out of the park and on paved roads. While we weren't at that point, we were really hoping for a trail intersection or something that would give us a certainty on our position on the map. Nothing to do but keep going. So, on we trudged. 

We kept going and stopping, going and stopping. It got to the point where Becky suggested we should maybe turn around and head back to our last know position on the map. But that was at least an hour and a half ago! I got into that mindset where you start to make the world match your map rather than the other way around. I, and Becky, became convinced that the intersection we were looking for just HAD to be around the next bend or two in the trail. Dan almost refused to move an inch further until that assumption was proved true. So, I yelled back to Becky and said I was going to go on just a "smidge further" and see if the intersection was where we hoped it would be. Hot Dang!! As I came down the final stretch of trail, I saw two other racers perched at our coveted trail intersection looking over their maps. I couldn't help myself. I cried out yips of joy and called out to the racers how happy I was to see them and the intersection. I think they were slightly taken aback by my enthusiasm. They silently looked at each other, back at me, and then took off without a word. I know, I can be a bit much sometimes. I wasn't offended. 

I dropped my bike at a bench by the intersection and headed back toward Dan and Becky to let the know of my discovery. As I made the turn in the trail I began to call out "Coooo-EEEE" to let them know I was looking for them. Becky called back and I yelled out that the intersection was found! I asked if they needed any help and she returned that they were fine. I turned around and started heading back to my bike. Within a few seconds Becky and Dan called back for me to return to them. What the what? I ran back to find Becky attempting to push both bikes while Dan walked dejectedly behind her. I took his bike and encouraged Becky to ride the last portion of the trail because it was flowy and fun, not to be missed! She hopped on her bike as sped off enjoying the speed and thrill of the ride. Dan walked silently behind me. 

When we got to the bench, Dan cleared off a spot and flopped down stating "I'm not in a good place right now. I need to take a break." Becky and I looked at the map and saw our first planned out and back from the very intersection we were standing at. We suggested Dan take a breather on the bench while we go and punch CP 20. As we climbed the beginning of the trail, Fragile Flowers came storming down in the opposite direction. It was so good to see other teams! When you're unsure if you've completely goofed on your navigation, and you haven't seen another team in eons, it becomes a truly welcome sight to see multiple other teams again. We climbed to what seemed like the summit of the hill we were on, only to discover it was not where our CP was housed. We pushed on to another summit, this with a bench, as hinted to in the clue. Alas, again we were too early. 

While we were stopped and thinking through our position, a 2-person male team arrived and agreed with our assumption that we were too early. It's really hard to remember all the team names of people we meet out on the courses. It's even harder to remember individual names. But nicknames get stored in my head forever. One of the members of the team we conferred with was sporting a particularly fitted white leotard looking number. He was from then on dubbed as "Tighty Whitey" by Becky and me. Together with Tighty Whitey's team, Becky and I continued on the trail until we came to a rocky ledge at the top of which we were pretty confident CP 20 would be found. I had the mishap of falling off and over my bike a few times on this trail, and so, we had fallen behind the 2-person male team. Looking up, we heard their voices high up on the ledge and called out to them asking if they had spotted the CP. No response. Could have been the angle we were calling from blocked our voices, or it could have been they wanted no part of helping out another team, but either way, we forged on and found the CP as expected (for the third time.)

Returning on the same trail resulted in the same unintentional dismounts from my bike. One in particular sent me a small distance from the trail and head downhill in a pile of brush. As always, Becky called out to see if I was ok. I was trying as hard as I could to gain an upright position and didn't return a quick "I'm good!" She called out again, a little more concerned this time. I was heaving, and rocking, and giving it my all to get off my back, pack on, with legs and arms flailing about. I finally called out "I'm a turtle!!" Because honestly, that was exactly what I felt like in that position of vulnerability and futility. I eventually got my feet back under me and returned to my bike. We completed the trail back to Dan without any more major mishaps.

The break had done him well. When we pulled up next to the bench, Dan sat upright and looked like a new man. He said he had had a chance to really rest and felt like he was ready to continue on. He said he had seen a great number of other teams pass by and assured us we were doing well on time. This was such an encouragement! I had thought we were falling precariously far behind and would have to give up points, but his words gave me confidence we weren't at that point. Until he said we were at that point. We still had three more CPs in the park to grab to stay on the mandatory short course. He didn't think it was possible. I had to admit, I was starting to feel a little spent, and the heat of the day was making it a little more miserable than it had been earlier. Becky was also starting to feel a little drained and over the less than flowy trails we had been riding. We were at a point in the park where we could grab one more CP and then head directly on our route out of the park. We would be dropping our first 2 mandatory points if we went through with the plan. I wasn't ready to throw in that towel, but I also wasn't up for fighting for them. Two to one ruled we grab CP 21 and then drop 22 and 23 and head out of the park. Majority rules, and we went through with it. We would now be ranked below anyone who got all the mandatory points, no matter how the rest of our race went. Eh. I could deal with it. We left the park after a short stop to swap out socks and pop into the woods. The trail became a downhill frenzy, and we held on for dear life as our elevation plummeted. 

We continued on this downhill trajectory on paved roads and hit top speeds of over 35mph as the sun set in the mountains of Middletown Springs. Pausing to allow Dan to catch up, Becky and I took in the beauty of the surrounding landscape. We were overlooking the awe-inspiring views, and it was a shame! I wish I had been in charge of the go-pro at this point, because it would have been filled with the art-worthy scenes that lay before us. 

During one "pack off" pause along a roadside, Dan felt the need to dismount his bike, take off his pack, and lay down completely. It wouldn't have been an issue other than the fact the road he was lying beside had an unbelievable number of speed-demons, and that he insisted on resting his head ON THE ROAD!! Simultaneously, Becky and I cried out "Dan!! Get your head off the road!!" He did not see the danger in his actions nearly as seriously as we did. Exhaustion can really cloud one's judgement!

While a majority of this ride was downhill, we were still in Vermont, and where there is a downhill, there must be at least some sort of uphill. Somewhere in this road-biking section, Becky and I had the idea to help Dan out as much as we could to try to speed thing along. While neither of us could effectively tow him on the up hills, we found that if we trucked to the top of the hill crests, dropped our gear, and shuffled back down to Dan, Becky could push his bike and I could haul his pack back up to the top for him. It didn't gain us huge amounts of time, but it helped. 

We were on one of these gear shuffles when we met a lovely lady who ran an art camp up in the hills of Spoon Mountain. Becky and I had dropped our bikes and packs in her parking lot, ran back to Dan, escorted him further up the road, and returned to our gear. As we were approaching her property, we saw her walking toward our gear looking every which way. She had been concerned there had been a bike accident and was looking for carnage! I assured her all was well and spent a few minutes explaining what on God's earth we were doing. She was so kind and full of excitement it was hard to tear ourselves away from the sweet conversation and momentary rest. I really was falling in love with the people and landscapes of Vermont. It felt like home. 

We forded on to Tinmouth and more exhilarating downhills peppered with long uphill drudgery. The sun was nearly set by the time we found our way through Wallingford and on to Ice Bed Road. The paved road turned into a gravel road, which turned into a manageable trail, which turned into a rutted, rocky, and repulsive mess of a sad excuse of a path. We dug in so deep to our resolve with Becky pushing two bikes and me hauling two packs. After second guessing ourselves and consequently wasting a good 15 minutes doing exactly what we had told our selves not to do (listen to other racers whose assumption of CP placement didn't match ours), we finally found CP 24 and only had to go on a short distance to the next TA. That short distance seemed to go on and on through soggy mud bogs, rocky, bone jarring uphills, and demoralizing darkness. Finally, we saw the glimmering of headlamps in the distance and heard the roar of Uhaul trucks fighting up the incline. We had made it to TA 2 hanging on by a thread.  

Endless Mountains 2026 Stage A

 Lake Champlain Paddle 3/3 mandatories

Fort Ticonderoga Trek 13/13 optionals

The Saddles Trek 5/5 mandatories, 0/7 optionals

Our team dove head first into transitioning to our first paddle of the race. Dan and Becky headed over to the awaiting fleet of canoes and I started digging through our paddle bag. Another team who had brought the same middle seat as us was having a hard time getting it to fit in their canoe. Dan and Becky started looking through the many options of boats for one that wasn't the same style as the boat giving the other team grief. While they were searching, I was just trying to think clearly and be busy. I, in my eagerness to be productive, pulled out nearly all the gear from our paddle bag and began assembling our paddles. Just as I was getting my paddle aligned, they called out to me to help haul our chosen vessel out of the line up of canoes. We had chosen a flashy bright yellow skiff. After staging our vessel away from the mass of racers and boats, I ran back to our paddle bag and gathered up all the strewn about gear and hauled it over to our boat. Once we had everything in one location things went much smoother. Within minutes I was set to push off, but Dan and Becky were still tinkering. I offered to help however I could and I think Dan had me do a few tasks for him. 

In what felt like record time, we pulled our canoe down to the ramp. As luck would have it, we eased our canoe in backwards, so Dan and Becky crawled into their respective seats and I had the honor of launching the vessel. I kneeled on the front of the canoe and pushed off like I was on a scooter. It worked well, until I had to turn around and sit facing the opposite direction as we were all trying to get our feel of the less than stable canoe. We had a few "WHOA's" an "ELKE!! BE CAREFUL" and a couple "AHHHHHH's" before we settled down and started our paddle down the La Chute River. In my defense, we did discover that our canoe of choice, while it fit the middle seat perfectly, was not the most solid and strong of vessels. It was wobbly at best and the hull was so flimsy it caved inward and caused more drag than necessary for such a long and flatwater paddle. 

Our paddle along the La Chute was only momentary. Along the few kilometers of river, we were passed by many front of the pack teams. Our paddle pace was quick, and not what we would be able to maintain on the main portion of this leg, but we, too, were full of angst and adrenaline at this point. The water was an unnatural shade of teal, there were many drain pipes that emptied into the slow moving waters, and a particularly beautiful, but surprisingly stationed, snake shot Becky and my adrenaline up momentarily. We scooted past within inches of it's perch, but thankfully, it paid us absolutely no mind and didn't so much as stick its tongue out as we passed by. 

As the river opened up, we were treated to much less urban sights and far more marshy and wetland beauty. Turtles bobbled along under the murky waters, popping up to take a peek at the fleet of passing canoes. Lily pads and flowers dotted the shoreline along with never-ending marshy grasses and reeds. The overcast skies kept us comfortably cool, and the slight breeze from the open waters ahead was refreshing. Looking to our right we saw the peak of Mt Defiance and the waving American flag that we were standing under just a few short hours ago. To our left we saw the historical and looming sight of Fort Ticonderoga, where our first embedded trek section lay. 

We paddled strong around the bend in the river and beached on a tiny little shoreline where we saw a few volunteers and a CP wafting in the breeze. There wasn't enough room to leave our canoe by the water, so we had to haul it up a narrow, log strewn path into an open field. Dan and I hefted the vessel and Becky shouldered our packs after punching CP 6. We "parked" our boat and transitioned to foot. Dan stopped to change his footwear, but being as the trek was only labeled as less than 3 miles, Becky and I opted to remain in our paddle shoes. 

There was an obvious flow to the 13 points hidden among the ruins and walls of the estate. We chose to do a clockwise route. Starting out climbing a gradual slope, we headed westward. Once we got to the top of that incline and started to really orient ourselves to the map, we realized we had forgotten a pen. While some of the CPs were punches, many only had a clue or letter code that had to be written down for credit of finding the point. Becky volunteered to run back down to the boat to not only grab a writing utensil, but also to change her shoes. She was having second thoughts about trekking for any distance in her water shoes. 

Dan and I slowly meandered to the first point, noted the name of the graveyard, which was the info for the point, and started heading toward the next point. Becky converged with us quickly and we proceeded on our course. The team Fragile Flowers aligned with our route only momentarily before they took a different approach to grabbing the points. Our route landed us on a perfectly colonial driveway lined with huge old trees and sprawling crop fields. It was picturesque.  The idealist and hippy in me came out and I convinced my team to skip, holding hands, down the path for a few meters. It was silly, giddy, and memorable. Though I think Dan had the thought again "what kind of mess did I get myself into with these women?"

We came to the next CP along with Fragile Flowers, and our friends Brittany and Zach. We all shuffled together to the following 2 points. Once we got to the actual Fort, things got fun-ner. The first point we obtained was through the gates and in the courtyard of the encampment. The next point was a little bit more confusing to our counterparts. While they all scurried back out of the fort to the outside wall, I noted that it was more likely that the point was going to be on the second floor on the outer edge. We scampered up the stairs and spotted the CP right where I had thought it would be. The crenellation along the wall cried out for a Monty Python reenactment. I leaned over the edge and called out in my most ridiculous British accent "Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!" I don't think many racers got it, but those that did laughed and cheered.

We punched the remaining CPs hidden along the battlements and corners of the Fort without a hitch. After hitting the final punch within the fort, we had one more CP to get that was on a fence along a cow pasture. As we started heading toward that CP, we noted that the mass of other teams we were bebopping with in the fort were heading back down to the boats. So that's where Fragile Flowers and B&Z came from when we converged at the water pump. They had done a little detour from the more direct route we had taken, and it had paid off with just a few precious minutes saved. Meh. We still had DAYS left to make those minutes up, right?

As we made our way back down to the boats a light rain began to fall. We knew it was in the forecast for the day, but it was nice that it had held off for as long as it had. We pulled our boat under a tree for the slightest bit of coverage from the rain while we transitioned back to paddle. Dan and Becky changed their shoes out and we all consumed at least a meal or two worth of calories while we chatted with volunteers and other teams. We were totally unhurried, and it felt strange but comfortable. I was still trying to change my perception of racing from time focused to goal focused. Eventually, we had ourselves in order and we returned our boat to the water and set off on our nearly 30-mile paddle down the southern arm of Lake Champlain. 

The rain settled into a steady fall just like we settled into a steady rhythm with our paddling. While the lake was still impressively large, I had to comment on how I thought it would have been bigger. It took me until a few days after the race to comprehend that we were cruising through just the southern portion of the lake and that the majority of its waters were far to the north. My comment of unimpressive size and Dan piping up about the "boring view" sent us into a bout of laughter about the terrible review we were going to leave on TripAdvisor about our experience on Lake Champlain. "Zero stars. Terrible views, thought it would be bigger, weather was awful, nothing to do but paddle, wouldn't recommend." It was all a lie. The views were spectacular, the shoreline was captivating, and the weather, while it could have been better, was exactly what we signed up for.

The waterway ahead of us was endless. We had landmarks we were keeping any eye out for that gave us mini goals to tick off the miles. We fell into a few bouts of mindless and wordless paddling riddled with a few conversations about random topics and thoughts. I discovered I could inhale approximately 300 calories of gummy bears in less than a minute. We all have our secret superpowers. Mine is gummy bear inhalation. 

Eventually we came to a CP that required one of us to vacate the vessel. I quickly volunteered. We docked on an uneven shoreline with about 4 other teams. I balanced across a few floating and unsteady logs and found my way up a jagged and rocky incline to a small waterfall. The blood rushing back to my lower extremities and that near saturated state of my being caused me to start shivering relentlessly. While it felt so good to stand upright and move for a few minutes, I was happy to return to our "cozy' canoe. We had a chance to commiserate with B&Z as well as the Cherubini Brothers Team while we were at the site. It's always an uplifting experience just being in their presence. They radiate optimism and joy, and we all needed that at that point in the paddle.

The paddle droned on and on as we passed and were passed by other teams. I have a deep desire to strike up conversations with any team I paddle alongside on these long stretches of monotony, but the look on the faces of many teams made me believe they were just as miserable as us and probably not feeling up to any small talk. We did enjoy a small concert sang by Fragile Flowers as well as a plethora of different birds of prey and river creatures. We were able to punch CP 9 along with an entire fleet of other teams. I would like to think we would have been able to home in on its location independently, but at that point in the paddle, we were happy to follow the masses.  

The rain never abated, and with the remnants of sunlight fading quickly, it became more and more chilly. Becky began shivering and we all were in need of a potty break. As we rounded a bend in the river, we saw a long dock with a gazebo over the water to our right. Behind the dock there was a large boat ramp with Rootstock flags. It was our TA! Alas, we had to paddle right past that comforting beacon and forge ahead to our next embedded trek at "The Saddles." As we glided past, Brent and Nick were perched under the cover of the Gazebo. They called out encouragement and concern over Becky being drenched and in only a t-shirt. We ensured them we were soon pulling off to layer up and stretch our legs. Just a few meters down we beached under a bridge, and all climbed out from the boat. The waters were noticeably warmer than the air by this time, and I had the momentary desire to just lay down in shallow rock-riddled shoreline for some warmth. Don't worry. I wasn't a complete fool. Instead, I climbed up the rocky embankment and emptied my overfilled bladder and then moved around as much as I could to warm up. After we all had the chance to get ourselves together and steel ourselves for the remaining short paddle, we pushed off from our little troll hideaway and set out for what we would later refer to as "the island."

Night fell as we forced ourselves to paddle further into the south bay. We cracked glow sticks for safety and homed in on a shoreline that was flashing with headlamps and glow sticks. There was no exact landing spot on this rugged and unforgiving shoreline, so teams were simply beaching their vessels and tying them up to trees and large rocks. We disembarked our canoe between Fragile Flowers and I think Orange Lederhosen, though I'm not 100% sure it was them in the dark of the evening. After a slight clothing, shoe, and gear adjustment, we headed out on the trek. There was no direct path to anywhere we wanted to be, so we bushwacked up and over until we converged with what could be debated as a trail or maybe just a random clear-ish path in the woods. We fumbled around for a few feet of elevation and distance before we literally stumbled on CP 11. With a guaranteed location on the map, we were able to plan our attack on this 5 mandatory CP loop. We would do a counterclockwise loop, hitting all the mandos and then return to our canoe within a few short miles. Nothing too terrible, right?

We found the trail down to CP 10 and began our steep descent. Within meters Dan voiced his discomfort with the state of the trail and said he would wait where he was for us to return. So it began. While I know it's clearly stated in the rules that a team must stay together, there was no way we were going to get anywhere if we had to stay within his comfort level. Becky and I climbed further and further down the precarious trail and over to a waterfall entombed in jagged and unsteady rocks.  As I was turning from punching the CP and trying to eye where best to place my next step, a steady hand emerged from the darkness offering stability and guidance across a slippery and uncertain route. It was Kate from NYARA-Ubuntu. I thanked her profusely and offered to remain to help her on her return. She declined and I headed back to Becky and subsequently Dan. When we crossed paths again further along in the trek, I made sure to thank her again for the assistance but regretted not insisting on repaying the favor. 

After CP 10 we were locked in to a route that went up and up and up with a cliff edge that went down and down and down to the dark abyss. We had to stop for breathers regularly, along with most other teams on the same route. We were flipflopping along this route for what seemed like hours along with the Cherubini Brothers and Fragile Flowers. We had to scramble up rocky sections and balance along narrow strips of trail. We happily punched CP 12 along with our pingpong teams as well as B&Z. It was such a welcomed surprise to see our friends again. It was like a little AR hangout in the dark woods of The Saddles State Forest. We forged on the trail, again tagging back and forth with multiple teams who also had the sole plan for mandatory points and willingly passing by routes toward any silly optional points. We came to CP 13 which I'm sure was a sight to behold during daylight hours, but at our middle of the night arrival, it was just a vista-less vista. 

Those late late night and early early morning hours do a number on my navigational confidence. Becky and I were both focused on the map and in agreement on our routes, however, when we came upon a handmade sign stating "Clear Pond" we feared we had made a major navigational snafu. Enter the ever cheerful and energetic Cherubin Brothers team. They came upon us and with an onslaught of words and encouragement, ensured us that we were, in fact, still on the right trajectory. I had to trust them and Becky's agreement with them, because for the next few miles I wasn't really understanding things. 

Once we arrived to an obvious bend in the trail and we could ascertain our location, Becky and I dove into a reentrant in search of  CP 14. We turned left at the creek and climbed up and up until we found our goal perched high on a rocky ledge. I climbed up the vertical ledge all the while thinking "I really need to add rock climbing into my arsenal of workouts for this very reason." I felt the first wave of deep muscle fatigue as I pulled myself up the wall of rocks. After we reconnected with Dan I made sure to pour a silly number of calories down my gullet. 

As we were turning to continue on our route, B&Z came scampering down the trail above us. We pointed out our bushwacked route to CP 14 and parted ways with them. Later we found out that after they punched CP 14 they continued on a less than direct route back to the boats which cost them an exorbitant amount of lost time on "the island."

We fumbled our way back to the canoe and eventually began the paddle of pitifulness back to the TA. We barely spoke, other than the occasional cry out of "this sucks." Paddling when you're tired is hard. Paddling when you're hungry is exhausting. Paddling in the dark is demoralizing. Add them all up and you get the idea of how dejected we were by the time we arrived to the TA. But, thankfully, TAs bring with them warm clothes, new snacks, comforting volunteers, and a renewed mindset. And we needed all of that desperately.

Endless Mountains 2026 Race Morning and Prologue

5/5 Mandatory

0/0 Optional 

I could be wrong, but I think its a universal truth that one simply does not wake up to an alarm when there is a major event on the horizon of your day. Case in point, the morning of the 2026 Endless Mountains Adventure Race I don't think any of us actually slept until our alarms began clanging at 4:45. I had slept with earplugs in to ward off the erratic and echoing breathing pattern of my male teammate, so when I pulled them out I was surprised to hear such activity in the hall of our dorm. The whole floor was in a flurry of early morning activity. One by one, we emerged from our cozy beds and headed out to the bathrooms to prep for the day(s) ahead.

I struck up a conversation with a delightful lady who appeared to be as cool, calm, and collected as possible on the dawn of such a big day. I can't remember her name, but she was planning to volunteer for the main race until Friday, where she would be taking on the Lite race as a solo female. Awesomeness. Becky came into the bathroom and we locked eyes in the mirror and let out a simultaneous squeal of excitement. We couldn't get over the fact we were ACTUALLY DOING THIS!! If I could take that feeling, bottle it up and sell it, I think I would be able to put the drug cartel out of business. There really isn't a better "high" in my mind! Glee, anticipation, elation, trepidation, confidence, and a little sprinkling of fear all rolled into one. 

We returned to the dorm room, finalized our prep, shouldered our packs, and headed down to the parking lot to the three awaiting school buses. We boarded the first bus and claimed the first two rows of seats behind the driver. We had a two hour ride ahead of us, and I struggle with motion sickness on these big blundering buses. Gradually our bus filled up and soon it was time for Abby to pop onto each bus and call out the roster to ensure all teams were accounted for. Once every box was checked our fleet of vehicles started the departure from Hoosac Hall where we would not return for many days. I knew the next time I laid eyes on this place I would be a changed person.

While our destination wasn't all that terribly remote, there were no facilities at the start line, and if you need to know anything about adventure racers, its the fact we all have to drop extra "weight" before we toe the line. For that reason, we made a "pit stop" at a boat ramp on the South Bay of Lake Champlain that would serve as our first transition area of the race. Everyone filed off the buses and meandered into long lines for the four porta pots. Brent took advantage of the pause in the ride and held the captain's meeting to review a few major points and allow for questions. Once all the info was divulged and questions were answered, the throng of racers returned to our chariots and we continued on our journey to Mt. Defiance. 

Soon enough we arrived to the base of Mt Defiance and sprang from our seats on the bus. Emerging into the cool morning air we congregated around some gates at the base of a road that appeared to go up, up, up. Teams were all huddled up together awaiting further instructions. The amount of accents and languages floating through the air were awesome! I think nearly 10 countries were represented between racers and volunteers. Brent was bebopping through the crowd, stopping to chat with every team. Its uncanny how he and Abby can make every single racer feel seen and cared for. I can't sing their praises enough. 

The plan was that all teams would make the mile long trek up the mountain, via paved road, to the top and awaiting start line. Unfortunately, the gates remained closed. I'm not sure who was in charge of opening them, but it felt like someone was not where they needed to be at the correct time. Ideally, Brent wanted the media crew to go ahead of the swarm of racers so as to capture images of teams calmly ascending the mountain together. However, you can only hold back that much bottled energy for so long, and eventually Brent gave everyone the green light to WALK up the road. It was a strange feeling to be ambling up a route at the same pace as many of the top teams. No one was red-lining anything at this point. The race had not started yet, and this trek wasn't even part of the race! Becky and I refused to not get "credit" for the effort, so we both started our watches and logged a quick 1 mile "Ticonderoga Walking" activity.

The views from the top of the mountain were stunning. Off in the distance to the left we could see Fort Ticonderoga and to the right the calm waters of the southern tail of Lake Champlain. Every mountain and valley I could see beyond that body of water represented the upcoming adventures we would be taking on. Somewhere waaaaaaaaaay out in that direction was North Adams, but countless efforts and endeavors lay between here and there. 

Beneath a huge waving American flag, Anna Stewart, another racer, sang out a stunning rendition of our national anthem. Her voice was so beautiful and refined I gave up trying to sing along about a third of the way through. The Canadian national anthem was also sang, being as a pretty substantial portion of the field hailed from our northern neighbor. Once the ARWS referee had given his schpeel, and Brent had announced a few final points, we all turned to two men dressed in colonial attire and Brent began the countdown. The guys didn't get the memo they were to shoot their antique muzzleloaders after "TWO" so there was a brief awkward pause. Brent giggled and called out "ONE" and the guns exploded as racers poured between the Rootstock flags and the race officially began. 

We hung toward the back of the crowd to allow all that energy and angst to pour out ahead of us. Once we were on the descending road, we picked up the slightest of a jog and fell in line with a few other teams with the same mentality. By the time we got to the bottom of the road, Brent was passing us in his car and called out to us. "Dan?!?! They already got you to run?!?" Apparently racing with women gave him a little uncharacteristic pep in his step!

We wove through the streets of Ticonderoga and smiled at every person we passed. We were just so happy to be starting this much anticipated adventure! A pair of school aged children were puttering around a side street and watching the chaos of 30+ teams race past them. I asked them if they were on summer break but I don't think they were prepared to interact with us, even in our clean and fresh state of being. If only they could see us in 3 days they probably would have ran to the mamas!

The cackle of racers we were surrounded by all split at a road intersection. We all obviously had the same destination, but the varying route choices had begun. We converged back with the pack within a quarter mile and all descended on the first checkpoint of the race. Dan and Becky gave me the honors of punching the very first point on our passport, which was located on a fence railing overlooking a small dam. I thought in my head "so it begins." We trotted back to the trail and b-lined to the following 4 CPs without a hitch. Our final CP was hanging on the front porch of the "Pen and Paper Restaurant" where we checked in and were handed our two packets of maps for the rest of our race. 

The entire back deck and front bar area was already riddled with teams pouring over the maps and plotting routes and strategies. We would have loved a table to sit and plan at, but the only options were tables set with fine dining cups, plates, and cutlery. There was something  inconducive to messing up those perfectly set tables and taking over with our rough and rowdy race presence. We chose to set up our spot on the floor under a beautiful painting of a peaceful flower riddled meadow. Dan noted that the price tag on the art eluded to the fact this was not an establishment normally geared toward the filthy outdoor crowd, but more the refined and elegant crowd. Meh. We wouldn't harm anything by hanging out on the floor for a spell.  

Dan went off to retrieve our coveted breakfast burritos and orange juice we had previously ordered and Becky and I set to gazing over our cartographic curiosities. While I was so tempted to lay out the entire race map by map, time was of the essence, and we had planned to only really focus on the first stage of the race. We planned to pause at each TA and look over the upcoming stages one by one as we arrived to them. I struggled to focus on our task and relied on Becky to keep me on track. We had our game plan for the upcoming embedded trek and paddle. It was time to pack it up and head out. Dan kindly filled all our water, we made one last pit stop in an actual bathroom with a flushing toilet (quite the luxury on these races) and we checked out with Zoe. Brent and Abby have two children who have grown up in the world of AR and both have assumed many roles in the workings of the race. While Zoe is totally capable of helping out with logistical positions, Simon is more of the comic relief and helper in lightening your snack load, if you're need of off loading some tasty treats. I'm sure he and my youngest would get along swimmingly if they ever had the chance to pal around.

We left the restaurant and paused for a moment to orient ourselves to the map. The boat launch was just a hop skip and jump away, but it took me a second to "get into the map." After only a few glances back and forth between the map and the terrain we had our wits about us and honed in directly to the boat launch. Coming over the hill we saw a splattering of boats, paddle bags, and racers scurrying every which way. We were hustling up to the first proper stage of the race. No turning back now friends. Lets do this. 

Endless Mountains 2026 Prerace

 There are a few things I would never claim to be. Actually there are many things. But two of the top attributes that I proudly claim to possess are persistence and optimism. From the very first edition of the Endless Mountains Adventure Race I knew I wanted to be a part of it. The first year even had (most of) my name in the title! I remember telling my teammates at the time that I wanted to give it a try and being scoffed at for even considering such a major feat. But as I said, optimism is in my blood.

I was able to play in the sandbox of the second edition by taking part in the Lite race as well as turning back around after my race ended and volunteering for the full course. I felt like I was back in my childhood, the little sister who desperately wanted to hangout with the older cool kids, but was just on the outskirts of the in-crowd. Seeing the field of racers come in to the TA I was helping to man was inspiring. While many were top tier athletes, I also enjoyed hearing the stories from the racers who were more at my level. I knew it was possible, but still maybe not probable, that I could join their ranks one day.

Every year that an Endless was held, I tested the waters of my pool of teammates, and every year it seemed the same. Finances, family obligations, and honestly, fear, was keeping them from even remotely considering signing up. And then there was a glimmer of light. After racing in Rootstock's 2 Rivers in Philadelphia, Becky Lemont and I reconnected and started a text conversation. I threw out the idea of taking on Endless as an all female team. We're both pretty decent navigators, and while Becky is most definitely a stronger mountain biker, we are pretty evenly matched in the other disciplines.  Together we vacillated between "We're ABSOLUTELY doing this" and "Common sense is telling us its not the right time."

I think we were at a pretty set "this isn't happening" point when Becky went out to dinner with her teammate from 2 rivers, Dan Sziller. Over pizza, the man somehow convinced Becky that doing the race was not only feasible but dang near the best idea ever. Once Becky was 100% on board, you know where I was. Dan had taken on Endless every year it's been held, and he was a logistical guru and gear junkie. His well earned knowledge of not only the format, but also his uncanny ability to see the course through the eyes of Brent, the director, was an edge we needed. Becky suggested we team up with Dan to take on our first expedition, and I trusted her judgement and agreed.

When it came to a team name, I had already had one picked out for just such an occasion. My late father was known to be an optimist. Like to the point of irritating my mother. During a snow storm, Dad had been on a flight and planned to have Mom meet up with him at his final layover and together they would go on for a Caribbean cruise. I remember helping Mom to dig out the car from the feet of snow encasing it while she complained that Dad was "Irritatingly Optimistic." The term stuck for years. Now, facing a race of enormous proportion, and with a team of unlikely members, we had to be optimistic to think we could make it. I proposed the name to Dan and Becky and it was welcomed with laughter and agreement. Dan stated he would make up the Irritating portion and Becky and I would encompass the Optimistic side. Sold. We were now Team Irritatingly Optimistic. 

Over the next 7 months our group chat was nearly nonstop. If I had a particularly busy day at work, it wasn't uncommon for me to come back to the chat and find over 50 unread messages. We met up a handful of times to get to know each other and "be as comfortable with each other as humanly possible." Dan emphasized that almost constantly, and it started to give me "the ick" as my daughter would say. Teammates can make or break your race, so I knew I had to be vulnerable and honest with both Dan and Becky, but we weren't moving in together or getting married as a thruple. We were racing for 5 days. Calm down. 

After months and months of anticipation, the Schematic finally released in mid June. This was the moment Dan had been waiting for. His absolute favorite part of racing is the logistics and meticulous thought process that goes into organizing and charting the gear packing and timelines for the race. Within hours of the schematic being released, he had an excel spreadsheet with distance, time, and elevation estimates for our race. We knew we would never ever ever be able to completely clear the course, and we had agreed to go for only the mandatory unless an optional just so happened to drop in our lap. With a conservative sleep strategy, and time allotted for each TA as well as fatigue as we progressed through the race course, Dan had mapped out our timeline to a finish at 8:30am on "day 6." What was even more coveted was the packing list he provided to Becky and me. His packing system with bags for each TA and bags in those bags for use and packing at the TAs were clutch. I can tell you without that system and those lists, my race would have been a totally different experience. He was an invaluable teammate at that point.

Chris, my husband, had rearranged his schedule at work so our 4 boys wouldn't have to be alone much during my extended absence, but I still had severe "mom guilt." Our youngest is almost 8, but being as we homeschool and spend an exorbitant amount of time together, me being away for 9 days was going to be a shock to his system. I poured into the boys as much as humanly possible in the days leading up to my departure, and while I know they were fine, and it really wasn't the end of the world, I still questioned my motives and for a brief second considered backing out of the race. But, as my friend Brittany says "racing makes me a better mother, and being a mother makes me a better racer."

Race week came upon us and suddenly it was the night before I was planning to head north. Becky and Dan had decided to ride together since they live relatively close to each other. I had considered meeting up and all of us riding together, but decided to go solo so I could "swing" out to Bernsville Pennsylvania and visit with my daughter who was working at a summer camp for the season. I left our home bright and early at 4:30am after writing a goodbye note and countdown chart until my return on the whiteboard in our kitchen. I climbed into my pre-packed car and headed north. After 4 hours I arrived to Camp Calvary and spent a perfectly wonderful 3 hours with Annika going out to breakfast and lounging in hammocks at the top of the hill. All too soon it was time to head out again and after a few tears, a bunch of tight squeezy hugs, and thousands of promises to "not die out there" I drove off from camp, waving until she was out of sight.

Once I was back out on the larger highways, I voice texted Brittany and Zach, who were also racing in Endless. Their third teammate had backed out only days before, so they would be taking on the race as a two person coed team. We discovered that although they were driving up from Georgia, we were actually within miles of each other on route 78. We texted back and forth for a while until our GPSs sent us in different directions. I ended up on the Taconic Parkway while they stayed on larger roads. While the Taconic was scenic and beautiful, it lacked any decent reception and the podcasts and 90's anthems I was enjoying on Spotify were replaced by twangy country music and classic rock radio stations. I didn't mind.

Eventually I found myself back in civilization and cruised through multiple college towns where the liberal definitely outnumbered the conservative. The mountains of Massachusetts had a totally different feel than the mountains of Virginia and North Carolina where I have been mainly racing recently. Before long I started to see signs welcoming me to North Adams and I felt myself begin to bubble with excitement. This was quite literally years in the making! I was soon going to immerse myself in the world of expedition racing! YESSSSSSSS!!!!

I pulled into the parking lot of Hoosac Hall and serendipitously parked right next to Dan's car. Gear and racers littered the lawn and sidewalks. I climbed out of my car and took a quick lap around the parking lot to see if I could find Dan and Becky, or really anyone I recognized. I spotted a few familiar faces, but no one I had a direct friendship with. I texted our group chat to see where they were hanging out and within seconds saw my teammates. We scurried up to each other and shared a big group hug and squeals of excitement. We were doing this!!

Entering the dorm, Dan and Becky lead me to our rooms to drop some of my gear and see the layout. We were assigned 2 rooms so they had allocated one as our gear room and one as our combined sleep room with Dan having pulled a mattress from the gear room and set up camp on the floor. We grabbed our med kit and required gear we had to present to race staff and headed down stairs to check in. After a quick chat with Brent and having our team and individual photos taken, Abby asked us to sit down for a prerace interview. I don't know why it made me so nervous to speak into a microphone, but after just a few minutes we had given a short synopsis of our team dynamics and goals for the race. Dan had to chat with the MRS packraft guy for a ridiculous amount of time, and finally we had to check in with Jim, who was in charge of peaking at our mandatory gear to make sure we were prepared. He asked if anyone was medically trained and I ensured him that my hospice nursing experience would come in ever so handy if things got real bad out on the course. Thankfully, I also have a decade of ER experience, and Dan took the Wilderness First Aid course, as required. We were good to go. Around this time Brittany and Zach arrived and I scampered over to greet them with hugs and high five's. I chatted with them for a few minutes before returning to my team and heading back upstairs.

 

We did a little pack organizing, chatting, and bike box packing. Our gear wasn't to be checked in until the next day, but we brought it all down to weigh it so that we could make the following day smoother. Everything was within specifications, so we closed the door to our gear room and committed the rest of the evening to just enjoying each other and our situation. We enjoyed a greasy dinner at Tilly's Tap and Tavern, a slightly run down establishment attached to a dilapidated bowling ally. What the establishment lacked in ambiance it made up for in delightful waitstaff and  delicious food. With bellies full and plans further discussed, we headed back to the dorms and our last relaxed and unpressured night of sleep.

The next morning, after sleeping in as late as we could convince our bodies to rest, we sauntered down to the closest gas station and grabbed our caffeine of choice. Settling into Adirondack chairs in a cozy courtyard, we spent the next hour or so chatting and reveling in our upcoming adventures. I discovered again, that while my team and I shared a few opinions and perspectives, we also differed in a vast amount of others. Variety is the spice of life though, and we didn't need to agree on everything to be a great and copacetic team. 

The clock ticked by and soon it was time to head down to the hall for the prerace briefing and course fly over.  As our norm, we arrived early. Rather than sit in the stuffy hall, we plopped down in the shade of a maple tree in the front yard. Brittany and Zach joined us and introduced themselves to Dan and Becky. I am such a jerk, and am the worst at remembering not everyone I know knows each other. Eventually our group came to include a few other teams and we all enjoyed a few minutes of laughter and conversation. 

Entering the hall we found seats toward the front and to the left. The seats began to fill up and looking around I spotted plenty of familiar faces and just as many new faces. These were the people I would be sharing a life changing experience with. I would see them on rivers and roads, trails and towns, in forests and faraway corners of remote tracks of land. We would cheer each other on and commiserate at TAs. I absolutely love the people of AR.

As expected, the fly over was a sobering event. No matter how mentally prepared you think you are for an event of this magnitude, watching that little spastic moving dot trace through your next 5 days of nonstop racing is terrifying. While we knew we wouldn't be covering the full course, even half of what that little frantic dot was outlining was a humbling sight. There were cheers, sighs, gasps, and moans over the roughly 8 minutes of course presentation. What the flyover didn't cover was the teamwork, resilience, muscle fatigue, existential crises, and irreplaceable memories that would be had on the course over the next 5 days. No presentation could prepare us for that.

After the briefing we were given our course booklets and sent on our way to finalize our packing, hand over our gear bins, boxes, and bags, and settle down for our very last sleep in a bed before the race. We made quick work of dropping off our gear and headed to our room to pour over the course booklet. We noted an embedded trek on our first stage that housed 13 optional checkpoints all tucked in close together at Fort Ticonderoga. Becky and I moaned in unison at the thought of skipping such a beautiful cluster of points since they were optional, and Dan had pounded it into our heads that there would be no optional points to be had until much later in the race. Much to our delight, when we pointed it out to Dan he said, "Oh, sure! We would be fools not to go for that." Becky and I stared wide eyed at him for a solid minute and then yipped with excitement that we would be scouring the historical site the next morning. 

The sun was setting and we needed to eat, so we found a take out shack almost adjacent to the dilapidated bowling alley we feasted at the night before. Over wraps and sweet potato fries, we conspired and plotted our plans for the next 5 days of the unknown. We turned off the light and willed sleep to take us over at a decent time. The next time our eyes would open we would be starting out on a monumental endeavor. I prayed, plotted, and slightly panicked, but eventually fell into a shallow and dream filled sleep. Tomorrow couldn't come quick enough. 

NCARS Uwharrie 2026

 Just like most AR junkies, I have a rule about traveling to a race. I don’t want to sit on my butt in a car for more hours than I’ll be racing. Traveling from Delaware to the depths of North Carolina for a 12 hour race was pushing that resolve. It made sense last year when we were signed up for the 18 hour rendition of NCARS’s Uwharrie race, however a bummed knee caused us to defer that race to this year. Still, in order to not let down my late father’s theory of frugality, we decided to cash in that deferral and head south. And I’m exceedingly happy that we did.

Living in the mid Atlantic, we’re lucky to have the option of racing with an abundance of different race organizers. We have our favorites, but I’m always up for trying out a course conjured up by a new cartographic mastermind. There is an undeniable flavor to each race director’s creation, and I’m here for *nearly* all of them. NCARS has a grassroots, no nonsense, minimal frills approach that we have decided is a flavor we want to enjoy regularly.

Even in the prerace timeframe, we could tell there was going to be little hand holding on this adventure. Race communications were short and to the point, there was no racer walkthrough/Q&A online event, and NCARS’s Facebook/instagram presence is spotty. In addition, it was not a USARA sanctioned event. But fear not, none of this should deter you from giving their races a go. As the director said to us, what NCARS lacks in frills, it makes up for in personality and “red carpet” treatment. I.E. he hauled up our canoe for us 🤣 

Chris and I arrived to Morrow Mountain State Park an hour early, in part due to conflicting emails giving two different arrival times, and in part due to my desire to have as long as I could with the maps. Check in was manned by one guy handing out maps and one guy handing over race shirts. Come to find out, Mike, the map hander-outer, was the director. He provided me with a single map, double sided, and a clue sheet. No rules of travel, no additional info. We glanced over the map, peeked at the clues, and headed back to the car to drive down to the parking area about half a mile from the start. We had to leave our car at the boat ramp, where the finish would be, and then ride our bikes back up to the shelter where the prerace briefing and start would be. 

After staging our paddle gear, Chris set to getting our bikes ready, and I sat down to plan our race. Looking at the clue sheet, there were 3 sections split into trek, paddle, and bike. Within the trek and bike sections there were delineations. I was trying to figure out the flow of the race. What were the legs of the race? Did we trek, bike, paddle, then trek again and then paddle? Were the second section of trek points only obtainable after the first bike? WHAT WAS THE SCHEMATIC??

While I was trying to plan out for a race I didn't understand, a gentleman in tights and a loose linen tunic, we'll call him Robin Hood from here out, ambled by. I figured he was another racer, so I asked him if he had raced with this company before. He said he had, so I asked him if he understood the flow of the race. He paused, as if to say "seriously? how do you not get it." and told me you could get any points at any time, but you had to be doing the discipline of the point. I still didn't get it. Another gentleman sat down at the picnic table I was camped out at. I asked him the same thing, and he responded with the same answer. I was either just dense or unwilling to accept the fact that there were no defined legs on the race and we were in charge of making the race what and how we wanted. I planned out the initial trekking section, or what I was insistent on labeling the first trekking leg, and we gathered our packs, hopped on our bikes, and headed back uphill to the start. 

There was one main road that traversed the entire park ever so conveniently. As luck would have it on an adventure race, we were forbidden from traveling on this roadway. In order to return to the start, we had to use a small secondary road that had an unclear connection to the start location. We peddled up the hill and found the whereabouts of this hand drawn connecting trail, but it appeared to go into someone's private residence. I was fine taking the driveway and hoping it would make sense as we went further in, but Chris was hesitant to go trolloping through private property. We spotted a few foot trails through the woods and bike whacked over to them. One other major rule at this park was that there was to be absolutely no mountain biking on the trails. For this reason, we walked our bikes about a quarter mile down the trail until we came to that intended route, now on the far side of the residence, and biked on to the start. 

Riding back up to the shelter, I hopped in line for a chance to ask the director how the heck this race was designed to flow. His answer was simple. You choose. There were, in fact, no assigned legs. We chose what we did and when we did it, so long as bike points were obtained on bike, trek points while trekking, and paddle points while paddling. We couldn't paddle until after noon, we didn't get the second bike map until we finished our first bike "section" and had checked in at the boat ramp, and we had to be to the finish by 10pm.  Other than that, the race was our oyster. Suddenly, it clicked. I could absolutely plan this adventure out however it most made sense to me. I love it. 

I scurried back over to Chris and looked at the maps with new eyes. There were 4ish clusters of trek points, 1 obvious chunk of bike points, and the paddle. We wouldn't know where the second cluster of bike points were until we completed the first. It was like a game of Tetris clicking into place in my mind. I'm sure a majority of the field of racers had the same routes planned out, but it was fun to really choose our own adventure. After a few updates on the course, and map changes, we started the race at 10:10am.

Ninety percent of the teams hopped on bikes and headed off in the direction I had planned. Only 1 team trotted off on foot that I saw. We cruised back down the hand drawn trail to the forest road that connected the boat ramp to our first unmanned bike drop location. We dismounted and scurried up a path to an old stone house, behind which was a trail down to a gravesite and our first CP of the race. After punching the point, I made a minor whoopsie thinking our intended trail was further to the west when we were, in fact, already on the trail we needed. Once I had myself better oriented to the map, we headed off in a clockwise route to grab the rest of the cluster of trek points in this area. 

As we were making our way up the breathtaking incline, Robin Hood came plowing down the hillside like a Merryman running from the Sherriff of Nottingham. The guy had cleared the 4 point section in the time we had bagged one single point. I figured we wouldn't see him again until the finish line. We passed a few other teams going in the opposite direction on the remainer of the trek, and by the time we reached the bikes again a majority of the teams had already headed off. 

We continued up the forest road and punched a lone bike point on a side trail before returning to the wider trail and then heading north on an equally rocky, grassy, and unfrequented route. After about a mile of uphill trudgery and another CP, we came to a blessedly paved road. We headed further north and found a side trail with CP 22 tucked off to the side. A solo female racer was just ahead of me on the trail, no doubt looking for the same CP. When I spotted it to my left and hadn't seen her grab it, I called out to her. I hope she didn't resent the heads up, but I would have wanted the hint if I were her. 

 I had ridden my bike to the point with the intention to continue on that faint trail toward a powerlines trail where CP 21 would be found. Chris had other plans. After I punched the point and returned to my bike, I looked back and saw Chris walking toward me. With no bike. Huh?! I hadn't explained my plan to him, and he had seen the sad state of the trail and decided it was smarter to leave his bike at the trailhead and trek in. My fault. I waited for him to hike back, grab his bike and return to me.  

The powerlines trail proved to be like nearly all other powerline trails. Rough, unforgiving, and rutty. After second guessing myself once, maybe twice, we found CP 21 and headed back along the powerlines to the road. Just before we departed the trail we popped into the woods with a bearing and found CP 23 without a hitch. Heading further north on the road we punched the northern most CP of the race after blowing past it initially. We bombed back down the road, swept past the trail that would lead us back to the original forest road, and peddled on to CP 19. As we were approaching, the same solo female we had helped earlier decided to pay it forward and gave us a heads up that CP 19 was not actually to the left of the gate as you approached, but to the left of the gate if you turned around. Didn't make too much sense, but low and behold, there was a CP where she said there would be. So, we punched it. 

We turned back south, headed up the road, connected back with the trail and ended up back on the forest road heading to the next unmanned bike drop. We staged our bikes in the shade and headed on foot to find a tight cluster of 4 CPs off trail in the woods. One thing to note about the forest of this park is that they do a good amount of controlled burning. For that reason, there is a wonderful lack of underbrush to forge through. While each CP in this cluster was off trail, maintaining a bearing wasn't too hard. To make it just a slight bit more challenging, the director tucked most of these CPs low to the ground and between rocks or nestled into rootstocks. Hidden or not, we found them!

After clearing that little cluster, we decided to head on to the next chunk of trek points to the southeast. It would have been so handy to walk along that main road within the park, but rules are rules, so we bushwacked uphill through the woods until we connected with a trail. We made quick work of 3 CPs all tucked into reentrants and trail bends before heading further into the depths of Morrow Mountain State Park. 

I had been sure we would grab 2 of the 5 furthest points in this section, leaving those other 3 outliers laying out. We punched 36 and then after a little scaling through a bunch of treefall and reentrant nonsense, we also got CP 35. After scaling out of that ravine (definitely too strong of a word) Chris and I had a choice to make. We weren't even halfway through our time; it was only like 2pm by this time. We had already bagged almost half the points, and we were feeling really strong. I told Chris he could make the call, but I really thought we could go for those southern most points without a problem. He humors me. We set off for CPs 32, 33, and 34, all surrounding Tater Top Mountain while munching on snacks and sweating our butts off in the heat. 

CP 34 was an easy find thanks to the lack of underbrush. After grabbing that one we headed on along a trail that brought us to a backwoods camping area with a sketchy outhouse. Sketchy or not, I decided to live the life of a North Carolina Mountain woman, also due to the lack of concealing underbrush. We continued on the trail, debating about cutting off a big section of the trail by bushwacking directly over an incline. Chris preferred to avoid pointless ups and downs and voted we stay on the much flatter trail. We had time, so we did. CP 32 was tucked in a patch of young pine trees over the top of a steep incline in the bend of the trail. Going up the ridge, I may have looked quasi-agile, but I'm confident I looked anything but graceful tumbling back down to the trail afterwards. A handful of gummy bears soothed my damaged ego well enough.

We continued on to the north, skirting the Pee Dee riverbank and listening to the squeals of delight from the families enjoying the cool and refreshing waters. It was anything but cool and refreshing up on that trail, but I would rather be doing what we were doing than just about anything else. We eventually came to where we needed to head off trail to find CP 33. I shot a bearing and asked Chris to keep his eye peeled for a CP "between the trails." My bearing was, as it had been for so many of the points so far, a bit to the right of where the CP ended up being, but we spotted it and then headed on westward toward our intended trail that would lead us back toward our bikes.

As we were bushwhacking back, I got a little lazy in my navigation and told Chris, "Just keep heading that way and we have to intersect that trail." We went down, up, probably a little too far to the left, and I started to think, maaaaaybe I should have been a little more precise. Chris was wondering off what I felt like was way too far to the right, but I didn't want to lose sight of him, so I veered to the right along with him. He was correct. We merged with the trail way better than if we had kept on my trajectory. 

We had punched all the points on this section, so all we had to do was trudge on back to the bikes which were about 2 miles away. We found a slight shortcut by means of one of those "you are here" maps along the trail. There was a blessed connector trail that wasn't on our maps. We took it and it led us to the forbidden road, but all we had to do was cross the road, not travel along it. As luck would have it, as we approached the road, a ranger came upon us and ever so politely stopped to let us cross. I'm kinda certain he did that to ensure we didn't remain on that prohibited pavement. Had he not been there, I probably would have gone ever so slightly down the road to where it wasn't quite as steep of an incline back to the trail. Alas, we forged up that embankment. And through a yellow jacket village. I haven't been stung by one of those suckers in a few years and totally forgot how aggressive and mean they really are! I was only stung twice, but sheesh!! They pack a formidable punch! Thankfully, Chris missed out on the stings but was privy to my antics of running, thrashing, and shrieking. 

We finally returned to our bikes and headed downhill and east to the boat ramp. As we were plummeting down the forest road, we passed a good number of other racers all trudging back up the hill on their bikes. The second bike leg must have been amidst the first round of bike points. Well, that sucks. 

We arrived at the boat ramp and dropped our bikes behind the NCARS tent where we had staged our paddle bag. Mike asked us what our plans were and we told him we were heading out on the river. He nodded. I asked about the second bike stage map, but he suggested we not take it until after we paddled, since the map wasn't water resistant. I took a peek at it and handed it back. Those bike points were in fact dispersed within feet of the initial points. 

After resupplying at the car, we headed out on the paddle. Our awaiting canoe was pulled over to a boat launch for us by a crew of teenage park employees who all commented how much they loved our team name. It made me smile. Setting off from a kayak launch versus trying to shove off from the shoreline is like night and day. It felt like butter to just glide so smoothly into the river instead of scooting and pushing and polling. He chose to grab the points in a clockwise route, heading upstream first, then skirting the far side of the river with the current and ending by paddling back upstream to the boathouse. 

CP 25 was tucked behind a large rock outcropping that a few locals were fishing from and around. We went wide so as to avoid upsetting their angling. We then shot across the river for the CP "on a peninsula."  I spotted what looked like a peninsula and hopped out to go search for CP 26. It was not the actual peninsula. Neither were the next two peninsula-esque things we saw. But finally, FINALLY, Chris spotted the actual peninsula, much closer to where it appeared on the map than the other water-surrounded-land that I had considered. 

CP 27 was my one and only real complaint about the race. The dot where the CP is on the map was not directly on the river's edge. In fact, there was a solid chunk of land between the dot and the river, leading me to believe the point was at least a few yards into the woods and along what appeared to be some sort of road. We paddled up the small creek to the area where I assumed the point would be and found a clearing through which I could see powerlines. It made sense to me that the point would be tucked in that clearing. I aimed toward the river bank. Chris balked. There was poison ivy a-plenty and he wanted no parts of it. But it made so much sense to me! I told him I would brave the ivy of doom and he could wait in the canoe, but he insisted we paddle further upstream to see if the CP was elsewhere. Made no dang sense to me, but ok. Well. As is the case more often than I like to admit. He was right and I was wrong. Less than 10 meters upstream, CP 27 was hanging off a downed tree above the creek. Like, not on land at all. THAT made no sense, but it was what it was, and we punch the CP.

The rest of the paddle CPs were precisely where they appeared they would be, and we enjoyed the paddle and the antics of all the slightly tipsy and rowdy locals. Returning to the boathouse, we were greeted by Mike and another volunteer. We chatted with them for a few minutes and then were almost shocked by his offer to haul up our boat for us. Like we didn't have to do anything. I'm so accustomed to having to haul waterlogged canoes up and over the steep embankments that the prospect of just grabbing our gear and heading off was completely foreign and exceedingly welcomed.

We headed back to the NCARS tent and our paddle bag. Grabbing most of our gear, other than our bikes, we returned to the car for another quick resupply and shoe change. All we had left was another foot section and the questionable second bike section. Chris stated he had no interest in hauling back up that hill on the bikes for the piddly 4 points housed there in. I knew we could clear the course if we wanted to. But I wasn't going to push him, yet. For now, we would focus on the 7 points we were heading out for on foot. 

We started out heading north from the boat ramp, traversing a trail riddled with grazing deer and recently scorched underbrush. We bagged CPs 11 and 6 without a thought, then crossed over the road toward Mill Mountain. At this point we needed to keep tabs on how many trail bends we were passing so as to find CP 1 with the clue "hillside." We fuddled, blundered, but finally found the point tucked, as hinted, on a hillside. After grabbing CP2, we headed on and got CP with a bearing from a turn in the trail. I tried to shoot another bearing directly through the woods to 4, but again, we went a little to the right, and ended up on a trail that gave us an attack point that was a little more precise. From there I shot another bearing to CP 5 that was literally on a hill top. Dead on. I love it when that happens. At this point, there was no reason to return to the closest trail, which wasn't really all that close anyway. We chose to head due north and back toward the trail where we had found CP 1. It worked, but first we had to scale down about 100 feet of decline and through some of the thickest and prickliest baby pines I had seen in the park that day. 

The sun was setting, we had cleared the course up to that point, but we still had over an hour left on the clock. I felt good enough, and irritatingly optimistic enough to still think we could clear the whole course. There were only 4 more points out there! As we trekked back to the boat ramp, it became more and more clear that Chris was absolutely not game for those last 4 points. Or even one or two of them. We got back to the tent and took a good look at the second bike map. Ok, maybe getting all 4 would be pushing it, but getting 1 or two was incredibly feasible. It was 9:15, we had an additional 10 minutes from a late start time, and Mike said you don't lose a point for being late until you're 15 minutes late. COME ON!!

Marriage is about compromise. Marriage is way more important than 4 points. And marriage brings me more joy than adventure racing. So, I acquiesced. We handed over our passport and ended our race. I don't regret a thing now. We had a fantastic time out in the woods and waters of Morrow Mountain State Park. I got to spend an entire day doing something that brings me mounds of joy with the person I love the most. Could it have been any better? Maybe if we could have had results before we left the race, but other than that, I don't think it could have been a better day.

We ended up in our usual standing. I could say we got 11th place overall and sound impressive, but in reality, there were only 20 teams, so its midpack baby! Also, Robin Hood cleared the entire course in under 7 hours. I guess he kept up that frolicking at the same tempo we saw in the first hour. The next day we returned to the park to enjoy a few more of the trails and ran into Mike. We chatted for a few minutes and let him know we had a really great time and would certainly be returning to North Carolina for another one of his races at some point.