Endless Mountains 2026 Post Race and Reflections

 

Once we had settled down from the high of crossing the finish line, the joy didn't wear off. It may have been a delirious, nearly stuporous joy, but man. It felt good. We dropped our bikes in the bushes and walked inside the dorm to the awaiting smorgasbord of burrito deliciousness provided by Rootstock and one of the loveliest volunteers we had had the pleasure to cross paths with out on the course. We stuffed our bellies for the next hour, sprawled out on the lounge chairs and couches of the dorm. I felt the slightest bit of guilt sitting on "indoor furniture" in my current state of filth, but I figured the nonporous vinyl could be easily wiped down. 

We sat and swam in the tales of adventure all the teams around us were pouring out while we also regaled them with some of our own. It was the definition of gezellig. (That's a Dutch word that really has no English translation, but it fits the mood of our time spent on those couches. Look it up.) 

Soon enough we started the process of getting our gear under control. Becky and I went back out to the bikes and hauled them, one last time, over to our cars and loaded them up. We found our gear bins and did the same. While we were waiting for the bike boxes to get unloaded and sorted, we stopped to talk with Abby for just a few minutes. She really is a pillar of inspiration and encouragement. We know we didn't do all that amazing on the score sheet. If we weren't in dead last place we would have been shocked (spoiler, we were shocked) But Abby poured out congratulations on us and wanted to hear a few of our tales from the race. She tested the waters to see if we had had an experience that we would maybe someday repeat. While I couldn't with any confidence say that an exact repeat of our team would race together again, I assured her that Becky and I had all the motivation and plans to do this whole expedition race thing together again. Abby hinted that all female teams were pretty awesome. I had to agree. Every time I've raced on an all-female squad it has been phenomenal. 

Once we were able to grab our boxes ,we lined them up and hauled them up to the gear room along with the paddle and packraft bags. I figured I needed to capitalize on the uncanny energy that I had at the time, so we sorted all the gear, broke down the bike box I had borrowed from Dan, and had everything completely prepped to be brought down to the cars before we ever sat down. I knew once I stopped moving I was done for. I decided to load up my car before I got my ever so coveted post-race shower for fear that my gear would foul me up again should I touch it after being bathed. 

So there. Everything that could be done was done. Now to strip myself of the 5 days of filth. What an experience a shower is after an expedition race. I timed my bathing perfectly and was able to use the handicap private bathroom closest to our room. Thank the Lord. Because I used up every inch of that huge bathroom all to myself. I peeled my layers of clothing off and just plopped them on the floor. I surgically removed the wrapping from my toes and pulled the leukotape from my heels. Once my braids were unwound and the tree trash was picked from my hair, I stood facing the mirror. That body that I sometimes think is so far from perfect, and in need of so much work, had done some amazing things for me. I always give myself grace in certain areas of critique, because carrying five babies, delivering them, and feeding them required a lot from my body, but now I felt like I could demand a little more forgiveness from my hardest critic; me. That body in the mirror was strong, resilient, and capable. You go girl. 

I gasped, sighed, and nearly wept as the hot, cleansing water covered me. What a treat to be clean. I knew many other racers were crossing that finish line and would also be in desperate need of a shower soon, so I tried not to linger under the life-giving spray of indoor delightfulness for too long. Though it was probably at least a 20-minute shower, it felt like I was as fast moving as I could possibly be. 

Once I was moisturized, untangled, and dressed, I shuffled back to our room. Dan was already well into a good slumber, and Becky was puttering around for just a few more minutes. I tried to call my family, but none of them are exactly morning people, so I left messages that I would call them all back after my well-earned nap. And then, I crashed. Like I don't remember hitting the pillow, I kinda don't even recall laying down. I just crashed. No dreaming, no rolling over, no checking the clock. Just a deep, deep sleep.

The Post race dinner was perfect. The whole field of racers, hobbling around in open toed shoes, loose fitting clothing, and fresh-ish, clean faces, drinking ciders, beers, and lots and lots of water. The meal was devoured like only a flock of calorie depleted racers can. We shared a table with our tag-team B&Z and Jim even came and pulled up a chair with us. It was a heartily enjoyed meal with some of my favorite people from the race. I only wish we had more mobility and energy to mingle with all the other teams that we shared a moment or two with out on the course.  Awards were handed out, and congratulations and thanks were poured onto all teams. 

 We didn't win anything. Well, I won a drawing for a Women of AR beanie, which I love! But Irritatingly Optimistic did not podium. Nine teams were either non-competitive or DNF'd.  Later we found out we got 31st out of 34 official finishing teams.  I'm still having a hard time even laying claim on that standing. Becky and I worked hard for all the points we punched, but our team as a whole cannot honestly say we visited every CP together. If that strips us of our placement, I'm totally ok with it. Because even if we came in dead last, I wouldn't have done anything different in the situations we were in. You just have to do your very best with what you have to work with.

If I hadn't enjoyed that second (or was it third?) cider, I probably would have attempted to drive home that night. With the race being officially over and sleeping one more night the only thing left to do, the draw of my real life and family began to take over. When we returned to the dorm, I excused myself and walked down to the courtyard to go make all the phone calls I had been putting off. My husband put me on speaker phone in the middle of the dinner table while he and the boys chowed down. They asked all the questions and I told all the stories for about a half hour. It made me miss them all the more. I then called Annika, my daughter who is working at a summer camp, and was able to chat with her for about an hour. I would see her the next day on my way home. 

While I was conversing with my loved ones, Dan sent a message to the group that he was heading out to grab his victory bottle of whiskey that he always purchases, but never drinks, after a race. I didn't feel the need to tag along on that adventure. I don't think Becky was able to pull herself away from talking with her family either. I walked back to the dorm slowly, admiring just how swollen and puffy my lower extremities had become. It was impressive!

I planned to leave the college before the sun came up, so before laying down that night I said my goodbyes to my teammates. We had done what we had set out to do. Mission accomplished. There wasn't an emotional or deeply meaningful conversation. Just a quick hug, thanks for the experience, and hop into bed. The next morning I was on the road by 4:30am and sat outside a gas station for a few minutes waiting for them to open at 5 so I could grab a lifegiving cup of coffee. A slightly spastic gentleman was also waiting and asked about my bike on the back of my car, so I chatted with him for a few minutes and gave him a crash course in Adventure racing. I don't know if he absorbed anything I said, but he said he was going to give the sport a try the very next weekend. 

The ride home was long and uncomfortable, but soothing. I'm really starting to think I may have more introverted tendencies than I had thought. Arriving in Bernville PA, I spent a few hours with Annika, going out to lunch at a cute little American Diner and swinging in the hammocks on top of Calvary Hill. I then continued on to lower Delaware and 4 hours later pulled into our driveway to my flock of sons, all scurrying out to greet me. I had been itching for those adoring hugs for a while. They helped me to unload my packed car and within an hour most of my gear was either laid out to air out or already put away. I decided to just dump all my gross, gross, GROSS clothing and shoes into an empty bin, fill it with water from the hose and add my strongest detergent. My youngest, Calvin, stirred the vat of ungodliness with a huge stick like a sorcerer stirring a poisonous brew. We put the lid on it and called it a day. 

The next few days consisted of recovery, eating, watching the swelling in my legs slowly go down (I had gained and lost over 12 pounds of fluid!!) and swinging in to see my PCP. Remember that nasty fall I had had on stage C? It wasn't feeling much better by two days out, so just to be safe I had a visit to my primary, who ordered a x-ray and antibiotics. No fracture, though!! But I'll certainly have a pretty triangular scar on that shin for many years to come. 

If you've stuck with me through this entire race report, I'm honored. It's such a blessing to do these crazy races, and I never want to forget the tiny details and feelings I have when I'm out on the course. I know some things may have seemed pointless to include, and there may have been times when you thought "wait! what happened then?!" But overall, I think you've gotten an idea of how the race went for me. I have to apologize for a few of the earlier stage reports. I've gone back and edited some sections, so if you read them hot off the press, you were privy to a bit more emotion than necessary. My goal of these write ups isn't to bash anyone and certainly not to be a negative Nancy. Honesty is one thing, bad mouthing in another. Lo siento. 

If you were race staff, I can't thank you enough. The uplifting and encouraging words you gave us over and over really helped us. Home is a loose term sometimes, but you guys made every TA feel like home. Sometimes a wet, muddy, and loud home, but still a place of reprieve, nonetheless! Brent and Abby, you guys are something special. Your races both terrify me and excite me like none other. From my very first AR at Two Rivers in 2021, to this monster I just endured, your courses have led me into becoming something I never knew I had in me.  Who knew the girl who couldn't navigate her way home without calling her dad for directions would someday co-navigate nearly 300 miles with a map and compass? Crazy. 

If you're a fellow racer, I saw you. Whether you were front of the pack, mid pack, or tagging along, bringing up the rear with us, I saw you. You made me smile, made me feel validated, and made me proud. We are a special breed, and our solidarity and shared enjoyment of suffering makes us more alike than different. I don't know many of you outside of this sport, but what I do know of you makes me feel a kinship with you that is hard to replicate in any other area of my life. Thank you for letting me be a part of something so grounding. humbling, and strengthening. If we gave you a nickname, just know that even if I learn your name at some point, I'm still going to call you your nickname forever and always. It's now a term of endearment. 

If you were my teammate, holy cow. What an experience we shared. Dan, thank you. You might not realize it, but you helped me more than I could ever have helped you. Your knowledge of logistics and pacing opened the door to expedition racing for me. I like to jump into things a little too fast sometimes, often without thinking. Thank you for doing all the thinking for me. You taught me that not only am I so much stronger than I thought I was, but that I need to work on a few areas of my interpersonal skills. A lot. Becky, where do I start? I have never had a teammate I felt more in line with out on the course. We complimented each other's abilities so dang well. I never felt like I wasn't able to be myself, and I never once felt like my contribution wasn't appreciated or valued. Please know I valued you every step of the way. We can celebrate our little victories and the overwhelming amount of learning we did out there. I absolutely cannot wait to see where we go from here!

If you are family or friends at home, thank you. Thank you for listening to my plotting, whining, dreaming, and scheming. Thank you for at least smiling and nodding when I start to go down a rabbit hole about racing. I know me doing these races puts a toll on you all. From rearranging schedules, to entertaining bored boys, to worrying about me dying out there, your sacrifices and encouragement are valued and deeply appreciated. I know some of you still think I'm off my rocker, but if I haven't convinced you to try an expedition race by now, I'm probably still thinking of how best to word my encouragement that you try it.

And if you're 75-year-old Elke, I pray that you're still doing the things. It might not be 5-day expedition races, but I hope you're still doing things that scare you and excite you and stretch you. I hope you can read these posts and remember how it felt to be in those moments and experiencing those emotions. Racing wasn't (or hopefully isn't) the best part of your life. Nothing is above God or your family, but some things add to who you are as a person. Being out in nature and seeing the glory of His creation and using the body He has given you to do things He has already planned for you is a blessing I hope you have never taken for granted. Give all the family you have a tight squeezy hug from 43-year-old Elke. She's still out here making as many memories as possible and hoping she's made you proud and thankful for all our blessings. Now go and read the stories from all the other expedition races we've hopefully done since this first one. 

Endless Mountains 2026 Stage I

 Green Mountain National Forest

2/2 Mandatories

Walking out into the crisp night shocked us back into action. We had layered up knowing that the night time temps were enough to set an exhausted body into shivers, and I was happy to have all those layers on as we rode our bikes back up the long drive to Route 7. It was roughly around 1:15 am when we hit Route 7 and turned left, giving us over 8 hours to complete 20 miles "on bike." At the end of the driveway, a team was off their bikes tinkering with something. We thought it strange for anyone to stop so soon after leaving the TA, so we checked on them to see if all was well. I don't remember what their cause for stopping was, but it must not have been urgent, because they waved us on and didn't require any assistance.

After a tiny little road section, we turned left and back on the long gravel road we had walked up just a few hours before. Now, in the dark of night, and on bikes, the road looked totally different. Small gains in elevation aren't as noticeable when you're walking, but as you bike up these deceiving hills you get a rapid reminder of their presence. We had only climbed two small hills, with a refreshing downhill between, when we had to stop to take of multiple layers of clothing. 

We cruised all the way back down/up this route until we hit the intersection where we had converged from the Corridor Trail. We paused for a moment and oriented ourselves. I wish I could say I was a co-navigator for this section, but I have to admit my mind was goop and I couldn't contribute much. Becky was definitely leading, whether she realized it or not. 

We came to another intersection and again paused to ensure we were heading off on the correct trail. A smattering of other teams were also pausing here to figure out the maps. We saw some teams head off to the right, only to return quickly and stop to look at maps again. As we were discussing our navigational plans, I noticed we were right in front of a backwoods campsite that was obviously occupied by campers, probably attempting to sleep. You gotta wonder what's going through the heads of those people when they are awoken by a mass of racers in the middle of the night. If they had no heads up about our race, would they be terrified by all the headlamps, voices, and presence of dozens of mountain bikers at 2 AM? I would be! 

We eventually agreed to head to the left and set off on the bikes again. The road dropped us into a parking area with a narrow trailhead. We took the trail and were immediately faced with a few ruts, rocks, and elevation. Nothing too crazy...yet. We next came to another split in the trail and our buddies B&Z, who had left the TA while we were still on our time penalty. They had gotten a bit turned around out in the dark of the night. We all initially crossed a bridge thinking we needed to go right, but when we could see the direction the trail took after the creek crossing, we quickly realized it was not our intended route. While we stopped, I changed the batteries out on my headlamp that was doing it's warning blinking that it would soon go out completely. After I was situated, we returned to the far side of the creek and continued on the original trail we had been following.

 The trail became what you can only assume a trail would become when Brent Freeland plans a bike leg that he repeatedly emphasizes for you to not underestimate. While we weren't at the worst section, more of that to come later, we were also no longer on a trail I would choose "for funsies." The deep ruts and chaotically dispersed rocks made riding a little more challenging. Just to add to the morale-busting situation, with one slight collision I had with a rock, my headlamp came flying off of my helmet. Within a few minutes of that happening, while I was pushing my bike through a particularly rocky section, I noticed a rubber-rubbing sound coming from the back of my bike. Thank the Lord we were walking the bikes at the time, because my rear axle had come nearly completely loose and was wobbling every which way. I stopped to tighten it and became increasingly frustrated in our situation. The trail sucked, my energy level sucked, my bike-mechanic skills obviously sucked, the maps sucked, my biking abilities sucked. EVERYTHING SUCKED. Enter: personal pity party and self doubt.

Stopping was never an option in my mind, but I was at the point where I could not keep riding. Between the challenging trail, my accumulated exhaustion, and inundation of self loathing I needed to hike a bike rather than wreck-a-bike. I called out to Becky, who was still totally capable of riding a trail of that difficulty, that I needed to walk. She is such a patient and understanding teammate. She dismounted and watched as the group of other teams we had been hanging with continued on riding without a problem. The three of us continued on pushing our bikes for what felt like an hour, but was probably only a few minutes. 

We came to an area that we could tell was more open and very wet and marshy. The trail stayed to the left of the swamp, but the fetid waters began to creep onto the trail more and more. In the dark of the night, it was hard to tell which route was best when the trail would suddenly split into various go-around routes at particularly muddy sections. At one point we took a route to the right that brought us directly on the edge of a stream of swampy water. Far in the distance we could see the headlamps of other teams coming toward us. Oh for the love. If we had to turn around and retrace all those miserable steps it would undo me. We called out to them to see what was happening and they returned saying "No, we just took a wrong turn, keep coming this way!" Adventure racers are awesome people. 

We continued on the trail that would lead us to their whereabouts that was only like a quarter mile away. In that quarter mile we had to lift our bikes over at least 5 huge fallen trees, one after the other. If you're not aware, when it comes to mountain bikes, you get what you pay for. One of the factors you have to take into consideration when buying a bike is the weight. If you have the funds, a carbon frame is very much lighter, and obviously very much more expensive. I cannot claim to have an excess of funds that I can pour into gear, so I do not have a very light bike, though I am thankful for what I have! However, hauling that Trek xcaliber over tree after tree after tree really wiped any energy reserves I may have been holding on to. By the time we came to the intersection where we had seen the other team the three of us were nearly at our wits end. Even Becky seemed slightly short tempered. 

I had one of those moments that I can only say the Good Lord shakes you and puts something on your heart, and you just have to do it. Without thinking, I blurted out "Hey, wait a second Becky." She paused and looked back at me. I stopped for a moment to ensure I had her attention. "Thank you for doing this with me, I love you and I love doing this with you!" We all needed that snap back to reality. Yea the situation was so flipping crappy, but even the mud seeping into our shoes, blisters, chaffing, and general discomfort couldn't keep us down. We all hugged for a hippy-emotional moment and the world became a better place. 

We got back to business and kept on pushing through the muck and mire. After fording a flowing creek that seemed to clean the mud from our souls, we came upon a whole cackle of teams. Everyone was searching for CP 76 that appeared to be located on the northern shore of Lake Hancock. Racers were trekking back and forth, up and down, over and under all around the area. One guy passed us no less than three times before Becky jokingly said "Haven't we seen you before?" To which he responded "Yea, and you'll probably see me pass by a few more times before we find this CP." Becky laughingly suggested he bring snacks the next time he passed by, and from then through the rest of the race, and probably any time we see him in the future, he will be known as "Snacks."

Also in this cackle of racers were B&Z as well as ol' Tighty Whitey. It was like a delirious reunion of characters from the race, meeting up and suffering yet again deep in the woods of Vermont. Together with the other teams we spent about 30 minutes poking around the shoreline fruitlessly. I can't recall what time it was, but our team decided we had spent enough time searching and we were cool with dropping the point. Other teams began to call it as well. Together as a flock of racers, we all hopped on our bikes and started off again. 

It was short lived. Within minutes the herd arrived at another intersection. No one could make a decision, everyone's minds had nearly turned to mush in the late hour of the race. After what felt like five minutes of dawdling, I had enough of just standing and getting no where. I said "We'll be the Guinea Pigs!" and I lead our team to the left. I think most of the flock came along with us, and within a few hundred yards we all simultaneously spotted the small reflection of light bouncing off of CP 76 directly in front of us. One person from each team made the small trek into the woods and along the shoreline of Lake Hancock. 

The whole mass of teams set off together again heading south toward Seth Mountain. It was chaos. While I felt better, and was able to ride for short sections again, the trail was an absolute nightmare. Bog after bog of thick, split-pea-soup looking sludge lay before us. Becky quickly had enough of the herd mentality and called out for our team to pull over and let the mass of teams pass by us. Once they all passed by, we stopped for just a few minutes to give them a lead and we ate a few mood replenishing calories.

The trail did not ease up. We pushed and hauled our bikes up to Consultation Peak and then back down a PUD (pointless up and down) in the trail. Once the elevation leveled out, the fun didn't stop. Elevation was replaced with a swampy obstacle course. In fact, it seemed like the muckity muck and sloppity slop just intensified as we continued on. I can't express the amount of mud, knee deep soup, and rock laden "puddles" (more like ponds) we had to haul our bikes through. Eventually the bogs eased up just as the elevation crept in yet again. We gradually made our way over and around increasingly jagged rocks to the top of Seth Warner Mountain. We paused at the top, praying we had seen the worst of the trail. Dan took a quick 10 minute nap and Becky and I sat in the darkness, barely able to hold a conversation. She estimated we still had over four more hours of this trail before we would see a hard road. Oi.

To the East I began to see the slightest trace of light. Morning birds were just beginning their chatter. It was just what I needed, just when I needed it. We were in our very final morning of the race. No matter what, we would see the finish line that day. This stinking trail could throw whatever it wanted at us. We were going to make it. Trail: "Hold my beer."

We started down the far side of the mountain easily enough at first. Still far, far, FAR from rideable, but we were able to keep moving forward through the rocks, boulders, and increasingly spring fed waters of the trail. I can't claim that any point of the descent was easy. It was a challenge the entire way down. Just as before, the accumulation of water became puddles, then pools, and finally bogs and ponds. We came to a gate, seemingly randomly placed in the depths of the forest. I had a glimmer of hope that it signified an end to the ATV trail of horrors, only to still question it's existence to this day. 

We came to a much larger mass of water that was thanks to a very determined family of beavers. As we circumnavigated its boarder, I paused at the south side of the pond. I wished with everything that I had in me that we would see a moose, or some other amazing Vermont animal. I told Becky "I would forgive 50% of the mess we just went though if I could see a moose right now." She responded "I would forgive 100% if we could see a baby moose!" (We have not forgiven even 25% of our misery, even a few weeks out at this point.) Alas, no moose, baby or adult, was spotted that morning. 

By this time the sun had taken over and there was no more soul crushing darkness to dim our moods. Even though the trail wasn't all that improved, our moods were on the up and up. The trail leveled out ever so slightly, and Becky encouraged us to start riding when we could. The puddles kept appearing over and over. We totally gave up on walking through them and just YOLO'd it up by plowing through, praying the peanut butter mud and bone jarring rocks wouldn't grab us from the depths of the waters. 

We came to another gate and could see a powerline clearing just beyond it. Sweet Jesus!! It didn't have to be a paved road, all I wanted was something other than a ATV trail. We had two options at this point. Either back track up "Country Road" or locate the Appalachian Trail that also crossed this powerline clearing. We started to head toward Country Road but decided at the last minute to head down the shorter route over the AT. We rode what we could and hike a biked what we couldn't and eventually spotted our long awaited hard packed road to "salvation." As we approached the road we saw some racers speed past. Becky called back that it was Tighty Whitey and co! Ha! We had caught back up with the herd!

Once all three of us had climbed the final push to the road, we paused for a break to pop into the woods, eat a few calories, and shed some more layers of clothing. Giddiness was creeping into everything. We only had a few roads that stood between us and the finish line. I could feel my energy bubbling up from who knows where. Even Dan stating "I refuse to race into the finish" from his horizontal position on the ground couldn't bring me down. We were almost there!!!

We eased our tushes back onto our bikes and began peddling down Risky Ranch Road. Soon we began to pass cabins and houses. We were entering back into civilization. I had mixed feelings about it. I was certainly and unabashedly ready to be done with the race. A shower and a cessation of forward movement was at the top of my list. But was I ready to be real-life Elke again? I didn't know. 

As we crested a hill that then dropped down into a valley, we spotted a group of racers at a creek crossing. Initially they appeared to be just hanging out, in no particular rush. Once they spotted us they suddenly became a flurry of activity, hopped on their bikes and shot off down the road. They were obviously in a rush to get away from the site, and we couldn't figure out why. The final CP of the race was along the creek they were stationed at. It was really a mercy point, not requiring much thought in finding. Why would they be so amped to vacate the area? Later, we found out it was B&Z along with Tighty Whitey's team. They had been punching the point when Tighty Whitey cried out "GO GO GO! We have to get out of here!" B&Z had no idea what the emergency was, but they did as they were told and raced out of there! 

We arrived to the small creek, and together, Becky and I trekked down the creek and punched the final CP of Endless Mountains 2026. Whew. What a wild ride from that first punch days and days ago. We returned to Dan and hopped back on our bikes. The road began to descend faster and faster, and soon we were holding on for dear life as we barreled down the gravel road at totally irresponsible speeds. I could feel all that excitement and energy filling my drained body. I couldn't help myself. I started to hoot and holler, yip and yell, gasp and giggle my way down that road. Becky joined in and we were a duo of raucous noise early that Saturday morning as we plowed into North Adams Massachusetts.

We paused at the intersection of Risky Ranch and Cross Road. It didn't feel like it should be that easy. We literally had to stay on that exact road all the way to the finish line. Like no more thought processes required. Just ride. As we came into town limits and were passing a few businesses Becky cried out "DAN! Its the hot dog!" There on the side of the road was a human-sized hot dog statue outside of a restaurant. Becky paused for a picture with the object that had caught their attention their first evening in North Adams a week ago to the day. 

After the photo shoot we continued on down the streets of North Adams that were blessedly empty on that early Saturday morning. Rounding the bend in the road I finally started to recognize the area. It was a surreal feeling. We were on the very last quarter mile of the race. We were going to cross that finish line as official finishers. We did it. 

Becky and I continued yipping and yelping in joy, totally inconsiderate of the residents along that street. I couldn't help it. We rode up to the parking lot at Hoosac Hall and spotted the finish like arch down by the entrance to the dorm. Our uncontained enthusiasm alerted the race staff to our arrival and we were cheered on by staff, racers, cow bells, and I think a fog horn, as we crossed the finish line together. We cheerfully accepted our well-earned medals and paused for a finish line photo, smiles plastered to our faces. Abby came over and asked how our race was. I hadn't wanted to start off with any complaints of missing out on so many sections of the course, but I word vomited out how we had come in early enough to have done more out there. I regret it now. I should have said how awesome it was, how challenged we were, and how unforgettable it was. Because all those things are more true and more worthy of saying than anything that went wrong. 

The race was everything I had thought it would be. We learned. We struggled. We laughed. We persisted. We crumbled. We rebuilt. We did it. I can't say I'll ever have another race quite like that one, but I'll always remember it. And as Abby suggested later on that day, maybe an all female Irritatingly Optimistic Team is something to look into for next time. Because there will most certainly be a next time. 

Endless Mountains 2026 Stage H

 After the initial shock of being in an actual building with four walls wore off, our team approached the check in table set up down the short hallway and in the dining room of the ski lodge. Patty was seated at the table with four envelopes and sign in sheets neatly arranged in front of her. She proceeded to explain the deal. As we had heard, there were four different orienteering courses set up on the grounds of the cross-country ski area. They were either short or long and easy or hard. During her explanation, Jim came over and joined in detailing how we were to go about the challenge. 

I can honestly say I was nearly the most exhausted and bone tired as I had been up to that point in the whole race. I just wanted to sit down and rest for a few minutes. Like the thought of sitting in an actual chair and just staring off for 10 minutes seemed like it would have been heavenly. Alas, daylight was a-wasting and I had somehow earned the title of "most excited about the orienteering courses" on our team. And so, it was assumed I was ready to go out guns blazing and hop right into an orienteering course. The question was which one. I had thought the short hard or long easy sounded doable, but at that point, when we were still hoping to complete all four courses, it made the most sense to check off the hardest course. I signed my name on the Long Hard course and accepted the map handed to me. 

Glancing over the map, it actually didn't look too terribly difficult. There was only one or two points I knew I would have to really use my brain to find. Becky gave me a few different attack point options for CP"L" while I emptied my pack of any non-mandatory items. Once my pack was blessedly lighter than normal, I bid my teammates adieu and set off on my own for what I was assuming would be an hour of sweet solitude.

I started my route by grabbing a CP tucked along a creek and then another up a semi shallow trail nestled in a drainage pit of sorts. From there, I goofed around a large rocky area for a few minutes until I saw my intended flag hanging about 100 yards further up the trail. After that punch I needed to gain a respectable amount of elevation. The maps were zoomed in from what looked like a caltopo app, with features slightly blurred and oddly enlarged. To find the next two points I needed to follow the abandoned framework of an old ski lift. The first of those two points was hanging in a huge metal culvert that ended with me soaking my shoes. Walking through the thigh-high vegetation to the next CP just saturated my shoes even more, so it wasn't a big deal. 

I popped into the woods just a smidge prematurely for the next point before realizing my goof and then homed in to my intended CP. While I was climbing that trail, I had looked back and seen a spectacled gentleman, also deeply focused on the map in his hands, following along the same route. I had the thought of linking up with him, but I still have imposter syndrome and worried he would think I was just trying to ride his shirttails on the course. 

After hitting that CP, which I had thought was my highest elevation of the course (ha. hahahaha.) I dipped back down the trails to a CP that was nestled deep in a reentrant ensconced by muck and mire. It was after punching that CP that I realized I had not paid enough attention to the contour lines, and I was going to have to turn around and scale back up the side of the mountain to the next two CPs. Rather than return to the trail, I chose to bushwhack directly up the incline. It was so steep in this no-mans-land between ski trails that I was pulling myself up, hand over fist, for what felt like eons. In actuality, it was probably only a like 100 feet of elevation, but it felt like I was trying to scale the side of Everest in my effort. 

When I finally reached the connector trail between two ski runs I ran into Brittany. She looked flustered and slightly over the course. I asked which course she was running and she laughingly said, "Short Easy, of course!" She had also underestimated the challenge and not brought enough water. I offered for her to have some of mine, but she assured me she was on her return route and would be totally fine. I continued on to the point I knew I was going to have to work for. 

As I approached the turn in the trail I was looking for, I spotted a reentrant that appeared on the map like it could lead me at least relatively near CP"L." I started up the little dry-ish creek bed. It always amazes me when you can feel as if your muscles and will power are at rock bottom and yet you can dig just a little deeper and keep going. The human body is an amazing thing, and with the continued knowledge that there is always just a smidge more gas in the tank, we can really amaze ourselves with what we are capable of. Cause it doesn't make sense that my legs kept climbing and my determination didn't dry up. 

I climbed higher and higher up that reentrant until I came to a boggy mess of a clearing. I had started the climb with the hopes that the CP would just plop in front of me at the top. There was no plopping. I continued on the same trajectory for a while before I stopped and really looked at the map. There was no back stop to let me know I had gone too far. Just never-ending forest and topography. There was a larger reentrant to the right of where I was, so I thought to maybe shoot over to that area and poke around. I came to a boulder laden, treefall entombed, natural obstacle course and started to continue up. After a few minutes I started to notice just how low the sun was getting. This wasn't smart. I turned back toward the trail and slowly made my way down. I figured I would go for the remaining two points and then try this one again.

I headed further along the trail toward CP "M" and decided on approaching it from the least steep side of the hilltop. As I was picking my way through the thick and nearly impenetrable Vermont equivalent of rhododendrons, I came upon the same guy I had seen earlier on the course. I decided I didn't care if I seemed like a lost little puppy at that point and I asked him if he had any luck with CP"L". He said he was going for that one next and to just call out for him when I started going for it and he would help me out. I thanked him profusely and went on to punch M. 

As I was returning to the trail intersection where he said he was going to shoot a bearing, I realized I had no idea what to call out to find him. I didn't catch his name, and I didn't want to just yell out "Hey glasses-guy!! Where are you?!" I decided I had to be a big girl and shoot my own bearing. I got a heading and dove directly into the woods. I climbed up and up and up yet again. While I don't claim that maintaining a heading is my best ability, I gave it my all to stay on course. For what seemed like an exorbitant amount of time, energy, and elevation, I kept going. Eventually I started to give up hope on finding this ding dang CP. The only problem was that if you missed even one of the points on your course you didn't get any credit for all your work. It was all or nothing. So, if I gave up on this one, then all the effort I had put into the other points was, well, pointless!

Just as I was really considering throwing in the towel, I spotted glasses guy climbing over a boulder coming toward me. Hot dang! I called out to him in relief and excitement! We closed in the distance between us and he assured me I was very close and to follow my heading just a few meters up and around the boulders in front of us and I would spot the CP at the top of a small rock ledge. As promised, there it was! I was so relieved. I only had one more point to find before I could head back to the lodge and stop moving for at least a little while. 

Rather than turn around and head back the way I had come, I decided to change trajectories and head in a more direct route to my final CP which was on a small creek at the very bottom of the ski area. I crawled, scaled, and slid down toward the trail I had tried to use as my attack point the first time I went for "L". Within a few minutes I recognized the obstacle course before me and realized I hadn't been too far off on my first attempt at the CP. If I had maybe used more tools in my toolbox with that attempt I may have found it and saved myself at least 30 minutes. I promised myself I would not "just hope for the best" when I went for future off trail points. 

I dropped back onto the trail and wove my way through ski runs until I came to the whereabouts for my final punch. Another racer was walking toward me in the fading light and I asked him if he thought going for the CP on the creek without a headlamp was doable, because I had left all light sources on the table in the lodge. He looked like he was lost, confused, and didn't understand the words coming out of my mouth. There was an awkward pause and he finally said, "yea, sure." I don't know who was more of a walking corpse at that point, him or me. 

I came to the wood line where I was planning to dive into the thick of the vegetation for my final point when glasses-guy came bebopping out of the woods. He kindly gave me a heading to follow, and I dialed it into my compass as I thanked him yet again.  Within a few feet of entering the dark of the woods I noticed a trampled trail through the tall grass and low shrubbery. Even though I had just had a pep talk with myself about not being lazy in my navigation, I put my compass back in my hip pocket and blindly followed the path in front of me. It dropped me right on the creek, but the CP was nowhere to be seen. I looked at my map and saw that the point should have been just a smidge further down the creek to the left. I didn't see any path over the land that headed in that direction, and I was near my absolute last bit of gas in the tank, so I decided hopping in the creek and wading through the knee-deep waters was easier than trying to force my way through the thick creek side bushes.

The cool water invaded my swampy shoes and felt lovely on my hot and blistered feet. I slowly sloshed my way down the creek and soon spotted my final punch of the course. As I climbed up the small step up to the creek bank, I saw an obvious trail just behind the flag. Well dang. I guess there was a trail I could have taken rather than slopping through the creek. But I did not regret the feeling of the refreshing water on my feet and calves. 

I returned to the trail and followed a ski run called "home" back to the lodge as the sun completely set for the last time on the race. I was spent. Like every muscle in my body cried for a rest. Even my core felt wobbly as I trekked through the un-mowed thigh high grasses of the meadow surrounding the front of the lodge. I knew as soon as the next Irritatingly Optimistic teammate would head out for their run I was going to literally fall on the floor of the lodge and just rest. Sleep would be awesome, but even just staying still for a spell sounded glorious. 

I came into the lodge and handed over my punch card to Patty. She gave me a smile and a nod of approval at my completion of the course. Waddling back over to the table we had claimed, I saw Becky resting with her head on her folded arms on the table. I didn't spot Dan at first, but quickly realized the snoring human wrapped in a bivy along the wall was my other teammate. Out like a light. I tapped Becky on the arm and plopped into a chair. She had been expecting me for a while and was surprised it had taken me so long, but stated other teams were taking just as long on the long-hard course. I agreed it had been a bit more challenging than expected and apologized for using up all the daylight. We together realized there was no way Dan was going to go out in the dark for any of the courses, and we were running out of time.

Not only did we have three more possible courses ahead of us, but we also needed to allot time for our two-hour penalty at this TA. It was roughly 9pm by this time and we wanted to give ourselves at least 8 hours on the final leg. There was no way we were going to be able to do the other 3 courses. Becky decided running the short easy course was probably the smartest option. She took her mandatory gear, a headlamp, and went to Patty to get the map. 

Looking around the lodge there were bodies everywhere. Racers were sprawled out on tables, under tables, across chairs, behind counters, and along walls. Many people had their legs elevated on chairs and were laying on the floor. This looked like the very best option. I peeled out of my shoes and flopped my absolutely spent legs on a chair and literally flopped my torso on the floor with my pack under my head and my raincoat across my eyes. I didn't sleep. I don't know how to describe the feeling of being 100% on "E" and still not able to sleep. I don't know what I did, but it may have been an out of body experience for just a few minutes. I remained cognizant, but I recharged over the next 20 minutes to the point where I knew I could go on. I pulled my raincoat from my eyes and looked around. Brittany was set up at a table just behind me and appeared to be a functioning human. The lure of human interaction outweighed my need for sleep, so I dragged myself up and over to a seat at her table. 

Together over tailwind and cheetohs, we chatted and commiserated for a few relaxing moments. Zach was out doing another course, but they were also resolved to doing only two of the four possibilities. It made me realized that if we were only doing two, why didn't I do the short hard or long easy?! A point is a point! But, honestly, I think I enjoyed that long hard course more than I should have, given my exhaustion and the late hour in the race. 

While we were enjoying the moment of doing nothing, Dan appeared to wake up from his deep slumber. I watched him poke his head out from his bivy and look around for something. When his eyes landed on me, he held out an empty plastic cup and gave it a little shake. I paused not believing what I was seeing. This guy, who had been sleeping for the past few hours while his teammates were out scaling the sides of Prospect Mountain, was asking me to fill up his water cup for him so he wouldn't have to crawl out of his bivy sack. I turned and looked at Britany in disbelief. All we could do was laugh. It was a laugh of desperation, but it kept my reaction in check, and I was able to walk over to him, take his cup, fill it at the water fountain and return it to him without pouring it on his head. Small victories.

Becky returned to the lodge after less than an hour. She had had a small goof on the same CP I had that was housed in the culvert. I had given her a heads up on that one to not overthink it and that it was a pretty easy find. In the dark of the night, and with the culvert obviously blocking the reflection of the flag, it had proved to be a little trickier than I had suggested. Otherwise, it sounded like she had done really well and efficiently. It was getting late and we decided we would only claim ownership over two of the orienteering courses that evening. 

Our next goal was to transition for the final bike leg of the race. The deal with our time penalty was that we had to completely stop and sit at a table for the allotted timeframe. I figured we would be able to sleep and eat for that time, perhaps even change clothes and use the bathroom. I was mistaken. We woke Dan up and all headed out into the dark to build our bikes and pack our boxes. I really think we finished this in record time. By 10:45 we were back in the lodge to check in for our penalty. I had left most of my stuff sitting at the table we had claimed earlier, thinking we would just be floating around the lodge and still able to putter about. Jim had other plans for us. 

Initially we were pointed to 4 chairs set up along a wall and told to sit. He called the ARWS ref to clarify what was to be done. The ref was already asleep somewhere and slightly groggy when Jim spoke to him but was able to relay that we needed to sit at a table where we could not get up, go to the bathroom, or go near our gear for the full two hours. I had left my food, shoes, and remaining gear at our other table. Dang it. We were guided to a four-top table and told to sit together. We were not allowed to get up, move, or look at maps. Jim looked at his watch and set a two hour timer. He told us to keep an eye on the time just in case he got caught up with TA happenings. It was 10:50.

Within a few minutes we all had our heads on the table. Within ten minutes Dan had left his seat and was laying on the floor under the table. I guess the rules stated we couldn't leave the table, and he was still kinda at the table. Over the next 1.5 hours I listened to other teams chatting, Patty and Jim repeatedly explaining the o-courses to arriving teams, and Dan snore. I know I fell asleep off and on because I kept doing that sleep-jerk-twitch thing you do when your body is overly exhausted. At one point I heard Glen Lewis return from the long-hard course and comment on how tricky the nav was. Ha! Validation. 

At one point Jim looked over and only saw two of us at the table. He suddenly realized he had a fugitive on the loose and began scurrying around the lodge looking for his escaped convict! Eventually he realized Dan had just bent the rules ever so slightly, but he was still "at the table." Multiple other teams kept looking at us, pitying our plight of having to sit in hard wooden chairs for such a long period of time. But honestly, those hours of rest were a blessing in disguise. 

Toward the end of our penalty. Becky startled herself awake and twitched so violently it woke me up too. She realized our passport was in her shorts, which she had changed out of and put in her bike box, which could possibly already be on the truck or even heading back to North Adams! We waved Patty over and explained our dilemma. She wasn't sure what our options were, so she waved over Jim. They came through for us and decided if Jim went with Becky, to ensure all she did at her box was retrieve the passport, then no rules would be broken. He took this very seriously and stood right next to Becky as she dug through her bike box. She even had him hold a few things while she clamored for the precious passport. 

At 12:50 on the dot, I called out to Jim that our two hours were up and he valiantly agreed to let us go from our prison-table. We jumped into action, collected our gear, used the bathroom and bundled up for the final upcoming 20-mile ride that Brent had repeatedly told teams, "Not to underestimate."

Endless Mountains 2026 Stage G

Green Mountain National Forest

0/6 Mandatories

0/6 Optionals 

Coming out of the TA, we turned west and began our hike on a hard packed gravel road. Previously in the race, this section of roadway had been deemed off limits, and the only option to get to its far side was to bushwhack deep into the mountains and marshes of the Green Mountains National Forest. I'm not sure what changed, but we were so thankful to be able to simply put one mindless foot in front of the other on this roadway labeled on the map as Corridor Trail. 

We paused at the first river crossing we came upon to refill our water supply. It was the heat of the day, and we knew we would be sweating on this upcoming trek, so we took at least 10 minutes to drink deeply and fill all our bladders and bottles prior to setting off further down the road. Many other teams were also pausing at the river to do the same. 

We returned to the route and continued on, ping-ponging with a handful of other teams. While walking on a flat surface is easy and faster than a trail, the unvaried steps begin to wear on your feet much faster than uneven terrain. Since this was our last big hike of the race, and we had all just primped and bandaged our tootsies at the TA, we didn't need to stop to tend to our paws. We kept a steady, albite slow, pace on that roadway for a few kilometers before we needed to start paying closer attention for CP possibilities. 

Becky and I had returned to our desire for at least a few checkpoints on this stage. Stage F had been a total wash, and while I don't regret our bypassing of points on that leg, I was not wanting to blindly pass all options from here on out. When we had been looking at options on the map at TA 6, we had set our sights on CP 67 through 71, with the caveat that we wanted to arrive to TA 7 before dark so as to begin the o-courses with some daylight. The pace we were walking at made it obvious within the first hour that we would not have time for all five points. 

Becky suggested we pick one of the first three points to go for and leave the other two untouched. Dan was all for leaving every single point behind but agreed to the plan. CP 68 was out of the running due to its location furthest from our route. 67 looked as though it was directly on a trail, and CP 69 was located closer to Corridor Trail. but up a reentrant and nestled in a saddle. I had thought 69 was the better option, but the appearance of simply following a trail did have its perks, as Becky pointed out. I had to agree, and we set our sights on CP 67. 

While we weren't walking like zombies, we were happy to not have to think too hard for points. We spotted a well-trodden path to our left and Becky and I veered from the road to inspect its direction. After a few minutes of investigating, we realized the direction of travel for earlier teams was coming from the woods and not into the woods, so we deduced the path was made by teams coming from further reaches of the forest where optional points were located. Not our bag, baby. Becky made the comment "Our trail is going to just magically appear in front of us, and we will immediately know it's the right one." Speak it into existence sista!

It worked! Within a few minutes we saw a man-made rock blockade to our left and an obvious trail beyond. I assume it was the national park's attempt to deter ATVs from taking the trail and mangling it up. Becky and I climbed over to confirm it did in fact continue on as a trail before Dan would crawl over the wall. Once we were all on the other side of the blockade, we followed a fresh path of travel forded by leading teams. It was too good to be true. If all we had to do was follow the path of smashed vegetation, we would hit CP 67 without a hitch. Lazy. We were being lazy. 

Not only were we following someone else's route, but we were doing it without confirming much. We didn't keep an eye on our compasses, we weren't pace counting, and we weren't thumbing the map. We were really just human lemmings, marching on without any thought. And it bit us in the butt. About a quarter mile in, Dan had had enough and found a log to sit on to wait for our return. Becky and I continued on, chatting and mindlessly lemming it up. Eventually the smashed vegetation stopped completely. It had faded a few times along the way, but we had been able to spot another bent weed or broken plant just a few feet ahead and kept on. Our luck had run out though. And we weren't even sure where along that "trail" we were. Nothing to do but go back to Dan. Had he been with us, it would have been easier to just shoot north back to Corridor Trail, but we couldn't leave him out in the woods... right? NO! I promise we went back for him.

Returning along the same path proved to be harder than expected, and we ended up following another path that veered southwest from the original trail we had been on. It took us a few minutes before we realized we were in unfamiliar territory. We began to worry we had really goofed and that we weren't going to find our way back to Dan, or the CP, or the road. We were spiraling in our doomsday thinking. We paused, took a compass bearing, and eventually righted ourselves back onto our original route back to Dan. Becky had even had the awesome-boy scout forethought to leave a small twig hanging from a branch to help confirm our whereabouts when we had been heading out from Dan. She squealed when she spotted her beacon of confirmation, and we were able to leave our feelings of doom behind us. 

We reconnected with Dan and continued on the path back to the main road. It was the first CP we had gone for and not been able to punch. It sucked, but we had learned from it. Never-ever-ever be a mindless lemming. By the time we had our feet back on the main road, we realized we were not going to add any points to our standing on that section of the route. I still had hope for the two CPs tucked in the trail systems of Prospect Mountain further along our route. 

The main road turned into a rutted and steep ATV route as we trudged on. We stopped for a snack just after passing Team Over the Hill, who had Dan's teammate from last year, Len. Every time we had passed or come in contact with that team there had been an uncomfortable silence between Len and Dan. Apparently, they hadn't spoken since crossing the finish line last year. I have always enjoyed Len and his quirkiness, so I still made conversation with them whenever we saw them and had planned to do the same when they passed us while we sat and snacked. They never came. I assume we were in the vicinity of CP 69 and they had scaled the reentrant while we stuffed our faces. 

After another kilometer of decent from the elevation of Corridor Trail, we converged with Dunville Hollow Trail and made a hard right to the north toward TA 7 and Prospect Mountain. We assumed we would be gaining a bunch of elevation on this trail but were happy to find that it was a more undulating route with a few uphills but much more downhills than we had thought we would be blessed with. 

We passed a few primitive campsites along this roadway, and I found myself envious of the laughter and laid-back fun those campers were having. We were simply putting one foot in front of the other, ticking off landmarks on our way to a cross-country ski trail called Whistlepig, which would lead us to CP 70. When we came to that intersection Dan easily convinced Backy and me to drop that point and subsequently CP 71 in favor of just straight shooting into the TA. This was becoming yet another entire stage of the race we would "complete" without a single point to show for it. Desperate times call for desperate measures, but it was kinda getting to me that we were dropping so, so, so much of the course. 

We started to discuss the plans for the upcoming o-course at Prospect Mountain Cross Country Ski Resort. There were to be four different orienteering courses to be completed individually by team members. Each completed course would grant teams one mandatory point. The options were dubbed as "Short-Easy, Long-Easy, Short-Hard, and Long-Hard." There was no rule for who did what, but it was expected that each team member would do at least one. Since we had three team members but there were four courses, one of us would have to do two courses. As expected, Dan opted for the Short-Easy. I had been looking forward to this challenge, so I had planned to either do the Long-Hard, or both the Long Easy and Short Hard. We discussed our options as we merged onto Route 9 and made our final ascent to the ski resort that housed TA 7.

Trekking along the roadway I started to notice familiar sights. I became 100% sure I had been on this exact road at some point in my life. I eventually realized I had, in fact, come past here multiple times on my way to Mount Snow in my youth on ski trips with my family. It gave me a blast of happiness to have a glimmer of the real world and familiarity, no matter how fleeting it was. I reveled in the memories of skiing with my dad for just a few minutes until we were on the property of the ski resort. We entered the ski lodge with feelings of unfamiliarity and awe. I couldn't remember the last time we were in an actual building, and it felt foreign. Four full days of racing had made us into feral animals who felt uncomfortable and caged in an enclosed structure. I love how racing changes us, for better or worse.

Endless Mountains 2026 Stage F

Mount Snow, Deerfield Ridge, Wilmington, Hogback Mountain, Mollystark State Park, Harriman Reservoir. (All replaced with a straight shot of mercy)

0/9 Mandatories

0/21 Optionals 

The rain continued the whole night. I was actually really thankful for the constant pattering on the tent walls that muffled all the normal sounds that can keep you awake while resting at a TA. I probably slept deeper and harder in those hours than I had all week. The only things that woke me every hour were the tilted angle that caused me to constantly slide down and nearly off my sleeping pad, and the occasional drop of water that inevitably comes through to drip right on your forehead when you sleep in a tent while its raining. In an attempt to avoid as much excess pack weight as possible, and with the assurance he is totally fine without one, Dan had chosen not to bring a sleeping pad. While this may have been fine last year when the temperatures during the race had repeatedly reached record highs, this year was proving to be a bit colder and he spent a majority of the night shivering next to Becky. 

At one point during the night, race staff was coming around asking if any teams were interested in dropping and if they needed a ride back to North Adams. I hadn't heard that exchange, but I did wake up to Dan and Becky discussing something. I asked what they were talking about, and I don't recall if they responded and I just didn't understand them, or if no one responded and I just gave up trying to figure out what was going on, but I rolled over and went back to sleep for another hour or so. 

Eventually the morning light poked us awake and we realized the rain had stopped. We sat in the tent discussing our options for another few minutes before we had a game plan. None of us wanted to drop. A decent night rest, sunlight, and a stop to the rain gave us all a renewed zest for continuing on. The upcoming bike stage was supposed to be a long and elevation filled endeavor. Dan still wasn't keen on riding for extended distances, and Becky and I had lost our fiery resolve to push for more points. We decided that whatever the bare minimum was to be considered an official finisher is what we were going for. Dan had not slept well with all his shivering, so he remained in the tent while Becky and I emerged. 

I looked around the TA in the morning light and realized we were far from the only bums who hunkered down for the night. We were also not alone in our decision to scrape off any extra "fluff" from this upcoming bike leg. Brent was understanding of everyone's evening plight in the torrential rains, and was busy trying to decide what could be done to shorten stage F. He was currently deep in discussions with the ARWS ref trying to hatch a plan. He promised he would let me know what they decided on as soon as they decided. 

I took the chance to use the bathroom and start taking inventory of our water logged and scattered gear. We had actually managed to keep some semblance of organization to our stuff, so Becky and I got to work. We deflated the packrafts, wiped them down as best we could, rolled them up and returned them to the packraft bag. We collected all the paddles, PFDs, and other rafting gear, found our TA 5 bags, and hauled all 3 bike boxes over to our site. Suddenly, I saw something that completely altered my mood. The sun was popping out from behind the clouds and casting golden speckled rays of warmth between the leaves of the surrounding trees. I paused in a beam of sunlight and let it warm me. It was going to be alright. Actually, it was gonna be great. 

Brent was making rounds to all the racers, giving them their options. We scooted over to a group of teams listening intently. While the option was not there for us to just b-line directly back to North Adams, and honestly, I'm now VERY thankful that wasn't an option, Brent had given us the choice to take a very direct road route to TA 6. We wouldn't have the chance for any of the mandatory points, and we would only really come even remotely close to one optional CP, but we were cutting off miles and miles of stage F. The route wasn't even on any of our maps, so he had a hand drawn map that was being passed around and copied by plenty of other teams with the same mindset as us. Part of me was sad to be missing this stage. It was the only part of the course that I had some local knowledge of from having raced with Chris in GMARA's Hard Fall in 2024. That race had covered area all around Mount Snow and Wilmington, which would be where we would have headed had we not taken Brent's short course route. 

Obviously, Dan was all for this option, and Becky and I had to agree, with our lost hours here at TA 5, we were in need to make up some time. I copied down the map and we continued on getting ourselves organized and ready for biking. B&Z were still camped out next to us, and also slowly getting themselves together. They asked if we would be interested in linking up for the ride and I yipped out a "TOTALLY!" without a pause. Dan, however, hinted that it wouldn't work well since we had a much slower bike pace than them. They assured us that they would happily go whatever pace we had. I so wanted for them to join us. I really enjoy them and their humor, but it was obvious Dan didn't have an interest in it. We all continued putting our bikes together and cleaning up our gear. 

As expected, a bunch of my gear was still drenched from the overnight rains. I stuffed all my wet clothes from the night before into a ziplock bag and threw them into the paddle bag, but I needed my rain coat and pants as mandatory gear. We didn't have enough time for the sun to dry them efficiently, so I took matters into my own hands and waved them around like a flag girl in the color guard of a small town parade. Becky joined with me for a few moments of silly, lighthearted playfulness and with that, my outlook on the day, and race, returned to one of joy and thankfulness. Right around that same time, a volunteer came up to us with our trail mail from the tracking site. We smiled and giggled at the encouraging words from our friends and family. It reminded me that we were so lucky and fortunate to be right there, right then.

Once we were all bundled up and perched on our bikes with bags and boxes returned to the Uhaul, we went to check out of the TA. Brent apologized for the "crudeness" of the hand drawn map, but we assured him it was everything we needed and more. All we needed to do was mindlessly follow the road out until we hit blacktop. If we got lost between here and there, we would have been trying to get turned around. We rode out of the TA, and I waved at B&Z encouraging them to catch up to us quickly!

As unexpected as it was, the initial few miles of that go-around bike leg were my favorite biked miles of the entire race. We were on a hard packed gravel road that climbed and descended alongside a beautiful and fast moving river. Becky and I drooled over the beautiful rapids and hydraulics peppered all along it's flowing route. I wondered aloud why that awesome looking waterway wasn't part of the course for the race, and Becky astutely stated the river probably only looked so perfect because of the inundation of rains we had the night before. Good point.  Well, if we couldn't raft it, at least we got to enjoy watching it wind along our route with mountains and valleys hugging it's boarders.

At one point the view was so picturesque I couldn't help myself. I asked Dan to record the sights with his go-pro. He didn't feel up to following my requested landscape encompassing directions, so he handed me the little device and told me to do whatever I wanted. I dropped my bike and walked back a few hundred yards to capture the entire bend in the river along with the beautiful sun soaked mountains in the distance. It was one of the most stunning views I've been blessed to encounter, so I took an extended video. As I was walking back to them, Dan and Becky were talking and facing the opposite direction, so I took the opportunity to ever so not politely adjust my bike shorts that were riding up in places where they had no business hanging out. As luck would have it, just as I completed this crude task, I heard the rumble of tires coming up behind us. I had apparently picked the exact time 4 vehicles, heavily laden with men of various ages, were riding upon us to dig my shorts out of my butt. Awesome. All I could do was laugh and wave an apology as they rode by.

The national forest road eventually ended and dropped us onto a busy multilane roadway. There was a shoulder, thankfully, but the grade of the road shot up precariously to our right. I crossed my fingers that we were going to go left, but after just glancing at Brent's map, I realized we had to go right. Right. We tried to stay in the saddle as long as possible, but it didn't last long. Soon enough we had to stop to not only shed layers of clothes, but give Dan a moment to catch up. At that very moment B&Z came upon us. I hoped they would stop and join us, but I guess they picked up what Dan was putting down and they kept trucking up the hill.

The road made a sweeping turn to the left as the grade remained steep and daunting. As we continued up, the shoulder became more and more narrow, to the point there was no space between the white thick line of the road and the dented and gnarled guardrail to our right. Many many many vehicles had been deflected from the cliff edge that lined the side of the road by that guardrail. And there we were, pushing our bikes up right alongside that guardrail as big box trucks, semi trucks, and personal vehicles were shooting up the road with no shoulder. What could go wrong?! Thankfully, nothing went wrong. Other than Dan choosing to stop for a breather a few too many times in that precarious road section for my comfort. But as I said, nothing went wrong.

We were treated to a short downhill section (with a shoulder!) that was short lived, and again we were faced with another steep and narrow uphill. Brent had given us fair warning about the less than ideal road conditions on this shortcut, so we couldn't balk. Prior to facing this next uphill, we pulled over to the side of the road and took a snack break. We all realized that while we had banked a refreshing amount of rest at the last TA, none of us had really eaten very well over the past 12 hours. I took in a few handfuls of gummy bears and shared them with Dan while we watched multiple other teams pass by us on the same route. It made us feel better to know we were far from the only teams short coursing this stage. 

After a few more uphills and a whole lot of super fast and furious downhills, we came to a road intersection where we could turn off to grab the sole optional CP we could claim on this go around. F21 appeared to be just off of a dead end road to our left. We pulled into a small gravel lot just at the base of that dead end road and were charged at by a pack of pudgy and perturbed Labrador Retrievers. We quickly searched for the owners of these hounds and saw a few locals scurrying from the porch of a nearby house. They called out "just put your hands up and they won't bite!" So there we stood, hands in the air like a trio of convicts caught in a crime, as we were sniffed and barked at by the defensive dogs. The eyebrow ring from the older lady glinted in the sunlight as she explained the dogs were just a little territorial and didn't like strangers. Fair enough, we did come charging into their turf fast and unannounced. We told her we were looking for a dead end road in that exact area. Her adult son told us the road just behind them was a dead end, but it was private property, as he stared at us as if insinuating that private property was not to be trespassed upon by the likes of these three filthy and strange bicyclists that stood before him. We paused, looking past them at the road signage that eluded to a public road. There was an awkward pause as we realized he was not being truthful, but in his body language as well as the continued threats from the dogs, we were forced to decide that CP was not worth whatever issue we would cause by plowing past this scenario. We thanked them and made a u-turn back to the roadway. 

Becky and I looked at the race maps we had returned to while Dan sat on a guardrail and did some sort of pack adjusting. All that stood between us and TA 6 was a relatively flat and short road that would come to triangular intersection, and a right hand turn onto one last road into the TA. We shot off down the road as I counted off other roads to our right. We came to where I thought we needed to turn off, but neither Dan nor Becky agreed. Becky noted that the geographical features in the distance didn't line up with what should be seen from the map. Dan adamantly agreed. I could see what she was saying, but my gut still said we needed to turn off. We crossed a bridge and I looked down the next road on our right and saw that it connected to the previous road. It was a triangular intersection. It HAD to be what we were looking for. We stopped and took in all the clues before us and realized, it was in fact where we needed to turn. Becky was not alone in her thought process though. We later learned that B&Z had also not thought it was the correct turn off, but they had continued on up another steep incline before realizing the error of their ways. At least we had avoided that!

We rode the dirt road into TA 6 which was erected amidst another logging field of destruction and zero shade. The ever-fantastic volunteer crew cheered our arrival and after giving instructions for the TA, let us know piping hot grilled cheese sandwiches would be hand delivered to us within minutes. So, so, so awesome! We located our bike boxes and gear bins. I voted we move into the opening far to our left where B&Z had set up, but the thought of hauling all our gear wasn't tempting to my teammates, so we set up our site right where we were. Fragile flowers was transitioning right next to us, obviously one teammate short. I asked Donna and Anna if Olga was ok, and they assured me she didn't drop because of an injury and that all was well. 

I opened my box and bin and went into transitioning as efficiently as I had up to that point. While rummaging through my bin my hand grazed a cool metal cylinder under a bag. I can't describe the amount of excitement the discovery of that seltzer water gave me. I was nearly giddy as I cracked it open. The sound also grabbed the attention of everyone in earshot. The searing sun and heat of the day just added to the allure of that carbonated treat. Anna and Donna both voiced their desire for just such a treat, and while I didn't have more cans, I quickly offered to share my lime flavored "fuzzy water" with them. Anna eagerly accepted the offer and together we slammed that can in less than a minute. 

The remainder of the time we spent in the TA was devoted to blister management, sunblock and body lube slathering, and mapping out our upcoming trek leg. By the time we checked out of the TA we realized it was our fastest transition to date with a time of less than 75 minutes. Hey, ya gotta start somewhere.