Endless Mountains 2026 Stage C

 White Rocks National Recreation Area

3/9 Mandatories

0/13 Optionals

We hauled ourselves up to the TA tent through the dark of night. I plopped Dan's pack on the ground and stretched my back as best I could without making one of those obnoxious man-grunts everyone seems to have to make when stretching one's back. There was a hush to the voices of the volunteers that eluded to the fact there were many sleeping racers strewn about the area. While their voices were quiet, they still gave us much needed encouragement, cheer, and offers of maple syrup shots. After directing us to the bike boxes and giving us a layout of the TA, they smiled as we thanked them profusely and hobbled over to claim a small area to work in. There wasn't a direction that didn't have a tent or motionless body curled up in a bivy sacks. We would just have to be as quiet as possible where ever we set up shop.

Becky and I pulled all the bike boxes over while Dan sat on the ground collecting himself. After again staring into my bike box for a few motionless minutes, I slowly disassembled my mud caked bike and returned it to its comfortable resting place. This TA held coveted HOT water for use in whatever way you wanted. (Just not to bathe in.) I added a few cups to a grits and chicken meal that honestly captivated me in a way few things have. Hidden between bike boxes so I could have a few precious moments of solitude, I went through my bags for the TA and inhaled my meal. Dry, clean clothes, a few wet wipes, a warm meal, and a couple minutes to myself really improved my state of being. 

It was night two of the race and we hadn't had more than a few winks of sleep over the past 36 hours. It was time to bed down for at least a few hours. I began rummaging through my well organized bags and quickly realized I had forgotten such a major item of comfort that I felt slightly doomed. My ear plugs. Not only was I aware of the fact that Dan was a snorer-extraordinaire, but more than half of the field of racers we were surrounded by were all cutting logs in a cacophony of snorts, wheezes, and deep nasal rumblings. How the heck was I going to get any precious rest with all those noises?! 

We had packed a three person tent, each of us carrying a portion of the weight in our packs. It would have made sense for us to pop the tent up and crawl in, cozy together for warmth on that slightly chilly night. I couldn't bring myself to do it though. I was so in need of some distance from Dan that the thought of snuggling up within inches of him and his snoring turned my stomach. I can really be such a childish fool sometimes, but I knew I wouldn't sleep in the tent. I encouraged Becky and Dan to use the tent if they wanted, but I was planning to sleep under the stars, hopefully out of earshot of the TA. 

I told Becky I was going to go search out a spot, but I don't think she understood that I was planning to go into the woods a small distance. I began by looking around the outskirts of the clearing of the picnic area our TA was based out of, but every little nook and cranny held a sleeping racer. I began to poke into the woods, but all the ground looked prickly, uneven, and rocky. I ended up near the bathrooms and found a relatively flat and grassy plot of land. I had to giggle that I was bedding down next to a bathroom yet again. On my very first adventure race, I, out of convenience and proximity to our gear bin, took a nap within feet of a porta potty and was picked on about it for years. This was just adding to that reputation of choosing terrible sleeping places. I inflated my ground pad, unpacked my bivy, blew up my pillow, and crawled into my sack. I knew I was going to crash hard once I finally closed my eyes. As I was just beginning to succumb to my exhaustion, I heard Becky quietly call out my name. She and Dan were looking for me so we could all sleep near each other. I didn't call back at first, hoping they would find a spot a little further away and I wouldn't have to hear any snoring. Alas, as much as I needed time away from Dan, I really do adore Becky, and I didn't want her to think I was avoiding her or making an intentional riff in the team. I centered myself for a moment and then crawled out of my bivy, put my slides back on, picked up my stuff, and headed back into the thick of the TA. I found Dan and Becky near a huge maple tree in the middle of the TA. We laid out our sleeping gear and made a 3 spoke circle around the base of the tree, nestled between roots and twigs. I knew as soon as other races would begin to awaken and prepare for the day, our sleep would be pointless. But we needed something. 

I closed my eyes and quickly fell asleep. I have no idea how long I slept in that first chunk, but I don't think it could have been more than an hour before teams began emerging from their bivys and tents and in the dark of the early (EARLY) morning they began their prep to head out on the big trek. If I would have had ear plugs, I'm sure their attempts at being quiet-ish would have been successful. However, being a super light sleeper meant with every zipper being zipped, every bivy being stuffed into it's bag, every cough, sneeze, or burp woke me up from my sleep. And I couldn't be upset. We had made the same amount of noise when we came in to the TA just an hour or two before while they were all sleeping. It was the nature of the beast trying to sleep at a TA. I passed in and out of a very fitful sleep listening to the conversations of various teams setting up shop at the picnic table just to my left. At one point it was the chatty and endearing Cherubini Brothers team who claimed that table. I have to give them credit, they were as quiet as I've ever known them to be and were very considerate of the pile of bodies just to their right. 

We had set our watches to alarm after a 3 hour rest. I laid in my bivy refusing to open my eyes while the mass of teams prepped and departed the TA. Eventually the activity died down and I could hear the detached conversations of the volunteers at the TA tent. I opened one eye and saw the slightest bit of light in the morning sky. Maybe I could catch just a few more minutes of rest. I rolled onto my side and curled into a tight fetal ball. I don't know what that position change did, but suddenly I couldn't keep from shivering. I had 2 pairs of wool socks on, leggings, 3 layers of shirts, including my thermal and a fleece jacket, and it wasn't doing diddly squat to keep me from trembling in my sack. I didn't really feel super cold, just shivery. I remembered from some corner of my mind that pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth would instantly stop unwanted shivering. It worked! I laid on my side, tongue diligently pressed to the roof of my mouth and began to fall back asleep. As I relaxed, obviously so did my tongue, and naturally, the shivering returned. I had to giggle; what else could I do? Such is my life right now. 

One by one our watches vibrated and chirped to "awaken" us. It took at least 5 minutes before any of us could form an intelligible sentence, but finally we motivated each other to begin our prep for the upcoming "monster hike." We returned to our bike boxes and packs and individually prepared as best we could. Within 30 minutes we were prepped, packed, bike boxes on to the truck, and at the TA tent checking out. After a quick gear check, a few more words of encouragement, and another offer for maple syrup shots, we headed out into the White Rocks National Recreation Area. We weren't the last team to leave the TA, but we definitely felt like we were bringing up the rear of the field of racers.

As is the case whenever I begin to navigate, I fumbled in getting myself "into the map." Becky has a perfectly sensible way of always orienting the map and herself to north. And while it makes sense, and works flawlessly for her, I just can't make it work as well for me. I think I need to orient the map to what I see in front of me first. Either way, we finally agreed on which direction to go and we began putting one foot in front of the other. The hike didn't hold back. Within 10 minutes we had to stop to shed layers of clothing. We were discussing our timeline, and Dan was encouraging us to be "realistic" about the mandatory points on this leg. He suggested we nearly straight shot directly to the next TA and bypass nearly all the points. While I knew we wouldn't be making too many detours from that main shot, I didn't want to skip all the points. Becky and I had a loose plan to hit at least three or four CPs along the trails in this chunk of the race. Dan continued to humor us, with the caveat that banked time now meant more time for points and fun later. Always later.

We climbed and climbed and climbed. Even though it couldn't have been much past 7 am, we were passing a surprising number of "regular" hikers going in the opposite direction. I realized we were on the Appalachian Trail and that many of these heavy-pack-laden people were probably thru hikers. We tried to strike up conversations with a few of them, and while some stopped to chat for just a minute or two, others huffed past us, obviously not there for any social interactions and totally focused on a solitary experience. 

The trail was spectacular. Beautiful morning sunbeams were sending the morning dew into sparkly reflections of light, the verdant ferns and pines were refreshing, and bright white rocks dotted the slopes and crevices. At one point, there wasn't a clear continuation of the trail after a pine-shad laden clearing and between Becky and I, we had to scamper up two different route possibilities searching for the next white blaze. There was suddenly a moment of deja vu for me. The trail and feeling I had searching for the next blaze was unbelievably familiar. Once I spotted an obvious white swatch of paint on a tree, I called out to my team and they came clambering up the trail. We continued on, stopping regularly for breathers and snacks. Just after one such stop we came upon a "garden" of rock art. I know some people get their feathers so ruffled at rock stacking, but it was really a cool and beautiful sight to behold out in the middle of the rugged and natural forest. 

Becky and I continued to keep a close eye on the map and all the cartographic details that were clueing us in to our position. We came upon an obvious flattened area of land that could only be the saddle we were waiting for. We came to a southern bend in the trail and decided it was the perfect attack point for CP 25. Being as we were sure we were at the back of the pack, we assumed we would see a well trodden path up to the "high ground" where CP 25 awaited us. Nope. It could be every other team before us either used different attack points, or they were all coming from different directions with different trajectories. Either way, we decided to ford our own path, so Becky and I dove into the forest heading "up." We bushwacked up the side of the mountain side by side and slowly became more and more excited to find our goal. Everything felt spot on, we were gaining elevation steadily, the land features were all mapping out, and we knew we were going to bag this point without a hitch. You probably think I'm wording all this in preparation for a let down. But, HA! Our navigation worked! It worked so well that we trekked DIRECTLY to our intended destination! Becky had an orienteering term for how well we hit the point, but I can't recall it now. "Spiked the point." "Speared the goal." Something like that. Either way, we did it flawlessly and we couldn't contain our excitement! We hooted and yipped and giggled in celebration. It certainly wasn't the most challenging of points out on the course, but it was the most memorable punch we hit. Maybe it was slight delirium, or just getting to work side by side so well on something, but I'll enjoy the memory of CP 25 for a while in my mind.

We came back down from our literal and proverbial high, and reconnected with Dan. We shared our enthusiasm for such a fun find and he smiled in solidarity as we trekked further along the trail. We paused for a break a slight bit further down the trail where I dropped my trekking poles and inhaled some more gummy bears. After the break we continued on, all still chipper and happy from the enjoyable morning. After a few hundred meters, Dan realized I no longer had my trekking poles in my hand. I never really use the dang things, so their absence didn't alert me. Still, I didn't want to NOT have them in case they would actually come in handy at some point. I scurried back up the trail and found my green and black sticks waiting for me in the exact spot I had deposited them. As I turned to head back to my teammates, I spotted a pair of red rimmed sunglasses perched on a log in the middle of the trail. I had no recollection of seeing them on our first pass by, so I assumed they were Becky's and she had done the exact same mindless placement of gear. I scooped them up and quickly returned to my friends. I put the glasses on as I approached them, expecting to hear a cry of surprise from Becky having realized her misplacement of her sunglasses. Nope. Neither of them had ever seen the flashy specs. So strange that we had all walked right past them and not noticed them. I shoved them into my pack planning to hand them over at the next TA in case another racer had dropped them. Later I thought it more likely that they were dropped by a regular hiker, and now they would end up in the lost and found of the race, never to be seen by their owner again. 

The trail dropped in elevation, welcoming an onslaught of sloppy, muddy dips in the path. Make shift boardwalks helped with keeping our kicks dry-ish, but the rock hopping and slippery mud avoiding made our forward progress slow way down. Eventually we made our way to the convergence of 4 trails and our attack point for CP 27. It was almost a mercy point that barely required any real navigational abilities. Still, Dan opted to wait for us at the creek and trail connection while Becky and I bushwhacked a few hundred meters downstream to the CP. He was kind enough to fill our water bottles and bladders for us in our absence. 

Following a snack and a rest, we were trying to decided if heading north east to CP 26 was worth the effort. I voted in the affirmative, but as was becoming the norm, Dan voiced his concern over time and the assurance that we needed to bank time for the fun and points "later." I was beginning to involuntarily roll my eyes at that word. But, he had a mountain more expedition experience than me, so I seceded and we continued on our southwest route toward TA 3.

The trail was blessedly flat for a spell, and we came to a much larger and faster moving section of the stream, dubbed Stone Brook, we had been sitting beside earlier. There were 3 national park workers tinkering amidst a pile of large logs and gravel. It appeared that pile of materials would eventually become a bridge over said waterway. But for now, we had to rock hop across the roughly 4 meter wide stream. I went first and finally utilized my pointless-up-to-now trekking poles. We all made it across without incident and continued on the even trail. 

The path continued on paralleling the brook and quickly began to gain elevation. We passed more section and thru hikers and smiled at them all. One mother was braving the route with her son who couldn't have been older than 8. What an awesome experience they were certainly having that day! Shortly after passing them I made a painful misstep. A huge flat, angled rock sat smack dead in the middle of the trail. Stepping over or around this road block would have been the smart thing to do. That is not what I did. Rather, I chose to plant my foot on the smooth, flat center of the rock and step forward. My foot slide back, and I fell forward, whacking my left shin on the top of the it's sharp edge with all my weight. I crumbled to the ground as I heard and felt an audible crack. "That's it" I thought.  "This is what ends my race." I immediately began to rub the painful, throbbing site, who knows why. I could already feel swelling underneath my leggings. Becky and Dan were in just as much shock as I was and unsure what to do for me in the moment. I didn't cry, I didn't thrash about, I just starred off and rubbed my shin, trying to assess what to do next. Quickly, I realized it wasn't a race ending injury. I was able to move my ankle without an issue. Within a minute I climbed back to my feet and realized I could bear all my weight on the leg. Ha. Crisis averted. The crack I heard must have just been my old lady back realigning with the impact. I had no interest in inspecting the wound. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. We continued on, me trying not to limp or alter my gait as much as possible. 

Our trail climbed up as the distance between us and Stone Brook slowly increased. We came to a sign for a small camp clearing and realized it was probably was the best attack point we would have for CP 28. Becky and I dropped our packs with Dan, grabbed the tracker, and began the steeeeeep descent down to Stone Brook and CP 28. The tightly packed contour lines didn't lie. It was an impressive slope down to the water. My leg was holding up totally fine, it was just the thwacking and smacking of the branches and brush to my shin that caused me to peep with pain on a few occasions. We dropped down to the brook and followed it west from the reentrant until we spotted another team and subsequently our CP. It was Team Two Dudes and a Donkey. We took the opportunity to ask what the story was behind their name and we were treated to a very rehearsed tale of miscommunication and fortitude. The elder of the two men was kind enough to lend Becky his trekking poles so she could ford the brook barefoot and punch our CP. As kind as he was, we both later agreed that there was something slightly AI about the guy. His perfectly proportioned facial features, white hair, and piercing blue eyes,  along with his perfectly scripted sounding conversation, was slightly off. Still, we enjoyed our interactions with him and thanked him profusely for his assistance. 

Becky and I turned and headed back up that painfully steep incline. As we picked our way back up the mountainside, I realized that if it were just her and I on a team, we would be such a force! We were together a great navigational duo, and we were relatively a good match on our physical abilities. I'm a firm believer that everything happens for a reason, and I was still thankful that we had Dan on our roster, but looking ahead to other races, I knew Becky and I were well matched. I said as much and Becky quickly agreed. Finding a good teammate is akin to finding a unicorn. 

When we reconnected with Dan, we paused for a momentary break to drink deeply from our water bottles and take in a few replenishing calories. Afterwards we continued south to Little Rock Pond. Coming up to the clearing, I again felt like I had been there before. The pine encompassed water mass, surrounded by stunning mountains and crisp blue skies was so reminiscent of a similar pond Chris and I had raced around on a course we took on at GMARA's Hard Fall last summer. 

We nearly collided with a team heading in the opposite direction, and took the chance to talk for a few moments. I don't remember their team name, but I know at least one of them hailed from North Carolina, or as she called in "North Kakalaki." We remained at that clearing for just a few more minutes to snap a picture of the beauty as well as one of Becky and me. 

We followed the trail around the pond and came upon Team Strong Machine, trailside and having a well deserved rest. We exchanged pleasantries and Glen Lewis asked Becky and me if we were treating Dan well on our adventures. I promised we were taking good care of him and we continued on. Within a few minutes we came upon a small pondside encampment. What an absolute perfect place to camp out and enjoy the views! A connected clearing to the pond held a trio of hikers, obviously not from our race. I smiled and said hi as we were passing, but couldn't help myself stopping to talk to them. They were all three thru hikers on the AT that had linked up for nearly the entire span of the trail. The younger girl, maybe in her early 20's had the trail name Rooster, while the taller of the older gentlemen was rightfully dubber "Big Bird", and the final member of the group was a similarly aged gentleman with the trail name "Thud." I would have loved to hear how they each acquired their respective names, but we left the conversation with encouragement to and from all. 

The three of us continued on, chattering about hiking, the great people we were meeting, and just enjoying the moment. As we circumnavigated the pond, I became aware of our now west/northwestern direction and alerted my counterparts that we must have missed our trail intersection. If we kept going, we would just be making laps around this little pond of perfection. And while it was a beautiful place to be, we didn't need to add on any additional miles to our adventure. We did a 180 and quickly found the trail we had walked right past in our light conversation and inattentiveness. The remainder of the trail held no more CPs for us, so we only had to navigate the sloppy, boggy sections, and continue on to the TA that would open up before us at the next trail head. 

While we were walking we began to discuss our placement in the race. We hadn't hit nearly all the mandatories, but we were doing well enough. I made a comment about how we really shouldn't get credit for all the points we had hit since our team did not stick together at all times. Dan began to rationalize our bending of the rules, and while I agreed that a large number of teams probably have done or were doing the same, it still was morally wrong. He continued to state facts that made his perspective sound validated. And while I admitted to having the same opinion on some things, the fact remained that there were rules and if you don't follow the rules you're not upholding the moral obligation of fair play, regardless of how you try to rationalize it. My stance on the subject was becoming larger than just racing, but I think Dan was still looking at the subject through the focused lens of AR. We had to agree to disagree at that point. He wasn't there to have a theological conversation on morality, though I hope maybe our conversation may have planted a few seeds.

We finally came to the end of the trail and as expected, the hullabaloo of the TA appeared before us. We had cut huge chunks of the stage out in favor of moving ourselves ahead in the progression of the race. I had imagined after this stage that we would be beaten and abused being as it was predicted to take most teams an upward of 24 hours to complete. We had only been out on the trails for about 8 hours. I knew we had left plenty of points, memories, and adventures out on the stage, but we were keeping our coveted timeline on point. And I had to be thankful I felt as well as I did for being 3 days into the race. How long would I be able to make that claim?

Endless Mountains 2026: Stage B

Poulty River, Carver Falls, Slate Valley Trails

8/10 mandatories

0/9 optionals

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.