Endless Mountains 2026 Prerace

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NCARS Uwharrie 2026

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

Spring Bloom 2026

Bushwhacking and Tush Smacking

 

               I’ve had the pleasure of racing in four of Broad Run’s races over the past few years. I don’t know if there is another regularly occurring race that I’ve enjoyed more. Every time I plan to do one I go into it thinking it’s such a fun, beginner friendly race that I won’t have to really think all too hard, only to have my arrogance humbled. And I think it’s that mixture of approachability and ego-deflation that keeps me coming back for more. After coming off a podium finish (divisional, not overall) from the Fall Foliage race, Chris and I decided to sign up for the Spring Bloom with the goal to have a similar finish. While I still think that accolade was a fluke, I loved the idea of keeping up the standard.

We made the trip down to Fredericksburg into a combo adult getaway and we reserved a AirBNB for the entire weekend. Friday afternoon we faced the customary traffic sludge around Washington and eventually pulled into Motts Run Reservoir to grab our maps, packets, and swag. I had really hoped we would run into at least a few familiar faces and have a chance to chat while we were there, but everyone seemed to be down to business and we were in and out in less than 10 minutes. After a quick trip into Wal-mart, and grabbing some take out for dinner, we headed to our little home away from home to pour over our precious maps and fill our bellies.

While indulging in cuisine that WE actually chose, rather than dictated by our brood of kiddos, we read over race rules, clues, and talked strategy. Chris said he was willing to try to clear the course until we couldn’t, and I heartily agreed. Two years ago, at the Fall Foliage, we dropped a dumb number of points way too early in the race and regretted it by the time we started the next leg. I didn’t want a redo of that feeling. So, once we cleared away the left-over blooming onion and salads, I set to work planning our routes and attack points.

Chris was puttering around filling packs and sorting bags while I squinted and stared at 5 maps. I made a comment about wanting to be able to “zoom in” on one area of the maps that was riddled with small overlapping trails. Chris got a twinkle in his eye and said he was going to the car to grab something. He came back and handed me something that simultaneously made me cringe and eagerly reach for. My late father’s reading glasses. It was like Rafiki was leaning over my shoulder whispering “It is time.” I dawned the gawdy dollar store spectacles and gazed upon a whole new map. I could see defined details that were squiggly blobs just moments before. Well dang. I’m not ready to buy a pair of my own, but I can tell you that I know where those glasses are now…. Just in case I may need them for similar minute details. Not every day reading, yet…

After an hour or so of plotting, scheming, and marking, I was satisfied with our plan. Chris said he trusted whatever I was strategizing and didn’t feel the need to look over much. With packs packed, clothes laid out, and coffee set, we got showers and headed to bed at a relatively decent hour. Pre-race sleep is never perfect, but it was sufficient.

Saturday morning we got up, dressed, caffeinated, and were out the door by 6am. When we pulled into the bike drop we were so surprised and elated to be recognized by some really lovely volunteers. While I don’t think they knew our actual names, they knew we were team “Bushwhacking and Tush Smacking!” I love that our team name is memorable enough to make people giggle.

After attaching bike boards, pumping tires, and positioning bikes, we were back on the road and pulling into Motts Run again by 6:30. We were guided to park directly next to our friends and fellow teammates from Delmarva Adventure Sports! Kristin and her youngest two kiddos were taking on the 4 hour course while the Stevensons and Dennis and his son Dawson were going to be competing in the 15 hour. We hopped out and chatted with everyone for a few minutes before ambling down to the check in to grab our e-punch and tracker. Climbing back up the hill to the car I felt stupid winded and wondered if I had even trained for this race over the past few weeks. Trust me, I had.

We ran into a few more familiar faces while we were waiting for the buses to arrive and stood around chatting while slathering on sunblock and bug spray. Eventually, it was time to climb onto the bus and claim our seats. Our chatting caused us to miss the first bus, but we slipped onto the second bus and were on the road to the start by 7:30am. After a relatively short ride, and a front row seat to a very recent car accident on a narrow bridge, we arrived to a dirt road. Everyone unloaded off the bus, grabbed their packs and paddle bags, and began a quarter mile walk down to the official race start.

There were at least 2 or 3 more bus loads of racers that had to arrive to the start before the race briefing could begin, so naturally, I had to chat it up with some new faces. We met two other 2-person co-ed teams standing to either side of us and enjoyed about a half hour of fun, AR centered conversation. One couple (Overly Lost, I think) was from North Carolina and recognized our team name from a race we entered last year, but we had had to defer because of a knee issue I had had. I really enjoyed their laid-back, but engaging personalities and wish they weren’t moving to the west coast this summer. I would have loved the chance to run into them again! The other couple (I didn’t catch their team name, but I remember him saying his name was Monopoly) was from closer by and were also fun and enthusiastic. I love competition, but I really love meeting new friends!

Eventually, Allen made an announcement that the final bus was unloading at the top of the hill, and all the racers would be arriving shortly. We moved closer to the megaphone so we could hear all the details well. As racers trickled in from the dirt road, Allen discussed details about the course, the water levels, and the weather forecast. Everything seemed in line and set. The prologue was still a secret at this point, and all he hinted at was that no one was going to be able to run straight out and start the course. He is so well known for his inventive and memorable schemes at spreading out the field. He did not disappoint for this one!

Prologue (Leg 1) Hunting Run Conservancy 3/4 points

Once the countdown was complete, there was a mad dash for two bins of plastic baggies. Every team needed to grab one bag and begin the challenge. I ran up and grabbed ours and sprinted back to Chris. It was a full-size puzzle! Granted, the pieces were blessedly large, but we had to assemble the puzzle to see the map for the prologue! Four points were dispersed around the area, with their exact positioning only marked on the puzzle map. Now, trying to run through the woods, while keeping a puzzle together is not only challenging, but we discovered it was impossible. Chris astutely thought to transpose the CPs onto our map that began the next leg. Once we did that, we were off! We got CPs 2, 3, and 4 without a hitch. While we were hightailing it back to CP 1, we saw a few boats heading in the direction we thought the final CP was. I’m not sure if we imagined it, but we assumed it was legal to hop in the boats, and paddle upstream to that last CP. So, we claimed a boat, threw all our gear into it, and headed to the boat launch. Once we were finally settled into the canoe, we aimed upstream and began paddling against the current. The kind volunteers pointed out that we were going in the wrong direction. When we told them we were paddling upstream to grab CP 1 they broke the news that that was not legal! In hindsight, I know it wasn’t. Once you start a new leg of a race, CPs from the previous leg are no longer available to you. But since we knew there were so many embedded trek sections along this upcoming paddle, we assumed it was cool for this point. Alas, we assumed wrong. I told Chris we could park the boat and run and grab the point, but he said it would be a waste of time at that point. It hurt, but we had to let that one go.

Leg 2 FXBG by Paddle: The Rapidan, Rappahannock + Lake Mooney 21/23 points

The Rappahannock river is apparently THE river to canoe in the area. When water levels are average, the river boasts multiple class 1 and class 2 rapids. Water levels were not average on April 25, 2026. In fact, Allen had told everyone that the water levels were actually at a record low for this date of the year. He also gave us the *rough* estimate that we would be able to paddle 90% and have to hike a raft 10% of the paddle. I think he is quite the optimist. While we were definitely able to paddle a majority of the trip, there were far more grumbles and choice words coming from my dear husband, and truth be told, even me, than normal for a paddle leg. What really saved the leg were the multitude of mini trek sections along the way. Every time I felt like Chris, or I, was getting enough of the hauling, scooting, and rock slamming, it was time to hop out and grab a few points in the woods.

Our first departure from the canoe bought us to an easy CP at a reentrant on the north side of the river. Directly after that we parked our boat among a smattering of other vessels, tied up to a hanging tree, and scaled a small, steep embankment. A DNREC officer was perched on a 4-wheeler appearing bored beyond belief and wanting to be anywhere but parked at this spot watching fools clamor up from the river. Chris and I found our CP and then our trailhead and began down a path to the following 2 CPs in this small trek section. Many teams were in various forms of jogging, running and shuffling along the trail. Chris and I usually don't run, unless I get just too antsy and he doesn't feel like arguing. We found the stream I was looking for, followed it to CP 8, then turned around and backtracked back across the trail to CP 9 and punched it. Rather than retrace our steps again, we chose to bushwhack southwest back to the trail. It worked perfectly and saved us just a few short minutes.

Back at the boat, we hopped in and shoved off from shore after ping ponging through rocks, teams, and a few small rapids. As hard as we were trying to keep dry-ish feet, all was lost at this point. We both had to jump out of the canoe and haul it through multiple sections of ankle-deep water. Eventually the river deepened and we could paddle for a section without bracing for impact repeatedly. There were only 2 CPs along the river over the next few miles, so we settled into a steady paddle pace and enjoyed conversations with other teams cruising along at our speed. 

Soon enough we came to a section of river where I had to start really paying attention to find my intended landing spot. We passed a few more elite level teams who had docked further upstream than I had planned and I began to second guess my approach. Chris encouraged me to stick with my plan and we held steady until I saw the shoreline features I was searching for. We hopped out, tied up, and scaled another embankment directly onto the trail I was hoping to find. The map was mapping perfectly, and we found CP 18 up a steep reentrant without a problem. We returned to the trail and headed southeast snacking on m&ms and eyeing the terrain. I realized around this time I had been foolishly juggling too many things in my hands and had lost my compass. Actually, it was Chris's compass. I had lost my compass back at home while we were packing. As per his norm in being vigilant in all the ways I am not, Chris had a back-up-back-up compass he handed over with a slightly knowing smile. We were looking for a bend in the trail before we would pop into the woods for CP 19. I jumped the gun as soon as I saw the trail veer to the left and hauled Chris into the woods with me too early. After about 5 minutes I realized the error of my ways, and we returned to the trail. After closer inspection I saw my goof and we found the CP easy peasy. We returned to the trail that led us back to our canoe and headed directly across the river to the next trek section that held a smattering of points. 

We found CPs 11, 14, and 13 going in a counterclockwise route. Many familiar faces were passing us in the opposite direction, and I figured they all knew something I didn't, because it looked far more difficult to find the points coming from their direction. Either way, we were committed to this route. I blundered a little on choosing where to dive into the woods to find CP 12, but Chris thought through my plan with me and we agreed. When we finally headed in for the reentrant, we found the CP relatively easily. We slid down the reentrant further and located a decent trail that wasn't on the map which serendipitously brought us right back to our canoe. 

Less than 3 minutes down the river and we were back out to grab 2 more points. We passed a few teenagers who looked like they were so confused as to why their hidden hangout point along the river was inundated with crazy adults all scurrying this way and that. Chris and I trudged through some ankle deep sludge to climb the first reentrant with CP 15. After punching that one, we scaled the steep hillside and found ourselves on my intended trail. We did a quick out and back along this trail and ran into the Monopoly team. Together we punched CP 17 and then headed back to our canoes. As we were converging with another trail, we saw our friends the Stevensons coming up from a totally different direction. They had remained on land to grab these additional CPs rather than float downstream. I love how so many different plans can all have such a relatively similar result. 

We got back to the canoe, paddled less than a minute and hopped out yet again for another CP that was housed pretty close to the mouth of a small stream. While we were crawling back into our boat that was docked ever so precariously, the Monopoly team arrived to hit CP 16 just after us. The poor guy was crossing his fingers that he could just hop out and land in relatively shallow water. Alas, when he scooted off the side of their canoe, he found himself in water over his head! After some gasping and sputtering, he came out of the muddy depths just fine, albeit a little chillier and humbled. 

CPs 21 and 20 were obtained without incident on the opposite shoreline just a few minutes downriver. I discovered my love for moon pies on this little hike. I think my standard oatmeal cream pies have been usurped. We realized where we were on the river around this time and that Motts Run Reservoir was just on the far side of the land to our right. We still had a good chunk of the race to conquer before we would be back there later that night. 

We docked under a zip line that crossed the river in an attempt to located CP 22. I'm ever so thankful the director gave us a heads up about that feature, because if we would have used my approach of following a small stream just around the river bend, I don't know if we would have been able to locate the "Northmost civil war canon pit." But find it we did! This was the first CP of the race where I chose to shoot a bearing, and as it always does, I feel like I'm working some sort of sorcery when the CP appears right in front of us. Endorphins are an addicting thing.

We returned to our canoe and proceeded to paddle a few really fun little rapids without a hitch. Flowing water makes such a difference. Around this time, I began to feel like we were falling behind in our time estimates and we needed to reevaluate the plan to clear the course. Chris agreed we should probably drop at least one of these upcoming mini treks in favor of getting to the bikes before dark. Looking at the maps, CPs 23 and 24 looked to have a painful amount of elevation in comparison to CPs 25 and 26.  We decided to drop the first two and grab the easier couplet. We docked by some large boulders and punched 26 which was right on the shoreline. We then found our needed trail and followed it to a sharp turn and then began rock scrambling up a decent sized stream toward CP 25. We crossed paths with the Overly duo and exchanged cheers of excitement and laments of distress over the course so far. When Kelli asked where Chris was, I looked back and realized he was not directly behind me. I told her he was coming up somewhere close by, I hadn't lost him yet! Chris is not as loving of rock hopping as I am, and he was picking and choosing his footing far more cautiously than me. I found the CP nestled to the right of a quaint waterfall and headed back toward my Christopher. We made it back to the canoe as the rains began. We had lucked out so far and remained relatively dry throughout the day. That was all coming to a rapid end.  

It was in this section of the river where I nearly lost my joy of the paddle. While we were choosing great lines and making good time, the presence of EMTs and uniformed patrolmen made me slightly nervous about the upcoming rapids. We were paddling along with 2 or 3 other teams and all choosing different routes through the large rocks and pillars of the route 95 bridges. Just a short section after we passed the bridge our luck ran out. We came to a small section of swift moving water and were not aimed nose first. The left side of our canoe struck a submerged rock and threw off our balance. We both over compensated and leaned too far to the side, allowing the brisk waters of the Rappahannock River to invade our vessel. Without a chance of righting ourselves, we both tumbled overboard along with all our gear. I saw my map case floating away and scrambled to grab it. In that effort I somehow decided to let go of my paddle and once I had my maps I had to lunge over to grab my paddle before it wondered off. Chris was all the while scoping out a place to get ourselves together. He pulled our canoe over to a cluster of larger rocks and together we wrung out our waterlogged gear bags, lifted the canoe and emptied out the tanker of water that had turned us and our gear into the soggy mess we had become. I was overly impressed with how even keeled and calm Chris was through the whole ordeal. Its like minor annoyances get to him but major catastrophes are totally manageable.  

Downriver a group of emergency personal watched. I wouldn't have wanted them to scramble up to help us, because I would have been too embarrassed to accept any assistance, but I had to laugh at their total lack of concern at our situation. Once we were reorganized and floating again, we proceeded to pinball our way down the river to CP 27 and the takeout. We emerged from the river cold and wet, but eager to continue on. Chris single handedly hauled the canoe up the steep stairs while I pointlessly tried to assist him. Man strength is real. We were encouraged by the kind volunteer and set off down a short riverside trail to our waiting bikes and chance for dry clothes. 

Leg 3 Fredericksburg Single-Track 6/12

Once we were changed into dry clothes, water bottles were filled, and the paddle bag was repacked, we were on our bikes and cruising off into the fading light. The rain had turned to a light mist, but I had decided to layer up with 2 shirts and my raincoat, just to stay warm. After a quick haul down a flat riverside trail, we turned onto a gravel road with a blood-pumping uphill climb. I was sufficiently warmed up by the time we got to the gate at the top. We found ourselves at some ball fields and easily found the trailhead we needed to dive into the first smattering of bike trails we would be scurrying along. Our first point looked to be a quick and easy punch. Kinda helps if you look at the correct clue when you're wondering along in the woods at night. I had thought the clue was "between two earth mounds" so when the CP was encased in a "chimney? well? sneakily large steel pipe" you have a little bit of a hard time locating it. After a few back and forths, some questioning how I can call myself a navigator, and shamelessly following a smattering of other teams, we found CP 28. 

I confirmed, for sure this time, what the next clue was and where we were on the map and we headed off for CP 29. Well before where I thought I would need to start looking for the CP, we came upon a whole cackle of racers scaling a small stream to the left of the trail. After having come off a fuddled search for the previous CP, I assumed I was totally off again, and that this herd of racers knew something I didn't. I get why I didn't follow my gut, but we wasted probably 15 minutes in the herd mentality. Once we separated from the pack, and I was able to reorient myself, I found the actual trail intersection I had been looking for and proceeded to confirm map features with the real world until I caught the reflection of a beloved CP flag *almost* precisely where I thought it would be. Another team came upon us as I was scurrying out of the woods and were happy to be clued into their whereabouts on the map. We hopped back on our bikes and followed a super fun single-track trail down to a large gravel road that led us under RT 95 and onto the "float challenge."

Coming up to a small parking lot, we were greeted by dang near one of the friendliest and excited volunteers I've ever had the pleasure of making contact with. He enthusiastically explained the challenge to us. I am no paddle-board aficionado, but I certainly enjoy it more than Chris does. For that reason, I dropped my pack, grabbed a paddle board, life vest, and a paddle, and proceeded to scurry out and back across the Fredericksburg Quarry to punch CP 30. I caught sight of the familiar Delmarva Adventure Sports jersey and gave Justin a jovial "hello" as we crossed water-paths out on the water.

I returned to the shoreline still dry and well, and Chris and I were off again. We had our sights set on CP 32, choosing to leave CP 31 out. We started up a trail labeled as a black diamond. While we were doing totally fine, I started to have the feeling we were making poor choices and would not have enough time for anything on the final leg if we committed to taking this trail. I stopped to talk our options through with Chris, and together we decided to return to the flat riverside trail that would lead us all the way back to Motts Run far quicker than this undulating and technical route. We returned to the base of the trail and headed west. The trail was perfect for getting our speed up and enjoying some flowy dips and turns. Twice along this route I stopped to consider popping up the hillside to grab a point, but each time Chris (and I) were discouraged by the time and effort it would take to grab said points. We hauled on and eventually made it to the edge of Motts Run Reservoir. This meant we had blown past CP 35. We dropped the bikes and hiked back a short little section until we spotted the flag hanging in some ruins. 

When we got back to the bikes, we had a major decision to make. We could go on to the left and complete the bike section, grabbing 3 more points, all appearing to be easy enough to find. OR, we could go to the right, head back to the TA, and head out on the final leg which would include more paddling and trekking. I had fallen behind in my nutrition and had been struggling up a few of the hills along the final portion of that riverside trail. My mind was ready for a break from navigating, and I was open to whatever Chris was thinking he preferred. He said given the option; he wouldn't mind not having to get back in a canoe for the rest of his life. So, without further consideration or common sense, we headed off to the left. 

The maps for this race were all 1:11000. Map scales still confuse me, but I knew that each block on this map was only 1km. Eyeballing the distance and not allotting for the tightly woven trail that encircled the reservoir, I figured I would take us less than an hour to make it around and back to the TA. I was also at the point in the race where my precise navigating takes a backseat and I make dumb broad assumptions on what I'm seeing on the map. I did not pay attention. Like, to anything. When we thought we had arrived to where CP 36 would be, we were really an entire peninsula too early. Another racer blew past us giving us a look of pity in our obviously oblivious state. We actually thought we had blown past the CP, decided to cut our losses and head on for CP 37 with the clue "under a bridge." There was no way we would miss that one. We kept cruising along, convincing ourselves we were so much further along the map than we actually were every time we came to a feature. A trail intersection, a tight bend in the trail, a river crossing. Eventually, this began to fail. Nothing was making sense. The terrain became this Naria-like forest (minus the snow), fireworks were going off in the distance, and I was painfully and inexcusable lost. 

I honestly started to believe we had entered a wormhole and were in some sort of time vortex. The trail kept going and going, I had almost completely given up trying to figure out where we were. All I was relying on was the fact that EVENTUALLY we would have to come to the road that leads to the TA and we would just head in for the final leg. Time was racing past us, and I started to feel those disgusting and corrosive thoughts of failure and renunciation. I apologized to Chris for failing him as a navigator, and he soothed my damaged ego as best he could. We resolved ourselves to the fact that we were stuck on this trail until the end and decided to enjoy it for what it was, because it was actually a really fun and punchy single track! Almost as soon as I switched my mentality to just enjoying the ride, I caught a glimpse of a reflective strip underneath a bridge. Seriously?!? We were only at CP 37?!? How in the world did I get THAT misplaced on the map?

I can laugh at our situation now, but we were honestly thinking we had somehow left the entire park, ridden for miles on some obscure and unmapped trail, and returned to the park without knowing it. Foolishness. I had just gotten lazy and inattentive. Lesson learned. Don't get lazy and assumptive. Now that we finally knew where we were, time became an even bigger issue. We had to haul it back to the TA just to be able to grab a single point on the final leg so that we could remain official finishers. So, haul it we did. It honestly still seems like we made it from CP 37 to the TA in way less time than it took us to do the initial portion of the that bike trail. 

We came flying into a nearly empty TA. We may not have been the very last team to show up, but we were certainly one of the stragglers. Jeremy from Broad Run very politely asked if we were still planning to paddle any. We both laughed and said absolutely not. All we figured we had time for was to grab one solitary point on the last leg and lick our egotistical wounds. He agreed. We found CP 39, the final CP on leg 2, after passing it twice in a confused stupor. 

Leg 4 Mott/s Run Reservoir Paddle/Trek 1/12 points

The final leg could have been what saved us. We could have made that right turn instead of the left turn of doom and spent the 2 + hours grabbing point after point along the banks of Motts Run Reservoir. Alas. All we had time for was one piddly mercy point that had been placed along the Silo Hiking Trail. We punch CP 52 and turned directly back toward the finish line. It was 11:50. I told Chris we had to at shuffle a little faster just to make it back in time and he reminded me that we had a 15-minute grace period from the late start that morning. He also quickly pointed out he had no desire to go hail-Mary-ing off to grab "just one more point." I agreed. Our race was sealed.  We walked hand in hand along the trail back to the main road and crossed over to the finish.

We handed over our E-punch and tracker to Mark and he congratulated us. After the obligatory finish line photo, we grabbed some coveted Panera sandwiches and Dominos pizza and found a little spot to rest our beaten bodies. We cheered as friends and strangers crossed the finish line in the final minutes of the race. Looking around at the rest of the field of racers I could tell that some had had a near perfect race, some had had their butts handed to them, and some had had an experience similar to ours, but everyone looked satisfied and wonderfully exhausted.

Allen grabbed everyone's attention and the divisional winners were announced. Our buddies the Stevensons nabbed third in our division, and our new friends the Overly's had won our division! So awesome!! We cheered for them all, as well as the rest of the podium winners. We ended up 4th in our division and 30/67 overall. I'll take it after our total debacle on the bike leg! 

After awards Allen made the thrilling announcement that Broad Run Off Road would be hosting the 2027 National Championships in Virginia! So exciting! After a solid congratulatory applause, he made a few more announcements about upcoming races and thanks to everyone for coming out. 

As racers were making their way back to their cars, Chris and I took the opportunity to chat a little longer with a few friends, volunteers, and Allen. I really love the AR community so much. I have no idea what most of these people are like in their "real" lives, but I adore the connections we all make in our "AR" lives. I am already looking forward to my next fix of endorphins, energy depletion, and ego deflation! 

Two Rivers 2025

    My very first Adventure Race ever was a Two Rivers put on by the renowned Rootstock Racing. It's kinda the race to which I'll forever compare other races. This year's edition was also unparalleled. It still had the standard challenging and deliberate navigation, along with a sweet sense of true community, but it had something altogether aberrant. It had a metropolis. Not just any urban spread, but an American classic of a true city. It had Philly. I can honestly say I was more nervous about the sights and scenarios that could play out on this race than I have been since my first Two Rivers four years ago. I’m so glad I can say I came out alive, well, and with squashed fears surrounding the City of Brotherly Love. It was still totally wild, but a different kind of wild.

    Being held just over two hours from home, the trip to Philly became a teeny tiny get-a-way, and Chris and I got a hotel room for the night before the race. With a race check in time of FOUR AM there was no way we could make the drive from home that morning. Our hotel of (economical) choice was nice and kitschy with all the tacky flavor one can expect for less than $200/night. Still, it was clean, semi-quiet, and warmer than camping out in a tent.

    On Friday evening we grabbed some dinner from an unsuspectingly nice ramen restaurant just down the street from our hotel, and headed toward the Discovery Center for check in. After some sobering traffic and rerouting, we arrived and parked right next to my good friend Becky. The more I immerse myself into this community of AR, the more I love every chance I get to see my fellow racers. In the short time we were there dropping off our bikes and grabbing our course manual, I enjoyed multiple conversations with our competition. This was going to be a great race, if for no other reason than the opportunities to rub shoulders with some of my favorite athletes out on the course.

Our night was short and restless, and before we knew it our alarms were clanging us awake at three AM. We heated up some Starbucks we had bought the night before, dressed and were out the door by 3:40. The front desk attendant was kicked back and snoring as we passed by, but called out a “Have a great day!” as we passed through the door. Who said Philadelphians weren’t pleasant?

Arriving back to the Discovery Center we set to work dropping off our paddle bag and gear bin and grabbed our precious maps. I, like the rest of the race field, had suspicions about where Brent and Abby would send us over the next 26 hours. No part of me had considered being sent over state lines to New Jersey. Arm Pit state or no, the course looked fantastic. They announced we would get two additional maps out on the course, but from the maps I was excitedly marking up, it already looked like a heck of a feat to conquer. With 166 checkpoints for the taking, Chris and I quickly decided to tailor down our plan. We strategized getting all the mandatory and roughly half the optional CPs on each leg. With 11 teams in our division, we didn’t see the possibility of a podium finish, so we looked more toward the fun of the experience and enjoying the ride.

At just before 5:00, two classic school buses came cruising up to the parking lot. We all filed on and claimed seats. I had planned out our routes and goals so all I had left to do on the bus was organize the maps into my case. Folding, shuffling, and aligning nine maps in a seat designed for school children with my husband and our two heavily laden packs was no easy feat. And yet, by the time we arrived to Cooper River Park, I was as organized as I would be for the remainer of the day. Our driver was apparently less familiar with New Jersey than she was with Philadelphia, because after about 10 additional minutes of lefts, rights, hard braking, and curb jumping, we arrived at the start.

Climbing off the nice and warm bus and into the cool, brisk, dark morning sent my body into immediate shivers. It was probably a mixture of adrenaline as well as the 35-degree air, but I was totally questioning my choice of clothing. 4 hours out on the water, in an inflatable pack raft, with temps in the 30’s wasn’t sounding very enticing. I had one of those moments where you can’t help but think “why didn’t I get into pickleball instead of this craziness?!” I knew a few minutes of paddling would warm me up, and by the time the sun made its appearance, I would probably regret the multiple layers I was already wrapped in.

Brent and Abby made a few quick announcements, answered a few questions, and began the count down. Chris and I clicked on our watches and started our race. Well, we strolled over to our paddle bag as we watched the majority of the field sprint around. I’ve learned from the many races I’ve done with Chris, there is minimal running in his racing, and none to be had at the start, unless it’s a prologue. We easily found our paddle bag and set to work like a well-oiled machine. Wordlessly, we fell into our jobs; him inflating the raft and me organizing the dry bag, assembling the paddles, attaching the glow stick, and repacking the paddle bag. I don’t think we had discussed our jobs for this, but I love that we were able to get the tasks done efficiently and quickly. Maybe racing does showcase just how well you can work with someone. Especially your spouse.

Stage A: Cooper River, 4/4 mandatory ½ optional

I wish I knew our exact timing, but all I can say is that we were on the water toward the front of the pack. We pushed off from the dock with Chris in the front and me at the helm. While this arrangement works flawlessly for us in a canoe, it didn’t seem to work well in a packraft. With a majority of the weight toward the front of the raft, there was an ominous crease in the center of the vessel. Not enough to take on water, but it made me nervous looking around at all the other rafts and seeing smooth sides. Still, we made it work and paddled well to the first CP. As I was crawling out of the back of the pack and over a small revetment, I heard Chris mumble something under his breath. I looked down and noticed I was standing directly on his hand as I was scrambling up the wall. Oops. I called out a quick apology as I ran toward the memorial to punch our very first CP. Instinctively, I searched for an orange and white flag and quickly remembered that not a single one of the 166 checkpoints would be flagged with a traditional control. Instead, we were searching for the tiny 1in x 3in punch that normally hangs below the bright flags. Being within reach and view of the public made our CPs prime targets for kleptomaniacs, so Brent opted to be a slight bit forgiving with the placement of CPs, but still with the intent to not be obvious. I got to the punch just as Dennis, a fellow Delmarva Adventure Sports teammate, was punching his passport. We did our standard heckling and continued on our ways. I returned to the boat as Chris was finishing up topping our inflation off with the automatic air pump.

            We scooted along the Cooper River nearly neck and neck with Becky and her teammate Dan for the next 5 miles or so, grabbing CPs hidden on small islands and in mud entrenched ruins. After one of the small portages, we decided to swap to a more traditional seating arrangement with Chris in the back.  Eventually, the smallish Cooper River opened up into the larger Delaware river. We passed a handful of teams in this open area and dug in to the never-ending headwinds and tidal flow. We passed under the Benjamin Franklin Bridge, skirted the riverwalk and Adventure Aquarium before docking in the Wiggins Marina. Climbing out of the pack raft was a welcome relief. I really enjoy a good paddle, but I’m usually exceedingly thankful for it to be over.

            We transitioned well and were dressed and heading to the secret mini-stage within minutes. Just beyond the Marina a huge battleship was looming at the end of a dock. We were given a small map with a handful of checkpoints hidden in the nooks and crannies of the USS New Jersey battleship. With the explicit rules to WALK, we scurried to and fro on the deck and compartments of the warship and cleared the stage in less than 15 minutes. It was actually a really fun, and giddy experience! Chris mentioned he wished we would have had a chance to really look at the ship, but I’m not as much of a history/military buff as him, so the quick escapade was just perfect in my opinion.

Stage B: Downtown Philadelphia, 2/2 Mandatory, 3/6 Optional

            We returned to the TA, handed over our mini passport and headed out on our bikes to the awaiting chaos of the city. After a few moments to truly orient myself to the map, we crossed the Benjamin Franklin Bridge we had glided under roughly an hour before. Over the next hour or so we scuttled through the streets of Philly from Franklin Park to Franklin Fountain and from Chestnut Street to Jim’s Steaks. We glided past the stadiums that held all the city’s beloved sports teams and ended up at the FDR park where we were greeted by bubbly volunteers and some coveted Wawa pretzels.

Stage C: FDR Park, 14/14 Mandatory, 3/6 Optional

 This O-course held 14 mandatory points and 6 optionals. We stuck to our plan of getting all the mandatory and half the optionals well. While we found ourselves on the wrong side of a fence for about a mile, a quick fence jump and thick bushwhack landed us only slightly off course. We had to try for one of the points twice and were sorely befuddled by a multi-gated tennis court, but overall made out well on the course. Returning to the TA, we were instructed on an unplanned alteration to the course around CP 23. It seemed simple enough.

Stage D (Bike): The Long Ride, 19/19 Mandatory, 11/21 Optional

The next few miles of biking took us through a new area of Philadelphia. The maps were clearly marked with routes that were more bike friendly than other options, but none of them seemed to be efficient to get us to the trailhead of the Schuylkill River Trail. Instead, we opted for a route that took us along a makeshift road that traversed underneath an elevated set of train tracks. While I was positive we were on a direct route, it was obvious it wasn’t the most bike friendly of areas. Blind intersections, moody drivers, and a neighborhood that was reminiscent of “The Fast and the Furious” made us feel as though a slightly less direct route may have been a better choice. While people hidden behind their windshields weren’t fans of our presence on the bikes, everyone we passed that I was able to make eye contact with and smile to quickly returned a smile or some sort of sign of pleasant acknowledgment. It was both surprising and relieving. In my mind, a prerequisite for living in a city was to be hardened and cold to everyone you come in contact with. Philly proved me wrong.

We accessed the SRT and scooted along the forgiving paved path for the next few miles until we came to the detour that had been perfectly explained to us at the previous TA. Perfectly explained, and then perfectly forgotten. We managed to figure out a route after a few wrong turns and dead ends, but we lost a few more precious minutes in our adventuring. We eventually made it to the Lemon Hill bike trails and finally across the West Girard Avenue Bridge.

Stage D (Trek): Philadelphia Safari, 0/0 Mandatory, 0/16 Optional

            As we cruised into the Philadelphia Zoo entrance we were greeted by my friend Dave, who was volunteering for the race. We knew we only had until 4pm to grab as many points as we could within the walls of the Zoo, so we quickly made it through security and scurried as fast as we could to the gated off area where we would drop our bikes and check in. As we passed through the gates, we crossed paths with Becky and Dan who said the stage was super fun and quick. I was so excited to blast through (but again, at a walking pace) the paths of the zoo and lay eyes on all the awesome exhibits that we had time for. Alas, Brent came to us with some tragic news. Although we had made it to the Zoo before closing time, we hadn’t made the cutoff imposed by Zoo staff that all racers had to have started the o-course by 3:30 to be allowed entry. It was 3:38. For the love. As soon as he said those words my mind flashed to the many instances where we had lost a minute here, or five minutes there making silly little mistakes over the previous few hours. It’s such a truth that even the smallest things in AR can make or break your race. I confirmed that there were no mandatory points within the zoo, and was able to swallow the painful pill that although we lost the chance for 16 easy points, we hadn’t lost the opportunity to be official finishers.

            We took the chance to eat a good chunk of calories, chug down a refreshing amount of water, and catch our breath for a few minutes. Dennis waddled over with a big smile on his face saying that he and Wilo were having a great race. They had cleared the Zoo o-course and really done well on all of the previous stages. I knew we had accomplished everything we had set out to do up until this set back, so we also were having our own great race. But man, it really sucked missing such a fun stage in the race.

Stage D (Bike): *Still* The Long Ride 

    We dawned our lighting systems, adjusted our packs, and headed back out into the streets of Philadelphia. We grabbed a handful of points tucked between museums, water fountains, and signposts. Eventually, we found ourselves back in the woodlands of Philly as the sun gave off its last remnants of illumination. Some CPs nearly jumped out at us, others put up a persnickety fight, but we grabbed everything we went for. After clipping CP 39 that was housed at the top of a rather slippery-slidey waterfall, we were faced with a navigational crossroad. The next CP was along the same river we were facing, but the concept of crossing the river, then recrossing it back, never honestly occurred to me. Rather, I eyed up a route that would take us through a bit more urban sprawl and then we would hop on a lovely "bike friendly" path that would drop us directly onto the Cynwyd Heritage Trail. 

    We kept on the route I had planned, committed wholly, even to the point of bombing down a long descending road that no one would want to have to climb back up. We had to climb back up. The "bike friendly" route, come to find out, went through a cemetery that was closed for the night. We weren't alone in our miscalculation and were able to put our heads together with another 2-person team, and in allegiance, we devised a plan to correct for our locked-out lane. After grabbing up CP 40, we crossed the beautifully lite and clean Manayunk Bridge. It was wild how quickly we went from a pristine, bike-friendly overpass, to the shady, old-mattress lined, gravel paths that dropped us onto Umbria Road. Looking back, there was a trail that paralleled the river for a while longer that we must have missed, so our sketchy route was our own doing. We found our way to CP 41, though not nearly as directly as possible, and eventually descended into the Wissahicken bike trails of doom.

Stage E (Bike): Wissahicken Pairs, 7/7 Mandatory, 1 Bonus Pair Point

 Over the next nearly 4 hours we trudged up and down, back and forth, over and under the trails of this surprisingly remote feeling park in the outskirts of Philly. We rode what we could, prayed down some trails we certainly should have walked but opted to try our luck on, and hike-a-biked up more rock-laden paths than I care to remember. We crossed the Wissahicken Creek at least 3 or 4 times, traversed trails with names like "Forbidden Drive" and "Death Drop" and eventually made our way to the much-anticipated TA 4. 

    Transitioning in a beautiful residential area, in the middle of the night, with dozens of other delirious racers is a strange event. Once we checked in and were handed the next map that held our upcoming overnight trek-quest, I had only one thing on my mind. I couldn't get to my coveted cup-o-noodles fast enough! I had been dreaming of that salty, ultra processed, life-giving gunk for hours! While we were flitting about trying to be as efficient as possible in our current states of near exhaustion, Brent came to check in on us. I can't sing the man's praises enough. Even with a field of over 40 teams, he still finds the time to pour into all his little racers. He assured us that we had plenty of options since we had checked off the required 7 points on our previous ride. He also stressed that we shouldn't go into the upcoming trek with thoughts of speed and nimbleness. Many of the trails and routes out on the overnight trek would be slow going, some even treacherous. He is a man of his word. 

Stage F (Trek): The Wiss, 17/17 Mandatory, 0/17 Optional

  With bellies full of warm sustenance, Chris and I headed off into the surprisingly not too cold night. This trek section boasted two different "stream challenges"; one mandatory, the other optional. We went straight for the mandatory to check that one off the list. It proved to be one of the most fun sections of the race for me. I love to hop, skip, balance, and scale around like a kid. Whenever I try to explain adventure racing to someone, I always have to say, "it's the only time you can play around in the woods as an adult and it's not too weird." Although I had countless near misses, and I ended up with a tear in the butt of my leggings so big I had to wrap my long sleeve shirt around my waist for modesty's sake, it was an absolute hoot! Chris eventually had enough of the slipping, sliding, and scaling, so he traversed the high route and kept an eagle's eye out for any CPs that might reflect his light from the higher vantage point. 

   Once I punched all 8 CPs on Creisheim Creek, we set off in search of the remaining mandatory points. I tested the waters once or twice, throwing out the idea of grabbing one or two optional points, but Chris was at the point of just wanting to complete the race. It didn't hurt my feelings. Multiple times we came to a CP at the exact same time as other teams, but from different directions. I always think that is so cool. Multiple lines of attack that all work. We helped other teams find a few points, and others helped us. We fell in line with a few teams and enjoyed listening to their stories and tales. After we punched the final CP of the stage, we headed back to the TA, ready for a moment of rest. 

Stage.... something: Another chance to grab more points 0/whatever we left out on Stage D

   Arriving back to the TA, things were quieter and less busy. Those who were there sat in quiet groups or snoozing around the ever so tempting fire. We checked in and then out within a few minutes. The only thing left in the race was to make it to the finish line alive. The intended route was probably through more single track and picking up a few more low hanging fruits, but Chris and I opted to take solid roadways instead. We overheard another team talking about this same plan and conferred. 

   Chris and I set out just as the first slivers of morning light were dancing on the horizon. As we cruised down side streets and then crossed over larger ones, we stopped to check our maps again. Just then, the other team with the same thought process glided up beside us. Together we wondered the streets of Philly for a silly amount of time until we finally found the familiar Schuylkill River Trail. Once we were on an assured route to the finish, Chris and I thanked the RAC team and headed off to our finish. We passed over streets we had driven down the day before when life seemed totally normal and routine. And while I hadn't really changed physically, aside from an uncanny amount of sodium and lactic acid in my body, I knew I had changed, yet again. Because every race has a way of rewiring my brain. It can be increased resilience, or patience, or humility, or even humor, but without a doubt, every race changes me. 

   We stormed into the finish to cow bells and cheers. Familiar faces smiled and cheered for us as we came to a stop under the Rootstock arch. We paused for our picture to be snapped and headed straight to Mary and Abby to trade in our passport and tracker for our finisher medals and t-shirts. Over the next hour and half, we saw friends cross the finish line with everything from smiles to grimaces to tears. We told stories of our escapades and laughed with friends over theirs. The race was over, but reliving the race through stories was almost as much fun. The morning came to an end with the awards ceremony and within minutes we were packed up in the car, nuzzled down in our heated seats away from the blowing winds that stormed into the city. 

   Philadelphia will never be the same in my mind. Hardened city dwellers have been replaced by smiling faces. Mazes of trash lined streets have been replaced by Oregon Avenue and Belmont Avenue. Video clips of Kensington have been replaced with FDR park, Wissahicken, and Lemon Hill. I don't think we'll be selling our little plot of land on Little Hill for any real estate within 50 miles of Philadelphia, but my memories of our race will give me the warm fuzzies when I think of the City of Brotherly Love.