Dorset Marble Quarry, Freedly Quarry
4/12 Mandatories
0/11 Optionals
The TA was perfectly organized and blessedly empty. We came around the back of the lot to the TA tent and were met with smiling faces and offers of free food. What more could we ask for?! Before we could put in our order for ramen versus oatmeal, we had to listen to a few course updates and TA logistics. One instruction caught my attention, and it wasn't because of anything pressing about the course or maps. It was a term I had never heard before but from hence forth will always remind me of Jim and his wonderfully English accent. "The Long Drop" was located back by the trailhead. The long what? What did we walk past when we came out of the trail? A gate, a river crossing, a bathroo...... WHAT?! I get it! And in my delirium I found it to be hilarious.
After chuckling for a few moments, and putting our food orders in, we found our bike boxes and bins and pulled them over to the edge of the lot. The sun was behind a cloud at the moment, so we thought we had set up shop in a perfect little nook. After being asked to squeeze further over to the side so more teams could fit in the narrow area, and then being asked to edge back against the wood line to not block cars in, we finally settled into our little zone of reprieve.
B&Z were already there and had nearly finished transitioning by the time we opened our boxes up. I wanted to chat with them longer, but standing out in the now blazing sun was brutal. Britany did have a chance to tell me they were on the proverbial struggle bus and had resorted to the bear minimum of points to keep moving forward. I silently said a little prayer for them and desperately wished we could link up and pal through the rest of the course. They were out of the TA well before we were even close to having our bikes assembled.
One of the volunteers came over and delivered our coveted starchy and salty snacks. We sat in the minimal shade and inhaled our treats before gradually becoming fully functioning bike mechanics again. I had my bike assembled relatively quickly, was given a crash course in chain lubrication, and I pumped my tires back up to pressure. Becky and Dan also went through the usual routine of bike assembly without issue.
While we had had a chance to sit for a few minutes, eat, assemble our bikes and begin the process of dressing and repacking our gear, Team VERT and I believe Team Mercators, both front of the pack crews, had come and went from the TA. Their intentional flow and purposeful routine was impressive to watch. Minutes add up in these races, and I could see how their practiced transitioning was a discipline in and of itself. We were not disciplined, or even purposeful, but we were proficient enough to get in and out in less than the 2 hours Dan had allotted for our transitioning timeframe.
While we were packing up our bins and boxes, the ARWS ref came over and stuck his camera in our faces asking us to comment in three words or less how the race was going/how we felt. Dan said "Irritatingly Optimistic", Becky stated "I feel great", and I listed "Humbled, thankful, and tired." All totally valid answers.
The clouds had completely moved away and we were baking in the afternoon sun while we finished up our work. After repacking everything that needed packing and returning our bins and boxes to the waiting UHaul, we scooted over to the far side of the parking lot to peer over our maps in the blessed shade. We plopped down in an open spot in front of a super kind and cheerful Canadian Team with the most beautifully decorated bike boxes. They promised us we would not be in their way sitting and mapping so close to them. Becky and I pulled out our maps and Dan, well, he stretched out and closed his eyes laying flat on the pavement. Becky and I looked at each other and sighed.
When we had our preliminary discussions about team roles, Dan had stated over and over that he really liked macro navigation, and that he would be in charge of generalized route choice and leave the micro navigation to Becky and me. We were three days into the race and he had not once piped up about route choice other than to say we needed to cut whole chunks of the course out over and over again. With his eyes closed, and not even peeking at the map, he again stated we needed to be realistic about our goals for this next section and take the most direct routes possible. "Dan, shut your mouth." I don't think I said it loud enough for anyone to hear, and it really was a slip of the tongue, but Becky paused and said "What did you say?" It could be that she really didn't hear me and wanted to make sure she didn't miss a comment about our route choice, but it made me realize I was being a childish punk again, and I waved off the comment and we dove into the maps to decide on our upcoming adventures.
While we were plotting out our plans, again Dan said something along the lines of "make smart decisions here, we don't want to fall behind our timelines." And at that point, even keeled and unbelievably patient Becky had to point out Dan's broken promise of helping out with macro navigation. This brought him up to a sitting position and at least a semblance of involvement in route choice. Together we debated our plans. This stage held two different quarry stops, a small optional bike park section, as well as an additional embedded trek and bike section. Becky had been drooling over the cliff jumping at the Dorset Marble quarry since the prerace briefing, and I was looking forward to the small challenge at the Freedly quarry. The optional bike park wasn't calling any of our names. This leg spanned the front and back of a 9x13 map as well as a 8x11 map, both at a 1:50000 scale, so there was a buttload of distance to cover. We planned out our route to the Dorset quarry and decided we would reevaluate there.
We headed back to the TA tent to check out only to be told our gear check involved items at the very bottom of our packs. We groaned at the inconvenience of it, but procured the requested items and were given the green light to head out. Hopping on our bikes we look a left out of the parking lot and were faced with a quick climb up the narrow roadway. Thankfully it was just a short uphill that then dumped us out on a refreshingly long downhill route. As we were plummeting down the roadway I had to say another prayer that I had tightened, adjusted, and aligned everything properly at the the TA. If something were to go amiss on the mechanics of my bike, I was in for a hard and fast fall. Thankfully, everything held and as we neared the bottom of the mountain and slowed our speed Dan called out his similar concern. "I don't like to go so fast right after a TA." Valid, but we survived.
We came to an intersection where we would have to turn south, but a country store with the promise of food and carbonated beverages called us to turn north. We spent about 30 minutes there dining on fried food and huge sandwiches, all provided by Dan. I didn't like feeling like I owed him, but I couldn't turn down the kind gesture. The sandwich and Coke hit the spot better than the little cup of ramen from the TA. With bellies full and maps organized on our bike boards, we now headed south on Rt 7 in the late afternoon light.
We remained on route 7 for approximately 12 km. Along that relatively flat and forgiving route, Dan had to stop multiple times for derriere discomfort. Not only was the saddle hurting his bum, but the alignment of the seat in proportion to the handle bars was causing him severe pain in his shoulders, forearms, and hips. He was miserably miserable. About halfway down this roadway, we stopped for another pack-off break. We were across from a fairgrounds that had a particularly welcoming looking portapotty along the roadside. Why not enjoy a seated go rather than having to hunker down in the woods? We dropped our bikes and Becky and I scurried over to the cleanest and most welcoming potty we had seen in days. I know, its kinda weird to be so excited over a toilet, but we had to find joy in the little things, too!
While we were stopped, a Vermont local pulled over and hopped out of his car in a blur of speed. He had seen Dan laying on the side of the road and was concerned we had been in an accident. What a kind and considerate man!! We assured him all was well enough and that there was no emergency to be had. After attempting a quick explanation of our situation and pouring our thanks onto him for his concern, he drove off.
While Dan continued to lay on the side of the road, Becky began to insist they swap seats. She really is someone I aspire to be like. Her willingness to suffer for other's sakes, as well as her unrelenting patience, was so admirable. Dan continued to decline, but she insisted, and I agreed it would probably help the whole team. He finally agreed and I assumed we were going to set up a bike shop on the side of route 7 in the fading evening light. Rather, he promised to do the swap at the quarry. There were still miles and miles of distance and feet and feet of elevation before we would arrive there. But, ok.
I was counting gates and land features looking for our turn off to our next CP. When we had arrived to where I had thought our turn off to be, Becky called out a concern. While it made perfect sense to me at the time, Becky pointed out the turn off I had taken was one early from our needed right. It took me a second to see her point, but it was valid, and so we returned to the main road way and then turned right on the correct route. It jumped directly into a steep incline and we had to drop our gears all the way down to keep upright and moving forward.
After a slight turn to the left, the road dropped away from the forgiving pavement and became a loose gravel ATV trail. Dan had to pause to catch his breath and again took a seat on the ground. He rummaged through his pack and pulled out multiple water bottles. Without a word he began dumping his supply of hydration in favor of a lighter pack. It seemed like a terrible idea to me. But he's a grown man and can make his own decisions. While he sat and recovered, I told Becky I was going to push ahead further to locate the CP we assumed would be at the crest of the next steep section of trail. Deep in a reentrant under a makeshift bridge, I punched CP 34.
Dan and Becky arrived as I was returning to my bike and we crossed the bridge together, staring up the steeply graded trail. We slowly pushed our bikes forward and came to a confusing intersection. With the scale of the maps so huge, the details were lost under labels and road names. While Becky thought we needed to turn left at the intersection, I figured we were still short of our intended intersection and needed to continue on the ATV trail. Becky wasn't so sure, so she stated she was going to turn left and see where the trail went, just for a little distance. While she was exploring the option, Dan arrived to my right. I explained our situation and he quickly agreed that Becky, who was a more experienced and reliable navigator, was correct and that my navigation was crude and less refined. Eye twitch. Cool, cool. Thanks for letting me know your opinion, Dan. Becky returned and agreed that the left hand turn was into someone's driveway, and we continued on the trail ahead.
The trail was brutal. Loose rocks and a steep grade brought us to a snails pace. Dan was falling further and further behind. Becky and I knew our previous strategy of plowing to the hillcrests, dropping gear and returning to Dan was unsustainable. But we needed to do something. Together, Becky and I went 3 wide with the bikes, her pushing Dan's bike from the handle bars and me pushing from his seat. We climbed the trail connecting Route 7 and Dorset Hill Road slowly, but surely.
We finally arrived to Dorest Hill Road and took a much needed breather. Looking at the maps, we needed to make our first right on this road and then follow a trail of sorts up to the challenge at the Dorset Quarry. We had Dan push his own bike for as long as he could, and then we again began pushing 3 wide. It was awkward and tiring, but I didn't want Becky to shoulder all that weight alone. I offered to take her pack and she continue to push 2 bikes. She actually really preferred this set up just as much as I did and we trudged up the roughly 2 kilometers and hundreds of feet of elevation to the quarry.
It was completely dark by the time we arrived to the quarry and the scale of the site was disorienting. We had a hand drawn map and 8 different mini flags to find amidst the sharp rocks, dripping walls, stagnant pools and menacing graffiti of the quarry. It took us finding the first flag to really orient ourselves to the scale and design of the map. As we headed toward our initial flag we somehow lost Dan. He had been right behind us, but by the time we crossed the first small pool of standing water and clambered up the first mound of loose and menacing chunks of rock, we had lost sight of him. We half heartedly called out for him, but knew he couldn't safely make the ominous routes within the quarry. With determination and a little excitement, we recorded all 8 letter codes from the small flags to earn the 1 point for the challenge. I honestly had a great time scurrying about the filthy ledges, rock piles, and caverns of the site, but later Becky admitted she hated the whole ordeal. Between the crummy hand drawn map and the exhaustion we were feeling, it didn't seem worth the effort for that one point. I had to agree it was a lot of effort and time for one stinkin point, but I can look back on the challenge and enjoy the memory.
We reconnected with Dan as we found the final 2 flags and then returned to our bikes. Going back down that trail went so much faster than the slog up. Becky encouraged us to ride as much as we could. I knew between my wiped out leg muscles and the accumulated exhaustion, my normally less than stellar mountain biking abilities were being stretched on that steep and rocky trail. Still, I refused to be the one to slow us down, so I held on for dear life and the three of us descended the trail with haste. Haste all the way up to the large rock I slammed into with my front tire which sent me sprawling onto my already compromised left shin and knee. Oy! That smarted. I took a second to get myself together and returned to my bike, much more cautious on the remaining few hundred meters of trail.
When we returned to the hard packed Dorset Hill Road, we had a meeting of the minds. It was by this time around 10pm, the downhill ride had cooled us drastically, and our next goal was the cliff jumping at the Freedly Quarry. I had such mixed emotions about this challenge. Last summer I had jumped from a roughly 15 foot bridge in New York with my dear friend Andrea and a handful of our kids. It was terrifying but so satisfying to have overcome the fear of the jump. I didn't want to have any regrets on this race, but between the staggering 25ft final jump, the 50 degree waters, and the now plummeting evening temperatures, I really wanted no parts of the challenge. Teams would get 1 mandatory point for each cliff jump the entire team would perform. So if I sat it out, I would be costing the team 4 points! Ughhhhh. I hated the situation, but I knew it could be done. I would just have to put my half wet suit, and my big girl panties, on and do it.
We continued downhill for roughly 8 KM before we pulled in to the Freedly Quarry. The volunteers were, as always, an encouraging welcome to the site. I was quick to notice that they were all dressed in sweat pants and winter coats. I knew I was chilly from the downhill ride, but their chosen attire confirmed my suspicion that the outside temperatures had dropped drastically. They went through the usual schpeel about where things were and how the following sections were to play out. I don't recall if we were told at the tent, or at the irresistible campfire that the points for the cliff jump were now optional and not mandatory. Say less. I'm out. I wasn't going to stop Dan and Becky from having their fun, but it was 100% off the table for me. I can say now I do have the slightest regret not doing it, but not enough to stew over it.
While we sat next to the fire, Becky and Dan liff lauffed about the jump. I strongly encouraged them to go ahead and do it. I offered set up the tent so they could have a warm place to recover from the cold shock. They steeled themselves and headed over to change into their wet suits. I reveled in the peace of solitude by the fire for just a few more minutes. I would never claim to be an introvert, but the few minutes alone, and weight of the cliff jumps off my shoulders, was magical at that point.
I gathered up some motivation and went in search of a quiet and secluded spot for our tent. There were other teams camped out around the expansive grounds, but I wanted to be tucked away in as quiet of a corner as possible. I found the perfect spot and proceeded to erect our little home away from home for the first time on the race. We had practiced setting up the tent on a team meet up back in February, but had not given it a go since that time. It took me a few minutes to understand the steps, but I got it assembled quickly. I returned to our pile of packs and bikes and brought my sleeping gear into the tent. I had the thought to just go right to sleep and bank some rest, but guilt pulled me from the cozy structure and back to the waters edge of the quarry just in time to see Brent briefing Dan and Becky at the starting ramp to the challenge.
In the dark of the night, illuminated only by the bopping and squiggling of headlamp light, Becky and Dan eased themselves into the frigid waters and swam toward their first jump. Becky gasped a few times as her body acclimated to the cold waters and Dan swam like an absolute amphibian behind her, holding the Go Pro steadily above the water. He had been a collegiate level pro swimmer for years and it was obvious with his comfort in the water. They climbed the stairs to the 4 foot jump and launched themselves back into the water. They then swam back across the quarry to the next ladder and climbed up to the 10 foot jump. I hooted out encouragement from the dark edge where I was watching the shenanigans and talking with Abby. They again plunged themselves into the waters without hesitation. They continued on the swim to the third jump, this time approximately 15 feet up. I had thought up to that point I would have been totally fine with the heights, had I had any desire to join in. I probably would have paused a few seconds longer than they did, but am confident I could have made the 15 foot jump. However, as they climbed up to the final jump in the far corner of the quarry, I was equally as confident that I could not have made myself take that plunge. Dan had said multiple times earlier in the race that I wouldn't have to worry about hesitating at the highest jump because he was planning to push me if I stalled. I can't express the amount of rage this set deep in my soul every time he said those words. But, thankfully for all parties, that event did not have to occur, and the two of them flung themselves from 25 feet up in the air into the deep and dark waters of the Freedly quarry while I cheered them on from the opposite side.
As they emerged from the quarry, I could see the elation and joy on Becky's face. She had really enjoyed the challenge and was on a beautiful adrenaline high. Abby offered to snap a picture of them freshly energized from their conquest. I stood back, not feeling the need to be captured in their moment of andrenalined solidarity, but Abby insisted I pop my head in for a photo. After a quick photo shoot and a few minutes of decompression, we returned to our bikes and their awaiting warm, dry clothing. I headed back to the tent, but as I approached, I figured I wouldn't be able to sleep once they returned, so there was no need to curl into my bivy before they were ready to bed down. I went back and collected their bibs from the initial jump site, used the portapotty, and offered to carry stuff for them back to the tent.
They eventually made their way to the area where I had set up camp and quietly called out my name. I called back and they homed in on our tent. We squeezed ourselves into the tight quarters and I was reminded of why I didn't want to sleep in the tent at TA 2. I couldn't avoid it this time though. So I rolled on to my side and pushed myself as far to the side of the tent as possible. Dan complained that he had no water to drink during his sleep, which was a standard requirement for him. I had a full bottle of water I had not touched since we last filled our supply, so I handed it to him rather than have him go back out and search for a treatable water source. We all set our watches for another 3 hour sleep and drifted off, regularly awoken by Dan rehydrating.
Just before my watch was set to buzz, I turned off my alarm and sat up. Dan and Becky both repositioned and opened their eyes. We began to discuss our upcoming day. There was an embedded bike and trek section within a mile of the quarry. While the bike section didn't call to me, the trek held SEVEN points in less than 2 miles of hiking. What a no brainer! Unless you're fixated on banking time and planning for things "later." FOR THE LOVE OF PETE!! When was "later" going to finally come?! I insisted that we at least head up to the trek and grab a few points. Dan said it was a lousy plan and that it would bite us in the butt on our time management. Becky wasn't 100% for or against it, but eventually began to agree with Dan that it may take more time than I was imagining, and diplomatically suggested to continue on without making the detour to the trek. While we were discussing all the above, apparently another team had set up their camp close enough to us that our chattering was annoying them and they called out an invitation to SHUSH! This made us giggle and quiet our volume for a few moments. After a couple of minutes I saw the writing on the wall that the trek was not to be had, and we emerged from our cozy beds and broke down our campsite as the sun was just beginning to light up the morning sky.
Once we were packed and ready to head out I noticed an unfamiliar seat on Dan's bike. I looked at him and I looked back at his seat and raised an eyebrow. He just stated that a miracle had happened and he may have been able to "steal" something off of an unused bike he found. I didn't ask any more questions. We checked out of the TA and turned back south on Route 30 toward Manchester. I had to really dig deep to not react when within 20 yards of leaving the TA Dan called out he needed to stop to adjust his seat. After a few minutes we were off again on this forgiving and undulating roadway. After a mile or two we zoomed by another small country gas station. I knew Dan had next to zero water, so I called out asking if they wanted to stop for a resupply. Both Dan and Becky agreed and they headed in to the store while I waited outside with our bikes.
After a gallon or so of water was filled into bladders and bottles, a few highly caffeinated beverages were pounded, and a couple hand pies were inhaled, we set back out on our route. Coming through Manchester was a smack back into reality. We had been in the national forests and back roads of Vermont for days without seeing much of civilization. It was strange to peddle through the usually busy and bustling town of Manchester. It wasn't even 7 am, and many of the stores and shops remained closed, but a few bakeries and coffee shops were tempting us. We decided to keep cruising since we had just had a stop at the gas station.
Once the town began to fall away, we started our relentless uphill climb along the tight and nerve-wracking shoulder of route 30. We stopped along an interstate intersection and slathered on sun block, giggling about something I can't recall at the moment. The roar of dump trucks and the exhaust of 18 wheelers shuttered our resolve, but we continued up and up and up. This road biking was far from a highlight of the race. In fact, it wasn't enjoyable at all. While it certainly was the most direct and forgiving of route options, it was not a joy. Eventually we summited the mountain and began our downhill portion of the route.
In our boredom of the roadway, Becky and I began to wonder what a small orange dot was that was commonly dispersed along roadways on the maps. We noticed there was one coming up on our route and we made it a quest to figure out what it represented. We peddled up to the exact point on the map and peered into the woods. Nothing. We could not, and would not, discover what that small orange blip signified. We planned to ask Brent at some point later in the race, but we repeatedly forgot whenever we came in contact with him.
Eventually we came upon our right hand turn onto a dirt road. There was a quaint one room school house looking library on the corner. Dan was in desperate need of a break and pleaded for a chance to catch a quick nap. We elected to have a proper stop and give him a chance to close his eyes. As soon as we hopped off the bikes my body decided it was time to find a bathroom. I walked around the outskirts of the library until I found the entrance and tried the door. Locked. Dang it. The sign gave opening hours from 10-4. Alas, it was 9:45. Across the road was what looked like a landscaping business. I started to walk over to see if they had a public restroom but then thought better of it. How strange would it be to just walk up to a fancy looking establishment with lush gardens and fairy tale fish ponds and ask to use their bathroom? I turned and looked back toward where Becky and Dan were sitting in the shade of a big Chestnut tree. Beyond them was a large open field at the edge of which stood multiple placards and a thick wood line behind them. I realized I felt more comfortable heading into the woods than asking to use a business's bathroom.
I returned to my team and grabbed my "potty gear" and walked across the open field and into the woods. I trekked a small distance, to ensure privacy and a polite location for my needs. Within a few minutes I was back out in the open and glanced toward the signs that lined the forest's edge. It was one of those walking story books. My children have always loved those things.
Becky and I sat together under the Chestnut tree, looking over maps and stretching our muscles while Dan snored, sprawled out on the lawn. After about 20 minutes Becky stated that she should use the bathroom before we headed out. I laughingly suggested she avoid the area of woods where I had gone. This silly fact started our delirious giggling. We continued chuckling about the fact that families probably enjoyed that walk and the storybook placards. We continued giggling until I made the comment "Yea, its a great story but it has a really crappy ending!" This threw us into a bout of near hysterical laughter that went on for no less than 5 minutes. We could not get ourselves back together and had tears coming down our cheeks as we gasped for air between belly laughs! It was such a funny and memorable moment I'll not forget for a long long while. I'm still laughing as I write this!
Once we were able to contain our giggles, we poked Dan awake. He had been gifted a near 30 minute nap thanks to our uncontrollable laughter and loss of time. Once we were all set and back on our bikes, we began to pull away from our shaded rest stop. A voice cried out from a now opened window in the library "Have fun going up that hill!" I'm still not sure if it was a sarcastic jab resulting from them overhearing our laughter about the crappy ending, or if they really were wishing us well on the upcoming challenge of elevation. We called back a "Thank you!" and continued on the hard packed dirt road.
It was a relatively enjoyable stretch of dirt. We peddled along a beautiful river riddled with small rapids and cascading falls and came to a large flower dotted meadow with an idyllic farmstead and encompassing views of the majestic Vermont mountains. It was a beautiful afternoon and I had a wave of gratitude to be blessed in our present moment. As we returned to the cool of the forest along the road, a small vehicle came charging up to us in the opposite direction. It stopped abruptly and out hopped Kristen, one of the photographers from the race. She had seen our team dot stopped back at the library for some time and wanted to come snap a few pictures of us taking a rest. However, the lag in reception hadn't accounted for our departure from the picturesque site. She chatted with us for a few minutes and snapped a couple pictures.
While we were paused there another team came up behind us on their bikes. It was a two person coed team from Canada. I have no idea what their team name was, but they were friendly and we said Hi as they scooted past us. We continued on the dirt road until we spotted our turn off onto IP Road. After a small bridge the trail split. We had already decided we would take the route to the right in favor of skipping the unbelievably tight contour lines to the left. The Canadian team had paused at the intersection as well. I noticed them contemplating the same thoughts and told them we had chosen the longer but less steep route to the right. They nodded and continued discussing in French. While Dan was doing something to his seat yet again, they finally decided on their route and agreed that to the right was the lesser of two evils.
Once Dan was resituated we began our climb up what would later be referred to "I-Push Road." And push we did. In an effort to save our quads, we would ride for all the flat and super gradual uphills, but we would consistently dismount and push our bikes whenever the elevation increased quickly. The local black fly population feasted that day. Those little buggers were relentless! They had the black body and look of a large housefly, but the menacing head and stinger of what we know as deer flies in Delaware. And they were famished! I can't say they accosted me nearly as relentlessly as they feasted on Dan, but they were a ridiculous pain in the butt on that trail.
We came to the saddle where Becky believed CP 49 to be. She explained her rational to me and it made sense, so we dove into the woods. While we were fumbling around looking for a "pine tree grove" another team came scooting by and told Dan that we were way too early for CP 49. Dan called out to us and we slowly emerged from the thick vegetation and rocky woods. We hopped back on our bikes and continued on, with Dan sporting a mosquito net over his hat to ward off the inundation of black flies that were encircling him. We kept going on and on, the trail now vacillating between up hills, down hills and saddle after saddle. We paused at a thick pine tree cluster that hid a large Moose-haven of swampiness. Becky had to pop into the woods, so we hung out as another team passed us. Afterwards we continued on until we saw a large opening riddled with ponds and bogs. I honestly had no real assurance of where we were on the map at this point and was grabbing at straws to figure it out. I had a thought that we were actually way way way further back on the trail than we had originally presumed. I began to ride faster thinking it would be a while before we would arrive to our intended saddle. As I picked up speed, the two person Canadian team passed by us going in the opposite direction. Everyone was confused, I figured. I glanced back and saw them dismount as Dan stopped alongside them. As was his norm, Dan got off his bike and sat down in the middle of the trail. I didn't want to stop AGAIN, so I defiantly kept going. Soon Becky was calling out to me that Dan had called out to her to stop and come back. Dan's stationary and shameless stalking had paid off. The Canadian team had popped into the "pine grove" in the "saddle" and found CP 49 while Dan sat on his tush. Becky and I returned to the site to hear Dan scolding us for not listening to him quicker. My blood boiled. I dropped my bike and plowed into the pines behind Becky. We quickly found the CP and punched it before turning around and heading back to our bikes and Dan still camped out in the middle of the trail.
I needed to get away before I said something I would regret. I know I was blowing up the minor situation to astronomical proportions in my head. I also have my faults, and they are admittedly quite a few, but I had nearly hit my breaking point with this man. I stormed off, full speed and decided I wouldn't stop or look back until I hit the upcoming trail intersection about a KM away. When I arrived at the intersection a team was just popping out from the trail. It was Strong Machine! Glen Lewis lead their pack and skidded to a stop by my side. They had made the decision to go left at the IP Road split and had regretted it deeply. The trails were not clearly seen, and they had made a wrong turn at some point. They were still looking for CP 49 and happy to hear we had punched it less than a KM away. Off they road at speeds I could only dream about.
I sat down at the intersection, took off my helmet, sprayed a healthy layer of bug spray all over me, and drank deeply from my water bottle. By the time Becky and subsequently Dan arrived to the intersection I had calmed down. I apologized to Becky for storming off, and I think she understood my reasoning. I didn't say anything I regretted to Dan, and we continued on. The remainder of the IP Road trail was a lot of the same. Big rocks, deep ruts, knee high grass, and black flies. Strong Machine came whipping past us along with a few more higher ranking teams.
Joyously, we finally arrived to Stratton Arlington Road, a blessedly paved and forgiving roadway that would lead us directly to TA 4. We hooted cries of happiness at being on a real road again, and comfortably peddled the kilometer to the TA. As we came up to an intersection, we were momentarily disoriented and almost turned left down a steep hill in the wrong direction. The TA was just through the woods to our right, pointed out by a duo of non-racer bikers who told us we were probably looking for that parking lot and those other racers. Thank you! We absolutely did not need a single additional up hill climb. Becky and I rode circles around the base of the driveway into the parking lot so we could all arrive together as a team.
