Maine Summer AR 25
Going into my second year of tackling the beloved Maine Summer Adventure Race, I knew I was with the team I wanted. Racing is awesome. Racing with my husband is my favorite. But racing with great friends is a super close second. And there is just something so special about an all female team. Maybe it’s the guaranteed admiration we get from the all male teams doing the shorter races. Maybe it’s the way women are able to read each other so well and communicate just what needs to be said at just the right time. Or maybe it’s just because we all live such hectic lives and never really get to spend such rich, meaningful time together. Either way, our team was exactly what it was meant to be.
To ensure we were as well-oiled of a machine as we could be, I planned a pre-race meeting with Andrea, Jenn, and Cindy. I’ve raced with all of them in different team formations, but this was our first race all together. It may sound extra, but discussing goals, motivational strategies, expectations, and even sleeping arrangements at the Airbnb laid a great foundation for a successful weekend.
Race weekend started at 3:45am on Friday when my alarm went off. I swung by and picked up Jenn and we headed up to meet Andrea at Cindy’s house. We loaded everything in Cindy’s Outback like a big game of Tetris and were on route 113 North by 5:30. We spoiled ourselves with coffees, gas stations snacks, and a surprisingly decadent sushi lunch at an unsuspecting strip mall sushi joint. Between Cindy and I, we drove the 570+ miles without a hitch and arrived safely at our efficient little rental apartment. The view of the mountains made up for the sketchy yard. 
We settled in and quickly headed out to meet up with another fantastic racer who I absolutely adore crossing paths with out on AR courses. Becky and her son Conner met us at a mountain bike park food shack and we all enjoyed a greasy dinner and delightful conversation with live music in the background. I don’t think there were any other racers in the crowd, but plenty of other mountain bike enthusiasts. It made me wish (for the millionth time) that we lived somewhere more in line with our favorite hobbies.
After dinner we headed back to the Airbnb for last minute pack prep and whatever sleep we could acquire . Always a tricky task when you’re amped up before a race. By the grace of God, we all got at least a few hours of sleep before alarms started going off at 5:30. We showered, caffeinated, lubricated, pre medicated, and vacated the apartment by 6:45.
After a series of navigational snafus, we finally arrived to the start a smidge after 7:30. Cindy parked and I ran down to grab our maps. The line snaked out of a yurt in the middle of a clearing of trees. I recognized a few faces and fell in line. I assumed others would line up behind me eventually, but nope. We were the very last team to get our maps. By the time I got back to the car to start pouring over the maps it was after 8. Six full size maps and 2 supplemental maps along with 3 pages of course instructions had to be studied in their entirety.
We knew what kind of race we were capable of as a team and set to planning a strategy that would align with our collective abilities. Our goals included the desire to touch each leg of the race, try to clear at least one section, finish unassisted, on time, and all together as a team. We knew we had to cut points. Plenty of points. Probably whole sections of the race.
My first step was to lay all the maps out and line them up so I could see the full course and start making route choices. I had already cut the dreaded and prognosticated bike whack from our plans. With it lining up in the middle of the night, and being guaranteed to leave unprepared teams scrambling to make it to the finish line, it was almost a no brainer for our team to do the 20 mile go around instead.
Between our estimated times and desire to not ruin the experience by pushing things too hard, I planned for us to get a little more than half the points. Maybe with a little more time to look over the maps I might have made a few tweaks to the plan, but I did what I could in that less than 1.5 hours of map time.
We dropped off our bin and paddle bag to the waiting uhaul, and walked our bikes down to the start for the pre race meeting at 9:30. The directors went over just a few key notes for teams to consider, and words of encouragement. They quickly explained the prologue and opened up the floor for questions. Soon enough they were counting down to the start and BAM! It was go time.
Jenn sprinted off to get our prologue map and scurried back as a drone swept overtop of the crowd. On first sight we noted that there were 2 different route options. We had allotted ourselves 1 hour for the prologue, and knowing the speed we would probably be moving at, we decided on grabbing the western points. In the end we grabbed A through F with the exception of CP B. While we attacked it well enough, a mild snafu in dialing in our declination threw us off just enough that our tracker pinged us at the CP but we never actually laid eyes on it. It had been so reassuring to see the winner of last year’s race come scrambling up through the forest from the exact bearing we were heading towards. Alas, the slightest variation in a bearing is enough to foil a well intended plan.
After bagging the rest of the points we went for, we returned to the start, transitioned quickly to our bikes and were off heading towards the Bethel Community Forest for our first official leg of the race. Coming out of the orienteering course and into town, we noticed that Andrea’s rear tire was low. It didn’t hold her back any, and she was confident that it just needed to be pumped up, so we rode on through town and along a paved bike route that crossed the Androscoggin River. We zoomed past a disheveled older man sitting on a bench enjoying a morning toke. Everyone has their own way of enjoying a beautiful July morning. I prefer the morning we were having!
The bike path transitioned to a rolling country road that eventually dropped us off to the entrance to the community forest and our first numbered CP of the race. We all stopped to slip on our bike shorts over our leggings (so incredibly fashionable, I know) and we peddled off onto the trails.
Our first trail was justifiably dubbed “kitty litter” for the loose traction we encountered at the start. Thankfully, it smoothed out into a hard packed, albeit suddenly technical, single track. There wasn’t a notable amount of elevation gain here, but the roots and undulating path was reminiscent of our beloved “woop woop” trail at our local state park in Delaware. Shoulda cruised that one a few more times before this race!
We easily spotted CP 7, Jenn (our voluntary punch monkey) scurried off through a maze of ferns and mud to the housing rootstock, and was back on her bike in minutes. We collectively mounted our bikes and headed off down the trail. We wove along the rest of kitty litter and onto “Cats” trail until we found the main trail up to the parking lot and trailheads of the rest of the park. It was just a taste of the climbing we would soon be undertaking, but we all made it to the next CP hidden behind an information board. Andrea took the opportunity to pump up her tire, I looked over our map and plans, and we headed up to the top of Tribute to dash downhill on a flowy, winding, and punchy single track to our next 2 CPs. We had a few near misses and a few sobering skids, but we all made it unscathed back to the parking lot.
From there we headed back up the same incline, but this time setting our sights on the Flux trail and our next 3 hard earned CPs. This trail wasn’t quite as flowy, and slightly more technical, but still a really fun ride. The humidity was beginning to take its toll and we were starting to realize how fast we were flying through our hydration. The directors had promised there was an abundance of fresh water on the course, but all we had seen so far were muddy puddles and a big brown river. We weren’t at the point of real concern, just slightly cognizant of how much we were sweating and how fast our supplies were dwindling. Cindy was starting to fight some painful cramps in her calves and the first whispers of negative thoughts. We all wanted to do whatever it took to keep the team together and moving forward, so we hopped off the bikes and did a little hike-a-biking, chatting, snacking, and laughing back up the side of the mountain to the main trail.
As we converged back with the Summit Access Road, we turned north to head toward CP 12. We collectively groaned at the sight of a steeeeep incline and a handful of racers all pushing their bikes up the road. Gotta do what ya gotta do. We dropped down to our lowest gear and headed north. One by one we gave in to the deep quad burn. I was reaching my limit when I looked up and realized I was more that 3/4 the way up the worst of it. Well dang nabbit. I’m going to finish this stinking hill. I dug and dug and dug, and huffed and puffed and cussed, but I made it up to the top without pushing my bike. As I waited for my teammates to arrive (and my breathing to become less labored) I thought to myself “what was the point of that, Elke?” I still don’t have a good answer.
We all caught our breath, took deep drinks from our bottles, and continued on the main trail. We came upon two different side trails, both angled off the main trail and heading in the correct direction. We stopped to think together and eventually went with the smaller, but slightly more sensible of the two and committed to another hike a bike. Our decision proved correct and we found ourselves on the Phoenix trail, *nearly* precisely where we wanted to be. We back tracked a smidge down Phoenix, found the picnic area and located the CP. A team of gentlemen came into the clearing and looked around hopefully. I cautiously asked if they wanted a hint, because you never know if a team is out to do the race completely independently, or if they welcome a little trail magic. They happily took a suggestion to look in a cluster of trees just to our left.
Our team continued on the phoenix trail, dipping, weaving, swooping, and occasionally walking over particularly gnarly rock ledges, and made our way to a trail intersection where another all male team on the 8 hour race was strewn about in various stages of exhaustion. We chatted jovially with them for a moment and awed them with the fact we were an all female team on the 24 hour course. We know. We’re kinda a big deal to some people. (But certainly not a front of the pack team, by any means!)
We hung left and headed up this higher portion of the Cats trail until we came to our next downhill single track, I believe it was called Gulley-Verse Travels, but I’m not 100% sure on that. Either way, it started out just as fun and flowy as the other trails we had enjoyed. A few of us let out squeals of delight as we flew down the berms and hops. We came to CP 13 and punched the passport. The 8 hour male team had arrived to the same punch, but they had opted to leave their bikes at the bottom of the trail and hike up to the CP instead of enjoying the downhill. (A little foreshadowing here) I had the thought it was such a shame they missed out on all the fun single track we had just enjoyed. My confidence was getting the best of me and I let off the brakes a little more than that section of the trail necessitated. The compliments those gentlemen were giving us on our mountain biking abilities also destructively puffed up my ego. And for that reason, I flew into a series of berms and descents I had no business attacking. So it attacked back. I somehow stayed upright and in relative control for the majority of the trail, but in the final two massive berms, I bit the dust. I can’t really recall exactly what happened, but I came to a stop on my left shoulder with my bike and my body intertwined as no two solid states of matter should. I took inventory of my being and realized I was fine-ish, and my teammates were quickly approaching at near the same rate of speed I had had been plummeting down that hill. I scurried to get out of the way as I heard the unmistakable sound of a helmet crashing into the ground. I quickly turned around to see Jenn sprawled out at the base of the final berm on her back and staring straight up into the sky. She wasn’t moving and I swear she looked like she was doing agonal breathing. Andrea dropped her bike and lunged toward Jenn yelling out her name. Jenn was slow to respond, but when she did it was with a thoroughly welcomed giggle. She wasn’t dead!!! But man! That helmet most indubitably saved her life. Hopefully she’s ordered a new one.
A few more teams of better skilled mountain bikers came flying through the berms giving us an idea of how it’s supposed to look coming down that trail. Why did they make it look so effortless? I’m putting money on the fact they’re not from Delaware. We collected ourselves, took a few minutes to decompress, I wiped the dirt and blood off my shoulder, and we headed off on our next effort, this time a little more cautious.
The remainder of the trails we were on in the Bethel Community Forest were wider, but sloppier, double track trails. While not punchy, or steep, they were muddy, over grown, and hiding all types of roots, rocks, and branches beneath the thick green shin high grass. We found CP 16 at a small bridge that went over the first flowing, clear water stream we had seen. We took the time to filter enough water to totally refill all our bottles and bladders. Jenn and I took shots of pickle juice and I scarfed down my standard race cuisine of an oatmeal cream pie. Thankfully, they never get old for me.
After 2 more CPs, the trail dropped us off to an off season ski resort and finally onto paved roads. Opening up on that downhill flung off all the mud we had collected on our tires over the last few miles, and by the time we came to the intersection with Sunday River Road, we probably looked like real feral mountain women. This sport is so awesome.
We easily located the CP at the covered bridge and continued on the road for what felt like an exorbitant length of time. As I was cruising along at the front of our draft line, I slowly noticed an area of kaleidoscope shimmering in the center of my eyesight. To be able to see a spot on the map, I actually had to look to the left of it. Enter ominous music. I’ve been here before. This was my standard start to an ocular migraine. Thanks be to God these never actually hurt, they’re just a visual nuisance. They started during my very first adventure race over 4 years ago when I got my bell rung slipping on river rocks and landing on my chin. It’s happened a handful of times since then, but it never lasts very long and has no additional symptoms. This one took the usual trajectory and the shimmering expanded further and further, allowing my vision to return to the center until eventually I realized all symptoms had passed.
It was around this time that we came to a bridge where I was certain CP 20 would be. The only odd thing was that the clue said “waterfall” and the best I could give that river feature was “small cascade.” We all scoured the area, and found the CP tucked around the bend in the river behind a cluster of trees.
The last portion of this leg was roughly 2 miles up a dirt road with plenty of pauses to enjoy views of the river and ACTUAL waterfalls, and opportunities to catch our breath. We made sure to cruise into the TA together and with at least some smiles on our faces.
We checked in, were given instructions on where to set up our bin, used the porta potty, repacked our supplies, and headed out on the big trek leg by 5:30.
Our original plans, prior to seeing the maps, were to attempt to get as many points as possible on this leg to counter having to drop a good amount on the bike whacking leg. We started out feeling great. Everyone was thoroughly happy to be off the bikes for a while, and the energy from a TA can give you a renewed zest for racing. As we walked north on the trail out of the TA, I explained my plans for the upcoming CPs. Everyone agreed and we deviated from the trail onto Bull Creek and headed north to CP 21. We punched 21 and 22 without a hitch. From there we planned to follow the creek further north, counting reentrants until we came to the deepest one where the creek would turn to the northwest. Following a creek always sounds better than it feels. Scaling a mountainside at a grossly obtuse angle wears on you after a while, but it’s far better than those ding dang chin-splitting slippery rocks! We traveled less than a half mile (though it felt far further) and came to the reentrant. We headed northeast and BOOM. There was CP 23. It’s pretty awesome when navigation works out so well. Cause for me, it doesn’t always.
We again took time to filter enough water to refill all our supplies and discussed our next CP. We had two options (in my mind). We could either follow the reentrant further up to a clearly marked trail that would lead us to where another reentrant would signal our arrival to our attack point to CP 24, or we could shoot a bearing due north, face some steep elevation, but a more direct approach to the trail. We collectively chose to head due north. I handed off the navigating to Jenn and Andrea so they could follow a bearing straight north. They both do a better job of maintaining a heading than I do, and I didn’t hate the idea of just following along for a while. We scampered up the mountainside and crossed a few piles of what I am pretty confident was bear scat.
All too soon we came upon a clearly defined trail. Hot dang. We confidently turned left and started heading down the trail, chatting about random things and giggling. I took a peak at our direction and realized our heading didn’t match what it should have been on our desired trail. I stopped and talked it through with the rest of the team and we regretfully realized we were not where we thought we were.
We back tracked to where we believed we got on the trail and continued on with our northern bearing. Hindsight is 20/20, right? Through a series of events of irrational confidence, thinking we had gone WAY further than we actually had, and just not paying enough attention to details on the map, we found a reentrant and committed to it being the one we needed to find CP 24.
It was very much not the reentrant we needed to find CP 24. It did, however, lead into the correct direction, so we put all our eggs in that basket and started heading up the reentrant. We headed up and up and up. We paused to check our elevation on our watches (which we knew wasn’t precise, but “close enough”) and discovered we were quickly approaching the elevation where the CP should be. No CP. But we did run into a solo male racer taking a break in the stream. He concurred that we were on the right reentrant. So with renewed confidence, we headed further up and up and up. He was more of a billy goat than we, so he passed us soon enough and we could no longer see him. We had by this time well passed the elevation where said check point should have been. And yet, if we somehow had missed the CP, we would eventually come to CP 25, which was on the same reentrant, but much further up. So we kept heading up, but slower, and with more of a foreboding feeling.
One by one we really began to think about our situation. I ended up stopping and calling a meeting of the minds. Worst case scenario we keep going on this and it isn’t really where we think we are. What is out there that we’ll be able to see and say”okay, this is where we are.” Nothing. There was nothing north of us for miles. Canada. We would end up in Canada. That, along with the fact the sun was quickly making its retreat, was enough for us to really make a decision. No one wants to be lost out in the woods of Maine, and we REALLY didn’t want that reality in the dark.
We could see a steady clearing to the east of where we were. It had to lead somewhere, even if we didn’t know exactly where that was. We fought our way through the forest and came to what appeared to be a very old and very abandoned logging road. We stopped to really look at the maps and make a decision when Andrea yelped out in pain and slapped her shin. Almost immediately after, Cindy cried out in pain. Yellow jackets were aggressively voicing their dislike of our arrival. “JUST GO!!” We hightailed it out of there as fast as the thick, chest high vegetation would allow. Looking back, we’re all confident that was the Lord not so subtly telling us to “JUST GO!!” After about 300 yards, we paused so Jenn could fix her sock.
We continued on and came to an intersection with another equally as abandoned logging road. We may have made ourselves see things on the map that actually weren’t there, or maybe it was another almighty provision, but we made a decision without being 100% confident. Again, Jenn had to stop because of bunching in her shoe. I think we came to yet another intersection, but this time we heard another team through the woods. SWEET JESUS! We still weren’t sure where we were, but we weren’t alone.
We continued down the trail we were on and came to a clearly maintained logging road. Poor Jenn was still struggling with this sock issue. She took her shoe off and did a real investigation and realized it was the insole of her shoe crumpling up. The only option was to rip it out and deal with a pad less left shoe. Oy. But she is a tough one if there ever was one. We checked the heading of the trail and decided we ultimately needed to go south and downhill back to the TA, but this trail angled northwest downhill and south east uphill. Ughhhh. I don’t recall what made us decide to go with the northwest downhill, but we committed.
As we were traversing this at least mildly groomed trail and discussing the beauty of Maine wild flowers, we came upon a creek within a shallow ravine that crossed the trail. It looked oddly familiar. Holy cannoli! This was the reentrant we were committed to at the very point where we had met up with the solo male racer. At least we kinda knew something about our whereabouts at this point. We stopped and looked at our maps. We checked the direction of our trail against the direction of our old reentrant and HOT DANG! We knew where we were!! Finally! The relief that comes from being 100% confident, when you’re kinda playing with the idea of being hopelessly lost, is a relief that is hard to replicate. We hooted with excitement over this revelation. But with it came the realization that the poor soloist could still be trolloping to Canada! I silently said a little prayer for the man. (Spoiler: I know he didn’t end up in Canada and we think he was the guy who got second place in the solo male division!)
As we climbed back up from the reentrant on our true trail, an almost ethereal fog rolled in thick and undeniably brought dusk with it. We thanked God He waited until we knew where we were before He allowed that engulfing mist to roll in. We continued on the trail all in agreement that at this point it was a better bet to just head back to the TA rather than risk another episode of “where could we be on the map now.”
As we walked along, I made sure to keep thumbing the map. I kept an eye on land features and realized we had made it to the reentrant attack point for CP 24. Andrea and I subtly made comments about how much of a shame it would be to leave such an easy point behind. Jenn picked up on our subtly and agreed. I proclaimed “Alright! We’re committed!” And we headed toward the reentrant. Poor Cindy was confused at this point thinking my “we’re committed” comment meant we were committed to just heading back to the TA. She acquiesced and we made our way up to CP 24 flawlessly. It was our little consolation prize to ourselves for our previous blunder.
While that CP punch renewed our spirits, it didn’t change our minds to drop the rest of the points on that leg. We crossed over Bull Creek for a second time that day and headed back south to TA1. As we set off south, we came across a two person female team also heading in that direction. We said hi as we were passing and one of them asked if we were heading back to the TA. In unison we said “for sure!” They asked if we wanted to link up for the hike back and we readily agreed. I’ve said it a thousand times, but I really do adore this sport and the people we meet along the way. Being as it was now completely dark out, I’m not even 100% sure I could pick out their faces from a line up, but we shared a few miles of enjoyable conversation and laughs with the team Snack Attack. They asked the standard question for this race: “are you planning to do the bike whack?” I explained our plan of heading to the Lary Brook bike section, but cutting off before CP 44 where the intensity of ridiculousness was forecasted to begin. They mulled over that option, but ultimately they chose to face the bike whack head on. Tougher than a bunch of two dollar steaks they were.
Once we returned to TA 1, we were greeted by the fantastic race staff who steered us over to a table laid out with all the leftover grindage from the 8 hour race. While we all have our own plans for nutrition on these races, I don’t think anyone could turn down rotisserie chicken, Mac and cheese, and rolls when offered in the middle of the night on an adventure race. We feasted while sitting on the wet ground with our wrinkly wet feet airing out at a random gate in the middle of the Mahoosuc State Public Reserve. After our tummies were sufficiently filled, we set to preparing for our next leg. We shellacked layers of foot goo, slipped on clean, dry socks, pulled our bike shorts back on, sprayed ourselves with bug spray, and threw our packs back on.
As we were checking out of the TA, I stopped to listen to the staff explain to another team how to go about taking the alternate route to TA 3 so as to skip the bike whack. As I mentioned, we had agreed that we didn’t want to miss out on all the points on this leg, which we would if we went directly for the alternate route. For that reason, we chose to head in the direction of the bike whack and grab up as many points as we could before the section where it would “really get bad.” Looking at the maps, we had planned to get about 6 points. Planning and doing are two totally different things.
As we descended the road away from the TA, a few of us got into the downhill delirium and didn’t realize half the team had stopped to deal with loosey goosey bike lights. After reconnecting, we shot off again along with a splattering of other teams. We came to the intersection where we could go left to start the go around, or go right to cherry pick a few points. I think just about all of the teams went right.
The road was a mix of short downhills and daunting uphills along with sections of rocky, bone jarring stones. We biked what we could and hiked what our quads demanded we hike. We passed teams and were passed. Eventually, we came to a culvert and our friends from Snack Attack. It made sense that the CP would be there but I honestly hadn’t been paying the best of attention to the dips and turns in the road to be 100% positive. I asked them if they thought if CP 34 was around there and they gave us a little trail magic by saying “Oh yea. You should totally look around for a minute.” We did, and Jenn punched the CP just as another team came cruising up glancing from the map to the woods. We winked, nodded our heads in the direction of the CP and remounted our bikes.
We next came to a trail intersection that lead to CP 43. I told the team to turn right and head down the trail about a quarter mile. Cindy gave a huge sigh and headed off. After a few minutes we realized she had thought I said 4 miles down the trail, not a quarter mile! I complimented her on her willingness to go through with what would have been a major haul to the next checkpoint without a word of contention. She is such a trooper!
We met up with Snack Attack again at the CP as I was trying to convince my team to shoot for CP 35 by bushwhacking through “the tiniest little bit of woods between two parallel trails”. Snack attack heard us mention bushwhacking and immediately thought we had reconsidered the bike whack. They offered to join forces to face the bike whack together. If there had been any notion of us doing the bike whack I would have totally taken them up on the alliance, but we just giggled and said “oh no. We haven’t changed our minds on that chaos!”
We did a 180 and headed back to the trail intersection, crossed over, and were following this trail until it would make a turn to the northeast. At that point I had tried to convince my team that we could make it a measly tenth of a mile through the woods and over a teensy weensy little creek, hop on a trail that headed north/northeast and we would stumble right upon CP 35. We prepared to drop our bikes at the “turn” in the trail. One by one my teammates spoke up. While it sounded so perfect and doable to me, the plan sounded dreadful, dangerous, and deadly to the rest of my team. I’ll admit it at this point, there were flaws in my plan. In looking back at our tracker, we hadn’t actually made it to the true turn in the trail, and had we headed off, down the cliff of doom we saw through the woods, we wouldn’t have had such an easy go of it as I had predicted. I’m still standing by the plan, believing it would have worked, but as I said at the beginning, we were a team, and I was not a dictator. Majority ruled, and we turned around.
Thank goodness we did! Randy Erickson, one of the photographers, came waltzing down the trail, camera in hand, filming us in all our AR glory. While I don’t think we would have broken any rules by dropping the bikes to go get that point, it probably would have bent the rules ever so slightly.
We made it back to the main trail and headed down the certain paths toward CP 35 the long way. Between having my plan shot down, it being over 12 hours into the race, and the engulfing swarm of megnani-gnats that accosted me as I studied the map, I became a little temperamental at this point. We had all discussed how we would present if we were having a hard time, and more than half my team already knew when I get quiet I’m either frustrated or struggling. I made a conscious effort to not get quiet. I knew I was being an unjustifiable brat.
We had given ourselves the “last ditch time” of midnight to start heading back towards the TA and on to our monster 20+ mile go around route. We pushed it just a little and tried to find CP 35 until approximately 12:15, but ultimately called it and headed back the way we came. Looking at the tracker, we were on the right route, but still had a bit of a ways to go to get to the CP, so it was a good call to drop the effort. It took me about 20 minutes and having to give up on CP 35 all together, but I snapped out of my funk (not literal, because there is no way to get unfunky on a race) and we plowed forward as a team.
The ride back towards TA 1 went blessedly quicker on the return trip. We were making great time and actually arrived to the intersection we were looking for 15 minutes ahead of schedule. We took the chance to filter some more water and headed off on our roundabout route to TA 3 and the paddle.
We rode in a draft line on the paved roads, me in the lead. I made an effort to keep looking back to ensure we were all together. Slowly, our pack started to drift further and further apart. Cindy was giving it her all, but our pace was draining her. We came to find a steady, slower pace kept us moving forward consistently without having to stop too often. A few teams passed us on this section. I had a hard time watching those teams scoot further and further ahead. It did comfort me to know we weren’t NEARLY the only team who had opted to go around. Also, they had announced that no matter what time you arrived to TA 3 for the paddle, you wouldn’t be allowed to get on the river until 5 am. Even at our rate of speed, there was no way we were going to arrive to the TA that late. So we had the time, why push it?
Eventually, we came to an intersection with River Valley Acres road, and we headed southwest back towards the Bethel Community Forest which would connect us with North Road that would dump us off at TA 3. River Valley was a hard packed dirt road that gradually gained elevation. We started out with our gears super low and slowly made our way up. Before too long we had to hop off the bikes. Jenn offered to take Cindy’s pack for her to ease her load. Waves of nausea and emotion were starting to crash on our tough little teammate. We took the time to meet the needs of the team as a whole, and eventually had to force Cindy to hand over her pack and bike and allow us to take care of her.
We trudged up the hills until the road became another grassy, messy double track. It was too tricky for any one of us to push two bikes on this terrain. Andrea figured out if we put the tow rope on Cindy’s bike and attached it to hers, she could ease the load for Cindy by helping to pull her bike up the inclines. I looked back at Jenn around this time and realized she had been carrying both her own and Cindy’s pack for a while. I offered to take the pack and Jenn willingly handed it over. Holy moly!! No wonder Cindy was crashing! That sucker weighed POUNDS more than anyone else’s! What was she hauling around in there?! I discovered after a while that flipping the pack around onto my front counter balanced much more comfortably.
We went on like this for a while until Cindy felt well enough to ride a few downhill sections. As efficient as it was to have the bilateral weight distribution while walking, it was beyond cumbersome for biking. I had to ride with my legs out at 45 degree angles and sitting as far back on my tailbone as I could. The Good Lord heard a whole boat load of prayer coming up from me as I threw caution to the wind and just hung on while I blindly descended Old Country Road.
We paused at the trail intersection with the familiarly named “Cats Trail” so we could readjust ourselves. Between my sketchy pack situation and Cindy’s difficulty seeing through her glasses due to both condensation and glare, we opted to walk down to the next trail intersection where we would connect with the road that would take us back to the parking lot of the community Forest. Once we arrived there and I had the distinct “pleasure” of relieving myself in one of the stinkiest porta potties in the world, we set back to riding our bikes. Cindy felt well enough to take her pack back, and before we knew it, we came to the intersection with North Road.
Recall how I’ve been saying we were heading to TA 3. I did that intentionally. Because this entire time, that was where my mind thought we had to go. As we paused at the intersection, we saw another team come flying past us and head west on North Road. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out why they were going that way. I even said it out loud, “why in the world are they going THAT way?” For just a moment my team had blind trust in me until I think Andrea spoke up. Through a series of back and forths saying which way we needed to go, it suddenly dawned on me that my internal compass was leading us to TA 3 when we still had to get to TA 2 and the paddle. Man! Thank the Lord for my patient teammates! I don’t know if my subconscious was like “nah, girl. You need to end this race,” or it was just a momentary TIA, but my brain had cut out on me.
Once I was reoriented, I looked at the maps and realized we still had a “ways” to go on this road. I didn’t take the time to actually look at the precise distance because the TA was obviously located from this road. I handed off navigation to Jenn and said “we just have to go down this road and the TA will be there.” We headed off. We rode and rode and rode until another wave of nausea struck Cindy. We then walked until that wave passed. For the next few miles we back and forth walked, slow rode, and stopped. We still had a time cushion, but it was closing. I was starting to think getting to the TA with time to spare would be a great break for Cindy. Let her completely detach, close her eyes, lay down, momentarily tap out.
I don’t remember who suggested it, but as soon as the thought entered my mind, it was made up. It was time to tow. The tow rope Jenn had brought worked perfectly. We attached the loop to my seat and the cord with the carabiner to Cindy’s handle bar. It took a minute to convince Cindy this was going to work out the best, and finally she seceded, mounted her bike, and we were off. It wasn’t a break-neck speed, but it was consistent. We cruised the flats, flew down the declines, and crept up the inclines, but we didn’t stop. Finally, we came upon the bridge that marked the turn off to the TA. We cruised in, were directed where to drop our bikes, and peeled our tushes off the seats.
I looked over at Cindy and had an undeniable urge to give her a big hug. I don’t know if it was solidarity that we had together accomplished something, or sympathy for her struggling through the pain cave, or a desire for her to know that towing her was as good for me as it was for her. I wrapped my arms around her and told her I loved her, and she squeezed me back saying “I don’t want to cry again!” So I let her go, and went to transitioning from the bikes.
We made our way over to the paddle bag, checked in to the TA, handed over our passport and received our final punchcard. The staff told us it was another 45 minutes before we could start the paddle and that there were coolers of water, porta potties, and a fire for us to enjoy. We spent the next 45 minutes stuffing our faces with snacks, refilling water bottles, stretching muscles, staring blankly at our paddle bag and generally wasting time. Becky came waltzing up to us after a few minutes of our arrival and we regaled each other with stories of our race so far. We laughed, commiserated, and encouraged each other for a few minutes before Becky headed back to wherever her and her son Conner had set up their gear.
The clock ticked by exponentially fast and before we knew it, teams were claiming boats and lining up at the boat ramp. Andrea and I hauled two canoes down to the line up while Jenn and Cindy finished up some last minute pack organizing. We assembled our paddles, dawned our PFDs, and strapped our packs to the cross beams of the canoes. Boat 1 would be Andrea and Jenn with Andrea in the back steering, while boat 2 would be Cindy and myself with me at the helm. I took the chance to reiterate to Cindy that I was totally comfortable doing all the paddling on this leg and that she could literally enjoy the ride like a Victorian lady on a Sunday float. She didn’t argue with the plan. We cast off from the ramp and were immediately taken aback by the beauty of the morning. The gray skies, low fog, verdant shoreline, and rippling current was breathtaking after the melancholy of the dark roadways over the past few hours.
There were 5 checkpoints to be had on this leg, all appearing to be easy enough to locate. I cannot describe CP 49 as such. While at least two teams were able to locate it, the plethora of racers we lined up with on Peabody Island did not. I had left the canoe to go find the CP, certain it would be in the obvious cove just to the far side of the island. After plowing through ferns taller than me, stinging nettles more fiery than my determination, and a litany of slippery river rocks, I, along with the majority of other racers, threw in the towel and set sail from Peabody checkpoint-less.
The next 3 checkpoints and 10 miles of river were a blur of early morning giggles, quiet reflections of the race so far, and awe inspiring views. It was peaceful but not mind numbing. We happily ping ponged with Becky and her son for the majority of the paddle. Cindy was struggling to stay awake and had the standard fear of falling asleep and head diving off the side of the canoe. She wobbled here and there but never took a swim. Andrea and Jenn paddled efficiently but honestly I think they ended up going at least a mile further than me with their wiggles back and forth across the Androscoggin River.
As we approached the island that housed our final CP of the paddle, we noted that most teams were choosing to go on the north side of the island while I had planned to attack the CP from the south side. When I spotted Broad Run Off Road heading north, I really questioned my decision. Lack of energy committed us to the south more than confidence, so we stuck with the plan. It proved a success! Jenn had already punched the CP and was nearly back in the boat by the time the other teams had forged their way through the thick river grass and vegetation that lined the north side of the island.
We were in the home stretch of the paddle. When the route 2 bridge finally came into view, I had a renewed energy that carried us to the boat take out just on the far side of the bridge. We ran the canoes aground, crawled out of the vessels with achy tushes and traps, and hauled our canoes up to the waiting race staff. After a roughly 15 minute transition, and a momentary heart attack at loosing our passport, we set off on the very final leg of the race.
3 miles. All we had left from the grueling 24 hours of racing was 3 miles and 4 checkpoints. We set off from the TA at a hussle just a few paces shy of an AR shuffle. We crossed over the foot bridge as two early morning walkers came in the opposite direction. I smiled and said good morning to them, quickly recognizing that by me appreciating how nice they smelled, they in turn most definitely would have noticed how awful we smelled! Ha! It made me giggle.
We kept our peppy pace as we followed the paved bike path we had traversed just under 20 hours before. The older toking man from the previous morning was not on his bench. I wondered what his last 24 hours had been like. Maybe it was interesting, but certainly not what ours had been like.
We flawlessly found the clues for the next 3 checkpoints throughout the town, along with our beloved Becky and Conner. Our final CP was located just off the soccer fields of Gould Academy and along a path called “Home.” How fitting. We followed the trail “home” and came to the parking lot just before the finish. Andrea, Jenn and I had crept ahead in our unrelenting eagerness to get to the finish, but we paused here to ensure our team would cross the finish line together. We called to Cindy that we wanted to come in as a team, and that little ball of determination RAN TO CATCH UP WITH US!! She dug deep into that resolute will of hers and pulled the last bit of fortitude she had and hustled to our side. Together we ambled into the clearing to the voice of AR insider announcing “Delmarva Adventure Sports has completed the 2025 Maine Summer Adventure Race” amid the cheers and cow bells of race staff and the few other teams who had arrived before us. We crossed the finish line arm in arm as our pictures were taken and we were instructed to turn in our passports, drop our packs, and grab a burrito and a beer. Yes, please.
We gathered up the bounty of deliciousness afforded to us, hobbled over to a fallen log, and sat for a moment, taking in our accomplishments. I think we prayed before we ate, at least I really hope we did. God needed the glory for our finish. We had accomplished the majority of our goals. Come to think of it, we accomplished all our team goals. We touched every leg of the race, we cleared one section, we laughed more than we cried, collectively, we had a fantastic experience, we came in on time, and we all survived. Yep. Mission accomplished.
The burritos and beer hit the spot so dang well. I don’t know if a finish line meal has ever filled me so perfectly. We, along with Becky and Conner, sat and finished our meals as team after team crossed the finish line over the next hour. Eventually we decided to head over to the cars to change out of our fetid shoes and decrepit socks and into flip flops and slides. I realized I had never finished a race without a blister until that day. Let me tell you, that is a big deal for me. After some ambling around the car, and quick check ins with our families, we slowly made our way back to the finish for the awards (and another beer.) We took the chance to chat with some of our favorite people from the AR community and relaxed in the shade of a gazebo.
A few more teams were still out on the course. The bike whack had come through with its promise to really befuddle some teams. By 11 am the final team limped across the finish line to Woops and cheers from everyone. They hadn’t given up. After a congratulatory speech from the just as sleep deprived race directors, the overall winners and divisional winners were announced.
Unsurprisingly, we did not make the open female podium. Those that did are just on a completely different level than us, but I wonder if they came away with even half the experience we had. We may not have wowed anyone with our finish, or broken any records with our abilities, but we raced our own race and totally smashed it. Each of us learned something priceless in that 24 hour period. No matter what you think will happen, God already knows, and He’s got you. Just trust him. Also, declination is a tricky, tricky thing that requires more than just a prayer and a whim. Plan ahead.
After the final congratulations were given, door prizes were distributed (Yay for winning a $100 L. L. Bean gift card!) and gear was shoved back in the car, we headed back to the Airbnb in a state of slightly tipsy contentment. After showers and stalling, we all finally crawled into our beds for a few hours of much, much, MUCH deserved rest. That evening we feasted on burgers, lobst-A rolls, and greasy fries at a restaurant we had passed in the race which emanated the scent of bacon like a beacon of salvation. It did not disappoint.
Back at the Airbnb we did a preliminary cleaning, organizing, and packing of gear before heading back to bed. The next morning we were up and on the road by 7am.
The drive home was as relaxing as interstate travel with the occasional torrential downpour can be. We pulled into Cindy’s driveway right around 5pm. Within a few minutes we had all the gear distributed and loaded into our cars.
Cindy’s husband Aaron snapped a few pictures of us as a memento of our unforgettable girls trip. The bonds that are created going through hard things are weird. When you’re in that time and space, it seems almost existential. Like there was never before, nor will there ever be, a time such as this. Coming back into reality, you can see it for what it was though. A team of bad mammer jammers doing things so awesome and amazing that we’ll be regaling our grandchildren with tales of our collective adventures well into our “golden” years. Teamwork was the name of this game. And man, what a team we are.
