White Rocks National Recreation Area
3/9 Mandatories
0/13 Optionals
We hauled ourselves up to the TA tent through the dark of night. I plopped Dan's pack on the ground and stretched my back as best I could without making one of those obnoxious man-grunts everyone seems to have to make when stretching one's back. There was a hush to the voices of the volunteers that eluded to the fact there were many sleeping racers strewn about the area. While their voices were quiet, they still gave us much needed encouragement, cheer, and offers of maple syrup shots. After directing us to the bike boxes and giving us a layout of the TA, they smiled as we thanked them profusely and hobbled over to claim a small area to work in. There wasn't a direction that didn't have a tent or motionless body curled up in a bivy sacks. We would just have to be as quiet as possible where ever we set up shop.
Becky and I pulled all the bike boxes over while Dan sat on the ground collecting himself. After again staring into my bike box for a few motionless minutes, I slowly disassembled my mud caked bike and returned it to its comfortable resting place. This TA held coveted HOT water for use in whatever way you wanted. (Just not to bathe in.) I added a few cups to a grits and chicken meal that honestly captivated me in a way few things have. Hidden between bike boxes so I could have a few precious moments of solitude, I went through my bags for the TA and inhaled my meal. Dry, clean clothes, a few wet wipes, a warm meal, and a couple minutes to myself really improved my state of being.
It was night two of the race and we hadn't had more than a few winks of sleep over the past 36 hours. It was time to bed down for at least a few hours. I began rummaging through my well organized bags and quickly realized I had forgotten such a major item of comfort that I felt slightly doomed. My ear plugs. Not only was I aware of the fact that Dan was a snorer-extraordinaire, but more than half of the field of racers we were surrounded by were all cutting logs in a cacophony of snorts, wheezes, and deep nasal rumblings. How the heck was I going to get any precious rest with all those noises?!
We had packed a three person tent, each of us carrying a portion of the weight in our packs. It would have made sense for us to pop the tent up and crawl in, cozy together for warmth on that slightly chilly night. I couldn't bring myself to do it though. I was so in need of some distance from Dan that the thought of snuggling up within inches of him and his snoring turned my stomach. I can really be such a childish fool sometimes, but I knew I wouldn't sleep in the tent. I encouraged Becky and Dan to use the tent if they wanted, but I was planning to sleep under the stars, hopefully out of earshot of the TA.
I told Becky I was going to go search out a spot, but I don't think she understood that I was planning to go into the woods a small distance. I began by looking around the outskirts of the clearing of the picnic area our TA was based out of, but every little nook and cranny held a sleeping racer. I began to poke into the woods, but all the ground looked prickly, uneven, and rocky. I ended up near the bathrooms and found a relatively flat and grassy plot of land. I had to giggle that I was bedding down next to a bathroom yet again. On my very first adventure race, I, out of convenience and proximity to our gear bin, took a nap within feet of a porta potty and was picked on about it for years. This was just adding to that reputation of choosing terrible sleeping places. I inflated my ground pad, unpacked my bivy, blew up my pillow, and crawled into my sack. I knew I was going to crash hard once I finally closed my eyes. As I was just beginning to succumb to my exhaustion, I heard Becky quietly call out my name. She and Dan were looking for me so we could all sleep near each other. I didn't call back at first, hoping they would find a spot a little further away and I wouldn't have to hear any snoring. Alas, as much as I needed time away from Dan, I really do adore Becky, and I didn't want her to think I was avoiding her or making an intentional riff in the team. I centered myself for a moment and then crawled out of my bivy, put my slides back on, picked up my stuff, and headed back into the thick of the TA. I found Dan and Becky near a huge maple tree in the middle of the TA. We laid out our sleeping gear and made a 3 spoke circle around the base of the tree, nestled between roots and twigs. I knew as soon as other races would begin to awaken and prepare for the day, our sleep would be pointless. But we needed something.
I closed my eyes and quickly fell asleep. I have no idea how long I slept in that first chunk, but I don't think it could have been more than an hour before teams began emerging from their bivys and tents and in the dark of the early (EARLY) morning they began their prep to head out on the big trek. If I would have had ear plugs, I'm sure their attempts at being quiet-ish would have been successful. However, being a super light sleeper meant with every zipper being zipped, every bivy being stuffed into it's bag, every cough, sneeze, or burp woke me up from my sleep. And I couldn't be upset. We had made the same amount of noise when we came in to the TA just an hour or two before while they were all sleeping. It was the nature of the beast trying to sleep at a TA. I passed in and out of a very fitful sleep listening to the conversations of various teams setting up shop at the picnic table just to my left. At one point it was the chatty and endearing Cherubini Brothers team who claimed that table. I have to give them credit, they were as quiet as I've ever known them to be and were very considerate of the pile of bodies just to their right.
We had set our watches to alarm after a 3 hour rest. I laid in my bivy refusing to open my eyes while the mass of teams prepped and departed the TA. Eventually the activity died down and I could hear the detached conversations of the volunteers at the TA tent. I opened one eye and saw the slightest bit of light in the morning sky. Maybe I could catch just a few more minutes of rest. I rolled onto my side and curled into a tight fetal ball. I don't know what that position change did, but suddenly I couldn't keep from shivering. I had 2 pairs of wool socks on, leggings, 3 layers of shirts, including my thermal and a fleece jacket, and it wasn't doing diddly squat to keep me from trembling in my sack. I didn't really feel super cold, just shivery. I remembered from some corner of my mind that pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth would instantly stop unwanted shivering. It worked! I laid on my side, tongue diligently pressed to the roof of my mouth and began to fall back asleep. As I relaxed, obviously so did my tongue, and naturally, the shivering returned. I had to giggle; what else could I do? Such is my life right now.
One by one our watches vibrated and chirped to "awaken" us. It took at least 5 minutes before any of us could form an intelligible sentence, but finally we motivated each other to begin our prep for the upcoming "monster hike." We returned to our bike boxes and packs and individually prepared as best we could. Within 30 minutes we were prepped, packed, bike boxes on to the truck, and at the TA tent checking out. After a quick gear check, a few more words of encouragement, and another offer for maple syrup shots, we headed out into the White Rocks National Recreation Area. We weren't the last team to leave the TA, but we definitely felt like we were bringing up the rear of the field of racers.
As is the case whenever I begin to navigate, I fumbled in getting myself "into the map." Becky has a perfectly sensible way of always orienting the map and herself to north. And while it makes sense, and works flawlessly for her, I just can't make it work as well for me. I think I need to orient the map to what I see in front of me first. Either way, we finally agreed on which direction to go and we began putting one foot in front of the other. The hike didn't hold back. Within 10 minutes we had to stop to shed layers of clothing. We were discussing our timeline, and Dan was encouraging us to be "realistic" about the mandatory points on this leg. He suggested we nearly straight shot directly to the next TA and bypass nearly all the points. While I knew we wouldn't be making too many detours from that main shot, I didn't want to skip all the points. Becky and I had a loose plan to hit at least three or four CPs along the trails in this chunk of the race. Dan continued to humor us, with the caveat that banked time now meant more time for points and fun later. Always later.
We climbed and climbed and climbed. Even though it couldn't have been much past 7 am, we were passing a surprising number of "regular" hikers going in the opposite direction. I realized we were on the Appalachian Trail and that many of these heavy-pack-laden people were probably thru hikers. We tried to strike up conversations with a few of them, and while some stopped to chat for just a minute or two, others huffed past us, obviously not there for any social interactions and totally focused on a solitary experience.
The trail was spectacular. Beautiful morning sunbeams were sending the morning dew into sparkly reflections of light, the verdant ferns and pines were refreshing, and bright white rocks dotted the slopes and crevices. At one point, there wasn't a clear continuation of the trail after a pine-shad laden clearing and between Becky and I, we had to scamper up two different route possibilities searching for the next white blaze. There was suddenly a moment of deja vu for me. The trail and feeling I had searching for the next blaze was unbelievably familiar. Once I spotted an obvious white swatch of paint on a tree, I called out to my team and they came clambering up the trail. We continued on, stopping regularly for breathers and snacks. Just after one such stop we came upon a "garden" of rock art. I know some people get their feathers so ruffled at rock stacking, but it was really a cool and beautiful sight to behold out in the middle of the rugged and natural forest.
Becky and I continued to keep a close eye on the map and all the cartographic details that were clueing us in to our position. We came upon an obvious flattened area of land that could only be the saddle we were waiting for. We came to a southern bend in the trail and decided it was the perfect attack point for CP 25. Being as we were sure we were at the back of the pack, we assumed we would see a well trodden path up to the "high ground" where CP 25 awaited us. Nope. It could be every other team before us either used different attack points, or they were all coming from different directions with different trajectories. Either way, we decided to ford our own path, so Becky and I dove into the forest heading "up." We bushwacked up the side of the mountain side by side and slowly became more and more excited to find our goal. Everything felt spot on, we were gaining elevation steadily, the land features were all mapping out, and we knew we were going to bag this point without a hitch. You probably think I'm wording all this in preparation for a let down. But, HA! Our navigation worked! It worked so well that we trekked DIRECTLY to our intended destination! Becky had an orienteering term for how well we hit the point, but I can't recall it now. "Spiked the point." "Speared the goal." Something like that. Either way, we did it flawlessly and we couldn't contain our excitement! We hooted and yipped and giggled in celebration. It certainly wasn't the most challenging of points out on the course, but it was the most memorable punch we hit. Maybe it was slight delirium, or just getting to work side by side so well on something, but I'll enjoy the memory of CP 25 for a while in my mind.
We came back down from our literal and proverbial high, and reconnected with Dan. We shared our enthusiasm for such a fun find and he smiled in solidarity as we trekked further along the trail. We paused for a break a slight bit further down the trail where I dropped my trekking poles and inhaled some more gummy bears. After the break we continued on, all still chipper and happy from the enjoyable morning. After a few hundred meters, Dan realized I no longer had my trekking poles in my hand. I never really use the dang things, so their absence didn't alert me. Still, I didn't want to NOT have them in case they would actually come in handy at some point. I scurried back up the trail and found my green and black sticks waiting for me in the exact spot I had deposited them. As I turned to head back to my teammates, I spotted a pair of red rimmed sunglasses perched on a log in the middle of the trail. I had no recollection of seeing them on our first pass by, so I assumed they were Becky's and she had done the exact same mindless placement of gear. I scooped them up and quickly returned to my friends. I put the glasses on as I approached them, expecting to hear a cry of surprise from Becky having realized her misplacement of her sunglasses. Nope. Neither of them had ever seen the flashy specs. So strange that we had all walked right past them and not noticed them. I shoved them into my pack planning to hand them over at the next TA in case another racer had dropped them. Later I thought it more likely that they were dropped by a regular hiker, and now they would end up in the lost and found of the race, never to be seen by their owner again.
The trail dropped in elevation, welcoming an onslaught of sloppy, muddy dips in the path. Make shift boardwalks helped with keeping our kicks dry-ish, but the rock hopping and slippery mud avoiding made our forward progress slow way down. Eventually we made our way to the convergence of 4 trails and our attack point for CP 27. It was almost a mercy point that barely required any real navigational abilities. Still, Dan opted to wait for us at the creek and trail connection while Becky and I bushwhacked a few hundred meters downstream to the CP. He was kind enough to fill our water bottles and bladders for us in our absence.
Following a snack and a rest, we were trying to decided if heading north east to CP 26 was worth the effort. I voted in the affirmative, but as was becoming the norm, Dan voiced his concern over time and the assurance that we needed to bank time for the fun and points "later." I was beginning to involuntarily roll my eyes at that word. But, he had a mountain more expedition experience than me, so I seceded and we continued on our southwest route toward TA 3.
The trail was blessedly flat for a spell, and we came to a much larger and faster moving section of the stream, dubbed Stone Brook, we had been sitting beside earlier. There were 3 national park workers tinkering amidst a pile of large logs and gravel. It appeared that pile of materials would eventually become a bridge over said waterway. But for now, we had to rock hop across the roughly 4 meter wide stream. I went first and finally utilized my pointless-up-to-now trekking poles. We all made it across without incident and continued on the even trail.
The path continued on paralleling the brook and quickly began to gain elevation. We passed more section and thru hikers and smiled at them all. One mother was braving the route with her son who couldn't have been older than 8. What an awesome experience they were certainly having that day! Shortly after passing them I made a painful misstep. A huge flat, angled rock sat smack dead in the middle of the trail. Stepping over or around this road block would have been the smart thing to do. That is not what I did. Rather, I chose to plant my foot on the smooth, flat center of the rock and step forward. My foot slide back, and I fell forward, whacking my left shin on the top of the it's sharp edge with all my weight. I crumbled to the ground as I heard and felt an audible crack. "That's it" I thought. "This is what ends my race." I immediately began to rub the painful, throbbing site, who knows why. I could already feel swelling underneath my leggings. Becky and Dan were in just as much shock as I was and unsure what to do for me in the moment. I didn't cry, I didn't thrash about, I just starred off and rubbed my shin, trying to assess what to do next. Quickly, I realized it wasn't a race ending injury. I was able to move my ankle without an issue. Within a minute I climbed back to my feet and realized I could bear all my weight on the leg. Ha. Crisis averted. The crack I heard must have just been my old lady back realigning with the impact. I had no interest in inspecting the wound. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. We continued on, me trying not to limp or alter my gait as much as possible.
Our trail climbed up as the distance between us and Stone Brook slowly increased. We came to a sign for a small camp clearing and realized it was probably was the best attack point we would have for CP 28. Becky and I dropped our packs with Dan, grabbed the tracker, and began the steeeeeep descent down to Stone Brook and CP 28. The tightly packed contour lines didn't lie. It was an impressive slope down to the water. My leg was holding up totally fine, it was just the thwacking and smacking of the branches and brush to my shin that caused me to peep with pain on a few occasions. We dropped down to the brook and followed it west from the reentrant until we spotted another team and subsequently our CP. It was Team Two Dudes and a Donkey. We took the opportunity to ask what the story was behind their name and we were treated to a very rehearsed tale of miscommunication and fortitude. The elder of the two men was kind enough to lend Becky his trekking poles so she could ford the brook barefoot and punch our CP. As kind as he was, we both later agreed that there was something slightly AI about the guy. His perfectly proportioned facial features, white hair, and piercing blue eyes, along with his perfectly scripted sounding conversation, was slightly off. Still, we enjoyed our interactions with him and thanked him profusely for his assistance.
Becky and I turned and headed back up that painfully steep incline. As we picked our way back up the mountainside, I realized that if it were just her and I on a team, we would be such a force! We were together a great navigational duo, and we were relatively a good match on our physical abilities. I'm a firm believer that everything happens for a reason, and I was still thankful that we had Dan on our roster, but looking ahead to other races, I knew Becky and I were well matched. I said as much and Becky quickly agreed. Finding a good teammate is akin to finding a unicorn.
When we reconnected with Dan, we paused for a momentary break to drink deeply from our water bottles and take in a few replenishing calories. Afterwards we continued south to Little Rock Pond. Coming up to the clearing, I again felt like I had been there before. The pine encompassed water mass, surrounded by stunning mountains and crisp blue skies was so reminiscent of a similar pond Chris and I had raced around on a course we took on at GMARA's Hard Fall last summer.
We nearly collided with a team heading in the opposite direction, and took the chance to talk for a few moments. I don't remember their team name, but I know at least one of them hailed from North Carolina, or as she called in "North Kakalaki." We remained at that clearing for just a few more minutes to snap a picture of the beauty as well as one of Becky and me.
We followed the trail around the pond and came upon Team Strong Machine, trailside and having a well deserved rest. We exchanged pleasantries and Glen Lewis asked Becky and me if we were treating Dan well on our adventures. I promised we were taking good care of him and we continued on. Within a few minutes we came upon a small pondside encampment. What an absolute perfect place to camp out and enjoy the views! A connected clearing to the pond held a trio of hikers, obviously not from our race. I smiled and said hi as we were passing, but couldn't help myself stopping to talk to them. They were all three thru hikers on the AT that had linked up for nearly the entire span of the trail. The younger girl, maybe in her early 20's had the trail name Rooster, while the taller of the older gentlemen was rightfully dubber "Big Bird", and the final member of the group was a similarly aged gentleman with the trail name "Thud." I would have loved to hear how they each acquired their respective names, but we left the conversation with encouragement to and from all.
The three of us continued on, chattering about hiking, the great people we were meeting, and just enjoying the moment. As we circumnavigated the pond, I became aware of our now west/northwestern direction and alerted my counterparts that we must have missed our trail intersection. If we kept going, we would just be making laps around this little pond of perfection. And while it was a beautiful place to be, we didn't need to add on any additional miles to our adventure. We did a 180 and quickly found the trail we had walked right past in our light conversation and inattentiveness. The remainder of the trail held no more CPs for us, so we only had to navigate the sloppy, boggy sections, and continue on to the TA that would open up before us at the next trail head.
While we were walking we began to discuss our placement in the race. We hadn't hit nearly all the mandatories, but we were doing well enough. I made a comment about how we really shouldn't get credit for all the points we had hit since our team did not stick together at all times. Dan began to rationalize our bending of the rules, and while I agreed that a large number of teams probably have done or were doing the same, it still was morally wrong. He continued to state facts that made his perspective sound validated. And while I admitted to having the same opinion on some things, the fact remained that there were rules and if you don't follow the rules you're not upholding the moral obligation of fair play, regardless of how you try to rationalize it. My stance on the subject was becoming larger than just racing, but I think Dan was still looking at the subject through the focused lens of AR. We had to agree to disagree at that point. He wasn't there to have a theological conversation on morality, though I hope maybe our conversation may have planted a few seeds.
We finally came to the end of the trail and as expected, the hullabaloo of the TA appeared before us. We had cut huge chunks of the stage out in favor of moving ourselves ahead in the progression of the race. I had imagined after this stage that we would be beaten and abused being as it was predicted to take most teams an upward of 24 hours to complete. We had only been out on the trails for about 8 hours. I knew we had left plenty of points, memories, and adventures out on the stage, but we were keeping our coveted timeline on point. And I had to be thankful I felt as well as I did for being 3 days into the race. How long would I be able to make that claim?
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