Endless Mountains 2026 Stage I

 Green Mountain National Forest

2/2 Mandatories

Walking out into the crisp night shocked us back into action. We had layered up knowing that the night time temps were enough to set an exhausted body into shivers, and I was happy to have all those layers on as we rode our bikes back up the long drive to Route 7. It was roughly around 1:15 am when we hit Route 7 and turned left, giving us over 8 hours to complete 20 miles "on bike." At the end of the driveway, a team was off their bikes tinkering with something. We thought it strange for anyone to stop so soon after leaving the TA, so we checked on them to see if all was well. I don't remember what their cause for stopping was, but it must not have been urgent, because they waved us on and didn't require any assistance.

After a tiny little road section, we turned left and back on the long gravel road we had walked up just a few hours before. Now, in the dark of night, and on bikes, the road looked totally different. Small gains in elevation aren't as noticeable when you're walking, but as you bike up these deceiving hills you get a rapid reminder of their presence. We had only climbed two small hills, with a refreshing downhill between, when we had to stop to take of multiple layers of clothing. 

We cruised all the way back down/up this route until we hit the intersection where we had converged from the Corridor Trail. We paused for a moment and oriented ourselves. I wish I could say I was a co-navigator for this section, but I have to admit my mind was goop and I couldn't contribute much. Becky was definitely leading, whether she realized it or not. 

We came to another intersection and again paused to ensure we were heading off on the correct trail. A smattering of other teams were also pausing here to figure out the maps. We saw some teams head off to the right, only to return quickly and stop to look at maps again. As we were discussing our navigational plans, I noticed we were right in front of a backwoods campsite that was obviously occupied by campers, probably attempting to sleep. You gotta wonder what's going through the heads of those people when they are awoken by a mass of racers in the middle of the night. If they had no heads up about our race, would they be terrified by all the headlamps, voices, and presence of dozens of mountain bikers at 2 AM? I would be! 

We eventually agreed to head to the left and set off on the bikes again. The road dropped us into a parking area with a narrow trailhead. We took the trail and were immediately faced with a few ruts, rocks, and elevation. Nothing too crazy...yet. We next came to another split in the trail and our buddies B&Z, who had left the TA while we were still on our time penalty. They had gotten a bit turned around out in the dark of the night. We all initially crossed a bridge thinking we needed to go right, but when we could see the direction the trail took after the creek crossing, we quickly realized it was not our intended route. While we stopped, I changed the batteries out on my headlamp that was doing it's warning blinking that it would soon go out completely. After I was situated, we returned to the far side of the creek and continued on the original trail we had been following.

 The trail became what you can only assume a trail would become when Brent Freeland plans a bike leg that he repeatedly emphasizes for you to not underestimate. While we weren't at the worst section, more of that to come later, we were also no longer on a trail I would choose "for funsies." The deep ruts and chaotically dispersed rocks made riding a little more challenging. Just to add to the morale-busting situation, with one slight collision I had with a rock, my headlamp came flying off of my helmet. Within a few minutes of that happening, while I was pushing my bike through a particularly rocky section, I noticed a rubber-rubbing sound coming from the back of my bike. Thank the Lord we were walking the bikes at the time, because my rear axle had come nearly completely loose and was wobbling every which way. I stopped to tighten it and became increasingly frustrated in our situation. The trail sucked, my energy level sucked, my bike-mechanic skills obviously sucked, the maps sucked, my biking abilities sucked. EVERYTHING SUCKED. Enter: personal pity party and self doubt.

Stopping was never an option in my mind, but I was at the point where I could not keep riding. Between the challenging trail, my accumulated exhaustion, and inundation of self loathing I needed to hike a bike rather than wreck-a-bike. I called out to Becky, who was still totally capable of riding a trail of that difficulty, that I needed to walk. She is such a patient and understanding teammate. She dismounted and watched as the group of other teams we had been hanging with continued on riding without a problem. The three of us continued on pushing our bikes for what felt like an hour, but was probably only a few minutes. 

We came to an area that we could tell was more open and very wet and marshy. The trail stayed to the left of the swamp, but the fetid waters began to creep onto the trail more and more. In the dark of the night, it was hard to tell which route was best when the trail would suddenly split into various go-around routes at particularly muddy sections. At one point we took a route to the right that brought us directly on the edge of a stream of swampy water. Far in the distance we could see the headlamps of other teams coming toward us. Oh for the love. If we had to turn around and retrace all those miserable steps it would undo me. We called out to them to see what was happening and they returned saying "No, we just took a wrong turn, keep coming this way!" Adventure racers are awesome people. 

We continued on the trail that would lead us to their whereabouts that was only like a quarter mile away. In that quarter mile we had to lift our bikes over at least 5 huge fallen trees, one after the other. If you're not aware, when it comes to mountain bikes, you get what you pay for. One of the factors you have to take into consideration when buying a bike is the weight. If you have the funds, a carbon frame is very much lighter, and obviously very much more expensive. I cannot claim to have an excess of funds that I can pour into gear, so I do not have a very light bike, though I am thankful for what I have! However, hauling that Trek xcaliber over tree after tree after tree really wiped any energy reserves I may have been holding on to. By the time we came to the intersection where we had seen the other team the three of us were nearly at our wits end. Even Becky seemed slightly short tempered. 

I had one of those moments that I can only say the Good Lord shakes you and puts something on your heart, and you just have to do it. Without thinking, I blurted out "Hey, wait a second Becky." She paused and looked back at me. I stopped for a moment to ensure I had her attention. "Thank you for doing this with me, I love you and I love doing this with you!" We all needed that snap back to reality. Yea the situation was so flipping crappy, but even the mud seeping into our shoes, blisters, chaffing, and general discomfort couldn't keep us down. We all hugged for a hippy-emotional moment and the world became a better place. 

We got back to business and kept on pushing through the muck and mire. After fording a flowing creek that seemed to clean the mud from our souls, we came upon a whole cackle of teams. Everyone was searching for CP 76 that appeared to be located on the northern shore of Lake Hancock. Racers were trekking back and forth, up and down, over and under all around the area. One guy passed us no less than three times before Becky jokingly said "Haven't we seen you before?" To which he responded "Yea, and you'll probably see me pass by a few more times before we find this CP." Becky laughingly suggested he bring snacks the next time he passed by, and from then through the rest of the race, and probably any time we see him in the future, he will be known as "Snacks."

Also in this cackle of racers were B&Z as well as ol' Tighty Whitey. It was like a delirious reunion of characters from the race, meeting up and suffering yet again deep in the woods of Vermont. Together with the other teams we spent about 30 minutes poking around the shoreline fruitlessly. I can't recall what time it was, but our team decided we had spent enough time searching and we were cool with dropping the point. Other teams began to call it as well. Together as a flock of racers, we all hopped on our bikes and started off again. 

It was short lived. Within minutes the herd arrived at another intersection. No one could make a decision, everyone's minds had nearly turned to mush in the late hour of the race. After what felt like five minutes of dawdling, I had enough of just standing and getting no where. I said "We'll be the Guinea Pigs!" and I lead our team to the left. I think most of the flock came along with us, and within a few hundred yards we all simultaneously spotted the small reflection of light bouncing off of CP 76 directly in front of us. One person from each team made the small trek into the woods and along the shoreline of Lake Hancock. 

The whole mass of teams set off together again heading south toward Seth Mountain. It was chaos. While I felt better, and was able to ride for short sections again, the trail was an absolute nightmare. Bog after bog of thick, split-pea-soup looking sludge lay before us. Becky quickly had enough of the herd mentality and called out for our team to pull over and let the mass of teams pass by us. Once they all passed by, we stopped for just a few minutes to give them a lead and we ate a few mood replenishing calories.

The trail did not ease up. We pushed and hauled our bikes up to Consultation Peak and then back down a PUD (pointless up and down) in the trail. Once the elevation leveled out, the fun didn't stop. Elevation was replaced with a swampy obstacle course. In fact, it seemed like the muckity muck and sloppity slop just intensified as we continued on. I can't express the amount of mud, knee deep soup, and rock laden "puddles" (more like ponds) we had to haul our bikes through. Eventually the bogs eased up just as the elevation crept in yet again. We gradually made our way over and around increasingly jagged rocks to the top of Seth Warner Mountain. We paused at the top, praying we had seen the worst of the trail. Dan took a quick 10 minute nap and Becky and I sat in the darkness, barely able to hold a conversation. She estimated we still had over four more hours of this trail before we would see a hard road. Oi.

To the East I began to see the slightest trace of light. Morning birds were just beginning their chatter. It was just what I needed, just when I needed it. We were in our very final morning of the race. No matter what, we would see the finish line that day. This stinking trail could throw whatever it wanted at us. We were going to make it. Trail: "Hold my beer."

We started down the far side of the mountain easily enough at first. Still far, far, FAR from rideable, but we were able to keep moving forward through the rocks, boulders, and increasingly spring fed waters of the trail. I can't claim that any point of the descent was easy. It was a challenge the entire way down. Just as before, the accumulation of water became puddles, then pools, and finally bogs and ponds. We came to a gate, seemingly randomly placed in the depths of the forest. I had a glimmer of hope that it signified an end to the ATV trail of horrors, only to still question it's existence to this day. 

We came to a much larger mass of water that was thanks to a very determined family of beavers. As we circumnavigated its boarder, I paused at the south side of the pond. I wished with everything that I had in me that we would see a moose, or some other amazing Vermont animal. I told Becky "I would forgive 50% of the mess we just went though if I could see a moose right now." She responded "I would forgive 100% if we could see a baby moose!" (We have not forgiven even 25% of our misery, even a few weeks out at this point.) Alas, no moose, baby or adult, was spotted that morning. 

By this time the sun had taken over and there was no more soul crushing darkness to dim our moods. Even though the trail wasn't all that improved, our moods were on the up and up. The trail leveled out ever so slightly, and Becky encouraged us to start riding when we could. The puddles kept appearing over and over. We totally gave up on walking through them and just YOLO'd it up by plowing through, praying the peanut butter mud and bone jarring rocks wouldn't grab us from the depths of the waters. 

We came to another gate and could see a powerline clearing just beyond it. Sweet Jesus!! It didn't have to be a paved road, all I wanted was something other than a ATV trail. We had two options at this point. Either back track up "Country Road" or locate the Appalachian Trail that also crossed this powerline clearing. We started to head toward Country Road but decided at the last minute to head down the shorter route over the AT. We rode what we could and hike a biked what we couldn't and eventually spotted our long awaited hard packed road to "salvation." As we approached the road we saw some racers speed past. Becky called back that it was Tighty Whitey and co! Ha! We had caught back up with the herd!

Once all three of us had climbed the final push to the road, we paused for a break to pop into the woods, eat a few calories, and shed some more layers of clothing. Giddiness was creeping into everything. We only had a few roads that stood between us and the finish line. I could feel my energy bubbling up from who knows where. Even Dan stating "I refuse to race into the finish" from his horizontal position on the ground couldn't bring me down. We were almost there!!!

We eased our tushes back onto our bikes and began peddling down Risky Ranch Road. Soon we began to pass cabins and houses. We were entering back into civilization. I had mixed feelings about it. I was certainly and unabashedly ready to be done with the race. A shower and a cessation of forward movement was at the top of my list. But was I ready to be real-life Elke again? I didn't know. 

As we crested a hill that then dropped down into a valley, we spotted a group of racers at a creek crossing. Initially they appeared to be just hanging out, in no particular rush. Once they spotted us they suddenly became a flurry of activity, hopped on their bikes and shot off down the road. They were obviously in a rush to get away from the site, and we couldn't figure out why. The final CP of the race was along the creek they were stationed at. It was really a mercy point, not requiring much thought in finding. Why would they be so amped to vacate the area? Later, we found out it was B&Z along with Tighty Whitey's team. They had been punching the point when Tighty Whitey cried out "GO GO GO! We have to get out of here!" B&Z had no idea what the emergency was, but they did as they were told and raced out of there! 

We arrived to the small creek, and together, Becky and I trekked down the creek and punched the final CP of Endless Mountains 2026. Whew. What a wild ride from that first punch days and days ago. We returned to Dan and hopped back on our bikes. The road began to descend faster and faster, and soon we were holding on for dear life as we barreled down the gravel road at totally irresponsible speeds. I could feel all that excitement and energy filling my drained body. I couldn't help myself. I started to hoot and holler, yip and yell, gasp and giggle my way down that road. Becky joined in and we were a duo of raucous noise early that Saturday morning as we plowed into North Adams Massachusetts.

We paused at the intersection of Risky Ranch and Cross Road. It didn't feel like it should be that easy. We literally had to stay on that exact road all the way to the finish line. Like no more thought processes required. Just ride. As we came into town limits and were passing a few businesses Becky cried out "DAN! Its the hot dog!" There on the side of the road was a human-sized hot dog statue outside of a restaurant. Becky paused for a picture with the object that had caught their attention their first evening in North Adams a week ago to the day. 

After the photo shoot we continued on down the streets of North Adams that were blessedly empty on that early Saturday morning. Rounding the bend in the road I finally started to recognize the area. It was a surreal feeling. We were on the very last quarter mile of the race. We were going to cross that finish line as official finishers. We did it. 

Becky and I continued yipping and yelping in joy, totally inconsiderate of the residents along that street. I couldn't help it. We rode up to the parking lot at Hoosac Hall and spotted the finish like arch down by the entrance to the dorm. Our uncontained enthusiasm alerted the race staff to our arrival and we were cheered on by staff, racers, cow bells, and I think a fog horn, as we crossed the finish line together. We cheerfully accepted our well-earned medals and paused for a finish line photo, smiles plastered to our faces. Abby came over and asked how our race was. I hadn't wanted to start off with any complaints of missing out on so many sections of the course, but I word vomited out how we had come in early enough to have done more out there. I regret it now. I should have said how awesome it was, how challenged we were, and how unforgettable it was. Because all those things are more true and more worthy of saying than anything that went wrong. 

The race was everything I had thought it would be. We learned. We struggled. We laughed. We persisted. We crumbled. We rebuilt. We did it. I can't say I'll ever have another race quite like that one, but I'll always remember it. And as Abby suggested later on that day, maybe an all female Irritatingly Optimistic Team is something to look into for next time. Because there will most certainly be a next time.