Scrambled Legs and Aching and Dainty Flowers take a Bitter Pill

"I must be reading this map wrong... they expect us to bike through that swamp?" - GMARA crew. Photo GMARA

5 am. Making a plan of attack at the start of the race. Photo GMARA

It has been clear for several years now that I would not be able to keep the sport of adventure racing all to myself. It was only a matter of time before my loyal cheering squad on the sidelines would sign up to become my teammates. At ages 11 and 13, Dave and I finally decided that Charlie and Noah were old enough to get their feet wet at the 10-hour Maine Summer Adventure race in the summer of 2017. Ever since then, it has been a matter of when, not if, we would give family adventure racing another go.

Fast forward to 2019's Bitter Pill, put on by Green Mountain Adventure Racing. 4 Koenigs. Two teams. 12 Hours of adventure.

Team Dainty Flowers all registered and ready to go!

The reality is that multi-sport adventure racing isn't exactly popular with kids. It seems to me that it should be; the idea of running around in the woods on an epic scavenger hunt seems like it was made with kids in mind. While there are others in the under 18 crowd who participate, usually the number of teens at any given race is no more than just a few. This is probably due to the either the duration or simply amount of gear required (and schlepped) for the duration of the event. To minimize this, Dave and I agreed that we would all have the most fun if we  limited the amount of gear that the kids needed to carry by shouldering as much of the load as possible. The kids would only carry mandatory gear needed in the event of an emergency. Everything else would go in our packs. 

Team Scrambled Legs and Aching at registration.

On this day, our adventure race consisted of three major disciplines: mountain biking, trekking, and paddling over 5 different segments for the duration of the race. The first leg was a mountain bike leg- a bike leg that would take us up through beautiful single track, lots of climbing, and over slippery, wet sections of trail in the Perry Hill trail network. The Perry Hill trails are known for outstanding downhill single track riding in the region. Unfortunately for us, we would climb all of these trails from the bottom up. This is one of the many tactics that race directors use to torment racers.

After grabbing the first 5 mandatory checkpoints, we started out the big climb conservatively and opted to skip two optional checkpoints to save time. However, it became obvious to us pretty quickly that these checkpoints were going to be the low-hanging fruit of the day and that our original plan to skip optional checkpoints was needlessly conservative. The kids were in good spirits, having fun, and riding well, so we adjusted our plan accordingly and were able to punch all but 2 of the first 22 checkpoints (needlessly skipping #6 and #13) during this biking section. Charlie had one ugly mishap involving a small footbridge and stream, but we otherwise came away from this section unscathed (sorry, no crash photo available).

Getting ready to head up Perry Hill. Pic GMARA

This bike leg also included a little additional race director humor: a 1.5 mile-long bike-whack through a swamp. Really, it was a swamp: in places, a more-than-waist-deep swamp.

A fun little video captured by Mason and Reed of the NH Trail Vets Development squad of a few seconds of our fun in the swamp.

Not so rideable here.  It turns out that there is a faint trail just to the left of us in this picture that Charlie suggested that we take. We ignored her advice. We later learned that this would have circumnavigated the first portion of the swamp. Oops. Photo GMARA

Photo of the "mandatory, heinous, swamp-whack" courtesy of NH Trail Vets. During this section, we met up with Mason and Reed Holland of the NH Trail Vets Development Squad- one of the other groups with the next generation of adventure racers.

The swamp-whack was actually quite beautiful and not altogether unpleasant. It turned out to be not really so heinous after all. Photo GMARA

At transition area #1, we got our shoes cleaned out and did some quick foot care while making a plan for the trekking portion of the race.

Not all teams were quite so lucky to arrive at TA 1 unscathed. When we saw these guys, they were trying to fix the frame with a big stick. Zip ties for the win? GMARA photo.

The kids took us literally when we suggested that we toss their shoes in the stream. Photo GMARA

Foot drying, snacking, and map reading. Parenting has taught us solid multi-tasking skills.

The trekking portion of the course included some pretty challenging navigation and an all-you-can-bushwhack smorgasbord of checkpoints. There were a total of 9 CP's along the trek- all were optional. We opted to do what we could in 3 - 3.5 hours of bushwhacking through steep ravines, contoured hillsides, and some tricky hidden checkpoints (after 30 mins of searching in the wrong place, the "log bridge" clue at CP 22 nearly flummoxed us because we were in the wrong reentrant.). In the end, we were able to secure half of the optional trekking checkpoints before descending back to the transition area to jump back on our bikes.

Patiently waiting to head back out for another little bike ride. Photo GMARA

Departing TA 2. Note how sleek Charlie looks with her cute little Salomon running backpack. Photo GMARA

Me, looking like a pack mule with a pile of lifejackets hanging from my overstuffed pack. Photo GMARA.

The bike to transition area #3 was quick and straightforward and soon we found ourselves heading off for a nice 10-12 km paddle on the Winooski river with some easy rapids and fun moving water. 

A fun little checkpoint along the Winooski River. Photo GMARA

Paddling up to the final checkpoint of the river section. Photo GMARA

Portaging boats up to the transition area from the paddle. This was definitely the most difficult part of the paddle leg. That blue kayak had carry loops in the most ridiculous, unuseful places. Who decides to put a grab-loop in the middle of a boat anyway? Photo GMARA

The final segment of the race was a trekking section back to the finish. Ducking between a few scattered raindrops, we made our way to the finish with about 30 minutes to spare for our 12 hour 15 min cutoff (about 5 minutes before the sky opened up, finally giving way to the threatening thunderstorms). 

While we weren't the top team for the day, together we accomplished something pretty special. Together, we snagged 35 out of 48 possible points. Team Scrambled Legs and Aching also won the prestigious "best team name" award that came with the best race prize ever: homemade cookies!!

Scrambled Legs and Aching and a box of the most delicious cookies. Thanks Yager family!

While Charlie and I didn't win cookies, we did win socks and zucchini. Yep, that is, in fact, zucchini.

Despite the occasional bickering (if there is anyone out there with young teens who don't bicker, please tell us your secrets), we all finished the day with a renewed appreciation for one another. We faced challenges throughout the day, but none that we couldn't overcome when we worked together. While there were moments of the day that might be considered by some as Type 2 fun (I think bike carrying generally falls in this category), I think we would all agree that the Bitter Pill served up a spectacular day for family adventure! 

Leaving TA 4.  Photo GMARA

A big thanks to the folks at GMARA, all of the great volunteers that made this day special, and the other teams we ran into on the trail who were awesome to share this event with. Also, as always, thanks to our friends at Spandits!

Part II- ACA Whitewater National Regatta on the Penobscot- Race Time!

Photo Tim Nutt

For anyone who reads this that hasn't paddled whitewater, I want to start by explaining how whitewater is classified, or at least how I see it. If you missed part I where I explain how I got myself into this, you can find it in my earlier post here.

Whitewater class system: Generally, there are 6 classes of moving water. Here is how I very unofficially define them.

Class 1- Moving water. Minimal hazards include some rocks or obstacles and eddy lines easily avoided. No real "white" water, although I've seen lots of canoes flip in class I water.
Class II- Hazards and obstacles include rocks, waves, and eddy lines... both can easily flip a canoe. With a relatively small amount of maneuvering, they can be avoided or paddled safely with correct bracing or bow angles. Rapids that are at the upper end of this difficulty range are designated class II+. 
Class III- More technical maneuvering is required to avoid hazards (strong hydraulics I will refer to as "holes", pour overs, etc.) that will definitely flip a canoe. Additionally, waves large enough to completely swamp a boat are likely and must be avoided. A failed maneuver will likely result in a swim- sometimes a lengthy one- for paddlers. Should only be run by experienced canoeists.
Class IV- In my opinion, class III and class IV are quite similar. The main difference here is about the consequence. In class III, a failed maneuver will likely result in a swim that will carry the paddler through more similar hazards as the ones described above. Self rescue is possible, but a total pain in the butt. Most class IV rapids have a class III line, you just have to stay in it. A class IV swim often means that the paddler will likely be carried into intense, powerful nasty hazards that can cause serious injury. Think Deliverance. Swimming through class IV is a pretty bad idea and your boat will likely be wrecked or banged up.
Class V- Violent, intense rapids where clean lines generally don't exist. Swimming through class V is a really, really bad idea. I've seen it happen, and it isn't pretty.
Class VI- Generally considered unrunnable. If you survive, you are one of the lucky few.

The ACA downriver event we would be participating in covered a 9-mile stretch of Class I/II water with 4 distinct sets of larger rapids. The first rapid was a short Class II+/III- section of whitewater, and the final three were Class III rapids. Prior to the event, Lani and I made practice runs of the entire race course 3 separate times to scout the river, devise a strategy, and get some idea exactly what we were in for on race day. Knowing the duration of the race would be well over an hour, we agreed that those who did well in the race would be the ones who had a solid strategy, stayed dry, and kept the boat upright. With my encouragement, we devised a conservative but smart plan for each of the 4 significant rapids. We agreed that small amounts of time might be bled by choosing conservative, safe lines, but we felt pretty confident that we could make up for our lack of whitewater prowess in the other river sections. After all, we reasoned, the chances that the margin between a podium or non-podium finish was unlikely to come down to seconds.

Penobscot tribal elder Butch Phillips leading the smudging ceremony blessing the river, the land and all of the racers before the first day of racing. Without the passion of the Penobscot Nation, none of this would have been possible. Thank you all.

We arrived on Wednesday night to attend the opening ceremony, which included traditional drumming and singing of traditional Wabanaki songs from members of the Penobscot tribe followed by a smudging ceremony conducted by tribal elder Butch Phillips. Before we knew it, the ceremonies and celebrations were over, Friday had morning arrived and we were making our final preparations at the river's edge for our race.

Boats anxiously waiting for heats to begin on Friday morning before the downriver start (Lani and I are in the center of the photo- red boat and Lani has a red life jacket). Photo MaCRO.

The race began below Indian Island in Old Town. Racers were sent off in heats every 2 minutes by class; ours was the OC-2W class (meaning open canoe- 2 women), the fourth heat of the day. The first rapid, the very spot where Lani and I took a humiliating swim during our first training run, would be only about 400m below the starting line. The entire class of female competitors charged toward the first set of waves, jockeying for position in the fastest water, shortest distance to the first bend in the river, and out of the path of hazards that could slow the pace or put water in the boats. While a few boats broke away from the pack by a couple of boat lengths, the entire pack remained tight and the intensity of race mode was evident in the first few paddle strokes. With two boats on our right side and another immediately in front of us, our plan to run the first rapid near river right was already thwarted. We adjusted to another course and continued through the rapid at a furious pace.

We entered this rapid at the same time as lots of the male OC-1 competitors from
the heats before us. Photo Cheryl Daigle.

The first major rapid would be at the site of the former Great Works dam, about 2 miles downstream. While we hoped to distance ourselves from other boats before the approach into the rapid, instead as we neared the rapid we found ourselves steadily approaching more boats from the men's heat released 2 minutes before ours. Additionally, despite the river being 400 yards wide in places, we found ourselves repeatedly colliding with the black Old Town canoe of Ander Thebaud and Tammy Kelley.  For the most part, I am pretty sure the collisions were inadvertent. Both boats were trying to stay in the fastest moving current while avoiding small obstacles and hazards along the way. As we began to overtake more of the men's boats, however, we found ourselves being pushed into the other crafts by the same black boat, time and time again. After a dozen or more collisions, two of which jammed the pinkie finger of my left hand between the gunnels of both boats, we had all clearly had enough of one another. From here forward, in my mind the black canoe became known as the pinkie-squishing Death Star.**

Other racers navigating Great Works. Photo Tim Nutt

Of all of the major rapids, the Great Works rapid was the longest and most difficult to prepare for, consisting of 3 or 4 drops separated by several holes, large waves, strong eddy lines, cribs and other industrial debris from the former dam. Having run it during our  3 training runs, two things were clear to me- 1) There really isn't a clean, dry line through this rapid, particularly the last drop and 2) The best line down the rapid changes even with small fluctuations in the water level. We paddled furiously toward the rapid in pursuit of the craft of Laurie Spraul and Kathleen Friday, Death Star at our heels, knowing full-well that we would be making decisions on the fly as to how to best negotiate the rapid. While our run through Great Works wasn't completely clean, I resisted my urge to grab onto the gunnels, close my eyes, and scream hoping Lani would paddle me to safety. We maintained our position through the drops while paddling with a quick, strong, clean cadence. In the last drop, we took on a small amount of water from a few large waves requiring some quick attention to bailing before resuming the furious pace set early on by the leaders. Lani and I both gasped for breath from the intensity of the chase, finding ourselves digging deep much earlier in the race than we possibly could have anticipated.

Lining up for the second drop of the Great Works rapid. I think this photo may have been taken on the second day of racing (the Sprint). Photo Tim Nutt.

The next 3 or 4 mile stretch of river was mostly moving water with class I/II whitewater. It was in this stretch where we made our first, and probably only, mistake of the race. Unable to lose the Death Star despite our best efforts, still ramming gunnels (I am pretty sure the men we were overtaking at the time found this pretty entertaining), we seized an opportunity to break off into a channel of water moving down the center of the river while the Death Star chose the flow on river right. With the slightly lower water level from our training run on Wednesday, this proved to be a bad choice. We found ourselves flailing against a swift current rather than being carried by it (not whitewater, just shallow ripples). We emerged a few hundred yards downstream now several boat lengths behind the Death Star. This deficiency we would never make up.

Despite an exhaustive pace, our positions on the river maintained relatively unchanged as we charged downriver toward the class III Basin Mills rapid. Basin Mills is a funny rapid. While short, the consequences of a bad choice are pretty unforgiving. The entry to the rapid consists of a ledge-hole about 100 yards wide in the center of the river (no, 100 yards actually isn't a typo). To the immediate right of the hole, there is a clean line of fast-moving water; however, just below the hole is a nasty, munchy, 6-foot set of curling, frothing, diagonal waves a few feet to the right. While the clean line was wide enough for a boat, an attempt to slide between the hole and the waves would have to be perfect or the consequence would likely be a boat full of water or a swim. During our practice runs, I felt this was the best of all of the options. The idea would be to set up above the waves further to the right than would otherwise seem prudent to ensure our bow was already pointed to the left below the hole. As the waves approached, we would thread the boat between the two hazards.

Here is the MaCKRO arial shot of the Basin Mills rapid. Fro above, it looks pretty small, but for perspective use the trees for reference. Those little ripples are actually big waves! Photo MaCKRO

Probably the hardest thing about the Basin rapid is that from the position on the river, none of the rapid is visible. The enormous ledge pour-over creates a horizon line that almost appears as a low-head dam would. It requires a tremendous amount of trust, commitment, and confidence in whatever approach you choose. As the rapid neared and we dropped to our low position in the boat to allow for better bracing, we were coming in a little further to the left than the from-the-right-approach we had planned. "Where is the freaking hole???" Lani demanded. "Right, further right." I insisted. I attempted to indicate where the hole was, but decided it was best to indicate where I wanted us to go, not where I didn't want us to be. I noted a kayaker further to river right. "Kayaker. The kayaker is on the line we want" I gasped. The Death Star disappeared out of view over the horizon line on river right. Further to the center, the other female boat still in front of us appeared to be headed right for the ledge. While I was certain this was a crazy move, it had also become clear that Laurie and Kathleen were extremely skilled and knew how the river fluctuated at different water levels better than we did. I could see them emerge a few seconds later below the drop, upright, and paddling downstream. If it was possible to run the hole without disaster, I knew it would be faster than the line we planned. It was time to take some risks if we wanted any chance of a place any higher than third.

"Change of plan." I said. "The hole is a better line." I knew Lani could only partially hear what I was yelling through the increasing roar of the river. "Left. Go left now."
"Are you crazy?" Lani hollered. "Honestly Shelley. Normally, I would never do this" she insisted with a very matter-of-fact tone. Not having said no, I knew she was not going to veto me. I continued paddling forward, now driving the boat towards the ledge drop and straightening it out in the final approach. Anyone who knows Lani and I knows this is a complete role reversal. "Oh, Jesus. You'd BETTER paddle hard" she said, hoping to avoid being flipped by the violent hydraulic directly below the ledge. And paddle hard we did. 

We emerged on the other side of what seemed like a black hole upright, dry, and smiling. The kayaker I had referenced just moments before was recirculating in the eddy below out of his kayak. "This totally sucks" he said, waving the rescue boat away to avoid a rescue-disqualification. With a now smaller margin ahead of us, the Death Star was furiously unloading gallons of water. "Let's get out of here" I announced in my best cliche-Hollywood-action-movie-voice. "We've got some boats to catch." 

Here are our friends Fiona and Emmanuel running Basin Mills during a training run. This photo is not race day- Basin is hard for spectators to access and photograph. Fiona Hamilton photo.

Shortly after the Basin rapid, we moved into second place, slowly gaining ground on the Death Star. The final set of drops would be at the site of the former Veazie Dam. During our training runs, we had chosen a conservative sneak-line on the righthand side of the wing dam that remained after removal of the larger dam. We knew this line would likely cost us 20-30 seconds from a more aggressive mid-river line, but circumnavigating the ledges and large wave trains would ensure that we would keep ourselves in the boat and the water out. We weren't in this to show off, we wanted to be smart. With our limited experience paddling against athletes of this caliber, we had never imagined that seconds would matter. 

Long before we arrived at the Veazie rapids, our well-laid plan was scrapped. In a language of broken sentences, gasps, and desperate grunts we agreed that we were headed for the more turbulent waters and ledges of the main flow of water. We'd figure out exactly what that meant as we went along. Unfortunately, only one time had we run the ledge during our first training run; that day we had found ourselves in a communication stalemate forcing the bow to swing out wildly sending us over the final drop backwards. We weren't hoping to repeat that. 

Veazie rapid. There are several canoes in this shot (they
look like little fish) that add a good frame of
reference. photo MaCKRO.

I selected one of the routes I knew other paddlers had used along the left side of the wing dam. Despite the hard, strong paddle strokes that caused my shoulders, back, and quads to ache (? don't ask- I have no idea why) and now beginning to seize up, paddling down the Veazie dam felt more like paddling in molasses than water. "Don't quit" we reminded one another every few strokes. No matter how hard we paddled, how hard we dug, the Death Star just wasn't getting any closer to us. In fact, throughout the rapid they actually appeared to have gained a few seconds on us, despite our more aggressive line and exhaustive paddling. The rapid came and went, as did the remaining quarter mile of river below the final waves and turbulent waters of the final class III whitewater. We laid it all out there on the river. In the end, we came up 24 seconds short.

Or, you could say, we came in 29 seconds ahead of third. Only eight minutes ahead the last boat. In the past, we have done races where a close margin between 2 boats was 10 full minutes. As we swung into the eddy and laid in the boat to catch our breath, it became clear just how awesome this field of ladies had actually been. Nearly all boats in the field were visible in the small section of river that could be seen upstream of the finish line. Never in my life could I have imagined a race could be so close. Or so hard. Or so fun.

Women's second place in the downriver race! Thanks always to Spandits! and Hammer Nutrition for your support for my adventures. Anti-Fatigue Caps and Hammer Gel at the start and Recoverite at the finish was the perfect combination. 

At some point, for those who are actually interested in the stuff, I'll tell you about the Sprint that followed on the next day (the race was just the Great Works rapid). Spoiler alert: we were second again. I know what they say about second place, but I have to say, I couldn't be more excited or feel more accomplished.

**Note- I mean no disrespect when using the term Death Star. In fact, we actually chatted and joked with Ander and Tammy after the race and they both seemed like really nice gals.

9 Stages of The North Country Endurance Challenge

Ken and PJ bathed in early morning sun. Photo Jo M. Wood Photography

"Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go."- T.S. Eliot

Last weekend I had the opportunity to participate in the North Country Endurance Challenge in Pittsburg, NH. The event is supported by Untamed Adventure Racing and is directed by the same race director of the 4-day Untamed New England Adventure Race I competed in earlier this summer, so it didn't take too much convincing to pique my interest. This event is multi-sport 9-leg mountain race consisting of mountain biking, kayaking and running covering around 70 miles (and over 7,000 feet of elevation gain) of the Balsam Wilderness area of northern New Hampshire. Athletes have the opportunity to compete solo or as relay teams with as many members as they want.

Race Start. Photo North Country Endurance Challenge.

Despite the fact that only one female completed the full premiere course in 2013, I opted to register for the premiere course as a solo racer with a little encouragement from Ken, one of my teammates from the Untamed New England event in June. As it would turn out, all three of my teammates from our Executive Athletes team would be competing (Ken, PJ and James), although we would each be racing as individuals this time. While I knew the boys would all have their sights on competitive finishes, my goal for this event was to avoid the time cutoff after the 6th leg of the race which would result in an alternate short-course to the finish. Having been short-coursed on the pro-course at the Untamed event earlier this summer, I knew too well the dissatisfaction of the "what ifs?" in the aftermath of those two little words. Short course.

And with an early morning firing of a cannon (yep, really a cannon), we were off. Photo 
Dave Koenig

While the weather forecast doomed us to eventual thundershowers, the 6:30 AM race start brought a beautiful sunrise and glassy start on First Connecticut Lake where a 4-mile kayak leg would start off the race. Most athletes had sleek, fast, kevlar flat water racing boats 20 or more feet in length. My 13-foot plastic sea kayak would make for an interesting start. I knew that the overall time loss would be relatively small, on the order of minutes, but I also was pretty aware that the overall toll

taken on my energy levels might be a little more significant. One of these days I might get more serious about getting fancy gear for these races but until then I have a lot more to work on before it really makes a difference.

Leg 1- 4 mile kayak on First Connecticut Lake

The leaders coming into the first transition area. Photo Dave Koenig

Leg 2- 3-ish mile run through Saint Francis State Park. The trail here was rooty in places and footing a little questionable, but otherwise a pretty straightforward trail run. I felt pretty good through these first two legs.

Finishing leg 2 of the event. Another female solo racer, Tamela Swan, is also
in this photo with me. She is a veteran adventure racer and is really, really tough.
Photo Jo. M. Wood Photography

Leg 3- Leg 3 brought us back in the kayak for a 5-ish mile paddle on Lake Francis. It was on this leg I felt a bigger difference between my boat and the other faster boats as the wind was beginning to kick up. Most of the paddle was at a slight angle to the headwind and not having a rudder made the effort considerably more work. Any difficulty that most of us competing at this point may have experienced was overshadowed by the beauty of the late summer sun on the water and hint of fall in the trees. It was truly breathtaking.

Coming into the transition after the paddle on Lake Francis. Clearly, I have issues tying a bib.
Photo Dave Koenig

At each transition area, my husband was one step ahead of me with whatever gear, food, and hydration I needed to get me to the next transition. In all, support crew would lug gear from place to place 8 times, filling hydration packs and refueling snacks. Some legs involved up to 45 minutes of driving just to hand off a bike and pick up a pair of shoes. As I left transition area two, my husband called out "I love you, honey." As I peddled off out of transition, I heard several volunteers yell that they loved me too.

I have told Ken (left) and PJ (right) that if they should ever find themselves taking their wives for granted, this photo should serve as a reminder of how awesome they are. Photo Dave Koenig

Leg 4- 9-ish mile mountain bike. This was the easiest of the mountain biking legs. It included just under 1,000 feet of climbing, but wasn't technical at all. Initially, I had some trepidation about having an average mountain bike for the event but realistically, a new mountain bike is not in the budget in the near future, so a bit of a moot point. I pushed to a point that I felt I could maintain and tried my best to hydrate before the next leg, which would be a running leg. I opted to reduce my hydration pack for the running legs to save my knees from the extra impact. Coming into the 4th transition area, I was now about 45 minutes behind the leaders of the race, which felt pretty good to me.

Coming into Transition area 4. Photo Dave Koenig

Leg 5. - 7+ mile Trail run (1,000 feet of climbing)?
On the maps we received before the event, this leg was advertised as a 7-mile trail run. It turned out to be something entirely different for me, however, and the low point of my race. First, the term "trail" is only one I can use loosely. There was flagging tape, that is. Trail? Not so much. At least 6 miles of this leg would be better described as a vertical swamp. Trail "run". Hardly. See my previous point. Not much running was happening for me here. Seven miles? Nope. Turned out to be 10.5. What is a 50% difference amongst friends, right? I say these things in jest mostly because in all of the adventure racing I have ever done, nothing is ever as it would appear on maps or course descriptions.  There is always a catch. I honestly wouldn't want it any other way. It just so happened that this leg of adventure commenced with a self-inflicted face plant into the mud and twisted ankle to boot. I won't deny that this provoked a little pitty-party-for-one that would cost me time. Additionally, for the first time in the race I would lose sight of Tamela Swan, with whom I had been exchanging positions with for much of the first 4 hours of the race. I would complete this leg alone, run out of water and food, and fail to emerge from the deep grassy trail for over two hours. Arriving at transition area 5, I could even tell that Dave was a little annoyed with my mid-woods frolicking. I changed my shoes and hopped on my bike determined to finish the leg before the 2:00 PM cutoff (initially it was a 1:30 cutoff, but it was extended due to the added length of leg 5).

Leg 6. 9 miles (about 1,800 feet gain)
I'd love to say that in leg six I rebounded and found my second wind. I was looking for it, that's for sure; until I turned off the pavement and began the climb up Sugar Hill one mile into the leg. The trail up Sugar Hill consisted of a series of switchbacks progressively steeper than the next climbing about 1,800 feet in under two miles. This climb was a venomous ascent. By the second pitch I was attempting to suppress any thoughts of misery or suffering by convincing myself that I could see the summit just over the rise in the distance. It was clearly a lie and I wasn't in the mood to be tricked. By the third pitch, I had given into peddling exclusively in grandma gear and as the 4th pitch came into view I was off my bike pushing. Up, up, up. Somewhere along this hike-a-bike, a group charged down the hill on ATV's and a man in the final ATV stopped to ask me if I was on a relay team or solo. I breathlessly replied "solo" and he started his engine and replied "well, you've got a loong way to go." I knew this meant I looked like I felt: not good. Turns out, he was right; I did have a long way to go. Fortunately, many of the pitches above this one were (mostly) rideable. I climbed on and off my bike 4 or 5 times more before reaching the summit, and descended the steep, loose, rocky trail down the other side with increasing confidence and speed. The surprise of leg 6 would be the trail network that followed Sugar Hill. While not very technical, the trail followed some of the most spectacular rolling single track and beautiful terrain encountered thus far in the race. It was fun. It was fast. It was spectacular.

I can't say I have ever changed this many times in one day.
Photo Dave Koenig

I arrived at the TA 6 at 1:15, a full 45 minutes before the time cutoff. I grabbed my running shoes and pack, ate a Snickers bar, and headed up the trails of the abandoned Balsams Ski Resort for leg 7. Having made the cutoff, I would be afforded the opportunity to complete the premier course as I had hoped, provided that my body was on the same page, that is.

Leg 7. Leg 7 was a 3.6 mile hike/run up the ski trails of the abandoned ski area that continued to Table Rock before descending back down into Dixville Notch. I enjoy mountain running and hiking, so this leg was one I had looked forward to. Although my legs didn't have the "ups" that I had hoped for, I climbed steadily and followed the trail as it wove in and out of the forest above Dixville Notch. The trail followed mountain streams and pine forests that carried the smells of fall. By this time, the predicted storms arrived and moderate downpours would become more continuous for the remainder of the race. I finished my descent just before the roots and rocks became too slippery for running, grateful to make it as far as I did before conditions deteriorated.

I arrived to the transition to find that another racer on a relay team had been evacuated due to dehydration and heat exhaustion. This was a little disconcerting to me, but it was evident even then that he would be fine, so I continued on. Sometimes stuff just happens.

James Kovacs descending from Table Rock into 
Grafton Notch. Photo Jo M. Wood Photography.

Leg 8. Legs 8 and 9 would would both be mountain bike legs completing the premier course. Leg 8 was a 14+ mile bike up through Kelsey Notch with another 1,700 feet of climbing and leg 9 an additional 10 miles and another 1,000 feet of climbing. By the time I began leg 8, the rain was coming down pretty hard and conditions were becoming increasingly slick. As I ascended into Kelsey Notch, the slick mud turned into sticky slime that coated my derailleur and filled the knobs of my tires in such a way that many pedal strokes up the hill were complete spin outs. Mulligans. Water poured off my helmet into my eyes coating my sunglasses with slime as the mud from my tires spun up into my eyes. Despite the mud, I opted to stuff my sunglasses into my sports bra to allow me a better chance at seeing the rocks and mud holes that made up the Kelsey Notch trail. With a compass, map, whistle and now sunglasses all stuffed into my bra, my glasses would bounce out into mud puddles more than once for me to retrieve. One of the most frustrating aspects of this climb (and soon to be descent) was that racers who had passed through Kelsey Notch before the downpours would not have experienced these conditions. In fact, as I understood it, the descent would have been fast and fun. For me, even the downhill sections would be a wheel caking, brake clogging, derailleur disabling grind.
It isn't unusual under these circumstances for me to have some kind of epiphany. In fact, I tend to seek out this type of fatigue simply to appreciate the beauty of each step, every colored leaf, and every smell of the forest during an endurance event. This day would be different. I became angry. With every pedal stroke more angry than the one before. Not angry at the mud or the difficulty or the course. I became angry with myself. In a moment of clarity between the rain drops and eye crushing mud I found an indistinguishable mixture of rain and tears streaming down my face over my inability to find tears over the tragic loss of a friend back in January. Why is it that I can't cry when I want to?  All sorts of emotions and questions churned about in my head. The mud felt good, almost as if a cleansing of the guilt that had sat deep in my stomach for all of these months. The harder I rode, better it all felt. In fact, for someone who admittedly stinks at mountain biking, I rode quite well. I picked good lines and committed to them. When I picked bad lines, I trusted my instincts and rode it out. I didn't crash. I didn't hike. The more I pushed, the better I felt. Kelsey Notch came and went; by the time I arrived at the final transition my muddy grin was undeniable.

Leg 9. Ironically, my husband Dave was down at the transition worrying about me. When Ken arrived at the transition, he had specifically told Dave "Shelley isn't going to like this." I am pretty sure Dave was convinced I would be tossing my mud-caked bike into the woods and calling it quits at any time. I, however, was having way too much fun embracing the absurdity of it all to remember that I am not a mountain biker.

The final 10 miles of mountain biking was more challenging than I had expected, but really fun. The terrain varied and brought us around beautiful tree farms, (wet) grasslands, forests and muddy 4-wheeler trails. It was a total hoot. I passed a few racers looking pretty ragged, but for the most part cycled the last 25 miles alone. The hardy volunteers still on-course in the rain cheered me to the finish in the town of Colebrook where I passed under the finish banner after 11 hours of racing.

At the finish. I would be extracting gobs of mud from my contacts for the rest of the evening after this. Photo Jo M. Wood Photography.

In summary, I would say that this race is not for sissies, but was beautifully run and executed by a great race director and volunteers. One of the great things about it is that athletes can choose to make a relay team or go solo. There is also a 4-leg sprint distance for those looking for something a little shorter or just getting started. Great views, great terrain and great people. I couldn't ask for a better opportunity to support my habit of self-inflicted suffering or better race volunteers to enable me. I think I just might be a junkie.

Men's and women's solo "podium" for the premier course, as well as the winning relay team. My friend James (far right) wound up 3rd for men and I was 2nd for women. I am honored to be in the company of these other two great women who finished this event this year.
Gotta love the wet hair shoulder stain. Photo Dave Koenig

"In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks."- John Muir

Thanks to Hammer Nutrition for Heed, Endurolytes and Sustained Energy that got me through this one. There is no way I could have make it without the help of the best fuel out there. Hammer Nutrition Seat Saver was also a life saver. Having wet shorts for the duration of the race required a little extra help! Use this link to save 15% off your first order.

Also thanks to Spandits! for the great training shorts and skirt. If you want to try a pair for yourself, use code SPANDITSLOVE and tell them Shelley sent you for an extra 10% off your order!

Part II of III- Untamed New England- The Epic Bike Tour (days 2 and 3ish)

Our team descending from the mountains toward Moosehead lake. Photo credit Vladimir Bukalo

"The very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life come from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun."
- Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild

If I forgot to mention it, mountain biking is not my forte. I don't like crashing (which I do quite often), and I tend to stiffen up causing my insides to shake up to the point that I convince myself that internal organ damage is inevitable. To top this off, I had deliberately failed to mention to my teammates that I suspected that a crash on my bike taken about 10 days before the race may have created an injury that might reveal itself sometime during the race. With so little time remaining before the race and the possibility that my hypochondriacal ways were at the root of it all, I made a trip to the chiropractor and determined it was best to just suck it up.

We headed out on the mountain bike about 8 AM hoping to make up lost time, both on the clock and also to catch up to the other teams. Failing to make the 7 PM cutoff would mean that we would be diverted off the pro course on a shorter course and miss the orienteering relay and the bushwhack through the Abenaki Lost World. James did a great job navigating a route conferring with us regularly to be sure we were all in agreement with route choice. We hustled along to get back into the race. I did everything in my power to keep up with the group, especially up the longer hill stretches, but after about 60 miles or so on the bike I must have started to drag a little which was confirmed when James offered me a tow up several of the hills. Normally, I would be put off by such an offer and insist on doing it all on my own power, but in a team race there is no "me" or room for ego or dignity. I am not going to lie, getting a tow was awesome. Not only did it give me the boost I needed, but also forced me to stay on his wheel to catch a draft. I know at first I must have been a horrible drag since I put on the brakes whenever I got too close, but I eventually became more trusting and confident and allowed James to dictate the pace while I did what I could to pitch in on the effort.

Most of the mountain biking wasn't all that technical. Here is one of the Canadian teams on
course. Photo Untamed New England.

Apart from one bike bushwhack section up part of a small mountain and through a pass, the mountain biking was really fun.  There were some epic crashes, mostly by PJ, including one in a waist deep puddle. If PJ were to do another adventure race, I might recommend that he practice using clipless pedals. "Bikewacking" in dense forest with small saplings grabbing at our bikes and packs was a bit of a test to our spirits, especially since we took a bit less direct path than we had hoped for. I think the worst part for me was when my pedals would catch on a sapling and swing back and crash into my leg. In the same spot. Over and over. We emerged from the bikewack no worse for the wear, chose a great route and headed to the checkpoint at the AMC Gorman Chairback Hut. Despite passing nearly 10 other teams in the woods somewhere and regaining about 7 hours of our lost time, we arrived at the checkpoint with only a half hour to the cutoff, which would be insufficient to complete the 1.5 hour orienteering relay. This meant we would be directed back to the Transition at Lily Bay (which was also transition 3). This also meant another 5 hours on the mountain bike...

Checkpoint flag along the mountain biking course. Photo Untamed New England.

The nighttime temperatures in the Moosehead area were near 40 degrees at night which felt really cold on a mountain bike when wet and tired. We made our way through the darkness and for the first time ever in a race I began to lose my focus a little (what I really mean to say is that I started losing my mind). In the previous two nights, I had slept a mere 2-3 hours and 90 miles on a mountain bike was more than I have ever dreamed of doing. James had the presence to hook me onto his tow several times on the longer climbs of this trek. The flashing disco taillight on PJ's bike became a hypnotizing force that I could do nothing but fixate on for hours. Of course it was inevitable in our tired state that we would make a wrong turn, and we did, costing us an additional hour or two of riding before arriving at the transition at about 2 AM. Upon arrival, we learned that the course had been changed due to unsafe wind conditions on Moosehead Lake and all teams would be re-routed by bike in the morning instead of canoe. The clock would not stop however, so any advantage we gained in the amateur race (short course) would be lost during the night. We hunkered down in the tent for another cold night in the Maine wind. I'm certain that I did sleep for 3 hours this night because I have a distinct memory of a dream where the race directors asked me if I wanted a blanket. I woke up to find an empty sleeping bag next to me and curled it up around me. Poor PJ had gotten up to pee in the woods only to return to find there was a thief amongst us.

By 8 AM Friday, we were back on course and headed to Greenville. From here to the end of the race, we would have no access to our paddling gear bins so we had to carry our paddles, PFD's and pack rafts as well as personal gear on our backs for the remainder of the race. On this ride, Ken surpassed PJ for the title of "most horrific crash", but he shook off the road rash without even as much as a complaint. 

Now routed on the short course, we were with the leaders who had completed the full course and were surrounded by so much media it felt like we had our own paparazzi. At first it was unsettling, but as we encountered the same photographers at checkpoint after checkpoint, it became entertaining being chased by cameras. We made quick work of the Greenville urban orienteering leg, made great time up Little Moose and Big Moose Mountains and descended to the old Big Squaw ski lodge, which has been closed for several years. On our journey over these two summits, we were overtaken by the top 3 teams in the world- I now understand why.

Me, PJ and James at the top of Big Squaw as taken by the paparazzi. Photo Untamed New England.

They flew along the trail at breakneck speeds with very little rest to support their efforts. I was particularly impressed by the French team who were very pleasant and driven, and I was floored to see their 120-pound woman towing one of the boys up the steep ascent to the checkpoint. 

Ken and PJ descending Moose Mtn. Photo Vladimir Bukalo

At the transition, we were given maps to our next two checkpoints, which were absolutely nowhere near one another on the map. In Maine, there is a reason for the expression "you can't get there from here." In this case, adequately phrased. The most straightforward option was to take a 40 or maybe even 50-mile route back to Greenville. Another was to take a more direct route of ATV trails that may or may not exist through the forests. Without too much debate, we opted for the more direct but riskier route. There were a couple of route options: we chose the one that involved the least amount of climbing to try to save some energy. Unfortunately, as is true in life, the path of less resistance is not always the best path. This one was a dead end. The map indicated a possible short bushwhack to a reconnection with active trails, but after an hour of carrying our bikes through logging slash and near waist-deep swamp in places, we realized it was futile and retraced our steps through one of the most mosquito infested swamps imaginable at dusk. Nothing was spared here- I was even bitten on my eyelids. 

After deciding that the smart option would be to return via the long road to Greenville, we decided instead to take the higher path of parallel ATV trails to see if we could circumnavigate the dead end swamp to the trail on the other side. Navigationally, this journey was one of the most brilliant choices of our trip. If you had asked me before this race if I thought it was possible for someone to ride a mountain bike in the dark while reading a map, I would have laughed. James absolutely killed this. He followed every drainage, monitored our elevation and we covered 30 miles of ATV trails through the cold night without a single wrong turn. It was about 1 AM when we rolled into Harris Station, the dam at the head of the Kennebec gorge where we would begin the whitewater legs in the morning. Here we would encounter yet another blackout; however, this one would finally stop the clock as all racers would be held until the river release in the morning. James and I used the floors of our pack rafts as an air mattress.  It only made sense since we had carried the rafts all day.

It appears that we weren't the only ones to decide the best use
of a pack raft was for sleeping. Photo Untamed New England.

I had wisely grabbed a few more long-sleeved layers at the transition on Big Squaw and was slightly less cold and uncomfortable through the early morning hours, but only marginally.



Part III - Untamed New England, the final leg.