Untamed Adventure Racing: Dover Raid

"Happiness is only real when shared."- Chris McCandless, Into The Wild

Last week I had an interesting conversation with the new barista at my favorite (and only) local coffee shop about adventure racing. She asked me if considered these races to be Class I, Class II, or Class III fun. When I asked her what that meant, she explained that class I fun is when the event is purely fun, and you are aware of such even while you are doing it. Class II fun- not so much fun when you are doing it, but after it is over, it is good fun. Class III- not fun during, not fun after, but when you look back on it a year later, you think to yourself "wow, that really was life changing and fun". I thought that was an excellent way to sum up my idea of fun. Most races for me are a little bit of all three.

Great race swag. A lovely Colombia top for me and a OR
running cap for Dave. Thanks MadAthlete.com!

Despite having hung up my shoes for the 2014 season two months ago, I wasn't able to resist the temptation to jump into one more event before the end of this year. Untamed Adventure Racing, the same organization that put on the 4-day Untamed New England and North Country Endurance Challenge, had one more event up their sleeve: The Dover Raid. This event is a 6-hour orienteering foot-race in Dover, NH. Forty-seven checkpoints would be scattered throughout the city and outlying areas and racers would scramble to complete as many as possible in the allotted time (and awarded 1 point per checkpoint successfully punched). Racers arriving at the finish at the Cara Irish Pub in downtown Dover after 5 pm would be docked 1 point for every minute late they arrived. This race was to be Class I fun all the way. I teamed up with my husband, Dave, and two other friends who each registered as solo racers. My intention for this race was entirely to remind me why I love adventure racing and to be surrounded by the kind of people who remind me to live life to the fullest.

(No expectations is probably a good thing since my training has not included much running at all due to a gnarly case of plantar fasciitis.)

Dave and I awoke Saturday morning at my cousin's place Portland to a sheet of fresh snow and ice on the ground, mid-30's temps, and sleet and rain falling from the sky. This was not going to be a dry day for us, that was already clear. Icy roads, lack of preparation, and dragging our heels a little due to the cold start brought us the venue only 15 minutes before the bus departed for the start. It was astonishing how many people were already packed into the tiny pub receiving instructions from RD Grant Killian as we arrived (late). The only part that I actually was able to hear was that checkpoints 22-29 probably should not be attempted by teams without adventure racing experience as they involved sketchy, icy, log crossings and that there would not be a bailout option for anyone deciding to call it quits in this section of the course. Apart from that, we pretty much missed all other instructions. We grabbed maps and boarded the busses to the start using the 15-minute bus ride to organize our packs and maps and layer up into our most waterproof layers. Dave, James (one of my teammates from Executive Athletes), his girlfriend's dad Mark, and I decided that we would stay together as a team for the day. We hopped off the bus and assembled for a final short speech to racers before the official start. I was off using the woods as a bathroom as the race started. I emerged struggling to get my tights up, ankle deep in thick slush, into a pack of racers and followed the boys off onto the trails tucking the passport, compass, clue sheet, and Hammer Gels into my pack as I ran.

Just like that- as quickly as we started- we were lost. I am not sure if it was a lack of communication about what checkpoint we were headed to first, or a case of upside-down map syndrome, but we had no idea where we were. Attempting to salvage our start, we headed further into the woods hoping to find some clue that we could use to locate ourselves on the map. By the time this happened, our only viable options were to start at CP 15 (checkpoint 15) and work our way back to CP 10 or to retrace our foot steps back to the start and complete the CP's in order as we had planned. We opted to break trail through the woods directly to the outlying CP 15, return backwards to pick up the lower # CP's, and retrace our steps to CP 16 and beyond (meaning that we would run head-on toward most other teams). All told, this probably cost us 45+ minutes and several additional miles of slushy bushwhacking on trails in the woods on the outskirts of Dover. We emerged from the woods to CP #18 soaking wet where hot coffee and warm smiles greeted us and checked us in. The good news- that coffee was amazing. The bad news: we were basically last. Dead last. Oops. Here Grant mentioned that several teams ahead of us had opted to skip CP's 22-29 after having seen the log river crossing. Evidently, it was high above the water, coated in ice, and sketchy as he had said earlier. Skipping these CP's was probably the best choice for a team looking to be competitive at this point: the CP's in town would be much closer together and require significantly less time, distance, and energy to gather. Unless clearing the course was the objective (getting ALL CP's), the faster route back to town was probably the better choice for racking up points. Regardless, we decided to head to CP's 22-29 anyway. The wooded checkpoints looked like they would be way more fun than heading back to town. None of us would regret this decision.

Several teams at one of the tree crossings. Photo Lars Blackmore.

This section of the course was gorgeous. We crossed a couple of rivers in a few places, but most of the time we found a downed tree or other way across that prevented us from getting wet(ter). The icy tree was a little sketchy: I later heard one group had a team member who freaked out and froze half way across the log. Someone else dropped their maps into the river below in this spot. As far as I know, no one actually took an unexpected swim here though. The four us were thrilled to just be out there gathering checkpoints. Apart from a couple of differences of opinion here and there, we smoothly transitioned from CP to CP for the next several hours. Mark eventually decided to head back toward town to get warm as his hip had had enough, and Dave, James, and I continued on down a slush-covered railroad bed in search of checkpoints. It was fun watching Dave and James frolic down the trail ahead of me like two school kids on a snowday. We arrived into town with only about 40 minutes remaining and picked up the pace to try to snag as many more CP's as we could before the 5 pm cutoff. Indeed, these CP's were low-hanging fruit compared to some of the others. In hindsight, it would have been nice to have more time to grab more CP's in town- but I wouldn't have traded the adventure for extra checkpoints. We ran at a decent clip for the last several miles and arrived with only 8 minutes to spare.

Greeted with pizza and beer at the finish!

We were greeted at Cara Irish Pub to warm food and beer and everyone was in great spirits. Awards

and swag were distributed (thanks MadAthlete.com). One team of two men did clear the course- I am not sure what the total distance was but last year it was nearly 30 miles. In the slushy conditions, completing every checkpoint was an impressive feat. Despite our rough start, we cleared around 30 CP's, although I am not sure of our official placement.

All race proceeds for this event were to be donated to the family of Chad Denning, a fellow adventure racer who died while on a trail run on the Appalachian Trail in September. While I never met Chad, Grant's emotional tribute to him made it obvious that he was more than an athlete; rather, a dear member of an extended racing family. It is clear to say, without a doubt, that these races are a labor of love, rather than for profit. Love of community. Love of the outdoors. Love of adventure.

Chad Denning with his family in 2013. Photo farnorthendurance.com

Thanks to the folks at Untamed Adventure racing, 2014 has made me a believer.







Thanks to Hammer Nutrition for my go to Hammer Gels, Endurolytes and Endurance Amino. They powered us all throughout the day feeling awesome! Click on the link above to receive 15% off your first Hammer order!

Also special thanks to Sarah and Kelly at Spandits! for our awesome tights. Dave's camo thermal tights were absolutely perfect and my circus act full-length tights with a wind layer were a winning combination! Use my code SPANDITSLOVE for 10% off your order!

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!