My Vermont Super 8: South Lobe Recap

My first self-supported ultra bikepacking challenge

“What did I just go through?” were the final words I blurted out while crossing mile 376 to complete the South Lobe of the Vermont Super 8 route. It was 2 days, 14 hours, and 44 minutes since I had left Montpellier, VT to embark on my first self-supported ultra bikepacking challenge. Man, did I pick a doozy. Although not technically a race, the clock is ticking whether you leave during the grand depart, as I did in late September, or as an independent time trial. The event can be whatever you want it to be, but for me, it was foremost a personal challenge to complete something I wasn’t convinced I could do. This story is about my adventure through one of the hardest bikepacking courses and the personal strength I found in myself to make it through.

There was so much that happened in such little time. It’s best to start at the beginning. We pulled into the designated parking lot where many of the riders were already starting to put their rigs together. I anxiously checked out the scene having no idea of my own preparedness relative to the others. What were the others riding, wearing, packing, looking like? I let out a “sigh” feeling confident that I could at least blend in. My most obvious distinction was how my 45mm tires seemed on the skinny side. (I later found out the lighthearted judgements were actually about the volume of clothing I was wearing – which I don’t regret!) Once packed, we made our way to the start line at the Vermont State House building. It was surprisingly full of cyclists and their friends and families. One of the event hosts, Alex, gave his welcome speech then proceeded to jump on his bike to take on the course along side of everyone. We turned on our satellite trackers and off we went at 8am.

Day 1

Everyone was laughing and upbeat. It was the kind of laugh you do when you’re apprehensive about what is to come. And it was the enjoyment about being alongside of forty-five other crazy folks willing to suffer through a multi-day bike event. The course started on a steep ascent. And before mile 5, we went into our first class IV road (aka: an unmaintained “road”, often the remnants of what used to be a road). The road just sort of ended. There was a large drop off into a steep, muddy, leaf covered descent. I cut off to the right where the descent was more gradual but others chose to launch off the drop off. The rider beside me gained about two feet of air on his fully loaded steel steed and immediately appeared to have snapped his chain on impact. I only had a couple of seconds to take that in before I was sliding through the mud uncontrolled realizing the difficulty of technical riding with a forty pound bike. A few minutes later I came across another rider, Thorpe, who could no longer shift his front derailleur. The Super 8 course wasn’t shy about showing it’s true colors right off the bat. But I still had no idea what lied ahead.

I knew the mileage and the elevation profile (376 miles, 36,500ft), but I really underestimated the technical difficulty. Pavement and flat roads were few and far between. The gravel roads varied from pristinely packed dirt to loose chunky gravel. The class IV roads held up their reputation of unpredictability exposing us to miles of washed out, carved dirt roads with protruding metal pipes. There were rock beds filled with stones ranging in size from oranges to watermelons. There were endless downed trees, sticks, and roots. The were streams, ponds, and narrow bridges made of tree trunks. The grades were exceptionally steep and trickled with boulders that required you to lift your bike over. There were ravines you had to lower your bike into. And there was so much mud. Often times, the puddles did not offer a course to avoid. As if that wasn’t enough, the Super 8 takes it one step further and goes off road altogether. There were trails of single track, hiking trails, MTB trials, snow mobile trails, arguably animal trails, rail trails, and at a one point, no trail which relied on using GPS to navigate.

Getting back to the story: I was surprised to come across riders nonstop on day 1. It was reassuring to know that someone was nearby in the event I ended up in a ditch or came across untamed wildlife. Shops were dispersed about every 20-30 miles along the route. We would stop, purchase as much nutrition as we could fit in our pockets, down whatever food we couldn’t fit, spend a couple of minutes exchanging stories of the previous miles, and then head out for more.

My goal for day 1 was to make it to mile 148 where private yard camping was being hosted. I thought this would land me in a good position to get into Brattleboro for breakfast in the morning. I felt really good for most of the day and into the early night. I was proud of myself for getting through dusk into dark without feeling overwhelmed. I remember starting to get pretty tired around mile 120. I needed to start considering a stopping point for the day. Camping options were at mile 122, 131 (plus 3 miles off course), or 148. I thought I had enough left to get to mile 131 and see how I felt after that. Little did I know, the next ten miles would push me to my limit mentally.

In reviewing the course ahead of time, I had a suspicion that the pass through the mountains into Jamaica, VT might be a challenge. It started off with smooth gravel roads. I was enjoying the ride until I looked down at my computer to be notified that I was off-route. I backtracked a few hundred feet and only saw one road to the left. I headed down the road but was still off course. I returned to the previous road to find two paths into the woods. Each of these were tried and traversed the wrong direction. I returned to the previous road again and found a forth, even smaller, trail option. Well, that was the one. The path was littered with leaves and sticks but I was able to maintain some speed at first. Shortly into this I was stopped by a large downed tree that was so dense I couldn’t see the path beyond it. To my left was muddy wooded area. To my right was a rocky trench down to the river. I was at a standstill. I decided to push through the woods but was unable to get around the tree nor could I find the trail. My only option was down to the river. I carefully lowered myself down to the narrow rocky shoreline where I saw the fallen tree had been tunneled through. I felt confident this was the way. I was happy to see the trail re-constitute on the other side but there was no visible way back up the ridge short of climbing up. Having to come up with the strength to lift my bike above me was a bit of a tipping point. I felt in over my head even more than the bike was. My face tensed but I held back the tears. I pushed further into washed out, slick, sandy terrain littered with rocks. The more tired and flustered I got, the sloppier my biking got. After the second crash I couldn’t hold it in anymore. My emotions came through and the tears ran through the remainder of the trail as it slowly widened back into a road. There was a fairly long smooth decent into Jamaica from there. I was chased by two hunting dogs on the way down but luckily gained enough speed on the downhill to outpace them. Mile 131 was all I could endure for tonight. 11PM. I detoured the three miles west and set up camp in Jamaica State Park, leading the women on the course. (It’s hard to break a girl of her competitive side!)

138.1 miles, 16,024 feet, 13:39:58 moving time

Day 2

I slept on and off all night, but mostly off. I laid restless, damp, and the cool breeze was enough to annoy me. I remember seeing 4:30am hoping I could fall asleep before my alarm went off at 6:00am. The next thing I know the sun was up at it was 6:47. Crap. I slept through my alarm. I jumped out of my hammock, packed up my gear, made a quick bathroom stop, and headed out. I found cell service getting back to the course and was able to pull up trackleaders. I learned a hard lesson after seeing that all the women had now pulled ahead of me this morning. I never considered sleeping/waking to be a strategy but it is a monumental part of these events. It can make or break your position.

I pushed a little hard to make up for lost time. I coursed down what appeared to be a remote creek bed, now overgrown with shrubbery, and transformed into walking trails. I cruised through the trails, but frequently had to dismount to go over tree trunks. I was comforted by seeing tire marks as I was never 100% confident I was on the right track. Within a few miles, I came upon a dam with the road now several stories above me. The course took us back up to the road on stairs made of stone. My bike felt like 100lbs by the top. Next, I remember climbing endlessly for what felt like eight miles. It had taken over two hours to get to the campground I had initially set out for on day 1. The private campground owners graciously left out some trail magic (treats left out for the riders) and I ran into Max indulging in the free goodies. I felt rejuvenated at this point and took off gleeful having found a companion. But in true Super 8 fashion, it was short lived.

I took a few pedal strokes across the street and immediately had to dismount down another class IV wooded, stony dried up streambed. Max and I began laughing at the insanity as we crawled with our bikes sideways beneath another downed tree. To the left, within sight, was a perfectly paved trail. But that would have been too easy!

We killed some time on straight forward gravel roads towards Brattleboro. We were looking forward to breakfast. We had one more three and a half mile climb then a descent into town. Of course, the descent took a turn into the woods and through a series of hiking/MTB trials. I lost Max by this time but managed to catch up another female rider, Dom, and her friend at the start of the woods. About halfway through we had all taken different turns and were lost. Somehow we managed to reconvene on different paths and even caught back up to Max who stated he was on his third loop around. A few minutes later, we heard a voice up the hill who happened to be Stephaniealso struggling through the woods. We paraded through the trail and managed to find freedom on the other side. Our desire for pancakes was now for sandwiches as it was lunch time. And what was supposed to be a small portion of the day had now overtaken the entire morning and set us all back for our goal to get over Glastenbury Mountain before dark.

I was roughly forty miles from the Green Mountain National Forest which led into the biggest undertaking of the course, Glastenbury Mountain (16 mile climb of mountain roads and snow mobile trails with an average grade 11.3% followed by another 12 mile technical descent). Not getting over the mountain wasn’t an option at this point. I had to push on.

I hustled solo, determined to get the National Forest before dark, but it was evident that time was not on my side. I knew Val was only a few minutes behind me so I decided to soft pedal until she was in sight. She seemed equally relieved to see me knowing what was ahead. We started our trek. It was rugged. The trail was clearly unmaintained and only seemed useful for winter with 3 feet of snow covering the debris. It was riddled with broken logs, weeds and rocks. It was grossly uneven and very steep. We met a familiar face on the way up, Thorpe, who was stopped and camping mid-ascent. I knew I couldn’t face this mountain in the morning and moved on. The higher we went, the steeper it became. The trail leveled off briefly but the flat ground was overflowing with water dammed up by some local beavers. There was no way around, only through. I buckled up and pedaled into the narrowest sector only to be greeted by a large rock that sent me sideways off my bike. I landed in a little mud but ended up wet retrieving my bike from the puddle. My shifting stopped working at this point but I was thankfully in my easiest gear (I believe mud was jammed in the lever, it eventually cleared and started working again).

We pushed on. There came a point where it was so steep that trying to ride was no longer worth it, but walking was exhausting. We would take a step, haul the bike up behind us, take another step, repeat. We had several stops just to breathe. I was dizzy and hungry. The temperature was dropping. I lost count of how many times my calf was struck by my pedal. We made it to the top hoping for a beautiful gravel road to descend on. But instead it was a continuation of the steep, muddy, rocky, rooted track only this time covered in moss. On we walked. And walked. And walked. On the way down, we ran into Alex who had decided to camp for the night in the woods. Val and I decided to push on to Arlington and camp at a campground. When we arrived, we took a quick detour to Stewarts Market but missed their open hours by twelve minutes. We were left to set up camp exhausted and hungry.

111.1 miles, 11,600 feet, 13:29:18 moving time

Day 3

I thought I had planned a better sleep strategy for my second morning. My alarm went off at 5:00am. I was able to get a couple hours of continuous sleep, but I woke up to Val already packed and heading out. I hustled to match her pace, but was dreaming of donuts and coffee so I went straight to Stewarts for a pick-me-up. Val had the same idea as did Stephanie. I was elated to see she had made it over the Mountain last night after Val and I. I spent a few extra minutes at breakfast socializing and eating everything I could handle. I suspected this would be the only time I would get away with this today. It was going to be a big day. I had plans to push to the finish. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what mile I was on nor did I know how many I had left. But camping another night wasn’t something I was interested in doing. My mind was focused on the finish line.

I set off solo. Dom was several miles ahead at this point so I pushed hard in an attempt to catch her. The day started with a nice climb out of Arlington followed by the most AMAZING 18 mile descent to meet up with a rail trail. It was a relieving change of pace to have a long section of flat terrain. For the first time, I was cruising!

I finally caught up with Dom in Granville where she was looking for a market. She had broken her cleat miles back on the Mountain but was getting along. We biked for a bit until we hit a bakery in Wells. I bought two delicious sugar coated cake donuts and headed on. I was doing alright until the sixth hour of my day. For the next four hours I struggled with significant pain from pressure wounds and chaffing (yes I will say it) and really just a lack on energy. I couldn’t push more than 150 watts. I threw off my heart rate monitor because I didn’t want to see how my heart rate was no longer responding. My body was fatigued. I walked often just to give my body a break. I was looking forward to getting to Brandon Gap as I would be back on familiar grounds.

The twenty miles between Blissville and Brandon were beautiful, easy biking. I passed Erik in the park and decided to take a few minutes to reset my brain and eat the rest of a smashed up, soggy sandwich I was carrying for the last thirty miles. And on I went. I walked a lot of Brandon Gap as a continuation of my rest time. I didn’t mind. The sun was shining and I took some time to appreciate the peak foliage of the surrounding mountains. The strategy was to just keep moving forward. When I hopped back on at the top, the clouds took over and the temp dramatically dropped. I questioned whether a rain storm just passed as the road was wet. I stopped part way down to put my jacket back on. I soft pedaled through the valley to Rochester to get my legs used to spinning again.

The last forty miles made up my darkest time on the route. I should have known it was going to be difficult as so many fellow riders were planning to stop and camp prior to this. My options at this point were finish or quit. And I was too close to the finish line to quit. Braintree Mountain was unbelievably difficult in the state I was in. I could barely hold my body upright but had no other option than force myself to climb on. This class IV road was very steep and had no real line to traverse as it was littered with rocks and ruts. It took all of my power to lift my bike over the frequent step-up boulders.

Thirty-five miles. The descent was equally as technical. I couldn’t even attempt to ride until half way down. When I was finally able to ride, my effort could not stop due to the loose, rocky, rutted terrain I was forced to navigate and brace for. I nearly cried in relief when I saw the first smooth road.

Thirty miles. Two more climbs. Darkness was on the horizon but it was brought on quicker by the thick woods I was progressing towards. The gravel was smooth. In my head, the worst was behind me and I started to gain my second wind. I climbed and climbed and climbed. Darkness had fully settled in by the top. My batteries were on their last charge so I had to be smart about how I used my lights.

Twenty-five miles. A right hand turn took me down another snowmobile trail. It started out as a smooth, fun rolling descent. But the deeper into the woods I got, the less maintained the track became until it was hardly bikeable. There were several turns to navigate as well. I tried following the obvious path but had veered off course once again. I back tracked to find an overgrown alternate trail. Ignoring the signs “stay on the trail”, I headed deeper to where my GPS was sending me. I came to a stop after a couple hundred feet down. To my left was a large stacked pile of faded, pale logs with surrounding animal trails. Straight ahead was a former trail interrupted by smaller downed trees and pools of muddy water. To my right was a hillside of thick debris. I walked back up the hill without finding an alternate course. I walked around the pile of logs and followed an animal trail for a while but it lead nowhere. I then decided to try to forge straight through the old path but was stopped when water overtook the ground. I hopped ‘islands’ back to my original stopping point but with my weakness and the weight of the bike, undershot one and fell backwards into the knee deep water. The frustration was setting in at this point. I walked back and forth one more time, contemplating tapping out vs waiting for the next rider to come through. I was stuck. I turned up all of my lights to their max and scanned the area again in one last ditch effort. I caught the reflection of my light from several yards away. There was a truck! There was a road! I just had to walk across a field of logging debris and jump over a trench, but there is was!

Twenty miles. I made it to Northfield desperate for food and a drink but the town was quit and dark. I just had to finish. I saw a sign “Montpellier 11 Miles”. I went on.

Fifteen miles. There were houses. I felt like I was getting nearer to the finish. I can do it.

Ten miles. A right hand turn took me off the pavement to a double track. The track came to a stop and my options were straight into overgrown animal trails or a hard right to a washed out ravine. The only thing I could think at this point was “you’ve got to be kidding me” but there was no joke to be had. I hesitantly took to the right imagining the effort I was about to take to lower my bike into this gorge. I back-tracked up hoping the correct path was through the animal trails. It wasn’t. My frustration was at a max. I aggressively threw myself and my bike down the ravine, no longer caring about getting muddy as I was still soaked from the last section. I was crisscrossing sides of the ravine, stomping through the path of least resistance, huffing and puffing like a child having a temper tantrum. Two little reflecting eyes glared up at me ahead but in recognizing my unwillingness to detour, it scurried away quickly. I pushed myself harder that ever before. I was mentally and physically done 30 miles ago and yet somehow just endured the hardest 30 miles of my life, alone and in the dark.

Five miles. I could see the glow of Montpellier. I pushed hard in continuation of my furious state. I approached the town but not without one final wrong turn. I was off course in a parallel way. I looked to my left and saw a railroad track. Of course the Super 8 would finish with a rail road traverse. I backtracked and hurled my bike along the tracks. After a couple of minutes of walking down the tracks I look to the left to see a perfectly smooth paved bike trail. I could only laugh at my tired brain at that point. I jumped on the trail and was soon greeted in town by a few fellow riders, their friends, and my husband, Kevin.

With my hands on my head the only thing that came out was “what did I just go through” as I pulled into the Vermont State House building to end my adventure. At this point, I wasn’t sure what time it was exactly but I knew it was before midnight. I lowered myself off my bike, fell to the ground, and was never more comfortable in my life.

Dom and Erik came rolling in about 30 minutes behind. I was so thrilled to see others make it back. I was expecting an empty lot when I arrived. We spent some time reflecting, eating, and congratulating one another. And went home.

144.3 miles, 11,650 feet, 15:06:44 moving time

Total time: 2 days, 14 hours, 44 minutes (New Women’s FKT!)

Final Thoughts

My idea to attempt Vermont Super 8 started as a personal challenge to myself. I’ve always looked up to women who complete these rides as strong and fearless. I wanted to be strong and fearless, but to be honest, I was very afraid. I wasn’t sure if I had the strength to venture on a solo, unsupported, multi-day biking journey. I was only 50% confident I could complete the course at all. I was scared of the dark, scared of the wildlife, scared of hunters, scared of breaking my bike, scared of being too cold. My list of fears was long. But when I got out there, I was just riding my bike. None of the things I was afraid of factored in. And even the times I was alone, I never felt alone. I had forty-five other amazing cyclists on this journey with me. We were connected in the experience. I felt like I had a family out there.

The course was relentlessly hard. It pushed me well beyond what I thought my limit was, perhaps borderline survival mode. But I wouldn’t want to replace any bit of pavement, gravel, dirt, rocks, sticks, mud, or puddles on it. This was the biggest challenge I have ever attempted and completed on my bike. In the end, I managed to beat the record for the women’s fastest known time (South Lobe) by 1 hour 58 minutes. I came out the other side, alive, ready for take on more. This was my Vermont Super 8.

Thank you Vermont Bikepackers for hosting such an epic experience!

Copied from the SEEN.BY.SARAH blog post written by Sarah Skelly.