VT Super 8: north lobe

Strava: VT Super 8: north lobe

10 days after wrapping up The Adirondack Trail Ride (TATR), I found myself on the lawn of the Vermont State House amidst several dozen other riders about to embark on the grand depart of the VT Super 8. As my friend Meg once said, 10 days after a big effort is when you reap the rewards, so I was banking on that wisdom going into this ride. ​

I'd learned about the Super 8 while perusing the Vermont Bikepackers website and route library shortly after touring the VTXL earlier this summer with some friends. The Super 8 was originally going to be my first foray into bikepacking ultra-racing until I decided to send TATR at the eleventh hour earlier this month. The route, a 655-mile figure eight with a centerpoint in downtown Montpelier, encompasses nearly the entire perimeter and parts of the interior of the Green Mountain state. Riders can choose to tackle the full 8 or one of the two "lobes," and I decided to just take on the 270-mile north lobe this year

TATR reset all my previous expectations for pacing, fueling, and my ability to function in a sleep-deprived state, so I went into my planning for the north lobe with the goal of a sub-48-hour finish time. Among my many takeaways from TATR, I wrote down every food stop along the route with the mile marker and operating hours on a laminated sticky note to keep in my feed bag (shoutout to James R. for the #protip). I also ditched my pot, stove, and mug and traded in the one-person tent for a bivy, allowing me to forgo the handlebar roll altogether. Had I known better, I would've left my sleeping bag and pad at home too, but hindsight is always 20/20. ​

After my plans to take the train north were thwarted by a lack of bike cargo spots, I managed to catch a ride with a friend of a friend who so generously detoured to Northampton on his way to Montpelier from Boston (read: not at all on the way). Ricky and I exchanged stories from the roads and trails on the drive up, and the stoke was high when we arrived at the pre-grand depart pizza party at Onion River Outdoors as the rain clouds gave way to a golden sunset.

It was so great to meet the event organizers and many of the riders before finding ourselves on the route the next morning. Post-pizza, I hopped on my bike and rode straight up a devilishly steep hill to get to the Warmshowers hosts who had kindly offered me a bed (!) for the night. When I arrived, they had just taken out the first batch of layers that would be part of a wedding cake slated to feed 96 guests at their neighbor's daughter's wedding that weekend. Nancy isn't a professional baker by trade, but I wouldn't know otherwise.

Unlike TATR, I slept phenomenally going into the Super 8. In the morning, I packed up my bike, thanked my hosts, and headed down to Capitol Grounds for some breakfast with several other riders before rolling over to the State House where the ride begins.

​The group was buzzing, and after some words of encouragement and advice from Daniel and Alex, we were off at 8am sharp. Just one block into the route, we waved goodbye to those riding the south lobe and the full 8 (most people start with the south lobe before tackling the north).

new friends and decent bagels

Once again, I was blessed with unbelievable weather (though no full moon - actually quite the opposite with very dark skies), and while the morning started out with thick fog, the clouds burned off before noon. The early miles were a lovely blur, with what felt like endless dirt climbs past dairy farms, town forest trails, a section of rail trail, and ample doubletrack sprinkled with some hike-a-bike. ​

Around 1pm and 55 miles in, I made it to Maplefields in St. Johnsbury for my lunch stop. I feasted on a bagel I'd brought from home, a Coke, and a peanut butter chocolate bar while soaking up some sun in the parking lot. About an hour and a half later, I arrived in Lyndonville at what would be my last refueling stop for another ~113 miles. I refilled my water and stocked up on naan, a block of cheese, a chicken salad sandwich, and a Red Bull. I ran into  fellow rider Tucker who was pouring several bottles of iced tea into a Hydroflask to take on the go. Definitely a #protip.

The next few miles out of Lyndonville and through the Burke Mountain trail network were sweetly familiar and made the climbing roll by quickly. I passed the chapel on the hill, the Wildflower Inn, and eventually made it to the Burke Mountain campground where I refilled my water and attempted to mentally prepare for the chunder of the CCC road climb and descent toward Victory that was yet to come.

golden hour on Darling Hill Road

almost to the top (and in daylight!)

As I left the pavement behind and continued to climb, I soon found myself walking my bike up the loose, rocky ski runs. When I neared the top, I realized I was making better time than I had expected. It felt like I'd been racing the sun all day, and I'd just hoped to make it to the top of Burke before sunset. With ~2 hours of daylight left, I began descending and traversing over to the Victory trails, not without ample walking. I reached the singletrack descent of Clodhopper and tried to enjoy the berms and rolls as much as I could on my fully-loaded bike, though I lost the trail a handful of times and had to consult Trailforks to find my way.

not the trail I wanted, but the trail I deserved

Off the Victory singletrack and cruising along a smooth dirt road with daylight to spare, I was feeling good about the next stretch ahead. That was until I missed the turnoff for the Victory State Forest multi-use trail.

​It took me a few minutes to find the steep, narrow cut-through down to a pedestrian bridge that crossed over the Moose River. My heart sank as I realized the next several miles ahead of me would be on what were essentially snowmobile trails.

As I made my way through the forest, the darkness fell quickly and silently. I had been somewhat dreading this descent into darkness - alone, in this remote corner of the state - but ended up finding my brain in a rather quiet state rather than an anxious heightened awareness of all the things I couldn't see.

​I made my way through the tunnel of trees, one pedal stroke at a time, tuned in to just the sound of my own breathing. 

At one point, I nearly crossed paths with a posse of ATVers whose bright lights were visible from several hundred feet down the trail, but they had blasted off down another track before I arrived, which was a relief.

Around 9pm and nearly 100 miles in to my day, the ambiance of the Gallup Mills DPW beckoned me to stop for dinner. Sitting under the floodlight outside the shed, I wolfed down a sandwich, some trail mix, and a few bites of a block of farmhouse reserve Cabot cheese. The vibes were immaculate. I also took a few minutes to clean and re-lube my chain, which had started squeaking incessantly over the last few hours of riding through deep puddles. Back on my bike, I headed into the next several miles of logging roads leading to the Nulhegan Basin area. This section was a mix of smooth dirt roads and heinously sandy, chunky climbing and descending under power lines.

Just after midnight, I popped out on the smooth, sweet pavement of VT Route 105 and was met with a thick foggy drizzle. I'd been riding in a curious mélange of layers up until that point (jersey under windbreaker under my down jacket), and I immediately shuffled my layers around when I realized how wet the air was. I also had an unprecedented five bars of cell service, so I called up my dad (who is much more a creature of the night than I) and chatted with him for a few minutes. He wanted to know if I was riding with anyone ("why not?!") and expressed moderate concern that I wasn't planning to stop and rest any time soon.

At the next turn heading into the Silvio O. Conte refuge, I crossed over the Northern Forest Canoe trail (the first of two crossings on the route!) where the Nulhegan River flows down toward its confluence with the Connecticut. This section of the route felt comfortingly familiar, as it also follows some of the same dirt roads as the VTXL. Needless to say, it was a dramatically different experience riding through this area in the early hours of the morning as opposed to full daylight. 

late-night snack

familiar territory at an unfamiliar hour

Around 2:30am, I arrived in Island Pond, nearly 3.5 hours too early for a resupply. Fortunately, I had more than enough food to get to Newport for breakfast, so I took a quick snack break and extended my Duolingo streak, por supuesto. I also checked the Trackleaders map for the first time since St. Johnsbury, and I was motivated to not linger after seeing Ania only ~15 miles behind me.

The next three hours of early morning miles were some of the toughest mentally. As I slogged on through the dark, my mind started to wander to the tempting possibility of taking a nap under literally any overhang within sight of the road. I resisted and blasted some music instead as I pushed ahead toward the border. Around dawn, I arrived in Newport under a heavy veil of fog and made a beeline for a Maplefields. I sat on the clean tile floor and savored the most delicious PSL (pumpkin spice latte) I've ever had. 

I climbed out of Newport and caught one of the most eerie but stunning sunrises I've witnessed in a while. It was only 7am, and I had just under a century to go before arriving back in Montpelier. I made steady progress for the next few hours, but the going was slow.

Near Albany, VT, I faced a familiar class IV climb on the Bayley Hazen military road, an ascent which I'd done once before coming from the other direction during my approach to the VTXL back in June. The climb from the north was just as brutal and the descent nothing short of brain-rattling. 

I chugged along the seemingly never-ending climbs into the early afternoon, stopping for lunch in Eden. Late into the afternoon, nearly 250 miles into my ride, I rolled through Wolcott and was intercepted by none other than James G., my new friend with whom I completed TATR just a few days prior. 

a surreal sunrise on the climb out of Newport

It was James' birthday, and he'd ridden all the way from the western shore of Lake Champlain to catch me on my attempt of the northern lobe. I was honored and delighted that he chose to spend his weekend cheering on my VTS8 ride. 

​The final ~25 miles were by far the most challenging of the route - physically, mentally, and emotionally. A long stretch of washed-out 4x4 road had me pushing my bike over rocky ledges and around deep murky puddles, draining the little energy and patience I had left. After the sun went down and I inched ever closer to the end, the route twisted along the North Branch River Park. ​

post-ride pre-phở afterglow

The singletrack was relentless, requiring me to keep a close eye on my bike computer for navigation while weaving along the trails in darkness.

​My patience had run into the negatives, and my left Achilles tendon had started throbbing (likely due to the miles of hiking I'd done in my cleats over the last day and a half). It's a blur in my memory, but there were definitely some tears. 

At last, I emerged from the woods and made the final push toward downtown Montpelier. I rounded the corner of State Street and pulled up in front of the capitol building, ending my 36-hour-16-minute journey on the north lobe of the VTS8.

​I was filled with gratitude, exhaustion, and utter surprise to be standing at the finish line 12 hours earlier than I'd hoped for, and grateful to have a friend there to celebrate and share the joy of riding bikes at any hour of the day or night. 

Thank you to the VTS8 organizers for putting on this event year after year; this may be my first attempt, but I sure hope it's not my last.