Pisgah never gets easier, no matter how many times you line up. This year, I almost didn’t race. I waited until the last few hours before registration closed. I didn’t feel prepared, didn’t feel like I had enough time on the trails, and I wasn’t even sure if I should be racing Open. But something in me didn’t want to sit this one out, so I signed up anyway. And this year I called it, Camp Pisgah!
Stage 1 started on a cold morning, and I could feel it right away. Climbing that first long gravel road, the air was sharp, and I could feel it deep in my lungs with every breath. This was a new version of the stage compared to previous years. We first rode into a really fun and flowy trail system Cove Creek, before the course turned serious.
Soon after, the climbing steepened into those classic Pisgah pitches. New connector trail was no joke. That’s where one of the riders next to me started making exaggerated cry-baby sounds on the steepest sections—half joking, half completely real—and it was honestly the perfect expression of what we were all feeling. It was so painful and so funny at the same time. That’s Pisgah. You’re suffering, but somehow still laughing.
The course kept building—more steep climbing followed by a rugged, technical Daniel's Ridge descent that demanded full focus. Later on, I made a mistake on the trail I never ride, Long Branch. I missed a turn and went straight instead of turning, losing about five minutes before realizing it. When I got back on course, I saw a group of riders ahead, and in between them was Jackie, who I didn't know at the time but she was the rider who eventually finished third overall. That was actually the only time we rode together until Stage 5.
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| 300 Miles of Roots, Rocks, Repeat Buckle Presentation |
I worked to close the gap, rode with her briefly through a fun section on Lower Butter, and then was able to move ahead again and create nice time buffer. This descend was fun! Toward the end of the stage, on the final gravel climb before the last gravel descent, I found myself riding next to another racer and pointing out crested irises growing along the side of the road. They looked so beautiful, whole colonies of gorgeous purple little flowers, moving in the wind. I joked that we could race and still have a full flower tour at the same time. Just before dropping into the final trail, we were still talking about them. At the finish, he came over and told me how much he enjoyed that moment. Even in the middle of effort, you can still see something beautiful.
Stage 2 started very differently—with a long road section that felt more like a highway effort than a mountain bike race. It was very cold, and I was honestly shivering, wondering if I needed more layers. But the pace was strong, and I was able to stay with the front group and position myself well going into the first climb of the Turkey Pen. Maddie, who was leading in GC, went by me strongly and dropped into the trail just ahead of me.
The Mills River trail were incredibly fun—updated, flowy, and just a joy to ride. We have massive river crossing though right from the start, so cold feet all day. After that came Squirrel Gap, which is not my favorite, and I was happy to get through it as clean as I could and move on. Then Buckhorn, a steady climb that always suits me well. I felt strong there and carried that momentum into the hike-a-bike, which was steep, never ending, and draining as always.
Then came Black Mountain. That descent felt endless in the best way possible—fast, technical, flowy, and incredibly rewarding. It was one of those moments where everything just clicked and I forgot I was racing. Somewhere along that stage, I also noticed the forest beginning to change. Bright green Lady Slipper orchids were popping up against the still-brown forest floor, like small signals that spring was arriving.
Stage 3, the Queen Stage, is always my favorite. It’s the hardest, longest, and most technical day, with Front Range trails, Sycamore, Upper Black, Avery, Bennett, and finishing with Middle and Lower Black. It’s a stage that demands everything, and I was really looking forward to it.
Later, climbing toward Middle Black, I reached for a gel and realized my pocket was empty. All my nutrition for the day was gone. At that point, there’s nothing to do but adapt. Stay calm, stay efficient, and keep moving forward.
And somehow, despite all of that, the day came together. The climbs felt strong, the descents were exactly what I love about Pisgah—rough, technical, and fully engaging. Bennett was a highlight, and I ended up taking first on the Enduro segment there. It turned into an incredible day.
By Stage 4, everything shifted. I woke up with a severely sore throat—dry, swollen, painful—and I didn’t want to get out of bed. But I knew what was coming: Squirrel Gap in reverse, technical off-cambers, and the long climb up Laurel Mountain.
Riding along Squirrel Gap, I found myself on the edge of the trail, almost dangling off the side, with deep purple trillium flowers blooming right next to me. For a moment, everything went quiet. I forgot I was racing. I was just there, completely present, taking it in.
Right away however, I felt how little I had. No ability to push, just one steady pace. The climb after river crossing built from gravel into steep, technical singletrack, and then the hike-a-bike near the top. That section is brutal even on a good day. This time, it felt relentless—pushing the bike up rocks and roots, feet sliding backwards, every step heavy. I didn't know where to find strength to continue, it felt as there was none left, but yet I kept on going.
And yet—even in that state—there were moments that made me smile.
There was a volunteer, John, who showed up throughout the week in completely different costumes. One day he was Superman, another a “hot nurse,” then a sailor wearing the smallest, tightest outfit imaginable. On this day, he was dressed as a lifeguard. I looked at him and yelled, “That’s exactly what I need right now—a lifeguard!” We both just started laughing.
The descent off Laurel, Pilot Rocks was rugged and unforgiving, and coming out of it in one piece felt like a small victory. The rocky switchbacks have no mercy and there are so many of them. The trail has no order, it's a boulders and a holes and a giant roots all tangled together in the most chaotic way. I felt I rode relatively strong the final push—turning the pedals and getting to the finish, knowing it was so near, was exhilarating.
Stage 5 was rough. I woke up feeling completely drained. Even more sick than the day before, I didn't know how I will get through this stage I normally adore. From the start, I knew I couldn’t push or attack. I found myself getting caught by Jackie half way through Cathy's Creek gravel climb, and we ended up staying together for most of the stage.
It turned into something really special. We rode wheel to wheel, quietly, both of us tired, just moving forward together. We climbed steep Long Branch, passed Daniel’s Ridge waterfall, grabbed bacon, and rolled into the final long 50 minute gravel climb. That climb was one of the hardest moments of the week.
Right before that at the last feed zone, Pax handed me my bottle, and I looked at him and said, “Pray for us.” I didn’t know how I was going to make that climb.
We started the climb together—no talking, just grinding. One pedal stroke at a time. It was hard in a very honest way. No extra energy, just effort. I counted us down, 10 minutes, 20, 30, by the 40 minutes mark something changed.
Near the top, the terrain started to undulate slightly, and I found just enough momentum to begin moving ahead. Just enough to build a gap to goin into single track first. Finally came Bracken. Fast, flowy, smooth—everything you want at the end of a stage race. I rode it with everything I had left, enjoying every second and every descent, all the way to the finish. It was a bliss, however the smallest upward pitch would almost reduce me into the slow slog. It was amazing to cross the finish line, whole five days later, after experiencing so much doubt, sickness, effort, but also beauty and I would say transformation, of the forest and of me... I needed that...
Through all of it, I truly loved my bike on this course, Orbea Oiz. It climbed aggressively, descended with confidence and traction, and handled the rugged terrain beautifully. The freshly tuned Gulo wheels rolled smoothly over everything with trustful raction, giving me confidence throughout the week. I really enjoyed riding my bike every single day out there.
At the end of the week, I finished second Open Women overall and second overall in Enduro—my best result at Pisgah so far.
But more than the result, what stays with me is everything around it. The forest changing from winter to spring. The flowers. The quiet moments. The laughter. The shared experience.
Pisgah is relentless—but it also gives you something unexpected. Camp Pisgah, amazing 5 day training ride was the best thing I could have done to jump start my season!
And I’m really glad I showed up.
Huge thank you to all my supporters.
And thank you to Pax—for being there every day, handing bottles at the perfect moments, and somehow enjoying amazing breakfasts while I was out there eating gels and suffering!
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