Expedition Oregon 2024. Our first official race with the full Disco Inferno team, and 96 hours of delirious, dusty, wet, epic nonsense. While each of our members had gained some experience in other adventure race distances, this race was our first time completing the full expedition length distance. It is always amazing to me (Freya) how much there is to learn in every race, but particularly in expedition distances.

In what we are learning is “classic” adventure racing style, every aspect of Expedition Oregon seemed to follow a strict “expect the unexpected” policy. Race organizers seem to delight in chaos, and so, after a day of orchard games in the sun in which we didn’t eat or drink enough, our start time was moved up by an hour, so instead of getting 3.5 hours with the maps, we got 2.5 hours. We highlighted our routes, measured distances and scribbled the checkpoint descriptions with a feverish urgency. By the time we hit the start line I realized that I was subsisting on morning oatmeal, two tiny tacos from the food trucks courtesy of Graham, and an emergency mayo-heavy sandwich that I scarfed down 20 minutes before race start.

Leaving Pearls Place. *Photo by Guillermo Gutierrez.*

The race was to begin with what was intended to be a “chill, rolling mass start” from Pearls Place orchard to the first checkpoint. Race nerves make it impossible to do anything in a chill way, though, so I suppose it shouldn’t have been a surprise when the chill start resulted in a breakaway peloton. Our team had seeded ourselves near the back of the pack, only to realize that there were teams cruising at 35 km/hour through the orchard lands just ahead. We wound our way out of the back peloton and broke wind to catch up to the lead pack. As we began the climb out of the valley, the teams started to spread out as we settled into the first long climb of the course. “This heat is hot,” I shared helpfully with my teammates. We climbed, and I felt the sweat building up in my helmet foam and sliding down my forehead into my eyes at inopportune moments. The fuel from my two tiny tacos quickly evaporated, and I pounded back the hourly sugar intake that was to sustain me for the next 4 or so days, already regretting my food choices.

Climbing Fir Mountain into the sunset. *Photo by Guillermo Gutierrez.*

As we crested the bulk of the 1000 meter logging road climb up Fir Mountain, we saw a group of cyclists ahead. We obnoxiously called out “HEY! WHO ARE YOU?” Our cruising speed increased, and we began to chase the team ahead into the night. Our first point of contact: the Sardines from New Zealand! We caught them only to realize we needed to switch over the map, and thus began the engaging game of leapfrog into the setting sun, with the majestic backdrop of Mount Hood just visible through the smokey haze.

We got off the gravel road and entered the trail system to Surveyors Ridge just as night fell. Here we had some more brief encounters with other teams that emerged like phantoms through the trees. We continued to trend in an upward direction. But as darkness fell in earnest, we finally settled into a rhythm of our own. The rest of the first 130 km leg is a bit of a blur. Some flowy blues, a moon rising over Mount Hood, someone’s emergency emptying of bowels, pump up jams, the realization that I hadn’t peed in 8 hours. Some sketchy, off camber moondust and loose rock trails over a ravine around midnight. Bombing down a road with spirits high, only to realize we’d missed a turn in the dark and having to backtrack a couple kms up a hill. Gravel, gravel, gravel. Cursed gravel! Sore butts. Stand up pedalling. What felt like a gamble move down what was advertised as a dead-end road, resulting in a tricky turn off to avoid going onto the forbidden private properties. The whole route was close to 3000 meters of climbing. Memories are selective, though: it all seems pretty cruisey now.

We rolled into the first transition zone around 3:00 am, and proceeded to eat, change gear and clothes, blow up pack rafts, wander in sleepy confusion (me), strap bikes to packrafts, and ensure we had everything we needed for our “expedition in a leg” stage. An hour passed in a heartbeat, and then we were pushing off on the Columbia River, just behind Further Faster of New Zealand, with USWE in chase. Once again, we settled into a rhythm. As the sun began to rise and colour the hills surrounding the gorge, the wind picked up and the promised mighty headwind began in earnest. Max looked over at my face and exclaimed that the dirt from our ride made it look like I was wearing full face mascara. We settled into storytelling, in “hot pursuit” of Further Faster. That is, as much as you can hotly pursue someone in blow-up bathtub with bikes strapped to either end into a headwind.

Sunrise on the Columbia. *Photo by Guillermo Gutierrez.*

At the takeout, we had to carry our gear-laden packrafts 50 meters or so over the train tracks before we could disassemble and unload our gear. I almost gave myself a hernia in the process. A quick building of bikes and packing of packrafts, and then we were off again to the first orienteering course (o-course)/climb loop. We arrived, got our maps, dropped our packs (a decision that would come back to haunt us), grabbed our first aid kit and ran for the hills looking for a checkpoint (CP)... only to realize we didn’t have the description book. So, we turned it around, ran back, got the book. And a snack. Thankfully, this side quest was otherwise uneventful. We completed the short o-course and got back our bikes to climb up yet another gravel road on our bikes in more hot sun. In a sliver of shade, we took a brief respite and refuel and tried to fend off the threat of heat stroke. More checkpoints in hot sun! Then: a barn! We arrived at the next o-course hot and fatigued, and found a couple teams hiding in a second rare sliver of shade cast from the building.

As we entered the grasslands on foot, I kept thinking the wind was the sound of running water. The first of my hallucinations. But the scratchy dead grass and burs that got in our socks proved to be very real, and remains in my socks to this day. We wound up and down what were once tributaries but were now dried up depressions. We did eventually find a stream for a refill, and it was a most joyous occasion filled with yips and yahoos (we were the yahoos).

The grasslands. *Photo by Guillermo Gutierrez.*

After completing the second o-course, we found ourselves on another long climb that took us up and over a pass. “This seems like an area that would do well with windmills” said Graham as we pushed our way into the headwind. Ten minutes later, we encountered windmills. Then farmland. Then another CP and... an outdoor tap! We tentatively knocked at someone’s private residence, and a man with a long, white beard peered out at the hoard of 12 adventure racers seeking water. He seemed, understandably, baffled, but generously let us fill our vessels at his tap while he looked on. For racers who came later, it is whispered that he may or may not have left a basket of food. Others tell tales of hardboiled eggs at midnight. Was it the same man? Or are these all my delusional fever dreams?

Evening settled around us as we continued through farmland. Anticipating another day with little water, we refilled our filter bottles in some cattle run off with visible cow patties nearby. I gagged even though we treated and filtered the water and vowed that it would be my emergency water.

By the time we rolled into the TA2 around 9:30 pm, we had been moving for 28 hours, and awake for 42. As we disassembled our bikes, and got our sleep gear ready, only to learn of our hour penalty, to be applied later in the race when it was least convenient to us. A penalty due to the leaving of a transceiver at an o-course (remember those backpacks we dropped?). Oopsies. Too tired to dwell on it for long, we set our alarms for 1:50 am, and settled into our sleep sacks for a sleep that felt like it was over the moment I closed my eyes. I woke to Russell loud-whispering “Freya!” and then roused our other slumbering teammates with great effort. Soon after, we hit the dusty trail once more.

Comparatively, and buoyed by four hours of glorious sleep, this 22 km trek through Soda Springs Wildlife Area was a delight. Granted, starting a bushbash in new terrain in the middle of the night leads one to some surprising features, but we were pleased by the minimal bush to bash, and only a few steep scree fields to negotiate with as we climbed up and out of valleys and in and around creek beds. Graham, our resident o-course slayer, navigated us with seeming ease. Eventually we saw another dawn, and it illuminated yet another massive volcano, Mount Adams, with the Klickitat Valley in our foreground. Just a bunch of hobbits leaving the shire.

A view of the Klikitat from Soda Springs. *Photo by Guillermo Gutierrez.*

Apart from some mild confusion with a telephone pole, we eventually made the scramble down into the valley to our packraft put in spot, where we began the daring voyage to a promise land of huckleberry milkshakes in Trout Lake along a lazy river that wound through gravel bars for 26 kms.

Three hours later, we were in good spirits, and felt mentally prepared to hop back on our bikes. Here we were faced with two possible routes: a shorter distance route that involved a steep climb up and over a ridge, or a longer distance route that had less climbing. We chose the climb, which quickly turned to gravel roads. A growing butt blister had me standing up on my pedals at every opportunity. To stick together, I went on tow, and we jammed out to tunes as we climbed away from the Klickitat, then eventually bombed down the other side, towed by Max-a-moose in a mad car chase kind of way, at times careening at 50 km/hour on paved roads. The best of times.

By the time we made it to Trout Lake, visions of burgers and milkshakes had been taunting us for at least 6 hours. A Serin and a Yarrow emerged like mirages in front of KJ’s Bear Creek Café to hug a Graham. The second person we saw was wearing a Dodge City Cycles t-shirt. I asked if he was from Cumberland, but no, just a recent visitor to the area. Regardless, seeing humans was a nice boost. I scarfed down my burger and fries in a matter of minutes, revelling in real, fresh, hot food. Turns out Trout Lake is also a hub for PCT hikers, so we exchanged some halloos with a few fellow long-distance enthusiasts. I learned later that my friend, Miranda, who was hiking this section of the PCT at the time, arrived at this very diner within an hour of when we were there and encountered other teams passing through.

Drunk on good food, we hopped back on our bikes with our milkshakes still in hand, and slurped thick shake through tiny straws, sucking wind as we tried to bike, but revelling in the calories.

KJ’s Bear Creek Cafe. *Photo by Guillermo Gutierrez.*

Up to this point, everything besides my bowel movements was going pretty smooth. Then we hit the ice caves (aka the pit of despair). While we found the first three CPs with relative ease, the fourth was elusive. An hour later, we were still scratching our heads. I found a pile of poop in a crevice. Then Uswe arrived and we shared that we had been unable to find the fourth CP and were worried that it has been STOLEN. Evidence: the poop and the not finding the checkpoint! We looked a little while longer, before deciding that we had wasted enough time. “At what point do you make that call?” We pondered what an experienced team would do. “They’d probably just know what to do, right?” Eventually, we left to get the next CP. On our way back from tagging CP27 we ran into Uswe again. Did they happened to find the CP that we’d mentioned? We received an elusive “maybe” that was just ambiguous enough to make us overthink our entire lives. We decided to trust ourselves (“WE LOOKED EVERYWHERE!!!”)

About a 10 km bike, and a short bike bash later we were nearing the next transition zone and looking forward to our upcoming two-hour nap. It was getting dark, and nearing 9:00 pm, when, what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a race director, on a run... drawing near! “A CAVE CHECKPOINT IS GONE!!!!!” We informed him (very calmly). “Has anyone else reported it missing?” Jason informed us: “No.” No other teams had reported it missing. “Did you look in all the entrances?” He asked. We quickly learned there were four entrances, not the two we thought, and that the “pits” we had mistaken as little depressions within the cave were, in fact, entrances to different caves. Here’s the thing: with adventure racing, it’s not just about your speed through the course, it’s about getting all the CPs, so if you miss one, you are automatically ranked below the teams that have more points than you, even if you finish ahead. So, we turned our blistered butts around and biked back the 10km+ to the pit (S - plural) of despair.

CP26 was found, and CP27 tagged once more to maintain sequential order. On our way back, I felt a surge of rage-y energy directed at (no one in particular) which fuelled me to what felt like uncharacteristic speed and power on my bike. “I am learning the power of RAGGGGEEEE” I shared. Having added about 20 km and three hours to our ride, we were pretty ready for a nap.

But, when we got to the transition at Goose Lake, the race organizers had another surprise for us. Our bins and maps had been generously dumped on two separate little land masses, one close enough to wade, the other about 50 metres off the shoreline. I said naps, not maps! I was already shivering at this stage. Graham, our fearless leader, volunteered to do the swim. Russ took on lifeguard duty while Max got the hot gossip from Jason, and I gathered a somewhat soggy change of clothes for Graham from the bottom of his pack. We all shivered as we gathered around our new o-course maps to plot out a strategy of attack for the next 20+ hours of our lives. Our faculties had diminished rapidly, so the meeting was cut short. It was past midnight: we’d been awake for another 24 hours, and on course for 55 hours. Russell and I set the team alarms for 2:50 am and we drifted to sleep just as rain drops began to fall, only to be immediately woken by the feeble “beep beep beep” of my watch alarm. Russell hadn’t managed much sleep, not trusting the alarm to wake us. Rather than being rejuvenated by our rest, I felt all the aches from the previous days intensified.

Some of us decided the time had come to pop some ibuprofen like Skittles, before we set forth into the night, and into more unknown terrain. Part of the course was located on a lava field. In my mind, I was picturing a barren wasteland of rock with no vegetation: clearly, not well versed in volcanos. Regardless, we decided that, with fewer clear “jumping off” points and “handrails”, the lava field would be best completed in daylight.

In the dark, we hiked up Forlorn Lakes Road and took a bearing from an obvious bend. A 20-minute wet bush bash later and we had our first CP of the monster o-course. “This is going to go by in no time!” Another bearing, another lake, another CP. Soon, we found ourselves descending through cliffy drainages that were at the edge of my sleep-deprived scrambling comfort, and eventually ended up by an impressive waterfall that I wished we could see in the light. We climbed back out of that drainage, and I thought out loud “I wish I had dirt crampons!”

As light crept back into the sky, we encountered two tougher CPs, before entering lava country, where we wound our way through a maze of undulating, non-uniform rock with small shrubbery and some tall trees for good measure. And random holes perfect for twisting ankles. “This is going to take forever...” The sleep monsters started to catch up with us as we made our way to Mordor, aka, an unnamed volcano crater.

It was at this point, as we stumbled along in a sleepy stupor, that Max chose to become our very own travelling troubadour. He regaled us with a life history straight out of an Archie comic (the most All-American comic that Americans have apparently not heard about?) to pass the hours. Graham followed his thumbpass (thumb compass), and we fumbled along behind, with only one small moment of drama in which Graham managed to convince himself he had dropped the map (only to be found in his sleeve).

The volcano itself had many seemingly false summits, but we eventually found our way to the center of the crater: an otherworldly meadow. No rings of power were destroyed, but the Henry brothers did knock a badminton birdy around once or twice, and Max signed the log book of a geocache before we crawled our way up the other side of the crater, and made our way out of the lava field, heading south-eastish. We exited on a road and stopped to care for our feet. 4-Hour Fuel pop out on the road 50 meters away a few minutes after. One gossip and foot care party later, we continued on with renewed energy. Now we knew three ways to cure sleep monsters: gossip, commiseration and rage.

We left our new friends and bushbashed up and over Huckleberry Mountain for a CP before we continued back to Goose Lake campground TA for a very civilized “lunch break” back at TA, approximately 12 hours into our day. Feeling pretty good about our speed, we headed out to complete the northern loop of the course around 2pm, with a nice amount of daylight still to spare. After knocking off a few CPs in good time, we followed a dry creek bed for a couple km to a waterfall and realized with glee that it was only 7pm with only three CPs remaining.

One of the many opportunities to get our feet wet. *Photo by Guillermo Gutierrez.*

As the light faded, the mental fatigue began to hit once more. We followed a deactivated road to the next CP: a bend in the river. There is something about losing light just as you are reaching the end of your wits (in a very literal sense) that makes for a dangerous combination. The road ended in a lame, not very obvious way, and we followed a bearing into the dark only to arrive at an actually flowing river. For once we were not pleased to see water.

Along the shore: the thickest alder I have ever seen. Graham and I had an inclination to keep our feet dry and fought our way through the alder for a few meters (moving a meter a minute), getting increasingly flustered by the impossibility of travel. Max and Russ decided to jump straight into the river. We all had different ideas, equally divided on the approach: up or down? The elevation was off. We eventually all got our feet wet, and searched up and down the river in increasing desperation as the cold settled in my feet. Was this even the right river? We decided to go back to our known point on the road to reset. From a place of calm, Russ suggested that we cut over to a little tributary shown on the map that we could use as a handrail. We found the CP, but now night had really settled in, and we had no sense of how much time had passed. Relieved, tired, disoriented, perhaps a little discouraged, we continued on our way to the final two CPs of the o-course, losing steam with each step. I felt like an ant in the giant landscape, stumbling along in the dark. As we looked for the next CP, I was scared to fan out, fearing I’d lose my teammates in the dark. Russ and I were nearing the drunken toddler phase of sleep deprivation, and barely holding on. Graham was close behind. After what seemed like ages, we were back on a road, stumbling our way back to the TA. We had decided we would continue a few more kilometers on our bikes to avoid being seen sleeping by other teams. “We’ll just bring our sleep stuff, grab the next CP on our bikes, and then take a nap!” We assured ourselves it would be easy peasey lemons etc.

It was not. When we left TA we were immediately disoriented. Our first warning sign that we were in no fit state to continue without sleep, but because we were sleep deprived, all reason had left our bodies. Because: because! Miles and kilometers became the same thing. We spent what felt like another hour searching for a CP down a road. Eventually we accepted the fact that we needed a nap, and hunkered down for a cold, restless sleep in which I deflated my mattress because I was... cold? Yep. That makes sense.

When we emerged from our slumber, things started to click again. We were not on the right road. We backtracked, Graham found our parallel error, and we were on our way once more with only the standard stop/start associated with biking and bush bashing for CPs along the way.

It was still drizzling rain by the time we arrived at our two-pitch slab climb in which we had to set up pulley ascenders to solo top rope a massive slab. We approached the climb and came across a body wrapped in a sleeping bag at the base of the climb, which suddenly bolted upright and jumped to animation: our cognitive tester/climber safety dude! We were instructed to count backwards from 100 by 7s, which I am bad at even when I am not dopey with a lack of sleep. I stumbled near the end... “26... I mean 16!” Good enough.

The slab. *Photo by Guillermo Gutierrez.*

Now let me just say that climbing slab in running shoes in the rain is a big no thank you for me. In my mind, I thought we had to clear the climb without falling, or we would receive a penalty. This did not apply in the rain, but not knowing better, I took off my shoes, and bare footed my way up the long, long slab, only to look over and see another team hauling themselves up the rope. So, there’s that. But I sent it in style, thereby upholding the Disco Inferno family values.

By this point, the end was feeling relatively near. We got back on our bikes, with 4-Hour Fuel right with us. Eventually we branched off onto the Monte Cristo trail, riding up and down loose-scree ridge tops to the summit of Monte Cristo. Some fun down. And then: a heinous 250 m, steep hike-a-bike section to Monte Carlo Ridge! I never thought it would be possible to almost fall asleep while pushing my bike up a mountain, but there are many myths that I busted in this race. We made it to the ridge top, pounded some caffeine pills, and continued...

...Down the wrong trail. As Graham and I called for the other two to hold their horses, the remorse in our voices signaled to them DISASTER, DEATH, DISMEMBERMENT, so going down the wrong trail was, by contrast, a huge relief. Phew.

Another steep hike-a-bike later and we could almost taste the burritos at the finish line a mere four-ish hours away. It was basically a downhill “sprint” from this point on the ridge, so we bombed down the gravel roads, with me eating the boys sparkly dust, which made me look like I was, once again, wearing a “full face of mascara.” To this day, I am unsure what that means.

We got into the transition area for the raft before 4-Hour Fuel, but because of our penalty, they were to get in the commercial rafts before us. Resigned to our fate, we made the most of the nearby shops, and feasted upon chicken fingers and ice cream bars while friendly faces looked on. In some ways, it feels as though our race ended here, even though we still had a few hours of serious white water and a channel crossing to go.

When we finally got into the commercial raft, we were feeling quite chatty, and were apparently not embodying the intense energy of the teams ahead. But we made good time down the rapid, sent the largest commercial waterfall in North America, said our thanks, and continued on in our own packrafts for the remaining section of the White Salmon.

According to our very own whitewater specialist, Russell, this section was “actually fun.” I will let you infer from that what you will. While we did not capsize, our skirt-less rafts did have the capacity to take on a lot of water, so every so often we would eddy-out to reset our boat, lose a water bottle, or make sure Russell was still awake.

Rounding the final bend in the river before it opened out into the gorge, we saw our friends 4-Hour Fuel just ahead. Our four boats made the final voyage across the gorge within eyesight of one another. And as we crossed the line in a bleary-eyed haze, we saw our little support crew: An Ed, A Serin, A Yarrow, Henry parents, and a Judy! We even managed a little hobble run across the line and said some words to a camera. And that was that. It was 5:30pm. A 96-hour, 556 km adventure, a 7th place finish, and a newly formed trail family. I looked around in a bemused sort of way and then ate a breakfast burrito.

-Freya

Expedition Oregon 2024 Race Recap