Digesting the TATR – An Adventure Full of Beauty and Gruel

By James Rath

“Don’t worry about anyone else’s race, you’re only out here to push yourself.” This is what I tried to remind myself throughout The Adirondack Trail Ride, but somewhere near Wilmington, four days and 400 miles into the race, the plans I developed from the comfort of home were becoming harder to stick to. The rugged terrain was taking its toll, but my body was finally settling into the race, and I became more focused on moving forward as the competitiveness inside me started to simmer.

TATR is a self-supported, ultra-endurance bikepacking event that brings riders through remote corners of the Adirondack Park on a diverse mix of challenging terrain. Participants can utilize shops and other publicly accessible resources, but are responsible for carrying everything needed to complete the 585-mile course under their own power.

Preparing for such an event can be a challenge in itself, and as the start grew closer, I found a stew of nervous considerations creeping into nearly every corner of vacant headspace. What should I bring and what should I leave behind? Will I be able to keep up with other racers or even be able to complete the course? And in between anxiously mulling over larger abstract questions like these, I spent time sweating minute details about every component of my kit.

Through scouring online resources, I highlighted a few guiding principles for my first big race: push yourself to find what you’re capable of, revel in the mental and physical places the ride will take you, but don’t get swept up in comparing yourself against others. These pillars were central while planning, but as the TATR’s start grew nearer, plans began to feel slippery. I planned to be packed days early. I planned to be in Northville an hour before Friday’s start. I planned to pace myself and let the excited riders go ahead. 

On Sept. 9th, I arrived in Northville at 7:58am following a tizzy of last-minute packing and a fairly restless night. Despite months of considering what to bring and how to secure it to my bike, packing felt like trying to complete an obscure puzzle on an old game show, with an imaginary studio audience counting down the clock. TATR starts at Northville’s Waterfront Park at 8am, but a mismarked location on Google Maps had me alone outside town hall. Confused, I checked “Trackleaders,” the tracking site I planned to avoid during the race. It showed the other riders, about 13 of them, a quarter mile up the road. I decided to take time to get properly situated for the big trip ahead. After all, I wasn’t out to race anyone else, and starting 20 minutes late wouldn’t make a difference in the grand scheme of things.

I set off alone and although my morning tardiness caused an early deviation from my plans, I was able to leave most of my anxiety in Northville. By the time I reached the Sacandaga River crossing 30ish miles in, I had passed three riders and caught up to two more. Pleasant exchanges calmed my nerves and I started to experience the event in good company. 

As we scrambled down to the river’s edge, we could see four other riders across the way. I instinctively began speculating on how many must be ahead. Past winners seemed like athletes of another caliber, willing to forego sleep and push themselves in ways I thought were out of the question. There is no prize for winning this niche event – most people, even local cyclists, have never even heard of it. Taking stock of who I ran into and who might be ahead felt like a fun index to build, especially since I had missed meeting everyone at the start. Still committed to my plan of racing my own race, I watched the others scurry out of sight as I took time to lay in the Sacandaga, filter water, and make adjustments. 

The terrain dramatically changes to rough trails following the river crossing. It’s these sections, where even hiking is frustrating and arduous, that make the event notorious. Riders must circumvent downed trees and scramble along boulders while carrying or pushing their bikes. Despite fairly treacherous trails and a couple of spills, I was able to revel in the route’s ridiculous challenges. The immense beauty surrounding me felt objectively awe-inspiring and I remained keen on seeing what was around each bend. This attitude, while not an absolute constant, became the backbone of my race while the pattern of the terrain continued to oscillate between paved and gravel roads, doubletrack of varying quality, and often unrideable singletrack.

Bikepacking isn’t much of a spectator sport, but some get excited and invested in “dot watching” (keeping tabs on riders via Trackleaders). I was pleasantly surprised to receive encouraging messages from loved ones who were tracking the race after getting occasional blips of service. Some knew and respected my effort to race my own race, while others unknowingly gave me unwanted intel. “You’re just 20 miles behind 1st! Go, James, go!” one friend exclaimed. Earlier in the ride, this was easier to disregard, but it got a little trickier as progress was made. By the third night, I learned myself and two others were out in front, far ahead of the rest of the lot.

When I rolled into Wilmington on the fourth night, I caught up to them, Wes and Matt, who were enjoying well-earned gas station sandwiches. We exchanged individual perspectives on the challenges endured and discussed plans for the remainder of the route. I was feeling particularly fickle at this point, tempted by the lodging options in town, but somehow my legs still felt good. A few locals at the gas station gave me helpful insight about the miles ahead and I decided to push on into the night. With less than 200 miles to go and my fellow front-runners stopped in Wilmington, the competitiveness I had previously kept at bay began to find its way in. 

Despite snaking through more developed areas, the remainder of TATR continued to punish. After three hours of sleep, I was woken up by rain, which evolved into a downpour that persisted throughout the day. Drenched and exhausted, I put my tail between my legs and got a cabin in a campground after just 50 miles. For a moment, I felt defeated, like I had lost something after five days of trading places in the front. Once I dried out and had a proper pep talk, I snapped out of this and remembered the principles I set off with. Disregarding Matt’s and Wes’s positions felt impossible so close to the finish, but basing the success of my ride on anyone else’s was unreasonable. I was able to settle on a balance by recommitting to my initial strategy, but allowing myself to enjoy some competition.

With just over 100 miles to go, I was determined to push myself to the finish. Matt, Wes, and I were reunited for a brief moment in North Creek, the last resupply with about 60 miles to go. After riding out of town with Matt, I decided to take off on the next trail section. I reached the base of Crane Mountain, one of the only segments I have prior experience with, and the familiarity gave me a big mental boost. I was determined to stay away from the others and poured every ounce of energy out through the remainder of the course. The last segments of the route are exceptionally rugged, with dozens of downed trees on a mostly unrideable trail that seem seldom used. Regardless of the trail, I was running on endorphins and maple syrup, I felt like I was flying through the remainder of the course while enjoying every second of it.

When I first heard of TATR in early 2020, I had just one (short) bike tour under my belt and very little experience riding off-road. A family member handed me a copy of Adirondack Sports with the page turned to an article about this gnarly race. “Get a load of this – is that crazy or what?” I was intrigued by the event, but didn’t consider it something I could take on. I certainly didn’t think just a few years later, I’d be able to tackle the course in five days, 11 hours, and 24 minutes, and be first rider back to Northville. I’m incredibly grateful to be able to attempt such an event and am immensely appreciative for the support around me. Cheers to TATR creator/coordinator Michael Intrabartola and my fellow riders! 

James Rath (jrath1120@gmail.com) is an urban planner, tree worker, and cofounder of Capital Streets, a new organization focusing on transportation access and equity in the Capital Region. He lives in Troy and enjoys exploring the Rensselaer Plateau and Adirondacks with his partner and old dog.