Teton Ogre Adventure Race: 20 Hours of Heat, Strategy, and Stubbornness
When people hear "adventure race," they usually imagine epic scenery, paddling across beautiful lakes, mountain biking through forests, and trekking across ridgelines.
They're not wrong.
They just forget to mention the suffering.
Last weekend our team finished 3rd overall at the Teton Ogre Adventure Race, covering a course that included packrafting, trekking, mountain biking, bushwhacking, navigation, and more climbing than I care to think about.
It was one of the hardest races I've ever finished. Definitely not the longest, but possibly the worst terrain, most unrideable mountain biking, and steepest ascents, both on and off the bike.
The Race Begins
The night before the race we received our maps, attended the race meeting, dropped our bikes at the one and only transition area, and somehow still found time to celebrate with ice cream. Priorities.
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| The whole 3 x 3 foot map, before we marked it up with checkpoint descriptions, route selection, altitude, and places to find reliable water sources. |
We camped just a couple miles from the start, so race morning was simple. We drove over around 5:00 a.m., inflated our packrafts, and carried them to the start line.
We started in the second wave, five minutes behind the leaders. When the gun sounded, it was a mad quarter mile dash to the Snake River. We literally fell into the boats and started trying to pass everyone.
With the heat, we had been able to leave the sprayskirts at home, resulting in some savings in both weight and bulk when everything was packed on our backs. Even at 6:15, the splashes felt good.
A Gamble That Paid Off
The paddle section was about 16 miles on fast-moving water, and we covered it in roughly two hours—much faster than we'd predicted.
One checkpoint sat beside a beautiful waterfall at the end of a tiny side channel. Most teams paddled toward it.
Instead, we made a gamble.
We pulled our boats out early, dragged them onto a gravel road, ran to the checkpoint on foot, ran back to the boats, and launched again.
It wasn't elegant.
But it worked.
That decision gave us the lead. Even better, no other boats saw how we did it.
Into the Mountains
The paddle transition was unforgettable.
It wasn't a boat ramp or parking lot—it was a tiny riverside campsite that could only be reached by water. I'm pretty sure the campers in that site were enjoying a peaceful morning coffee until fifty-four adventure racing teams suddenly invaded with boats, gear everywhere, electrolyte packets, and controlled chaos.
Then the real work began.
We loaded our packs with our boats, PFDs, paddles, food, and many liters of water and headed into the mountains.
The climb started gently. I felt a little discombobulated...so much gear in our packs made them awkward, heavy, and my pack didn't have front space for a lot of food. We weren't stopping, so i twisted the pack around to carry it on the front, dug around in my food bag, and pushed a snickers bar into a front pocket. Eating little and often is the key to energy conservation. When I twisted the pack around to my back again, ran to catch up with the guys, and got my poles back, I felt for the snickers bar...it was gone. Fallen out in rush to catch up and 1/4 mile back in a bush somewhere. My food woes had begun. I ate something else instead but the meat sticks were hard to chew and my mouth was already dry in the heat.
Then the the trail stopped being a gentle uphill.
Clearing the Course
Adventure races usually include optional checkpoints worth bonus points. Skip them, and you save time. Collect them all, and you maximize your score.
We wanted to clear the course.
That meant leaving the trail and bushwhacking through steep hillsides to collect three optional checkpoints.
The descent to the last one was almost comical.
It felt like sliding down a 60-degree jungle using tree trunks, roots, and whatever vegetation we could grab to slow ourselves down.
It was only around noon, but the temperature already felt close to 80 degrees.
The heat became the real opponent.
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| There are no words to describe how thick the bushes were between points C and B. |
Surviving the Heat
I've raced in plenty of hot conditions before, but this one was relentless.
There was almost no relief.
By the end of the race I estimate I drank nearly 18 liters of water.
Every hour I was stopping to refill bottles.
I'd chosen to race with two half-liter bottles on the front of my pack instead of a hydration bladder. Normally that's plenty and not too much of a hassle to refill.
Not this day.
Eating became difficult.
Drinking enough became difficult.
Everything took more effort than it should have.
Finally to the Bikes
By running the trail downhill, we reached the bike transition around 2:00 p.m.
Our transition was fast—probably only about fifteen minutes.
I dumped my entire transition bag onto the ground, swapped gear into my smaller bike pack, grabbed snacks, electrolytes, a can of Coke, and chugged an ice-cold Gatorade.
That Gatorade may have been the best drink of the entire race.
It was also the only cold drink we'd see for a very long time.
Mountain Biking...Sort Of
The bike course wasn't really a bike course.
It was more of a "push your bike up mountains and carefully survive the descents" course.
The guys were struggling too.
Bruce couldn't get his heart rate to come down.
We stopped beside small streams to soak our shirts and cool ourselves enough to keep moving.
My teammate Colby spent spent some time towing me uphill, both walking and riding. He and Ian never seemed winded, while I was breathing so hard I felt like I would never catch my breath again.
The bikes were tied together so i'd get a little pull from the front, while I pushed my saddle from behind. Sometimes the trail was so steep we were both sliding back down while trying to "walk" up.
Sometimes the climb was so steep we'd stop every twenty steps just to catch our breath.
Whenever we reached the top we'd leave the bikes behind again to hike into additional optional checkpoints through beautiful forest.
Those sections actually felt relaxing.
Then we'd look at the map and realize another brutal descent—or another brutal climb—was waiting. Ian and then Colby did a great job with the navigation, using compass and altitude to keep track of our location on the map. They made only pretty minor nav mistakes and it was really nice to feel confident in their choices.
Bruce was the runner...when we found a point he would run up and punch it with our "Passport" a sheet of paper which was the all-important record of our checkpoint visits...we couldn't lose it or we would be out of the race.
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| That nice looking downhill between I and H was anything but nice. |
Live Tracking
It was about right here that our live tracker went on the fritz, probably because it wasn't mounted on our pack strap because we didn't want to lose it! So our families at home who were glued to our progress (we were in the virtual lead until it stopped working!) suddenly thought that we may or may not be dead, injured, or otherwise not racing. Unfortunately we didn't know this until the end of the race so we couldn't fix it enroute. But rest assured, we continued on even if our tracker seemed stuck on a mountaintop all day.
We Need Water
Darkness Changes Everything
In the twilight hours we were mostly riding a gentle uphill along a stagnant creek. The 2nd place team passed us going the wrong way...they had missed a trail junction and had a massive extra section to ride to still stay on course.
Eventually we found some gravel roads.
For a few glorious miles we actually got to ride.
It felt amazing. Until the next hill popped up and we were walking again.
Around 9:30 p.m. darkness settled in.
Then lightning arrived.
Massive flashes lit up the mountains around us.
Thunder echoed through the valleys.
Oddly enough, nobody minded.
After suffering in the heat all day, we welcomed the idea of a storm.
The rain never came, only the lightning, and it stayed hot.
My Lowest Point
Sometime around 1:00 a.m. I lost my sense of humor.
We were descending beside a creek on a trail barely six inches wide.
Tall weeds and wildflowers reached above my handlebars.
The trail disappeared between the weeds and beneath rocks, roots, creek crossings, and darkness. Sometimes the narrow trail would be on a cliff along the river, and in the dark it could have been 2 feet or 50, I couldn't tell. The trail turned into a river for a short section, and our feet were soaked, which felt nice but in the long run was a recipe for extra foot issues.
I was constantly getting on and off my bike.
Looking back, I honestly think I mounted and dismounted that bike around 500 times during the race.
Every few minutes a pedal would slam into my calf, or a rock would hit my tire and bring me to a dead stop.
I have bruises everywhere to prove it.
The guys would ride a little faster, stop every quarter mile, wait for me to fight through another rocky section, then we'd repeat the whole process again.
There may have been some really loud yelling and cursing on my part. Downhill is SUPPOSED to be FUN. This was torture.
The Biggest Decision
Around 2:30 in the morning we reached the base of Atkinson Peak.
Ahead of us waited over 3,000 feet of climbing in the middle of the night to collect four more checkpoints—including a group appropriately labeled STUK on the map.
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| M to K was the nicest section of the course. S, T, and U were not so nice, and also weren't in the cards this time around. |
We'd joked about those checkpoints all day.
Standing there exhausted, they weren't funny anymore.
The race cutoff was 8:20 a.m.
We still had roughly twenty miles remaining to reach the finish.
I was struggling to form complete sentences.
Looking back, I know I hadn't eaten enough, and I hadn't been adding electrolytes to my water nearly often enough because I was always rushing to refill bottles and keep moving.
We sat down for a minute.
Talked through our options.
We knew we were sitting in third place.
We also knew that if we attempted Atkinson Peak, there was a very real chance we wouldn't finish before the cutoff.
Sometimes racing isn't about asking what you're capable of.
It's about asking what gives your team the best chance to finish.
We made the call to head to the finish.
Twelve Miles of Reward
From there, we enjoyed what felt like the only truly enjoyable bike section of the entire race.
About twelve miles of mostly downhill gravel roads.
The air finally cooled enough that I put on a light jacket.
It was hard to believe that even around midnight it had still been close to 80 degrees.
The storm had never cooled us off.
Eventually the mountains gave way to the finish line.
We crossed at 4:20 a.m, 20 hours and 5 minutes after we started.
Looking Back
Adventure racing has an interesting way of distorting your memory.
Every climb is the last climb.
Every bushwhack is the worst bushwhack.
Every rocky descent feels endless.
And then...
You look at the photos.
You remember leading the paddle.
The brilliant route choice by the waterfall.
The teamwork.
The lightning.
This race demanded patience, navigation, teamwork, and persistence more than speed.
I'm incredibly proud of our team for adapting, making smart decisions, and bringing home a 3rd-place finish in one of the toughest events I've ever attempted.
Now if you'll excuse me...
I'm going to let the bruises heal before I even think about getting back on a mountain bike.
Here's the results: https://tetonogre.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/07/2026-26hr-Results-FINAL.pdf
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