A Tale of Two Rivers and A Dog

By Anna Stewart

I’ve always found it somewhat challenging to explain to people what it’s like to complete an adventure race that contains a full day and night cycle. I usually center around some expression of, it’s like flying to, and then returning from, another planet all in one day. Life as you knew it before the race began is abruptly far far away, and you become immersed in the unknown, often accompanied by fear, confusion, discomfort, and through it all, an awareness of the vulnerability that comes with trusting your teammates to be there for you when you need them most. I don’t think I have ever done a race that didn’t feel life changing in some way. If only because it’s impossible to not be changed through trusting myself to take another step forward when the overwhelming noise of discomfort and doubt screams at me to just give in and give up. Even knowing this, I can barely conceive of what it took for a little brown dog, thrust into a world of fear and pain not of his choosing, to step forward and say, I don’t know if I can, but I will try.

The Rootstock Racing Two Rivers 26 hour adventure race had a disgustingly early start at 6am Saturday in mid November. Check-in started at 4am and between final gear organization, team prep rituals, shoveling breakfast into our still slumbering stomachs, and the bus ride to the start, it seemed like racers were rushing to digest maps and complete route strategies. Even when the maps are handed out, we can only do so much to visualize what kind of day we are in for. Weather, bike mechanicals, accidents, navigation difficulties, team dynamics, and all sorts of other factors provide infinite possibilities for variety, and for being repeatedly faced with the challenge of embracing whatever comes our way. Little did we know that out there, tucked away out of sight, shivering as night began its exhale, there was a kindred spirit who also had no idea what the next 26 hours were about bring to his way.

We started with a 7 mile paddle through a winding waterway that flows out towards the Delaware river via Camden, New Jersey. Teams rushed to inflate their packrafts and get moving. While adventure racing is the epitome of an endurance sport, it’s competitors measure progress in minutes gained and lost rather than hours. Our team lost a few minutes right away scrambling to secure some mandatory glow sticks that we somehow had misplaced in the rush of the morning. Luckily some friendly teams took pity on us and gave us enough spares to cover our mistake and ensure we avoided penalties for missing gear. We quickly warmed up as we powered through the first few kilometers.

Ahead of us, one of the race directors, Brent Freedland, was setting the last of the CPs we were all about to be chasing at the first of the short portage sections. It was there that he spied a very scared and very hungry dog who appeared to have been half starved and more than likely dumped by someone who I wholeheartedly hope has a special place reserved for them in hell. Mary Foster, one of the volunteers, accomplished racer from team Adventure Enablers, and videographer for this race, arrived soon after Brent and reported later that they were able to coax the dog into approaching them with some enticing morsels of food, despite it being clear that he was absolutely terrified. She was able to rustle up a leash situation for him as racers began to arrive and move through the portage.

My teammate Christopher Legard and I arrived a few minutes after the lead pack of teams had passed through. I saw Mary on shore holding the leash of a dog who’s body language seemed to say, “I have no idea what’s going on, there are a bunch of people around doing all sorts of weird things, and I can’t decide if I need to try to make a break for it or jump into somebody’s lap and tuck my head under their arm until all the scary noises are gone.” Best guess is he looked to be a Staffordshire mix with maybe some bulldog or boxer mixed in. His bright yellow eyes darted around at the commotion, brow creased with worry lines, tail tucked flat and curled between his legs as he shivered from cold and fear.

Naturally, I immediately completely forgot that I had just begun a race, and abandoned Chris to deal with our packraft as I beelined straight for Mary and the dog and introduced myself to the leery love bug. He clearly was reckoning with whether fear or affection was going to win out in regards to these new humans who had abruptly surrounded him. Every time he chose affection, every time he chose to step forward and meet his fear with bravery, he was rewarded with a new friend. He must have set a record for number of devoted friends and fans gained in the space of one hour, most of whom I suspect were immediately prepared to go down swinging if it meant ensuring this pup never knew anything but love and kindness from here on out.

Once I remembered that I was in fact supposed to be racing, I swooned over him once more and then we continued on our way. We flushed out into the Delaware with a group, or “punch” if you will, of other teams and made our way to the first TA at the marina. Here he was again! Still full of worry, but now starting to embrace the chaos, as evidenced by the tail wags starting to gain some altitude in a departure from the tucked in tight position from only an hour before. We also learned via Brent that he had been officially given the apropos name Cooper River, an homage to the river we had just paddled and the race we were in, and I indulged in some groveling at the irresistible cuteness for another moment before we then boarded the USS New Jersey for a brief and ridiculously cool sprint-O (well, walking-O as running was not allowed on board) around the giant battleship.

Back to the TA and then onto a bike leg that kicked off with pedaling over the Benjamin Franklin Bridge, and into downtown Philadelphia for the most urban part of the race. It was here I expect my inner world probably paralleled Cooper’s the closest, as I navigated equal parts terror and excitement during my first ever experience riding a bike in an actual city center. We dropped a few points in an effort to avoid the worst of the city congestion and headed to TA2 and the start of a trekking loop in a popular Philly park.

We powered through, clearing most of the points and then got back on our bikes to head north towards another sprint-O trek through the Philadelphia Zoo! We attempted to again skirt the busiest areas of the city on the way which ended with us having to backtrack a bit after getting essentially “cliffed out” by an uncrossable city highway. We made it to the zoo and scrambled to grab some points before the 4pm cutoff to leave the premises as staff prepared to close up for the evening. I was no help to Chris on navigation as I became repeatedly distracted by the animals within the exhibits, insisting that he confirm he was also observing the cheetah, and the hippo, because obviously he wasn’t capable of seeing what I was seeing unless I pointed it out to him with what can only be described as wildly unnecessary AGGRESSIVE enthusiasm.

We left the zoo with one minute to spare before the cutoff and pedaled along the Schuylkill river towards the Wissahickon, which would be the venue for our overnight exploits. We hadn’t had time to plan out this section so we stopped at a 24 hour McDonalds with several other teams and refueled while we organized our route. The Wiss felt like going home both because it’s my usual training haunt, and because it contains the more familiar woodsy environment that us adventure racers crave above all else. I quickly led us astray by committing to a route on one of my favorite trails which ensured we wouldn’t get lost, but also didn’t end up offering any efficiency in approaching the CP we were aiming for. We righted ourselves, picked off a few more points and headed to TA.

I hadn’t seen or heard any updates on Cooper in awhile so when we arrived at the TA, I was thrilled to see him camped out in someone’s lap and clearly feeling relaxed in his brand new Eagles jammies (GO BIRDS!). The avid and awesome volunteer/racer/race director/AR coach extraordinaire Nick Hurff had offered to get Cooper cleaned up and cozy. I heard that he had to go through eight shampoo/rinse cycles to remove all the grit and fleas from the now famous and official Two Rivers mascot.

I was struck that Cooper was truly having as much of a whirlwind adventure as us racers were having, in exactly the same timeframe. Every subsequent TA bracketed another successful leg of his own personal adventure race. We had embarked on a paddle, and he met all his people for the first time, all 100 of them. We boarded a battleship, and he got a walk in the marina. We went out on a bike, and he got a bath and some jammies. We went out on a trek, and he discovered that all these new friends have grade A warm laps to sit on and expert cuddling skills. We got back on our bikes, and he learned that Mary’s adventure van is a safe place for a well earned nap. While he spectated us racers coming and going, I felt like I was a spectator for his race, eager to check in on where he was at in his journey and thrilled to have a front row seat to cheer him on.

We trekked through the remainder of the night, clearing the mandatories and a few optional points before looping back to the TA. We had a few more CPs to grab on bikes as we began to make progress back into the city and the finish line. The sun came up not a moment too soon as both of our headlamps were down to dregs on battery life. We weaved our way through the last of the single track MTB sections and returned to civilization as the clock ticked down to the final hour of race time. We converged with other teams rushing to maximize the last few minutes of racing, and as the wind whipped up we crossed the finish line with 30 minutes to spare.

By now Cooper was clearly aware of his celebrity status, and greeted the crowd of tired racers, volunteers, and spectators as old friends. Which to be honest, after the day all of us had just survived, it seemed like “old friend” was an entirely appropriate designation. We had all lived what feels like a lifetime’s worth of experiences in the span of 26 hours. At this point mind you I had spent a grand total of probably ten minutes in the presence of this dog, but somehow it felt like his story and our story as racers had become intertwined in a visceral and intimate way.

From what I had observed, it was Brent, and Nick, and Mary as well as a few others who had really been his official teammates. They were the ones who were there with him on his journey, supporting him and showing him that continuing to step forward and try even when we are afraid, would lead to an ever expanding and rewarding world full of good experiences, and even better friends. I think us racers were probably so drawn to him because AR brings with it an automatic deep sense of empathy, camaraderie, and automatic understanding and respect for what it’s like to do hard things. He had the hardest race of all of us: he had to let himself believe that something better was possible, if he was just willing to try. And in doing so, he reminds me of an old saying, “The way a dog trusts you shows you the person you have become.” I’m so proud of him for stepping forward, and I’m so proud of us as the community that circled the wagons around him. To be given the trust of an animal that likely had no reason to trust anyone ever again, is the world’s greatest compliment.

Thank you Cooper for trusting us and letting us watch and be a part of your journey. You crushed your first ever adventure race, and didn’t waste one minute of your 26 hours. I’m sure much like us, you feel like you have flown to another planet, but unlike us, you did not return to the one you left. I also hear that your wildly successful AR debut has culminated in a new home full of love and future adventures. You earned it kiddo. Be well. We, your forever friends and teammates, hope to see you again soon.