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For the past 8 years near the end of September, Vermont Bikepackers has hosted a Grand Depart starting and finishing at the State Capital in Montpelier, Vermont. Created and maintained by Daniel Jordan and Alex Getty, the route consists of a ‘North Lobe’ (~277 miles) and ‘South Lobe’ (~378 miles). Riders may choose to ride one, or both, completing the full ‘8’. The riding itself follows self-supported standards, which include getting to point A to B under your own power, fixing your own mechanicals, making your own camping plans, and no drafting or support crews; for 655 miles, and 61,000ft of climbing. 

Terrain along the route varies from some of Vermont’s finest champagne gravel to unrecognizable, certainly forgotten ‘mail routes’, and one notable hike up and over the infamous Glastenbury Mountain. Most riders, but not all, select a mountain bike to ride this route for the comfort gained over long days on rough terrain. Historically, registration is about 50 total riders, with only a handful of women. Riders have plenty to look forward to– early foliage, mountainous views, remote sections of the state, and general stores to fill their bellies. It is, however, no small feat. Even getting to the starting line, brimming with nerves, is an accomplishment all in itself. With so many unknowns on how the following days would unfold, photographer Kelly Burgess documented the 6 women toeing the start line to commemorate the start of the adventure.

Mile 148. Day 2. Just after Pat’s, restocking with some trail magic that included coke, cereal, and an apple. The point of interest (POI) on the map file stated “proceed on ancient road bed”, and boy was that accurate.  I was jamming out to Goth Babe’s new EP Tongass National Forest, when my lighthearted mood was squashed. I heard a “pssssssss”, which at first I thought was coke releasing air from my Bivo bottle. NOPE. Sealant was spraying everywhere and I quickly panicked and put a finger over the hole. “Shit, shit, shit” It was almost comical, flatting whilst not even riding. It took a few times, pumping up the tire, then seeing if it would hold. Luckily, I hadn’t lost the bead of the tire and the rim in all the panic. Finally, I did what I probably should’ve started with and used a dyna plug, topped off with air. 

Mile 522. Island Pond. Island Pond is notable for a few reasons. It’s the first town after the longest section on route without proper resupply. That section is some of my personal favorite riding of the whole route, but it is demanding. It takes you across Burke Mountain, along the Catamount Trail, and up and over powerlines for miles, which are beautiful and steep, up and down. Looking for a real meal, I stopped in at Island Pond Country Market & Deli. It was like the SECOND I stopped moving my uterus fell out. Almost wincing in pain, I placed an order, plugged in electronics and made my way to the restroom. Without getting too TMI, I was experiencing what was easily the worst period I had ever had in my entire life. I’ve heard of those riding and racing ultras experiencing something like this, a stress induced menstrual cycle; but I didn’t quite realize how bad things could get. I phoned a friend who assured me it was okay for me to continue. Time did, in fact, resolve this issue, and continuing to pedal seemed to help the pain. I was rewarded with seeing the beautiful Canadian border and Lake Memphremagog views at sunset. 

Sarah Skelly

I started planning my 2025 bike season pretty early in the year. Enough time had passed from my achievement of the FKT on the South Lobe of the Vermont Super 8 2024 where I was thinking of a bigger goal. I met up with Paige Redman (who I had snagged the record from) and Stephanie Hall (who had the FKT record for the Full 8) after a ride for some drinks and to introduce them to my new kitten, Winston (very irrelevant but cats are the best). We all three agreed that taking on the Full 8 this coming year would make for an epic women’s battle. The hype began to build. I knew Paige was a stronger cyclist than me physically and Stephanie was always able to one-up my confidence especially on technical descents. Not to mention that girl has a will to bike eternally! I’m not always sure where I fit into the bike world but at that moment, I was ready to take on the role of ultra endurance adventure cyclist again.

Unfortunately, my cycling year took a 180 after a bad crash in late April which resulted in four broken ribs, partially collapsed/bruised lung, broken clavicle, herniated disc in my neck, concussion, and severe road rash down the right side of my body. I had multiple surgeries over two days and needless to say, I wasn’t riding for a while. My racing season had been a total bust and after starting to train again in July, the Vermont Super 8 in September was the only thing I could hang on to as a possibility

. Thank you Kelly Burgess for these pictures!

Leading up to the Super 8, I knew I wasn’t back to my fullest yet but I figured I might as well try. Worst case scenario, I would at least get to be outside on my bike for some amount of time. Best case scenario, I would make it across the finish line. The event started on a beautiful autumn morning. The ground was damp but warming. The predicted forecast was perfect. I packed my bike and joked around with Paige about how much heavier her full suspension mountain bike was than my rigid gravel rig. Bike choice for Super 8 is always a hot topic. I chose the bike I was most comfortable with knowing my body's limitations at the time. We all convened out front of the Vermont State House and, when the clock struck 8am, we all headed out.

Vermont is probably my favorite state to bike in, but it is also relentless, especially this route. Most of the time is spent climbing, little of the time is descending, and a large portion of that time is on unmaintained roads, ancient roads, or trails to get from point A to point B. My Super 8 experience this year was short lived. I made it 122 miles before pulling the plug on night one. About two hours into my day, my concussion symptoms started to resurface. Despite frequent resupplies, I was plagued with a pounding headache that left me nauseated and unable to eat much. I pushed through trying to drink as many calories as I could, but this isn’t the kind of event where you can get away with that. Everything came to a halt after a 45min climb outside of Chester VT. My body was done. I had no cell service. I had nothing close by. I stood next to my bike for a good 20 minutes resting and contemplating my next move. Many other riders passed by, most silent but I understood that no one could afford the effort to say anything. It was over 12 hours into day one of this experience. I eventually mounted back on the bike with the decision to finish here. I coasted back down the hill into Chester and called for my ride. It was such a hard decision to make but it was the right one for my health. And for my worst case scenario, I had a beautiful day of bike riding. I also set my post-accident PR for distance, elevation, and time on the bike. So there is plenty to still be grateful for.

It was after lunch on the third day, and I had made it to mile 186, when I realized I was just not feeling like being out anymore. I lacked motivation as to why I was out there. I had signed up in the spring thinking, “I could do that, it’ll be right after I get home from a summer long bike tour and I’ll be in great shape.” It turns out that thinking you’ll be in great shape is not a good enough reason to keep going when things get tough during the ride. There will be low points, both physically and mentally - where having the proverbial carrot to keep you riding becomes quite important. I went into the ride with no carrot. Instead, there was more motivation to get off the bike than stay out there: moving into my cozy house, seeing my friend who was visiting from California, and having time to rest. These things felt especially appealing after camping on my bike all summer. The novelty of a big adventure had worn off and I was really craving creature comforts (like running water, a flush toilet and a bed).

I felt torn about scratching when I didn’t feel that bad, but I feel like I made the right choice. I had some really productive time and much needed rest before going back to work. It was nice to prove to myself that sometimes quitting is a good thing. I learned a ton from the experience and it makes me super excited to go back next year, when I’ll have had plenty of time to dial in my setup and get motivated. I also have some serious fomo, and I want to see the rest of the route!

Paige Redman

Before the Ride — The Calm, the Chaos 

There’s always a strange mix of nerves and excitement before something like the Vermont Super 8. This route and I have history—it broke me back in 2022, left me cold, sleep-deprived, and defeated. So, when I rolled into Montpelier in the rain this year, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was about to repeat history. The fog was lifting, the air was thick with that wet, earthy Vermont smell, and riders buzzed around in quiet anticipation. I felt confident, but when I picked up a few other bikes to compare weight I realized how much heavier mine was. I started to doubt my race. Still, I clipped in with the sunrise warming my face, and for a few miles, everything felt simple again—just the road and the hum of tires on wet dirt. The chatter of friends faded as the first climbs began, and I settled into that rhythm where excitement turns into focus. It was my birthday, and despite the nerves, I felt exactly where I was supposed to be.

Highs, Lows, and the Lessons Between

The miles that followed were a pendulum swing between euphoria and survival. There were moments when the ride felt magical: the golden light filtering through the trees, the laughter shared with other riders, and the quiet satisfaction of moving forward hour after hour. But there were just as many moments that broke me down. The Curtis Hollow climb left me dizzy and sick in the heat. The Glastenbury hike-a-bike nearly broke me under my own bike’s weight. At one point, I was sitting in a field at 5am convinced I couldn’t keep going, until the sun rose and silently reminded me that I could. There were the small miracles like the Vermont Country Deli breakfast that felt like salvation, a kind stranger offering cold water and dogs to pet, the sparkling cider I saved for the top of Braintree Gap. The ride demanded everything, but in giving it, I found a strange kind of peace. I learned that suffering comes in waves, and so does joy, and, if you just keep pedaling, the suffering will eventually pass.

. Thank you Kelly Burgess for these pictures!

The Final Miles

By the time I hit the North Lobe, I was running on stubbornness alone. The night was cold and lonely, my stomach turned on me, and I ended up huddled in a porta potty at 2 a.m. just trying to feel human again. I kept moving until I was almost falling asleep on the bike. I finally found a field to rest my eyes in. Ted King explained the extreme tiredness well, almost like claustrophobia. Your vision is tunneled by your bike light in the dark, your eyes grow heavy, and I always become nauseous at this point. When dawn came, I rode another 40 grueling miles, and found unexpected comfort in banana bread from a small-town market. Every pedal stroke after that was a mix of exhaustion, disbelief, and gratitude. The final climb up Woodbury felt like the route’s last cruel joke, and when my Garmin sent me off course just before the finish, I almost laughed at the absurdity of it as I hiked my bike back up the mountain to the correct trail. When I finally rolled into Montpelier and saw my friends waiting, all of it—the cold nights, the aching legs, the three-year grudge—hit me at once. I cried, laughed, and stood there in total disbelief. The Vermont Super 8 had beaten me once, but this time, I finished it on my own terms. It wasn’t just a race; it was an adventure. 

P.S. Thank you to all the riders who contribute their stories! And shoutout to Paige Redman who had the fastest women’s time of 4 days, 3 hours, and 39 minutes and second fastest overall!