The hooch: my most difficult bdr Trip to date
5.30.2025
After weeks of nonstop pressure in my professional life—balancing demanding projects, fielding curveballs, and pouring my energy into hosting more than 100 riders for this year’s Distinguished Gentleman’s Ride—I was running on fumes.
I needed this trip to be everything.
A break. An escape. Maybe even a little healing.
But the HOOCH?
The Chattahoochee BDR-X was not that.
If I’m being completely honest, I wasn’t even planning to write this blog. I felt defeated. Embarrassed. Like I had failed.
But after an encouraging heart-to-heart with Marc Axelberg, I realized how important it is to share the real stories too. Not just the scenic vistas and high-five moments, but the hard ones. The humbling ones. The ones that force you to look at yourself and ask:
Am I even cut out for this?
Because the truth is…
For me?
This route was really damn hard.
I don’t say that to discourage anyone from riding it. But I also don’t want someone heading into the Chattahoochee BDR-X without being prepared for the reality: it’s a serious challenge—and not always in a “fun adventure” kind of way.
Despite my obsessive research—reading every post in the Chattahoochee BDR-X Facebook group and watching every ride video I could find—nothing prepared me for the relentless difficulty of Section 3.
Recent rains had left the route wet, rutted, and slick. Jeeps had clearly torn up sections of the trail. But more than anything, it was mentally exhausting. The kind of terrain that chips away at your confidence one obstacle at a time.
I felt like I needed help around every turn—literally.
After the river crossing early in Section 3, the uphill twisty climbs gave me no time to catch my breath or build momentum. I did my best to keep up with the five experienced riders in our group, but I was struggling.
By mid-day, the HOOCH won.
I tapped out.
I left the trail and took a paved road into Ellijay to meet the group for dinner. It was one of the hardest choices I’ve made on two wheels—but it was also the right one.
I was nursing an ankle injury, riding a taller and heavier ADV bike I wasn’t fully comfortable on, and my body—and spirit—had nothing left to give.
The BDR slogan “Know Your Limits” never felt more real.
I finally understood it.
I’ve been riding off-road for almost four years. I’ve completed the Northeast BDR, the Mid-Atlantic BDR, PA Wilds, and even Big Bend in Texas. None of them pushed me like this.
And that’s hard to admit.
But it’s also a wake-up call.
If I’m going to continue riding off-road, I need training. Period. Not just for skills—but for confidence.
I’ve connected with the incredible community at SheADV, and I hope someday to bridge the gap I feel between where I am now and where they seem to be.
Right now, that gap feels like a world away.
It’s hard to find other women riding off-road—especially ones I can learn alongside. And sometimes that makes the journey feel a little isolating.
So where do I go from here?
Honestly… I’m still figuring that out.
I don’t know if off-road riding will always be part of my story. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel strong enough, tough enough, or brave enough to conquer terrain like that again.
But I do know this:
I love the community.
I love the stories.
And I love the shared grit and vulnerability that happens when riders open up about the hard days—not just the highlight reel.
So for now, I’ll keep telling those stories.
And as long as people keep sharing their footage and memories with me, I’ll keep creating films that celebrate life on two wheels—whether that road is dirt or tarmac.
From the Saddle — North Fork Moto
Motorcycles. Backroads. Books. And the stories we collect along the way.
