Part 1 – Bike
The Josh Billings is a strange kind of race: at once festive and fearsome, it mixes cycling, kayaking/paddling, and running around Stockbridge Bowl in the Berkshire Hills. A cheerful atmosphere, incredible crowds, a charitable spirit… and yet, it’s a race where you have to grit your teeth.
The 2025 edition took place on September 14. But for me, it all started much earlier: breaking down my bike on Sunday, Sept 7, the plane ride, the AirTrain, renting a car… a true logistical triathlon before even turning a pedal. Reassembly the day before, bib pickup, and here we are: Sunday morning, 8:30 a.m., downtown Great Barrington.
In the Market32 parking lot, hundreds of cyclists gather. The atmosphere is electric. I’m already buzzing with adrenaline: I’ve crossed the Atlantic for this, and I just can’t wait to ride. 8:25, we get in the saddle. Smiles, laughter, tension in the air…
Suddenly, BANG! A tire blows. Everyone jumps. The poor guy is rescued by the local bike shop in a Formula 1-style pit stop. A few minutes later, the gun goes off, and the cheers are deafening: locals are out with cowbells, signs, shouts of encouragement. It’s magic.
The road is flat at first, legs turning well, I ride with Loïc, while Raph and Aurélien are a bit behind. But the first climb comes quickly: Taconic Hill, a short but sharp kilometer. And right there, I realize: I’m already in the red. Bad sign…
The descent is pure bliss, but it doesn’t last: the Alford Rollers (cat. 4) snap me back to reality. Loïc surges ahead, and I know I’ll have to settle into the group I’m with.
The miles tick by—sometimes carried by my weight on the downhills, sometimes suffocating from that same weight on the climbs. I misjudge the distance: I think it’s over… but no, ten more kilometers to go. And then Prospect Hill (cat. 4 at mile 22). Brutal.
So I grit my teeth. Luckily, the crowd is everywhere: on porches, in front yards, at intersections, cowbells ringing. “Keep going!” “You’re amazing!” “Good job!”… It lifts you, warms the heart.
Just before the bike finish, a scare: a group rockets past, left and right. One rider clips me, I wobble, nearly crash. Him too. “Good recovery!” yells his partner. I had other words in mind… But somehow I stay upright. No crash. Given my crash history, that’s almost a miracle.
Finally, I reach Stockbridge Bowl after a little over 1h30, greeted by Aurélien, who I hadn’t seen the whole bike segment. He looks strong, proud of his ride, while I tell him about my struggles with heat, thirst, and that near crash. Surprise: that crazy rider was from his group!
No time to chat: I unclip, throw on life jacket and water shoes. Aurélien hands me a bottle and half a bar. Transition. Time for the lake…
Part 2 – Kayak
I knew it: the water would be my personal hell. The borrowed boat (thanks Aurélien 🙏) looked more like a gondola than a kayak. I set off with him, but the officials call him back—life jacket must be buckled! So I get a head start, sure he’ll catch me quickly.
The sun is already blazing. Luckily, my Alta restaurant cap (thanks chef 👨🍳) is a lifesaver. I start paddling. And realize instantly: these two loops (5 miles total) are going to be loooong. My boat doesn’t slice the water, it pushes it. A wave forms in front, like I’m dragging a barge. Energy wasted, speed nonexistent. Meanwhile, the others fly past: sleek Epic kayaks, streamlined paddles… they glide effortlessly while I flail.
Eventually, Aurélien catches up. Later than expected. For a moment, I think: maybe I’m not that bad after all! Short-lived joy: turns out he capsized getting in, and had to bail water with a volunteer’s help. That explains it. Soon enough, he pulls away. By the time I finish my first loop, he’s already two buoys ahead.
The ordeal goes on, exactly as I feared. One tiny victory: I pass a paddleboarder! For a few seconds, I’m king.
After 1h15 of battling, I finally hit the beach. The volunteers, incredible as always, grab my boat and whisk it away like it’s nothing. Good riddance to that cursed thing.
Frustrated, I head to transition determined to salvage some pride on the run. And there, surprise: I find Loïc and Aurélien. Both had their share of water troubles too. They’d waited for me, snacking and hydrating. I’d left the lake grumpy, but with the trio reunited, I’m suddenly recharged.
We look around: “Any news from Raph?” No, he’s clearly still behind. I can only imagine him cursing us, struggling in his own battle with the water.
Quick change: shorts, t-shirt, running shoes. A bit of water, not much food (mistake, I know). Off we go for the final leg…
Part 3 – Run
We leave Camp Mah-Kee-Nac with a short climb that sets the tone. Legs heavy, but in a strange way, it feels good to switch gears. The three of us—Loïc, Aurélien, and I—head out together. Along the lake, we scan the water, wondering: where’s Raph now?
The first three kilometers feel easy. Shaded by trees, out of the sun, I let myself relax. With Loïc, we even start thinking: sub-4 hours might be possible. We push a little. Another rookie mistake: once again, we hadn’t studied the course the night before… choosing instead to sample Berkshire craft beers 🍻 (thanks Ben!).
Soon enough, the road rolls up and down. Some sections are exposed: the sun pounds down. Aid stations are a blessing. At mile 3.5, I hit a wall: legs empty, chills despite the heat. Bad sign. We hang on, but that sub-4 dream slips away. Every hill feels endless. Walking breaks creep in. Frustration.
I tell Lolo to go on ahead. We’ll shadow each other, a minute apart, all the way.
Thankfully, the crowd is still there: in front yards, at intersections, cowbells ringing. “Keep going!” “You’re so close!” That energy carries us, even when the body falters.
Then, in the distance, a roar. The finish at Tanglewood. I imagine Loïc is already there, soaking up the cheers. I push as best I can, shuffling into the final stretch, carried by the noise. Empty but happy. 4h04. One minute behind Loïc, one minute ahead of Aurélien, who also guts it out.
In our category—Triathlon with Kayak – Iron – Male – Under 50—we place 33rd, 34th, 35th. Far behind the winner (2h53), galaxies away from the top relay (2h14, a new record!). But honestly, that’s not the point: the Josh is something else entirely.
And the best part: being there to welcome Raph, who finishes in 4h40. Against all odds, he arrives smiling, when we’d expected him to be furious. We regroup, burgers and beers in hand 🍔🍺, to celebrate an unforgettable day.
For me, this Josh will always stand out as one of the most enjoyable races I’ve ever done: the atmosphere, the people, the scenery, the flawless organization. Everything was perfect.
A huge thank you to the volunteers, the supporters, to Aurélien, Raphaël, and their families for the warm welcome, and of course to Loïc, who dragged me into this adventure. Now I understand why he speaks of the Josh with such passion—and why celebrating his birthday here makes it all the more magical.
