Page 21 of Winging It with You

Jo ambushed us the second we stepped out of the production van, her eyes wide with an excitement that I could only assume came from the first day of actual filming. Before Theo and I could even finish shaking our heads no, she’d pushed two shirts—each branded withThe Epic Trek’s logo—into our direction and rather forcefully led us by the arm toward the tent.

I’m exhausted.

She wasn’t kidding when she said we’d have an early morning. After tossing and turning all night—because let’s be real, there is no way in hell sharing a bed with Theo will ever feelnormal—Theo and I were showered, packed, and taking off to our first destination: Waterbury, Vermont.

“How much time do we have, Jo?” I ask, crossing my fingers that I can find some quiet corner for a few extra moments of sleep.

“Less than five minutes,” she says, walking ahead without looking up. We cross a small patch of lawn sandwiched between two industrial compounds, and oversize sliding doors open as we arrive, revealing all the trappings of a makeshift set. Taped-down cords rope their way along the floor and massive clusters of lights hover above us, professionally positioned to capture every detail of our first challenge.

“Alright, my boys,” Jo says, fastening a wireless mic to each of our collars. She turns to Arthur, who gives her a thumbs-up. “This is where I leave you. Listen to the rules, work as a team, and remember…what gets shared on the internet literally lasts forever, sothinkbefore you open your mouths. Make Mama proud.”

Panic floods my veins. I don’t think I’m ready for this.

The internet.If I wasn’t half-frozen with fear before, I certainly am now as she pushes Theo and me in the direction of the chaos in front of us.

I’m definitely not ready for this.

“And we’re rolling in three…two…” a voice calls out. The familiar tones of theEpic Trektheme song blare from speakers in every corner of the room, vibrating every surface, straight into my bones.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a hidden announcer’s voice booms through the speakers. “Please give a warmEpic Trekwelcome to your legendary host, Dalton McKnight!”

A faux round of applause fills the air as Dalton steps onto the platform in front of us. We’re basically standing shoulder to shoulder with the other contestants, who I’m struggling to remember by name. Except for the newlywed couple, Alana and Griffin, who, thanks to their more aggressive communication style, have each enunciated every single letter of the other’sname at least a hundred and eighty times since we’ve been around them.

Beyond the platform that Dalton is now standing on—the dramatic lighting magically taking ten, if not more, years off his face—are rows of giant silver vats, wooden pallets stacked high with boxes, and eight tables covered in various unidentifiable tools.

I literally could not even begin to discern what the hell we are walking into.

“Welcome to season twenty-five ofThe Epic Trek! I’m your host, Dalton McKnight.” His voice, as animated as it is, is almost robotic. “Today, we’re filming inside a Ben & Jerry’s factory where thousands of gallons of ice cream are created and packaged each day.”

Dalton’s monologue catches my attention. Ice cream?

“But here, in Waterbury, Vermont, there’s a sweet little one-of-a-kind secret,” he says, turning toward the back of the room as another set of doors opens, revealing a sign in the background.

The Flavor Graveyard.

“What makesthisBen & Jerry’s factory special,” Dalton continues, gliding across his platform as several cameras follow his every move, “is that this is where discontinued and limited-edition ice cream flavors…” He pauses for dramatic effect. “…come to be buried. Figuratively, of course.”

I watch the shared confusion ripple across the contestants’ faces, and I’m thankful I’m not the only one who’s seemingly lost. Dalton is now joined by a young woman who’s casually dressed in a pair of slacks and a polo branded with the ice cream empire’s recognizable logo.

“Here with me today is Ana Harrison, creative director atBen & Jerry’s. Ana, care to share today’s challenge with our contestants?” Dalton says, making space in front of the camera for his companion.

“Sure thing, Dalton,” she says with a subtle twang of an upbringing far from here escaping her red, glossy lips. “Thanks for that introduction. Like Dalton said, what makesthisspecific factory location unique is our famous Flavor Graveyard—where, sadly, some of our more obscure flavors are discontinued and ceremoniously laid to rest.”

A graveyard—an actual graveyard, complete with ornate tombstones and benches for grieving sugary-dairy aficionados, lies just beyond the open doors.

“Today, each pair will work together to re-create one of our retired base flavors using all of the ingredients behind these doors,” she says, waving a hand at what I’m guessing is a wall-to-wall refrigerator to our left.

“But there’s a catch,” Dalton says, reclaiming his place in the glaring spotlight. Of course there is. “In order to re-create your assigned flavor, each team must match each ingredient here.” Dalton continues his expert glide across the platform to the side that’s been slightly hidden from our view by several camera operators. But now that they’ve shifted, an odd square grid of ice cream containers mounted ahead of each team comes into focus. I quickly count the rows: ten squares by ten squares, a pint of ice cream resting neatly in each one.

“One at a time, each contestant will take a turn at their respective grid with the goal of matching the ingredients needed to make their designated flavor.” Dalton goes to the grid, randomly removing two containers from their spots. “Most flavors only have a few ingredients,” he says, opening one of the pints to reveal a neatly printedcreamunder the lid. “So,as I’m sure you can guess, most of these pints arenota match.” He opens the other and holds the lid up so we can all see the large redXbeneath it.

It’s essentially a life-size game of Memory. I’m sure there’s a logical approach, but it really comes down to a combination of subtle strategy and pure chance. I start doing the mental math. There are one hundred containers of ice cream in each of the grids, and if we’re meant to match them in pairs, that means there are…4,950 possible opportunities for a match. I’ll have to remember to thank my father for this mathematical competence when this is all over—he wouldn’t let my brother or me leave the kitchen table each night until we went through some variation of times tables, long division, and quick-on-your-feet numerical scenarios.

“Once you find a match, however,” Ana says, joining Dalton at one of the grids, “you will then race to the refrigerator to locate the ingredient. Once you do, it’ll be a mad dash to bring it back to your individual mixer to get it added in,” she says, waving to the row of tables intended for us beyond them. “The first team to match all their ingredients and get them properly mixed wins.”

Seems straight forward enough.

“Our friends at Ben & Jerry’s have also come up with something fun to sweeten the deal,” Dalton says, once again finding his light directly in front of the panning cameras.

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