The Dirty Pecan 100

[insert Brooks and Dunn lyrics here]

Earlier this month, I rode the Dirty Pecan 100: a hundred-mile adventure route through the rolling red clay hills of north Florida and south Georgia. After the event, Russ met me for dinner at our favorite pizza place and asked me why I decided to drive all the way "home" to do my first century ride.  I've waxed eloquent (hopefully) about my love for my home state elsewhere, but perhaps it bears repeating. 

"Topophilia" is what geographer Yi Fu Tuan calls, "the love of place." Place is not merely a location but all the things that give it its unique characteristics. Location is just a series of alphanumeric characters expressed as the intersection of latitude and longitude: 30°32'18.1"N 83°54'59.7"W.  BORING. 

My love for this particular place is the saw palmettos and pine savannas; the sweet tea-colored rivers and the crystal clear ones; the floodplain swamps and white sandy beaches; raw oysters and fried catfish; the saw-toothed alligators and non-hibernating black bears. These are what make northern Florida special.

I often tell people if they've never been to a family fish fry in which their uncle (wearing cut-off jorts and bare feet) offered them the fresh-caught gator he killed earlier that morning while he was weed-whacking down by the river, then they've never actually been to Florida. Things are just different here. Including the gravel. 

Florida gravel is not like Tennessee gravel. Mostly because it mostly isn't gravel. It's clay, dirt, and sand, usually above a hard, limestone bed. Sometimes the clay is so hard-packed it rides like asphalt. But it changes on a dime. One minute you're pedaling at twenty miles an hour, the next second your fishtailing through sugar sand. It's varied, fast, and fun. 

The Dirty Pecan 100 is an unsupported and mostly unmarked "adventure" route that starts at the Jefferson County Extension office near Monticello, Florida. The route follows beautiful red clay roads through farms and plantations up into Georgia. Most of the plantations are used for hunting and the forests offer canopied roads with good shade. The farm roads have been cleared for crops and provide a good time to work on your tan lines. If it's dry and hot you may be lucky enough to catch the fertilizer-filled mist from industrial farm sprinkler systems. A small-town gas station waits at mile 56 before heading back down to Florida. 

Shortly after crossing the Florida-Georgia line is a hellish seven-mile stretch of sugar sand: Gum Swamp Road. Imagine a nice long walk on the beach except it's the part of the beach that high tide never touches. Your feet sink and slip with every step and you're also pushing your bicycle through it. This goes on for seven miles. I've wanted a fat bike for a long time and I've never wanted 4" inch tires more than in the 2+ hours it took to finish that segment (I also had two mechanicals I had to deal with). 

The last fourteen miles are mostly paved country roads through lovely pecan orchards before passing through the town square of Monticello. The Dirty Pecan is my longest ride to date and my first ever race/event ride. Below are five notes, observations, and comments about it. 

final road section back to Monticello

1. Out of the hundreds of Dirty Pecan riders, I think I was the only cyclist not wearing a lycra/spandex kit, or fancy clip-in shoes. I wore cut-off shorts, a dry-fit tee from REI, a pair of Vans, and a healthy application of chamois butter. I didn't chafe at all. Lots of people made comments about my shoes -- some shocked, some stoked. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

2. On the drive down, I listened to an interview with UNC's former basketball coach, Roy Williams. The hall of fame member confessed he never looked at the scoreboard during the first half of a game. I decided to never check my Strava data until I made it to the gas station in Boston, Georgia (just over halfway). Because I feared I missed a valuable water source, I ended up taking a peek. I figured I had gone 30 miles... I had gone 47. That felt good. Thanks, Roy. Also, go Noles, Roy. 

3. I felt GREAT miles 0-56, not so great 56-66, very good 67-80, THE ABSOLUTE BOWELS OF HELL 81-90 (seven-mile sugar sand hike-a-bike and two mechanicals), and okay but done 91-104.

(a) Everyone told me at the start of the event that the 80 is the best distance because it avoids the sand on the nine-mile Gum Swamp Road. I shrugged it off because Russ and I suffered through so much sugar sand bikepacking last year. I now know it is one thing to hit sand at mile 25 and a totally different thing to hit sand at mile 82. It took me 2 hours to do this segment and I had a very childish temper tantrum about it. Whoops.  

(b) Josh loaned me his GPS device and there is absolutely no way I could have done the route without it. At mile 82 I needed to fix a flat, so I flipped my bike over and when I did, I smashed a ton of buttons that caused alarms to go off. It was a whole ordeal. Because I'm an idiot who can't figure computer things out, I was never able to use it for navigation again. I spent the next 7 or 8 miles just hoping I was going the correct way.

4. Other than navigating, I was most nervous about socializing. Most cyclists were nice but not terribly talkative. Almost everyone I saw was riding with 2-3 friends or their club or team with matching kits. I rode most of the route by myself, exchanging the occasional pleasantries with folks. I did finish the last 14 miles with two dudes from Tallahassee who let me join since my GPS doinked out. They were nice and I owe them each a beer. 

5. Special thanks to Brooks who let me come over late one night to tune my bike before I left; Payton for ultimately convincing me not to ride my singlespeed for my first century; Josh who mailed me his Garmin GPS device; my mother, who I called while having a slightly dehydrated panic attack and forced her to call my friend Josh until he called me back to fix the GPS device; and to Russ who bought me dinner at Decent Pizza afterward. 

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5 Beginner Backpacking Tips and Tricks

My first backpacking trip was a disaster. I was in eleventh grade, clad in cotton blue jeans and a flannel shirt and equipped with gear from the local sporting goods and army surplus stores. Russ and I hiked around Torreya State Park in uncharacteristic sub-freezing temperatures, even for the "mountains of Florida." I slipped and fell in a creek. Russ had diarrhea in his pants. And we both had so much fun that we fell in love with backpacking.

That year, Russ and I spent a lot of time at the local outdoor store, Trail & Ski, pestering the employees with questions and ultimately not spending any of our money. I'm sure it was annoying but they were kind enough to take us under their wings and point us in the right direction. Whenever a student asks me about starting out backpacking, I get all stoked for them. Maybe, hopefully, those folks at Trail & Ski felt a similar level of excitement when Russ and I walked into their store all those years ago. 

Doing something new can be daunting, so I asked some folks what advice they'd give to somebody trying to get into backpacking. This "panel of experts" includes thru-hikers, weekend warriors, and backpacking and wilderness therapy guides. They all started somewhere and one of them started with me that winter in Torreya State Park. 

1. On backpacking with a budget...

Many of the experts agree: keep it cheap. Madi suggests, "Thrifting your starter gear--don't buy new!" She's right. Outdoor consignment shops rule. 

A) They're cheap and have good stuff. 

B) They usually have nice knowledgeable staff who can be very helpful and not intimidating. 

My favorite is in Leadville, Colorado. And if you're in Chattanooga, visit Four Bridges Outfitters. But not every town has a cool outdoor-oriented consignment shop. Russ and I bought a tent and other stuff from the Army Surplus. I think we used it once before graduating to a tarp. Not an ultra-lite sil-nylon tarp, mind you. I mean an actual brown tarp from Home Depot. 

Russ added, "Remember the crap we had when we started? I ordered a backpack from eBay. And those clunky headlamps from army surplus!" We scrounged things from all over the place. Nowadays you can hit up Mountain Project and other online forums for all kinds of used, cheap gear. Keep it cheap! Especially when you're starting. 

2. On starting small...

According to Vance, "Not every backpacking trip has to be a weeklong instagrammable jaunt in Glacier National Park... Explore [your] local natural areas." Microadventures are amazing. Russ encourages you to start even smaller. "Backyard camping! I camped in my backyard a million times with all my gear." 

It's true. Senior year, Russ and I both dual-enrolled at the local community college instead of "high school." Every morning I'd go to Russ' house and find him asleep in his backyard in his Hennesy Hammock. These nanoadventures are great for dialing in your system and, if you're new to it, sleeping outside.

3. On thinking ahead...

When you sleep outside, you live outside. Sounds obvious enough but you might be surprised how many things you forget or never even think about when it comes to the logistics of living outside days or weeks at a time. Leah's practical advice: "First, line your pack with a large (30 gallon?) trash bag- especially if the temps will be cold at night. You’ll never have to worry about a wet sleeping bag or jammies from rain, river crossings, etc." 

When you live outside, you poop and pee outside. Sounds obvious enough but you might be surprised how important pooping and peeing properly is to wilderness spaces. Consider these resources and remember, to Leave No Trace. When it comes to wiping, Leah adds, "If you are taking toilet paper, take baby wipes instead. You and your nether regions will be living a life of luxury after long days of dirt and sweat." 

For what it's worth, my two cents in this whole thing is this: Pringles. Pringles are a great, salty snack. The Pringles can is a great, tubular, sealed container for packing out discarded baby wipes and other waste. Make a little duct tape hinge so you don't lose the lid. You can store your toilet paper tube in the bottle slot of your backpack. Do not mix your Pringles and discarded baby wipes! Sounds obvious enough, but you never know. 

4.  On ounce-counting and other ultra-light things...

Maybe you've been backpacking before. You borrowed some gear and you're in love with it. Or maybe you've also got a fat wad of cash burning a hole in your pocket. There's an entire universe of backpacking gear you can buy. Most attempt to be light. Some are designed to be "ultra-lite" (UL). I got sucked into the ultra-lite world pretty quickly as a young gun and there are plenty of ways to do it on a budget (DIY and UL share a big middle part of a Venn Diagram). But being ultra-light and a backpacking guide didn't mix well so I started dabbling in both worlds. 

Reid suggests figuring out "if you camp to hike or hike to camp." This goes a long way in determining what you pack, how you travel, and what your overall goals are. Some people enjoy going far, fast. Others enjoy getting there when they get there and relaxing while they are there. 

Reid continues, "If you’re hiking to camp, you may decide to spend precious ounces on a larger tent, a thicker sleeping pad, or things like sleep clothes, camp shoes, a camp chair, etc. If you’re camping to hike, you may prioritize UL gear, nicer trekking poles, and have all of your food in a fancy spreadsheet that ranks items based on calories per ounce of weight." 

Maybe you already know what you're into. Maybe you don't. That's fine. If you're just starting it might take some trips to figure it all out, which leads us to our next bit of advice...

Vance and I on Mt. Shavano, CO

5. On just going for it and having fun... 

 I really loved what Vance had to say so I leave them here without comment.  

"There are no rules or right ways for an experience outdoors, so make the most of what you’ve got around you. Not every backpacking trip has to be a weeklong instagrammable jaunt in Glacier National Park while wearing your Arc’teryx gear (although both of those are super rad). Explore the local natural areas right in your backyard, flaunt your janky consignment or hand-me-down gear, and revel in a bounty of homemade trail mix and Vienna sausages. As long as you’re outside, being responsible, and having fun, you’re doing it right. Do what you can, where you’re at, with what you’ve got, while you’ve got it!" 

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Not My Words: How to Dress While Riding a Bike

source: instagram

I enjoy an IPA (though increasingly less so) and I like riding my bike long distances (if camping is involved) but dang, that meme goes hard. This month's "Not My Words" is short and sweet from Grant Petersen's Just Ride. Based on Goodreads reviews, it is either an angry polemic against the influence of racing on the bike industry or as a delightful curmudgeon's reflection on the simplicity of riding a bicycle. 

"In its need for special clothing, bicycle riding is less like scuba diving and more like a pickup basketball game." -- Grant Petersen, Just Ride: A Radically Practical Guide to Riding Your Bike (2012)

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