Ride Report: Dirt(y) Pecan 150 Mile Dirt Road Epic – What Were We Thinking? – By K-Dogg

Dirt(y) Pecan 150 Report – or What were we thinking?
Only two of us had ever ridden 150 miles on pavement, but certainly not on heavy dirt roads. And yet we were pushing the agony envelope at the 2016 Dirt(y) Pecan 150 Dirt Road Epic beginning in Monticello, Florida.
Dr. Pain, I-JOM (the latest nickname given to JOM… don’t ask), Pfaff Daddy and K-Dogg decided that doing four hour local races just wasn’t painful enough.
NO – we decided that a dawn to dusk wilderness team time trial should be our next bike self flagellation event. All we need is an invitation. Thanks Mr. Promoter (John Webb)!
We were joined by an insanely strong Orlando rider named Tic Bowen. Super strong, Tic is somewhat new to gravel grinding so we encouraged him to stay on front as much as possible and gave him lots of advice. Mostly we advised him to please slow the EFF DOWN on any hills, any sandy surfaces, any muddy surfaces and any paved surfaces. In short, we whined constantly at him. But he did get us home a bit faster than we would have.
As further motivation, I-JOM, K-Dogg and Mrs. K-Dogg managed to secure entry to the Dirty Kanza 200, one of the most notoriously long gravel cycling events in America. It has 200 miles of rolling Kansas flint gravel. It starts before dawn. You are lucky if you finish before sunset. We decided the Dirty Pecan 150 would be an excellent trial run for our equipment and resilience.
Vanishing act – 8:00 A.M.
Once underway it was evident most of the 80 or so riders were doing the shorter 60 mile or 100 mile adventure. Only eight or nine signed onto the 150 mile death march adventure. Soon the whole gaggle was gently escorted down a few miles of traffic free paved roads.
Fifteen minutes later the pack swarmed onto the first red clay road and the pace picked up. Then it picked up some more. Then the hills got longer and steeper. Then the red clay became sticky and criss crossed by washouts. We had to concentrate to avoid crashing. The web site promised that conditions were superb and that skilled riders would “do fine” on 28 or 30 tires but we knew better. Team Gravel Cyclist rocked 40mm wide tires and up. Soon we were using race tactics to stay up front where it was safer.
“Pfaff Daddy, we are the back third” I said.
“Already?” he said.
Sixty seconds later…
“Pfaff Daddy – we ARE the back” I said.
“Really?” he said, finally swiveling around to look back at an empty lane. (Pfaff Daddy rarely looks back, he rarely needs to).
Ten minutes later it was the four of us sitting on about eight guys, none of which were doing the long course.
“Guys?” I yelled, as I puffed chasing up a clay hill. “I’m pretty sure this pace isn’t sustainable for another 140 miles.”
“Oi!” yelled I-JOM. “Slow the eff down… lets take a pee break!”
“Excellent idea” came the chorus and we swerved to the sides gratefully. At this point we were joined by Jason (“Diesel”) Ottinger from Tallahassee. Big guy, not built like a climber but he tenaciously hung on most of the day. Impressive.
I bit into my first Cliff Bar remembering that Mrs. K-Dogg (a scientifical person) advised me to “consume 200 kcal/hour or a big lunch or suffer the consequences.” Dr. Pain advised me that so far only 10 miles had passed under our wheels. It was going to be a LONG day.
Mile after mile we rolled up and down rusty red clay hills through countless bucolic mossy oak tunnels – occasionally breaking into green meadows and gorgeous historic farmsteads. Virtually no traffic. So much openness and so few people. So quiet you could hear a cotton boll drop.
I-JOM takes a long pull.
We noticed that I-JOM was uncharacteristically staying on the front for long periods of time at a higher than his normal pace. When one of us went to the front he bristled “Oi! I’m on a roll” then forced his way back onto point.
Dr. Pain and I exchanged looks. “The boy’s gonna burn out” said Dr. Pain.
I replied, “I know… there’s a hard lesson a-coming.”
JOM at pulling at the head of the group.
JOM working at the head of the group.
We both agreed it would be amusing to watch then slotted in behind him grinning a bit. At this point Tic Bowen suddenly appeared. He had arrived 10 minutes late and had time trialed solo for an hour to catch us. The dude is crazy strong. Not only that but he had a cloth Fresh Market grocery bag slung over one arm filled with bread and a jar of peanut butter. We were incredulous.
More entertainment.
An hour or two later Dr. Pain and Pfaff Daddy must have been bored because they suddenly decided to entertain us with a tumbling act by involuntarily dismounting in a slippery, greasy, red clay bottom land. Apparently Pfaff Daddy tried to change lanes through a 12″ high crusty clay ridge and bobble-swept Dr. Pain’s front wheel out from under him. Thankfully, nobody was hurt.
Unhappily, all the Go-Pro’s were turned off so no addition was made to Gravel Cyclist’s growing collection of video bike bloopers. Dr. Pain’s rear derailleur and white arm covers looked the the losing side of a Cheese Wiz fight but otherwise the bikes were fine.
A touch of depression.
Shaking it off we bravely continued on – anticipating our first rest stop in Boston, Georgia at mile 68.
“Dr. Pain” I queried. “Are we almost to Boston?”
“We are at mile 49 K-Dogg” he said.
“What!!! Are you joking?!” I shouted. “We’ve been out here all day! How can that be?!”
He replied, “Look at your Garmin… oh wait… we turned yours off in case the other three die.” I admit I’m a dim bulb on the marquis of life when it comes to computers and such but it would have helped me cope if left on.
A touch of depression set in… we still had 101 miles to go and were a bit weary. Did I mention the crash?
K-Dogg ahead of Tic.
K-Dogg ahead of Tic.
200 kcal’s of crap.
Eventually we rolled up to the Liberty convenience store. Remembering my wife’s “200 kcal or a big lunch” admonition, I decided to do both so I gobbled a Clif Bar then went in for the big lunch from all three food groups:
Sugar, grease and caffeine – in other words, Coke and cookies. Standing in line I noticed others cast loving looks at the glistening fried chicken and potato wedges behind the sneeze guard. All that hot fat and salt! I thought of doubling back to get me some unnoticed.
I knew my team would tell Mrs. K-Dogg and I’d be in the Dogg house.
Back in the saddle.
Eighty-two miles to go and we all had stiffened up enough to need a knight hoist to  drop us back on our steeds. Thanks to my two wonderful daughters, who had been lost for hours driving the sag wagon on sandy back roads, (no fault of their own) they took our unneeded kit and supplies at the store stop leaving us a few pounds lighter for sector two.
Sector Two – The lost hours.
I remember virtually nothing about the many, many miles of sector two. It’s all a blank – a dull ache and a blur of unending sandy hills and grabby lime rock pudding with short sections of blessed hard pack gravel and even occasional patches of euphoric pavement. Drafting was little help but we all gave what we had. For a while longer I-JOM appeared unstoppable as a metronome ticking away the miles.
And then he slowed a bit.
L: Pfaff Daddy, R: JOM
L: Pfaff Daddy, R: JOM.
 Pfaff Daddy and Tic (Named after his favorite childhood book Ricky Ticky Tavi Mongoose) then took over the lion’s share breaking wind. More miles rolled by with less and less help from the other three.
At some point in these middle wastelands of effort I remembered my Double Espresso Gu and Ibuprofen… and began to feel better and better. Note to self… Ibuprofen is the fourth food group.
Don’t double dip the jar.
By the time we rolled into the last food stop we were all grinning. Forty five miles left. We knew we were going to make it. Just one more push. Make that one more LONG push. But first we all reapplied copious amounts of chamois cream. Euro-pro, author and friend of the Gravel Cyclist crew, Phil Gaimon, says its best to apply chamois cream AFTER donning your kit but that making eye contact with anybody while doing so is illegal in many states.
Hovering around the team van next to a dumpster we grinned again and tried to avoid eye contact. Extra advice… sharing chamois cream is OK but don’t let anybody double dip your jar.
Rolling out our happy little clan soon entered one of the worst sections so far… it seemed like 12 miles of slippery, dead flat wet sand. Like Sidewinder snake tracks we could read the desperate flailings of those ahead seeking hard soil.
No magic here, just keep up an adequate terra-planing speed to survive. Every stroke was an effort. Drafting an inch off was still virtually useless… and so was I-JOM.
The Aussie goes down under.
JOM finally imploded on a punchy little hill and vanished backwards around a corner. We all waited, secretly happy we weren’t the first to crack. We had all been there today at one time or another and would be again.
Nobody wanted to sit on Tic’s wheel in second position. No matter how much we begged him back it off one mph he always seemed to roll it back up a few minutes later. No drafting, nor downhills to coast and recover. Just mile after mile of heavy roads, heavy legs and heavy eyes.
Pfaff Daddy and Tic rolling out the tempo.
Pfaff Daddy rolls ous the tempo with Tic at second wheel.
The sun was starting to set.
We cheered a bit when we passed one crusty older guy who had left the start at 5:30 a.m. “Goddamn cross bikes!” he growled. “I thought I could hold you guys off!” He finished strong about half an hour behind us. Good job!
The Dogg bonks.
“Less then 10 miles to go lads” announced I-JOM from the back as we turned onto U.S. 90.
“Ten miles?!” I groaned. “Call a taxi!”
At least we were back on pavement even though that meant Tic and Pfaff Daddy had to up the pace even more… and then the hills began… scores of hills.
With five miles to go I drifted off the back on one particularly long hill. A black curtain began to lower as an extreme bonk set in.
“200 kcal / hour.” Mrs. K-Dogg had told me but the last two hours were too sketchy to unwrap and cram down a chewy Cliff Bar.
Hello Mr. Bonk!
But the guys slowed down as I wolfed down food and soon recovered. Onward we rolled into Montecello, past the majestic plantation homes, and around the beautiful domed city hall. Finally we rolled onto the IFAS grounds where it all began and back to the Mommobile.
Rolling back into Monticello, Florida.
Rolling back into Monticello, Florida.
The sun was just as low as this morning but on the other side of the sky. Backs were slapped and orange mud dusted from our legs and scalps.
What we learned:
  • 200 kcal/hour. I repeat 200 kcal/hour. You can’t eat or drink too much.
  • Bring Ibuprofens, caffeine and chamois cream and titrate as needed.
  • Don’t focus on the finish. Focus on three to four periods of time and conquer them one at a time.
  • The first section of a long ride is the worst. Get over it.
  • Ride within yourself – go easier than you would on shorter rides.
  • Don’t let others blow themselves up and become a liability. Reel in your Aussie early.
  • Keep it fun if at all possible.

Thanks to the promoter John Webb and all the selfless volunteers. The event was run professionally, especially for a free event. It is so heartening to see how fast our little gravel rides are growing.

See all y’all next year and remember to watch the upcoming video by I-JOM.



  1. Avatar Tim Newhall

    Great report on an excellent ride. As a Tallahassee/Monticello local, I was delighted to have the Gravel Cyclist crew at the Dirty Pecan. It is heartening to see how rapidly the gravel rides are becoming. Two more comments. First, that “crusty older guy” you passed toward the end was my good friend Rick Ashton, who may now be 70 years young. Until recently, Rick was the oldest finisher of the Tour Divide race. This year or next he’ll be heading back to reclaim his title. Second, that beautiful domed building in the middle of the traffic circle in Monticello is the Jefferson County Courthouse, not city hall.

    Thanks again for participating in the Dirty Pecan, and for the great write-up.

    • JOM JOM

      Tim, don’t worry about a thing. K-Dogg who wrote this report is a crusty 61yo… we keep hearing about his age JUST ABOUT EVERY RIDE haha!

      Your man Rick is an inspiration to us younger blokes. I sincerely hope I am riding at his level when I am 70 years of age!


  2. K-Dogg K-Dogg

    No offense meant. Crusty means “Gruff.”
    He was gruff when we passed him.
    I admire his gruffness.

    Sorry about the dome. I-JOM (the editor) was rushing me gruffly.

    • Avatar Tim Newhall

      No offense taken, K-Dogg. You sized Rick up very well given your brief encounter. He’s crustier than a week-old scab. He’s also tougher than iron and has a huge heart. No one could ask for a better friend.

  3. Avatar John Webb

    K-Dogg, excellent report. Appreciate the kind words and sooo happy you slapped “Diesel” on Mr. Ottinger. He is training for Leadville 100 and I’ve already experienced two training rides in a row with him, both ending badly (for me).

    I was up towards the front when we turned onto the first section of dirt for the day, I started to keep up with the front group, which contained The Diesel, then looked down at my Garmin, which told me I was pushing 300W … no way I was gonna be able to push 300W for 6+ hours, so I backed it off and rode my pace, and ended up gathering / joining a good group of guys.

    I’ve run the first half of the 100 route to Boston twice before, and this was the first time I’ve rolled into Boston feeling human. After Boston, I, like the Rider Formerly Known as JOM, ended up pulling long sections of dirt, not because I was feeling superhuman, but more so I could dictate my own tempo pace (~200W), pick my lines, and most importantly, not have sand constantly being thrown into my legs and face. All well and good, then I decided it would be funny to stage a mock sprint at the end of Gum Swamp. Very. Bad. Decision. I burnt all my remaining matches with that stunt. When we hit US 90, Cliff “Nice Socks” Leonard, dropped the hammer and I hung on his wheel like my life depended on it. Somewhere along the pavement, Jon “Creme Fraiche” Mason lost contact with the group and was hung out to dry like sour laundry.

    We had a doppleganger of The Diesel, who was from Orlando (don’t remember his name) join our group after Boston, and was cranking up those last (steep) hills into Monticello. I also got dropped, but managed to catch back up, not because they were being nice, but because someone’s Garmin had a navigational glitch.

    Final word: I was supremely surprised at the stickiness of the roads. Typically, a rain 36-48 hours before a ride makes for supreme riding conditions. This time, however, the sun didn’t come out on Friday until late afternoon, so we didn’t get the usual drying effect.

    • JOM JOM

      JOM is still JOM. I-JOM is a temporary edition to the article that generates great amusement among my teammates…

      • Avatar Gerardo José Rojas Ossa

        Jom what happened to that sweet Lynskey bike you had? Looking at the pictures you’re riding a ritchey breakaway.
        And by the way is pfaff daddy on a niner air-nine with dropbars?

        Keep it up!

        Gerardo from Chile.

        • JOM JOM

          Hi Gerardo,

          I own several bikes. Don’t worry, the Lynskey hasn’t gone anywhere 🙂 I like to ride different bikes depending on the terrain and whatever silly mood I am in!

          Here is a link to Pfaff Daddy’s bike from late 2014 – https://www.gravelcyclist.com/bicycle-tech/scotts-niner-bsb-9-rdo/

          The spec has changed a little bit since the article was posted.

          Thanks for the kind words!

  4. K-Dogg K-Dogg

    John it sounds like you had fun too. I never blindly accept anybody’s soil advice and usually go wider tire width than the site recommends.
    I’m sure the promotors for Rouge Roubaix claim soil conditions as “moist” when the weather channel reports roads 6 feet under.

  5. This report along with others and their accompanying videos are inspiring for gravel riders unable to attend these events. Added comments are like “copious amounts of chamois cream” that improve the comfort of a ride.

    • K-Dogg K-Dogg

      Hang in there Headmaster. We all eagerly await your return. You are our best rider and we rely on you to kick arse in your usually understated manner.

  6. Avatar Striker

    I aimed for the hundred and ended up doing the 80 mile route but for my first attempt at a century I really enjoyed the ride, especially since I’ve only owned a bike for about a year. Dirty Pecan is definitely a hell of a lot different from the riding I’m used to and I’m glad I was running 38s for it. My friends on 32’s had some major issues in a few spots.

    I actually caved at the gas station in Boston and ended up buying the fried chicken and fries, along with an ice cream sandwich. No regrets at all, felt fine the rest of the ride but I also only had 30 more miles to go, not 80.

    • JOM JOM

      Haha nice one on the Boston store stop. You weren’t alone chowing on fried chicken and fries. I’m vegetarian, but I pigged out on a huge stash of fries. Yum!

      I’m on the comeback trail after surgery and suffered greatly through the 100 miler. But well done on your ride, 80 miles of the Dirty Pecan is not an easy undertaking!

      • Avatar Striker

        Going from 70 miles on road being my longest ride to 80 miles on dirt was interesting but not too bad. It mostly just slowed my pace. I’m definitely glad I found this site though. I was trying to find similar rides in the Southeast and kept finding things that were all 100% road. The calendar here makes it really easy to find events I want to go to.

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