Waking up in a cold and slightly damp sleeping bag can go one of two ways. It could mean that the day is only going to get better with movement, warmth, and sunlight. It could also mean that the day will likely become harder, damper, and wetter. That is unless you were doing the 2023 East Texas Showdown, in which case it was some secret, more complex third thing. And I was going to figure out what that was.
(Howdy! I’m Alvin, and I participated in the East Texas Showdown, specifically the 280-mile Slowdown. I’ll cover the gear I brought that I particularly liked below, but I broke down every single gear choice and my reason why in my lead-up story. See my thoughts on the gear I used in the accompanying story.)
For those not in the know, the East Texas Showdown consists of three different backpacking-oriented events. There’s a 400-mile Showdown, the 280-mile Slowdown, and the “chill” 160-mile Lowdown. I might have a high tolerance for pedaling long distances, but I don’t quite have the tolerance for 400 miles of dirt and gravel.
I chose the Slowdown as the sane option, and I – alongside a few other folks – decided to blur the lines between a bikepacking event and an ultra-distance ride by riding without stopping. I certainly wasn’t trying to ride this as fast as I could, but I did want to finish it at my pace. Call the ride what you want – bikepacking, ultra-endurance, silliness – just let me know what everyone decides on.
Back to the tent. The forecast had temperatures in the low 40-degree Fahrenheit for most of the day, with rain continuing from the night before until about noon. Mud was really the only guarantee we had for the day. It’s hard to want to ride a bike in those conditions, and despite everyone I knew and their mom knowing I was going to do this big ride, I nearly bailed and went home.
The ride started with Bikes or Death host and ETS organizer Patrick shouting his trademark slogan: “Go ride your damn bike!” And off we went, every one of us commiserating about the poor weather and scheming about how every single stop we would make would be five minutes or less.
After a neutral rollout was mud, mud, and more mud. The Sam Houston National Forest is one of the most beautiful parts of Texas. The roads are lined by dense growths of pencil-skinny pine trees and fast-growing native fauna that will draw your attention on a slow ride. But the mud pulls you away and forces you to focus purely on staying upright. One false move, one mental digression, or even just not enough pedaling force, and you’ve stopped.
Have you ever met a pandemic puppy? One that’s never left its owner’s side, so it clings and won’t ever leave you alone? That’s what the mud felt like, and it was everywhere. Disc brakes making rubbing noises, the grit that’ll polish the anodizing off your chainring, all of that. It took about 75 miles before I found dirt roads that started to dry out, but even then, the headwind stayed the entire day.
I didn’t really have a strategy going into this ride. I knew I wanted to ride and not stop to sleep, but I didn’t think much about where to stop, how long it would take between each stop, or even where I could sleep if I needed to. There was one strategy I had while riding alone: record videos. And so I recorded my first video about 80 miles in. Here it is on slide three:
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I felt the need to apologize for my facetiousness to the rider who showed up next to me. His name was Dave, and we ended up riding together just about the rest of the way.
Dave is a beast. This being his third tour doing the East Texas Slowdown, he knew all the stops. He knew how to pace us, he wanted to ride through the night, and he knew the course. Riding bikes is always better with other people, but it is indispensable when you’re trying to ride 280 miles without sleeping. We also brought on Jason, who rode with us most of the way.
132 miles in, we started to strategize for dinner, dragged down from fighting mud earlier. We could hustle and attempt to get to Elkhart by 9 pm for a guaranteed hot meal, or we could try an unknown restaurant closer by. We decided to stop at 4J’s Family Restaurant, where we lucked into what I maintain is the best gumbo of all time.
Stopping for a hot meal is counterintuitive to racing, but this was a real game changer both for fueling my body and also for my morale. This was the edge we needed: full bellies, a chair to take a load off, and a reason to think about anything other than riding our bikes.
The next stop would be a 24-hour convenience store in Elkhart, about 140 miles in. This was where we really started to see ETS riders start to drop off. There is a certain face you see when you meet someone who is thinking of ending their ride early. Obviously, they are going to be tired. The awkward tan lines from riding outside all day typically accentuate the look. But it is usually when you look into someone’s eyes that you see just how done they are.
There’s no convincing someone of continuing on at that point, so you just wish them well and keep it moving.
We loaded up at this convenience store, knowing full well that the next known food stop was just over 100 miles away. At this point, we were riding well into the night. The dirt and gravel roads started to solidify, but riding through the night brought about its own challenges. You never quite know how far away that coyote howl was or if your tire is spewing sealant or your water bottle is shooting water on your leg. You just keep going, hoping that the next pedal stroke keeps you upright until sunrise.
We arrive at the 190-mile (300 km) mark in the town of Kennard, Texas. A little secret folks riding bikes through the night use is that in these small towns, a post office is a warm, well-lit refuge from the cold outdoors. You certainly don’t want to post up in a post office, but they’re a good place to collect yourself before forging onward.
It was in Kennard that we met Nathan. He was riding the Slowdown, and somehow, he was paused at the post office for a whole hour, waiting for a ride back to the Bullet Grill and the start. Despite having been a whole hour ahead of us, his mind was made, and he was done riding.
We forged on through the night. Rumor was that a donut shop in Lovelady, Texas opened at 4 am. If we kept it moving, we could get there before sunrise. It was all I could think about for those next few miles.
Food doesn’t usually taste all that good 200 miles into a ride, at least for me. I knew I had to eat to keep going, but food was merely fuel rather than something enjoyable. And as a serial donut fan, it pains me to say that my donut was for fuel, not for enjoyment.
We arrived at Lovelady Donut at about 5 am to full trays of croissants, donuts, kolaches, and everything in between. We also ran into Mike, last year’s first-place finisher and ‘Pro Slow’ award winner of the Slowdown. His body was about as horizontal as you could be in a folding chair, his head rested against the wall, and his left hand there to prop up his face.
One look and I knew that he too was done.
After some discussion, we learned Mike had been in town a whole three hours before we had arrived, taking a pause in a nearby post office before making his way to the donut shop. We let him know about the pickup service, and he called them almost immediately.
Before we left, he let us know that if Dave, Jason, and I continued at our pace, we would be the third, fourth, and fifth-place finishers. The idea of finishing near the pointy end of the pace never crossed my mind at that point, but the idea of finishing near the top was really intriguing. Unfortunately, Jason left us here, opting to take a quick rest before moving on. It would be me and Dave to finish third and fourth.
One of the few rules of East Texas Showdown is that you can’t receive outside help. No friends to pull over on the side of the road for hugs and a snack, and certainly no drafting off other cyclists. If you receive help, you’re done for the race. Riding as a group has its advantages, even without drafting. Mental support is one of them, and losing Jason was a bit of a blow.
One thing endurance cyclists like to say is that seeing the sunrise after a night of riding is an energizing experience. Something about circadian rhythms coming into sync with daylight or thereabouts. I thought all night about this hard-earned second wind, but it never really came. The sunrise came, and so too did the realization that I was tired. My knees and lower back really started to protest each pedal stroke, to the point where I was stretching every chance I could get.
The inevitable came for me and with it the fatigue after riding a bike for 24 hours. A Five-Hour Energy at 8 am and a pair of Advil didn’t really do anything but make my tired muscles jittery. Each pedal stroke feels like you’re rowing through molasses, using all of your strength to press forward only to find you haven’t actually done anything.
I saw flags in the distance that seemed to indicate we had a tailwind. Heartened, I mentioned it to Dave only for him to ask what I was talking about. Turns out they were tree branches and that we actually were riding into a headwind. Okay world, you really didn’t have to stunt on me like that.
I could tell Dave had more in his legs than I did, and I think he could tell too. I reminded him through the morning that he could keep going and get his personal best time, and with five miles left, he finally obliged. I finished the ride on my own, but he was at the finish line, along with a number of other folks to congratulate me. They asked what I thought of the ride, to which I responded, “I’m never doing that again.”
Here’s the ride by the numbers (with my Strava activity as proof):
- 280.8 miles ridden in 26 hours, 46 minutes, and a moving time of 23 hours, 22 minutes.
- 11,505 feet climbing total.
- A starting temperature of 37 degrees Fahrenheit (5.5 degrees Celsius), a max of 64 degrees Fahrenheit (18 degrees Celsius), and a low of 31 degrees Fahrenheit (-0.5 Celsius).
- Zero mechanicals.
I still have a touch of numbness in one of my fingers, and one of my knees still threatens to hurt if I push it too hard, but my mind is fresh, and my heart is full. While I said at the finish that I was never going to ride East Texas Showdown again, I already have the itch to get back out there.
The gumbo is calling.
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