Seattle to Portland: My Dream Team

Lizzy Carter

We were a group of 16 people, with 9 riders, and 7 amazing supporters, and enough protein chocolate milks to fuel an army! As the miles unfolded, we naturally found our own rhythms and pace groups. Some rode for the experience, some for the challenge, and a few of us… well, we were out there to fly. And me? I found myself near the front of the pack, riding fast, pushing hard, and loving every minute of it.

Yup. Me.
Alongside Kent (29, mountain man with calves of steel) and Carsten (28, basically a human protein shake).
We pushed from the start, the energy was high. Even when the sun came out and our waters started running low, morale never dipped. I had originally told myself, “Just maintain 12–15 mph and you’ll be fine.”

We did 22–25 mph…For miles, on miles, on miles. We were flying. But here’s the thing, it didn’t start that way.

About 20 miles into Day 1, I picked up on something. Kent and Carsten, love them, were weaving through riders like total chaos goblins. Just pure bicycle buffoonery. No etiquette, no order, just pure golden retriever energy. They were happy as could be! They were laughing and loving it, but my inner road-cyclist-child-of-my-father cringed.

So I tucked into a steady draft line, four guys, real riders, with real form, and Kent rode up next to me, eyebrows raised.

“What’s with all the hand signals?”
“What are they doing?”

That’s when I realized… They didn’t know what drafting was. They didn’t know this could be a team sport. With a little coordination, we could conserve energy, increase speed, and ride smarter, not harder.

Once I explained the mechanics: how to rotate, how to signal, how to move as a unit, it clicked. And in no time at all we stopped riding like three individual missiles and started riding like a team. We had found our rhythm.

By the time we rolled out of the lunch stop and onto the military base stretch, we were on fire. Smooth, powerful, synced up. Kent was nailing the signals. Carsten had full group awareness. And I was holding my own, no training plan, no fancy prep, just me and my body. I was riding with two men in their prime! One who summits mountains for fun, the other who could probably bench press me with one arm, and I was keeping up. No, scratch that. I was thriving.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t just riding, it felt like racing. All my usual rides had been social, cute, and casual. This was a whole new sport, that held a new version of me. I was sweating, talking myself through the burn, gritting my teeth, and loving every second.

When we crossed that finish line on day two, I was buzzing.
I immediately got online and started looking up women’s racing groups. I wanted more of this. More push. More pull. More community. More strength. More me at full throttle.

Crossing the finish line in Portland was one of those great moments that stays with you in real time, it was hot, my legs were screaming, the sun felt relentless. Every mile hurt just a little more than the last. But then it was over, and all that pain melted into pride. We had finally earned our STP finisher shirts and our free meal. Later that night, looking through the photos we took along the way, and the ones taken by the photographers, I barely remembered how much it hurt. I just remembered how alive I felt. The laughs we shared, the teamwork, the stretch of road behind us. And I guess that’s the thing about doing something hard: discomfort fades, but the confidence stays. And that finish line feeling? Unmatched.

So if you’ve ever considered doing the STP, this is your sign:
You can and you should.
Show up for yourself.
Put your name down, clip your feet in, and go see what you’re made of.

This ride reminded me what confidence really looks like; it’s more than just self-belief. It’s doing something hard, and surprising yourself by how strong you already are.

You don’t have to be “ready.”
You just have to be willing.