Student Profile

Are you up for Overland’s greatest challenge? The American Challenge is a six-week, coast-to-coast, 3,024-mile bicycle trip from Tybee Island, Georgia, to Santa Monica, California. During the summer of 2008, Overland alumna Lizzie Leonard tackled the American Challenge after having done Pacific Coast in 2006 and European Challenge in 2007. Although some moments were incredibly challenging, Lizzie believes it was the best experience of her life. In fact, Lizzie wrote her college application essay about a turning point on her American Challenge trip:

It’s my turn, I thought, as I heaved my bike off the ground and climbed onto it. Every group member had a day to lead, and today, July 9, 2008, just happened to be mine. For most of the others, leading was exciting – the prospect of being the head of such a cohesive group was something to be proud of. For me, it was something I had come to dread. I knew that the top spot came with a price: Being in front meant that I had to battle the vicious headwinds alone. One hundred four daunting miles lay ahead of me. I knew there would be pain and fatigue, and I was scared. Scared of the inevitable raw feeling of my breath as it rose and fell in my lungs. Scared of how my thighs would burn with each pedal stroke.

Led by two of our dynamic and talented Overland leaders and supported by 11 of your Overland peers, you too can bike 104 miles in one day and across the country in six weeks. Typically AC groups ride 80+ miles a day, with many days over 90 and a handful over 100 miles. During each section of the trip, there are buffer days built into the itinerary to allow for delays en route. Most groups will find that they spend these buffer days partially or completely off of the bikes for rest, relaxation and exploration on foot. The American Challenge doesn’t require previous experience, but it requires determination. With spring training, a dedication to the Overland team spirit and the cheers of her leaders and trip mates, Lizzie overcame her fear:

I turned to face the group, and saw 11 expectant stares. Better get going. Mind racing and fingers shaking, I pushed off the ground and let my foot find contact with the pedal.

Right on Route 35, right on Route 35, right on Route 35, I muttered to myself as I pushed my legs in endless concentric circles. I blinked water out of my eyelashes and tried to concentrate on the road signs, which were enveloped in sheets of rain. The frigid wind whipped around my head, sneaking into the holes in my helmet and slapping me around the face before escaping through another hole. The hours dragged on, awash in gray, dreary landscapes. My legs ached as I rode through one desolate Kansas town to another.

My entire life, I’d always been somewhat of an athletic head case, capable of pushing myself to a certain limit but never beyond it. Sure enough, I could feel myself hit that familiar wall. My pedal strokes dwindled. My pace dropped from 14 miles an hour down to a measly 8. The speedometer seemed to taunt me, digital letters nagging me to go faster, keep up our average, finish today’s mileage. How could I lead a group when I wasn’t even strong enough to motivate myself?

I had climbed on my bike that morning expecting physical setbacks, but never anything as bad as this. I had figured that if I was willing to suffer enough, I’d be able to plow through the miles and lead us to a solid finish in Winfield. I was starting to see that that might just not happen.

Suddenly the tears fell, hot and fast. All my bottled-up emotion, all my frustration and exhaustion, seemed to erupt in a single explosion of anguish. More than anything, I wanted to pull over, throw my bike off a nonexistent Kansas cliff, and scream, “I can’t do it!” until I was hoarse. “I can’t lead my friends for 100 miles through 30 mile-per-hour headwinds in the pouring rain! I am not strong enough!”

Then, through the endless thrashing and howling of the wind, I heard a sound behind me. Screaming, except this time it wasn’t inside my head. “LIZ-ZIE LEON-ARD! LIZ-ZIE LEON-ARD! LIZ-ZIE LEON-ARD!” echoed in my ears. What was going on? Slowly, I turned around, not bothering to hide my swollen eyes or catch my ragged breath. My leader, Alec, was right behind me, his front tire nearly touching my back one, looking just as exhausted as I felt, but with a radiant smile plastered across his face. In spite of my own self-pity, I felt a grin start to creep across mine. He chanted my name, again and again, appreciating my pain and how hard it was for me to break the wind for everyone else. Behind him bobbed 11 helmets, 11 orange flags, and 11 voices in unison. “LIZ-ZIE LEON-ARD!” I could see Bridget in the back, head down and pedaling, breathing hard, but flashing me a thumbs-up. Francisco, his head towering high above everyone else’s, looked drained, but still yelled my name. I felt my heart lift out of my feet and rise back to its rightful place in my chest.

It stunned me how I could suddenly be numb to something that had affected me so dramatically just a few minutes earlier. The rain pounded down, the wind continued to give me a savage beating, and yet none of it was having the same emotional impact anymore. I felt laughter start to bubble uncontrollably out of my mouth as the twelve of us broke out in song. I sang at the top of my lungs and pedaled harder than ever, no longer feeling any pain. 

When I began this trip, my goal was to make it across the country–from Georgia to California. Little did I know that there would be many more challenges and smaller goals along the way. One of these challenges turned out to be giving my best when I was feeling my worst. I was suffering, and I was afraid that my pain would stop me from guiding everyone to the end. Yet just the smallest bit of group support changed everything. It was the impetus to find the strength I didn’t know I had. In fact, I learned that I could excel as a leader – and even enjoy it.

The American Challenge changed the way that Lizzie saw herself. A three-time Overland alumna, Lizzie understands and appreciates the power that a team possesses to help each of its members succeed. Originally from Westport, Connecticut, Lizzie is currently a first-year student at Kenyon College. Lizzie is on the left in the photo below, which was taken this past fall at Kenyon.

In addition to being a high jumper on the varsity indoor and outdoor track teams, Lizzie is also a volunteer tutor at Wiggin Street Elementary School, a member of the Kenyon College Outdoors Club and a member of P.E.A.S. (People Encouraging Sustainable Agriculture). In her free time, Lizzie likes to bike, read, do crossword puzzles and bake. This summer, Lizzie is excited to join our Overland team on the support staff—the backbone of the entire Overland operation—with her sights set on leading for Overland in future summers. She loved all of her Overland trips, but it was the American Challenge that helped Lizzie fully realize her ability to lead:

I’d never found myself in a leadership role like this before, and so I was nervous to assume this position for the first time. Since the trip has been over, I’ve learned to accept this leadership role by helping younger, less experienced bikers at my town’s cycling center. I’ve taught them the basics of road riding, when to shift gears, and how to pace. From these energetic kids, I’ve learned the power of guidance and the acceptance of criticism. I’d learned that leading is a give-and-take process; I’d given it to friends, but I hadn’t thought to take it. Once I could see that there were 11 people behind me who believed in me, I could finally believe in myself.

Join us on the 2010 American Challenge: take the ride of your life, make 13 new best friends, gain the skills and confidence to lead, and at the end of your incredible journey, with front wheels in hand, run screaming with your friends and dive into the Pacific.