Way back when we were in DC, I was supposed to write one final blog post. I fully meant to write it, but I never felt like I had anything “publishable.” I wanted to write a tour de force describing perfectly what Spokes was; I wanted to compose some great biography, or requiem, or maybe a Sophia-style poetic blog post about the experience that was.
Eureka, NV
So here I am, on winter break, typing on a computer in my childhood bedroom, compelled to finally write that final blog post. ‘22 Spokes are in full recruitment mode, emailing far and wide encouraging fellow students to apply.
I remember going through that recruitment process myself. I remember, at the end of the group interview, asking the 2019 team what they took from their Spokes experience, having some time and separation from it.
Now, I realize how difficult it is to properly encapsulate such an experience. Friends and family ask, “How was Spokes?” I tend to reply with a rather canned answer: something about how many challenges we faced, but still pushing through; the biking was great and the teaching was fun; we met some incredibly kind people.
In talking about it, I’ve noticed how many parts of speech and definitions “Spokes” can hold. There’s Spokes: the 70-something days, spent biking and teaching. Simultaneously, Spokes is the aesthetic and personal experience caused by only biking and teaching. And then there’s Spokes: the group of people who signed up to bike across the country to teach. (Also known as Sporks, Sponks, etc., as coined by Timothy)
I miss Spokes (n. 70-something days) dearly. I miss the simplicity—no matter the struggles and troubles, the stress or the sleep deprivation—once we started pedaling toward that day’s destination, everything faded away. We woke up each day, and we had one of two jobs: bike or teach. This lifestyle starkly juxtaposes daily Stanford life. At Stanford, we constantly have at least 10 different things on our plates, biking furiously from one side of campus to the other because we’re already 15 minutes late. During Spokes, 15 or 20 minutes was easily within the usual ebb and flow of time; it was the time to eat a couple peanut butter sandwiches or the time gained from a tailwind.
Having distance from the summer, I better appreciate how teaching provided a motivating force to the trip. One of the most frequent questions I get is one I had myself when applying: “So… why biking and teaching?” In all of this, the best answer I’ve found was written by our very own Parth Sarin. They said: “You are constantly asking for help from different communities; you are listening in on perspectives and backgrounds unlike your own; you are experiencing different ways of life than you are used to. By biking through communities, you’ll hopefully get to know their generosity and values. Healthy educational practice involves inviting those elements of culture into the classroom, and biking is a great way to get to know that better.”
I feel changed after this past summer. Perhaps inevitably, Spokes (n. the personal experience) made me a different person. The Joel that replied “This is me formally accepting Spokes” to an email in March of 2022 is not the same person writing this now.
When we all went our separate ways in D.C., I drove Ody back home to Green Bay. On my way, I stopped to visit a Stanford friend in lower Michigan, who was going to teach me to sail (I’ve always wanted to learn). The day I was there, the winds were quite high on the inland lake. Nonetheless, we took the small boat out. After a crash course that didn’t exceed 15 minutes, she handed me the tiller and the rope for the sail, and told me it was my turn, if I wanted. Briefly, I felt a familiar fear rise in me, one I became quite familiar with over Spokes: “What would go wrong? I’m not ready for this. I’ve never done this before.” Yet, knowing this fear I was now well acquainted with, I tamped it down, knowing from experience, anything that went wrong would be salvageable. Ultimately, I had an incredible day learning how to sail.
In the end, what I miss the most is the Spokes (n. the group of people). Selfishly, I miss having them all to myself, 24 hours a day. I struggle to properly describe these people and the joys they bring. I miss late night laughs on the floor of a high school gym or in a host’s carpeted basement (usually caused by Aja’s dance moves). I miss cheering each other on, as we rode up hills or pulled into rest stops. I miss the simple state of just being, together. I miss being around such lovely people for so long, to the point where we knew exactly how to comfort each other, how to make each other laugh.
Thankfully, this definition of Spokes that I miss the most is also the one I get to keep around. We got dinner together in the fall quarter with some regularity (unfortunately sans Katherine, who comes back from Australia in winter quarter, and without Vincent, who is off at the next adventure that is med school). While we go our separate ways at the end of each meetup, I appreciate that a lot of the familiarity and togetherness remains. Whenever I sit down with the Spokes, the peace of this summer returns.
A (partial) Spokes reunion
It pains me that the details of Spokes are getting blurry. Yet, the cliche is true: I still remember how these experiences and people made me feel. I don’t remember what every day of Spokes held, but I do remember the unparalleled feeling of triumph from summiting the Sierra Nevadas. I can’t recall every lesson I taught, but I do remember the communal joy of launching water rockets at the end of every lesson. I don’t remember every single fact about the other Spokes, but I do remember the feeling of being part of a team, of being accepted in my entirety.
To all those who made Spokes possible, thank you. Whether you hosted us, helped us coordinate teaching, supported us financially or emotionally, or aided us in any other number of countless ways: you made this possible. We could teach, bike, and grow because of you.
For one final time, signing off:
Onward,
Joel
