We headed from Denver to Monument, CO today. Since my knee has been bothering me for a while, I thought much about pain, sitting on the floor of a gas station (icing my knee with some free ice from the very kind employee!) while we waited out a storm, then again leaning against a fence just off Highway 83 (a route we promptly gave up on after one too many cars zoomed by just inches away from us) waiting for our host who offered to pick us up with her truck. I had finally reunited a few days ago with my mom after a year apart, so along with pain I have also been thinking much about home.
Nostos is the Ancient Greek term for homecoming, and algos for pain.
Nostalgia, thus is the pain of coming home, a most apt etymology for that feeling of homesickness when one is a pandemic, two governments, and an ocean away from one’s family, but apparently also when one is a mere three-and-a-half hour flight away from one’s teammates.
Two days away from the actively spoking Spokes was hard. Spending time with my mom for the first time after a year was a homecoming of course. I call her almost everyday but I still had a million stories to share. We talked about school, friends, family…yet I kept finding myself rattling on about Spokes – the Rockies; the first, second, and third time Ody took a tumble; the amazing hosts along the way; and of course my most extraordinary teammates (I actually think this, no one is looking over my shoulder).
time with Max, photo courtesy of Joel
It is strange to miss six strangers and it is a little terrifying to feel nostalgic for a team just assembled 35 days ago. We are exactly halfway through our trip (the biking portion at least) today. We will be in D.C. in another 35 days, Vincent will have left by then, a certain bike will probably have been repaired enough times that no original part remains (at that point is it still the same bike?), we will have huffed and puffed through yet another mountain range, I will (most likely) have cried another bladder (the water-pack kind) -full of tears, and will (most definitely) have laughed another Provo River (because that river was too long, way too long) of (happy) tears.
Vincent modeling the GoPro
I have already begun to miss Aja’s laugh (and cute/creepy moments with cats), Timothy’s passion for music (and his memes), Katherine’s persistent care (and her hotness…yes, she did demand this to be written), Parth’s patience (but maybe not their bike), Vincent’s insatiable curiosity (and his huge duffel bags), and Joel’s sun sleeves (and his always timely check-ins). It is scary to gain and lose so much in 70 days – scary to fall in love with mountains, with various pets, llamas, and marmots, with a couch or a really good pot of pasta, and of course with the team, when there is the constant reminder that the end draws closer every mile, every turn of the wheel. Perhaps that is why I have found myself static so often. Maybe if I keep my pedals still the day will not pass. I savor every parking lot ground I lie down on (starting from Sly Park), every bed or floor on which I wait for the sunrise, every icing session for my knee (when I am literally rendered immobile), and every snapshotted millisecond of hugs, smiles, and tears shared, frozen in time. I am scared to lose these things, but I am even more scared not to gain them. So I keep loving and gaining, and perhaps I will love and gain so much that I will not be able to lose them at all.
Every time the seven of us are together is a nostos, a homecoming. But of course to be a true trip of nostalgia there has to be algos, and Spokes so far has been full of pain, the good and the bad kinds both. Pain from laughing too hard in kitchens and basements, pain from a chafing chamois with not enough cham-butt, pain from my (over-used? too-tight?) knee, pain from knowing all this pain will soon be something I can only miss and not complain about… It seems a little twisted to appreciate pain, yet the sore legs, burnt backs, and cheeks too tired from laughing are what will make this trip nostalgic. Without the algos, perhaps there will also be no nostos – and I cannot risk losing another home.
biking time
So far this has been a trip of nostos and algos, a trip of nostalgia. A trip of pain, but most importantly a trip of homecoming, of building a home. I hope that in another 35 days I will have even more reasons to love this home and return to it often.
See you soon,
Sophia