Intro

Welcome to a story, or stories I should say. A compilation of adventure tales. An ongoing itch to see, smell, and touch the world, or at least the deserted roads and rarely trampled mountains of America. Characters within the descriptive paragraphs of these stories carve out the coming and going companions in life; vital life people and pieces that parallel a universe for moments, days, years. And then spear off, leaving granules of magnificent memories of magical places. They leave a lasting trace, a gained sense of courage to stand tall on oxygen deprived mountains and shout absurdities like: I love you Ralph! Ralph is a teenage reindeer stuffed of the finest synthetic polyester fiber poof; he says made in Indonesia but really tells me he is from the North Pole. Delivered through a chimney one December night 20 years ago, we instantly became cuddle buddies upon that morning's sunrise. He is the instigator. The inspiration. And the imagination. He breathes creativity. Laughter. His is a dear companion. And yes, at 4lbs he tags along atop a pack or strapped to a rack. In delirium of 107 degree heat, the small possession of material belongings gain a persona. Innate objects become friends of the road and trails. And as for the humans who accompany, their presence reads priceless. Without O'Reilly, a 29 year old New Hampshirian with superior taste buds, the mathematical six foot four inch tall German, or handful of organic peanut butter and 99 cent jam eating munchkins, there would be a lot less excitement. The encounters we make with our specie, encapsulating the world with their awkward ways and over consumerist love, somehow we have managed to become overly adored creatures. Their generous hearts restore a faith that goodness prevails in the upheaval of a sometimes lost humanity. As for myself, I'm just the navigator, paddling up the stream of life munching on Clif Bars, with an iPhone documenting the frailties and goodies underneath all the simplified complexities in the world we reside. So again, I welcome you to get lost and dream a little through this typed text and your imagination. My name is Kristen Gentilucci. I live in Berkeley California and I love dogs.


Friday, July 13, 2012

Day 27. A sore butt and a comfy van seat.

Miles: 82
Me: transporter of lunch and farm fresh Illinois glass jug chocolate milk.
Weather: 95 and humid

Van and buggy, I've never been more happy drive you. It's called a saddle for a reason, the bicycle seat that is, and although you treated me well at first, nearly 1500 miles in, day after day, you rubbed me raw and made me hate you. As rider Erin K., a suffer of the same fate put it, "you were as though I sat on the fire of a thousand angry suns." I want to erase you from my mind, until the next near 3 days of 3 near centuries ahead, which we better become friends or you will be left on the side of the road to be exposed to the deadly summer heat and bone chilling winter frost. So thank you van, for offering your fluffy plush seat to rest my tush for the day. St. Louis here we come.

Besides the rough seat situation, my gifted Giant bicycle and I have finally formed a relationship. We weren't fond of each other at first, having to leave behind bianchi and precious dale, to show this mystery Giant the country I was born in. But now, decked out in pink and blue, Giant has been named. After miles upon miles of trying to think of the perfect suitable name, today it came to me while passing through a town that I just seemed to really like the name of. Odin Illinois it was called, there wasn't much there but a wooden sign leading us in. And so it was, Odie, just suits her right, roped with turquoise water bottles. And so more adventures to come with Odie very very soon.

Best part of the day: planning Christmas in July, full of secret Santas with power bar wrapped presents on the 25th.

Worst part of the day: seeing riders come in with success, hunger, and joy of 82 miles of scenic roads behind them and knowing I personally walked maybe less than 50ft the whole day and inhaling 20 pizzas.