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.


Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Day 64. The zero mile day.

Miles: 0
Weather: Hell moved into Baker CA.

There are few things that could ever go wrong on Bike & Build. Hosts could fall through, we could get lost, we could even ditch Mr. Trailer on the side of the road. We really can handle anything I think, camping at gas stations, 120 degree days, straight peanut butter for lunch, it wouldn't be pretty, but we'd make it. The one possible thing that could go wrong is someone get seriously injured.

We had known about the Baker Barstow stretch for months, the lonely interstate that is the sole road stretching through the baron brown expansive dry dirt. It is illegal to ride on interstates in the state of CA unless there is no other route. There is, one other road, a dirt road, 70 miles out of our way. So that means, it is illegal to bicycle on this 60 mile stretch. We looked high and low for all options. Rerouting through Death Valley, or south through Victorville, each failing us with their own shortcomings of either 200 miles of deserted mess with no water or shade or 130 degree temps and altitudes below sea level. We looked at rerouting our route for days to the north or south around this single track of interstate 15, but to avail.

So was the plan to just ride, and tell the cop our pathetic story, that they should build more roads out here, that they should understand we have biked 3500 miles and this single 60 miles is the only break in our entire cross county trip. We debated for days, weeks, on what to do.

It came down to some fearful words from past riders, scared of the trucks wising by at 75mph. Horror Stories of shuttling riders on the side of the hwy because the cops would not let the ride another mile.

And so we made a rather sad decision. There is only one thing that could go wrong on Bike & Build and that is someone gets injured. With that said, the 60 miles of the pathetic 6 feet shoulder of the transient route from Los Angels to Vegas was not worth it. And so 8 am we loaded everyone in buggy, strategically loaded bikes in trailer and shuttled people all morning through this sad stretch.

It ended in Barstow at 1pm, a town that is a sad pothole in the middle of a desert. A dreary introduction to California we've had. Our host is also a shelter and opens its loving arms to us in a town of solely motels and fast food joints.