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, September 6, 2013

Day 14.

Miles: 13.2
Elevation gain: 4000ft
Elevation loss: 3000ft
Altitude: 13,200ft at Forester Pass 

It should have been a leisurely 13 mile day, but nearly 11 hours later it appeared these mountains have worn in hiking shoes and human souls to the point of mortal exhaustion. To bring you up to date, a mere 60+ miles back we refueled our caloric supplies with what one thought was enough for 8 days, and the other, myself, questioned. Now down to 72 hours to go, left with a mere stash of cliff bars and a handful of saltless rice and beans, I lost it with dirty socks, one too many carrot cake cliff bars, the never ending switchbacks, and farts so stinky Ralph refuses to sleep tent side. My counterpart thought this would be a great diet, but hanger (a state of hunger that leads to anger) was the last thing wanted while climbing the highest peak in the contiguous USA. 

Tantrums happen to us all out here in these conditions, and today was my lucky day on Forester pass. With enough sugary cliff morsels to take on the mountain with a hiking pole, war began. No time for deep breathing, at 12,000ft there wasn't enough oxygen in the air for that. Whacking the rock with dear might, cursing at this mother F*ing mountain, it had gotten the best of me and drained my soul. Defeated, there was nothing left to do but sit pondering my now broken pole. Anger turned to sadness grasping with my father's trophy of a bent pole that had gotten me nearly 200 miles in. Excuses ran through my head, of Ralph attacking the hungry bears, the pole saving him from being a smoked veil dinner. Then noticing across the rock stood a fat beaverest squirrel bred with a guinea pig looking animal starring at me with curiosity. And in silence I gazed back. Wondering the specie, moments passed, and there was nothing left to do, but get up, and continue up Forester Pass. 

Reaching the top Ralph starred into the distance, mesmerized by sight that lasted to infinity. It was an areal view, the kind that only come in pressures recycled oxygen airplanes. But this view was greeted with the crispest air, warm sun rays, a whispy breeze that whipped through all the passes and valleys, and a silence so quiet I had to wonder if we were in desperate need of a Q tip to clean clogged ears. 

An ending all too bitter and sweet. Dinner was served, and the remaining M&Ms were devoured with the peaks of Mt. Whitney finally in sight.