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.


Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Day 8. The summit to Arizona

Miles: 101
Elevation loss: 7000ft
Elevation gain: maybe 2500ft
High: 106
Low: 68

Awaken to an offer of hot coffee and cinnamon toast by our new Texan family, we humbly accepted in the warmth of their Winnebago. Coasting down the summit, roads hugged hillsides and coddled meadows. Passing cottage homes tucked deep within woods, the English language runs like dictionary pages through my helmeted head, searching for perfect familar words to pull from context, painting a visual story for the minds of any reader. 

It is when left out on a long road for hours traversed in a solitude of thought, that in the distance the beauty of a town appears, and there is a small thrill of returning to society, laugh with strangers, and glimpse at one's world for just a short instance. Socially refreshed, then the joy of riding off into nowhere tugs at feet, and off we go. 

Not quite ready for the thought of returning to old green Honda who hopefully still awaited us in Zion, action boy and bianchi detoured to Arizona. The desert I thought Utah  beheld, we found in the neighboring state. Flat sprawling highway, the 105 degree heat prepared the pavement to fry an egg. Sweat evaporated from pores before it was ever produced a drop of liquid and salt flaked from skin like sugar morsals on the famous cereal cinnamon toast crunch. We didn't mean to ride so far, but the lack of trees or shade greater than an inch was far from sight. Not wanting to bake like brunt crostini, the only option was to push on. 

Camp was found off a red dirt road on a beach like brick colored sand under a solemn juniper tree. Sensation overload came in the form of watery cucumbers, a $10 loaf of fresh German olive bread, and everything sprinkled in salt, honey and cheese. 

This is the last night to dream of riding miles into a latitude of  geometric landscapes. Not quite adventure junkies, but sometimes stepping out of the stagnant path we forsee our futures, we remove unreasonable ties to things and become connected to life itself.