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.


Saturday, August 16, 2014

Day 34. Oregon coast.

Miles: 81
Elevation gain: same old rolling coastal hills. 
Temperature: sunny and 72. 

There we were 7am sitting at the community centers monthly pancake breakfast. Smells of fried bacon filled the warm corners of the 19th century school house building. Locals of the town flocked in from the damp fog with an appetite. Fishermen rose early for homemade biscuits and gravy and a teenage daughter, tall and adorable, delivered blueberry pancakes with pads of golden butter to smiling faces. 

Not a bad start to the last 8 days jogging down the coastline home. As hours rolled by, narcoleptic naps peacefully refreshed tired minds. Sprawled out on a wooden pizza pub bench, we have become invincible to regulations. No one dares say a word to us about improper manners. Beers are drunk outside gas stations on 100 degree days with pure refreshment and naps can be taken anywhere, without question. The contrast of tan lines, muscles defined into strands beneath thin layers of skin, and bodies clothed in spandex let us get away with almost anything. 

Cycle tourist raft through these tiny populated towns that connect the forested cliffs of Oregon. Our people pass with similar decorations, padded butts, Surly bikes, and wet socks strapped to racks. Some travel light, and some seemed loaded with satellite TVs. Wondering what they had that we could possible need, the afternoon was spent pondering this question. And the sole answer was a camp towel. Already Ms. White was loaded with questionable necessities. Long underwear, a warm hat, a book by Italo Calvino with one page read, bandages, gauze, and condoms, plus packaged freeze dried rice and fart beans in case we were stranded far from a dinner re-supply stop. With three days of food, water, and cooking supplies, the left half of Ms. White was only four fiths full. We even had a 1lb handmade mug and a 2lb talking reindeer. Dreaming if all the cycle touring luxuries were at fingertips, I couldn't think of much to stash bags with. Maybe a spare tire, rope to hang food from a bears reach, water sacks, brighter lights, a handmade bowl, and dangly earrings for the one time the need to feel semi human to society presented itself. As we arrived at the biker and hiker campsite, suddenly seeing our pals array of hanging clothes drying in the sun hidden fog, clearly we had less because we lived in two outfits. But the last thing I ever want to smell is a Ms. White filled with more than a days worth of dirty clothes. With that said, Good Night.