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.


Sunday, July 1, 2012

Day 13. Hike and Build

Miles 77
Weather: 96 hot humid basically miserable
Feet climbed: 5800

Cranky riders this morning. There is a key component to this we are missing, it's called sleep.

If anyone ever tells you Pennsylvania is flat, I will need to have a word with them.

The hills were killing us all. 14% grade 7 miles up hill at mile 50 in our ride. They said today would be bad, the alumni said this was there hardest day of the whole summer, and our host warned us of the 17 mile climb, the highest ridge east of the Mississippi. Mentally exhausted and physically at my breaking point all one can do is pedal onwards and never give up. I worried of the heat beaten riders at the bottom of the daunting hill but had no juice to ride back down and check on them. They would make it, or beige buggy would have to come to the rescue. (they made it after calling our team today Hike & Build). Each pedal stroke further my mind was filled with: this scenery is so spectacular I want to pockets it, then the thought fluttered from my mind and was replaced with the biting desire for a bread smothered with chunky peanut butter and all the high fructose corn syrup jelly that would fit. Ahead a quarter mile from the top, buggy and trailer came to the rescue. I inhaled my bread soaked honey nut snack before I could get the two pieces of bread together. Ok hill, bring it on.

Nick and I killed it up to the top. Nick Wimer is a fun rider, the daddy of the group he worries for everyones safety all the time. Also a bicycle racer with massive thighs and pretty calves, he is 22 and a senior on the road to a career coning all the guys into shaving their legs. Stupid hill; at the top I felt the honey run through my veins like a feeling of black coffee in the morning hitting the tongue. I took off down the backside of the mountain, the sound of the gears gasping for air. Nick followed hot on my tail. Careening down that mountain, passing though the forest at 41mph for miles and miles pedaling my heart, soul, and legs out. This mountain will not win us over. And i tasted victory with a salty lick of the lips so drenched in salt and sweat you'd think we just drank margaritas. For every reason I ride a bike, this hill down had affirmed it all.

An ancient beautiful oak and brick building, 4 stories high hosts us tonight and I think we ate all more in weight of pasta than we would be combined. I don't really know what will happen tomorrow, another 88 hilly day ahead. I can only think now of my lovely thermarest calling my name.