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, August 1, 2012

Day 44. And then there were 3 states left

Miles: 60
Weather: very bearable, 99 degrees.

Awake, rested, the Garmatz's family home complete with 3 face licking pudgy dogs was more than any of us could have asked for. Awake at 6am, we pulled up to the church like the days of elementary school. There we were, all arriving at 6:30am from different homes ready to meet as friends and have a grand play date all morning. The longest we all had ever been separated since arrival in Maine, a whopping 9 hours, and boy did we have a world to share. Some milked cows at their home stays, others ate homemade cake, and a lucky two told stories of heavenly feet massages. We were all treated to the locals flare in some way, and whatever it was, we all loved this little welcoming town of Friona.

Mr. Garmatz was an employee of the livestock feed supply, and oh how I wanted to pick his brain. This topic of discussion is one that I love to partake in, and here I was in the home of the people on the other side of the fence. Afraid I'd offend such generous people, I never asked my list of questions still rolling through my mind.

Cargill is the largest feed lot in the USA, and if you wonder where your meat comes from, it's most likely here, in the panhandle of Texas, with 95,000 cows, unless you shop at Whole Foods that is. Sadly the livestock trucks going west were all empty, and the ones going east full of mooing noises and shrikes.

Traveling through this haze of methane gas and poo stench for 60 miles, I should clarify during my blog rant that I am by no means against those who indulge in flesh eating activities as much as it may seem. A personal choice and I give it to the Texans who watch this sad state of American consumerism and animal cruelty and can still order their steaks rare without flinching. There is just only so much to think about when all there is to look at is like counting shrubbery bush after bush.

You see, now that we have hit New Mexico, I can no longer ramble about the scenic glory, or grand adventures. Our path is straight, hwy 60 for days, there isn't a town in sight, or a tree, or a hill, so that leaves lots of political nonsense to think about on the open road for hours on end. And then laugh hysterically at the Jesus billboards as they are the only sign of life for miles at a time.