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.


Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Day 49. Howdy hoedown

Miles: 85
Weather: all I was told was how miserably death defying unpleasantly hot the desert would be, and here we are, having suffered 114 degree, thunderstorms, hail lightening, and it's a perfect cloudy day of 81 degrees.
Elevation max: 8100ft
Elevation gain: 5000 ft of climbing

Back to technology, the desert does that with it stretches of pure solitude of cacti and brush for beyond miles of clear nothingness. It was the test Verizon VS AT&T. Neither won.

Destination Pie Town. And as much as I want to tell you about the national forest we passed through with purple mountains of jagged edges or the nearly 20 flats we suffered as a team, I have much much more terrific news. Pie Town speaks its name. Population 45. Just imagine a huge commune with a hostel on it, and that's where we were. Welcome to the toaster house, where the gate is literally draped in dead toasters, it's hippy land here, rainbow flowing dresses, Kombucha, cashew dressing, I think everyone here is high, and eating pies. We were told, bring the fruit, we'll bake the pie. And that was it, 15 pies, nutella banana, peach apple, strawberry rhubarb, pumpkin, the list goes on; Pie for breakfast pie for dinner by moley, it was epically delicious.

But onto more important topics, it was officially prom tonight, a day in the making for weeks and sure enough, the community center on Toaster commune was willing to host our extravagant howdy hoedown. We allowed one night of booze, with permission of our pie maker with orders to stock up in the town prior. Tell 33 twenty year olds to "stock up" and you have enough tequila rum, beer and bubbles to drink the town under. And then it started. Cowboys and Indians, 1980 pop stars, we had the ladies of old money, and the gangsters even a Bruce Springsteen.

After scrounging thrift stores for weeks we had quite the attire to make one think the cowboys had made friends with the natives of this land and the 1980s coincided with the 1960s. Live music by Holland himself, we drank and sang till the sky became magical.

So there I was, we all were, laughing our belts off down only 1 shot of tequila, 1 glass of champagne, 84 miles and 8100 ft elevation. That will end prom at an early 11pm, just in time for the towns people to lay down their guitars and head home sweet home with smiles. A nightly break beneath the starry sky in cowboy boots and full prom attire, flat on the dirt road, in complete aww of the universe we lay before Toaster house called us to bed. The stars actually twinkle here. This is one of thoes places you want to return to, with a good book, some hiking boots, a pie hunger craving to start friendly, and chatty conversations with the locals.