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 8, 2012

Day 50. Rocky Mountains Extend Westward

Miles: 74
Weather: 80 degrees, with a light and musical storm in the distance.
Elevation height: 7000

The desert is not flat; the Rocky Mountains well, we're in them and they extend all the way into Arizona. Guess I should have paid better attention in 7th grade geography. I am still looking for the Barron lands of cacti and 120 degrees, but now in Arizona we have hit the forest. California, I love you dearly, but these states have topped the charts. They are unexplainable in beauty and we don't want to leave. The altitude has hit us hard, us east and westerns, some never standing much above the sea. Buggy took care of party of sick bicyclists unable to eat and pedal further up the mountain.

Winding through the hills, canyons, and plateaus, we ran into fellow riders headed east with a story. A story, that one would find in a tale of fiction. Touring all over this world, this 88 year old man was smoking a cigarette next to his "wife" and fully loaded panniers and bicycle trailers wearing cargo shorts and s pair on brand new shinning white sneakers. Headed to Houston to "see a doctor" and "make a quick $5000", we all still question what was really in the trailers, he grew up in the circus, attended Duke, has 13 children, is a widow of 2 wives, has ridden from Alaska to Argentina, married his new wife, who was his student, was a professor of some subject none of us had heard of, and was nomadic; just him his bike and wife. I wouldn't have continued to listen in aww if the facts he pulled from his hat weren't true, but he could tell us anything about a bicycle and gear, and about any side road traveled from here to California and into the tip of Florida. And so, another character of complete oddity to add to the list.

Before traveling this adventure, I had come from a fairly educated background, with many preconceived judgements about my own country, its people and its landscapes. Now 3,000 miles in, thousands of people later, and mountains I never even know existed, this country is a little more generous, extremely curious, a lot more religious, a bit ridiculous, a lot poorer, and 100 times more beautiful than anything I was told or taught or read.

And so tonight we slept in Springerville Arizona on a grass turf football field in the only high school dome in the world.