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.


Monday, August 20, 2012

Day 63. Delirious desert

Miles: 101, 120, 140. (read on)
Weather: 114 degrees, handlebars too hot to touch, skin frying, tires meltinG, heat rashes, and 400 oz of water.
Elevation gain 4000 ft
Miles on dirt like road: 30

You'll have to excuse this post, the desert kind of gets under your skin and sucks the water that connects the neurons out. But it started out with 10 cent bottomless coffee at the Nugget Casino, 6:30am.

The famous national rowing champion Taylor and co leader Morgan were my partners in crime riding buddies, ready to tackle the desert today. You see it was my van day, but completely sober and rested, I opted to ride and give the hurting and dehydrated from the Vegas adventure the privilege of driving buggy.

It kind of spiraled when Taylor, anxious about not being in her boat for 10 weeks needed to go "fast" today. Much faster than neither of us, nor our whole team could pedal. So we set her up for sprints, as long as she was in sight, she sprinted out and back to us as we trudged along. This turned into a fun game for us all, creating training plans and having her execute them to perfection. Morgan and I started to question, how many miles with all these back and forths would she do by the arrival into Baker. We guessed 140, and when Taylor overheard this, it became a goal. Crazy I know, but if anyone was in shape it was her, if anyone knew their limits better it was her, and so she never left our sight for safety reasons obliviously when your biking through the Mojava at an already 101 mile stretch. Loaded with over 200oz of water, candy, GU, bars, we were ready. Her newfound coaching crew wanted to see her reach her new goal she was so stoked about.

We passed into CA at mile 22, with no state sign, nothing to celebrate our feat with except a leaving Nevada billboard. It was pathetic, and i know California i broke, but it is the grand state of almond trees, oranges, movie stars, and hellish deserts. Now, 6 days left and 280 miles, I can already smell the salt air.

How this epic day played out, well, we got to the host, at 115 miles for Taylor, and 102 for me. We had gained a new coach, Coach co leader Collin, who completely thrilled with Taylor's accomplishment, kept me good company as Taylor spirited along ahead. Completely demolishing the gas stations ice and slurpy machine, we headed back up the road we came down, for 12 miles, a 24 mile out and back.

She did it, 140 miles. And myself at 122, I still loved my bike, but was ready to lay down. It was Epic. It wasnt about the 140 miles in extreme temperatures, it was about pushing yourself to mental limits and realizing potentials. Yes, the desert makes you nuts, delirious, exhausted, and invigorated at the same time. We passes through the national mojava preserve all day, cradled between two massive mountains, the land looking like the sea, open roads that cars hadn't touched for years, pavement that has been laid in the 1940s, heat waves that come out of the oven when your roasting potatoes at 500 degrees, and a botanical dreamworld that makes the Lorax trees come to life.