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.


Thursday, May 29, 2014

Day 2. Bryce Bryce Bryce.


Miles: 53 
Altitude:8851ft
Hours pedaling: 4 hours 29 minutes 
Elevation gain: couple hundred feet
High:76
Low:40 

Bike touring: to sum up yesterday, and all the reason hearts lie is painstaking miles of awe inspiring scenery, we are the famous kids of whatever road we are on. Tenacity sparks conversations in any outgoing stranger. Meeting our Utahan mother, who fed us Ice by the bottles at a gas station in Zion, she told us stories of her 7 kids and hugged us upon departure with the warmest wishes. Questions come in bounties: are you married, because we should be aware that god is watching, who's the teady bear, they quickly stood corrected, reindeer, his name is Ralph, and no we don't carry a gun. 

And then we hit this magical land of Bryce, an Underwater Red Sea. The grandpas of the rocks, forms that breathe energy from the depths. A village of cathedrals, sunset painted in stone, history of the planet written expressively in gains of canyon walls, as though a 3D imagine Incapslate mezmorized eyes. It is as if silence echoes here from all dimensions. Calmness awaits as eyes try to grasp an expansiveness not known to any city dwellers. 

It wasn't a day of making a destination. Instead we wandered like children with an unbound curiosity. Leisurely stopping at all vistas and view points, we climbed rocks to reach the sky, chatted up tourists pondering our habitatal roots, and lost track of time, of days, synced to the sun, deviod of anything beyond a scenic view, food, and sensations of the weather. With so much time and open space, the mind is free to wander, to the most creative depths of humanity and live without a worry in the world. 

Even with our stroll around the park, we somehow managed to find another massive climb, that drained legs of any reserves. At the top, the view was a magical fairy tale book, colors that make one squint. The drastic change in landscape comes in horiztional crisp lines, a mind boggling wonder of the earth. Reaching 8851ft we weren't quite sure if the altitude or lack of sugar caused cravings of any type of beer. Id take whatever this Mormon state would offer me, 3%, booze free beer, or just a refreshing sparkling lemonade. Any cold refreshing carb loaded drink would wipe away burning legs. A joy about bike touring is the combinations of foods that taste like a meal at the French Laundry. O'reilly shared our condiment feast of peanut butter, jelly, cheese, honey, and jerkey with Ralph, who hungry from cheering us up big grades, needed a reward. Drenching bagels in honey from a plastic bear container, a conscious state returned, and suddenly staring that golden viscous filled bear in the eyes, he became a very good friend, and he earned the name Henry. 

Home tonight was off another dirt road in the Nixon nation Forrest, surrounded by no one except friendly trees. There is something about pulling up to a stranger on a 75lb bike, tent atop a rack, asking where we can camp. Knowing we aren't here to cause trouble, or more so too tired, every stranger gives us golden directions to their secret local spot. 

We have an official plan, 2 beers and salty fries drowning in ketchup and mustard later, push the milage tomorrow, to spend another leisurely day wandering this thing they famously call Capitol Reef.