If only I had known that the thought of blue skies and sniffing dusty red dirt air could cure all woes. As though my soul had been rejouvanized, pumped full of enough honey to power a mindset of complete glee. My consciousness is absorbed with Utah. You see, the past months, nearly year, has been ridden with heartbreaks, shattered to pieces by loved ones and left to stand face to face with a rawness, reexamine the pieces that make up wholeness, and staring in a mirror at a person who did not want to accept the flaws beneath skin and bones. It wasn't pretty, and Ralph can vouch as he nearly drowned in numerous puddles of tears. But wounds heal with time and the thought of spending day and night under the sun pulled the corners of my mouth high to the sky, wiped a smile across my face so big it could wash any desolations of life to the bottom of the sea.
All is packed, set and ready to go with 3 days left. With only the necessities, I questioned ditching the tent for lighter panniers and more starry nights. Without lipgloss eating black bears of the California Sierras, or bagel munching horned wild bores of the Oregon coast, our biggest disaster could only be a torrential downpour. But thank goodness for my intelligent company who reminded me of unfamiliar dinosauric scorpians and hairy poisonous spiders. So instead of leaving behind our zipper tight polyester home, we traded clean socks for a few ounces of space.
We filled the newly free empty crevasses with a supply of 200 ounces of water, a handful of Advil, and a small stash of enough mind altering substances to tranquilize a small guinea pig. And as long as there are no cliffs in sight, and we know the inability for humans to fly, the desert is the perfect place to test the limits of the mind. And you thought you were reading about a bicycle trip. You are, just with some distractions. In a total loss of connection to external reality and an experience of encountering indescribable spiritual beings and realms, indigenous Amazonian Amerindian cultures consume certain hallucinogenics for divinatory and healing purposes. The exact ones we plan to bring. It is short lived and just enough for a sunset transcendence into magical lands of enchanted vastness, where thoughts can drift to infinitely, and the stars open pages to maps of the best connect the dots puzzle ever imaginable. Maybe we only need too many miles and not enough water to truly bring Ralph to real talking and walking state, you never know.
We were golden; too old to be stupid, young enough to be fearless, and in the grandest company of a trustworthy reindeer. No donut eating, ticket writing, blue uniformed civilians driving any zebra printed car, upholding laws set by a democracy of Mormons would find our magical treasure stuff within steel tubing of our great machines or interfere with a complacent stuffed reindeer encouraging us to keep pedaling. And in exchange for being hauled over desert mountains, Ralph has bravely promised to fend off any creature of the night smaller in size than his body of poof.
But lastly, and more importantly we only live one short life. And yes, I want to be that old lady with enough wrinkles to tell a speechless story. A friendly face in a small town with long grey hair and turquoise earrings, having built enough character through a life of treacherous adventures and upheavals to chat up an evening with strangers. To be that elderly lady who can pull a pocket book of never ending unimaginable stories that keep the youngest eyes captured and ears tuned. Old and withered, when bodies no longer can physically take us to the grandest of places on the grandest of adventures, tired and worn from life's cumbersome truths, we can only hope to have lived the life once dreamed in youth. About to be standing on Utah soil, excitement runs through veins like horse in the wild west movies and we grab summer by its rays and ride.
This is a compilation of stories, days upon days of meeting strangers in the oddest of places, making friends with trees, barren roads, desert heat, and stuffed reindeer. About seeing the continent via a bicycle. And about falling in love, testing human limits, and restoring a faith in humanity.
Pages
- UTAH - Tent, Reindeer, Bicycle 2014
- Heading to Alaska on a Bicycle
- THE JOHN MUIR TRAIL: A Tale of a Reindeer and German Lover 2013
- JMT South to North: SOLO in the SIERRAS 2015
- Oregon: Willamette National Forest, Boy, and Mount...
- ONE COUNTRY VIA A BICYCLE 2012
- MAINE: Cycle Touring the Northern State of Blueberries 2015
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.