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.


Friday, May 16, 2014

With Company...and then there were five.

Sometimes things don't go as planned, and sometimes the way we imagine a journey is the necessity spark to get to a place in time we never could quite idealize. Our grand adventure has been joined by some familiar friends of three. And as much as I would love to say, the journey through the desert with only my Celeste steel two-wheeled friend would be a mental and physical challenge of epicness drifting within deep thought and sharing lots of conversations with strangers, I am happy to welcome the company of pals to this adventure. Let me introduce Mr. O'reilly, born and raised in New Hampshire, at age 29, his blood is thick enough to withstand the coldest of desert nights. A good friend, he spent many long hours in kitchens across the USA, with superior taste buds and training he has culinary talent and impeccable knife skills, dicing an eye watering onion into precise geometric shreds without a tear in sight. He now resides as a bartender, at an upscale friendly restaurant, stocked with the ritziest of small batched and hand crafted liquors at his fingertips. He is famous for making the finest concoctions, potions, and elixirs and when not delicately measuring out spoonfuls of sugar, spices, or mind altering liquors, he is content with a book, a drum set, or a long bicycle ride. His dear friend, Action Boy, is joining us, and I am happy to welcome both of these guys to our posse. Just under a year old, Action is as crisp as silver coin, glimmering in the light, and although Bianchi has nearly 20 years of age over him, they compliment each other with their strengths and weaknesses. O'reilly's dear friend is a true youngster of a touring bike, able to hold the finest equipment needed for the long haul and will be unscaled by mountainous climbs. And Bianchi, has seen it all....almost.

 And so as the days dwindle till departure, among the light coral colored carpet of my apartment lay the necessities of life:
tent
sleeping bag + pad
cookware
sunscreen
apricot Clif bars
... and bike shorts

 Suddenly, Ralph appeared peering over the side of the bed. Knowing those items all too well, excitement sparked him to his feet. For those of you new to the story, Ralph is a 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 18 years ago, we instantly became cuddle buddies upon that morning's sunrise. He has seen a lot in his years, including the John Muir Trail and lots of airports, and tags along on most adventures as my hearty pillow. But little did Ralph know that O'reilly may not have an imagination to bring him to life and unlike his friend of German descent, who fed him carrot cake clif bars, kept him dry from the rain, and carried him to the highest peaks in the contiguous USA. O'reilly was not accustomed to such a vivid and childish creation of the mind. And myself, having spent 28 years growing up to uphold the responsibilities that comes with managing a wine bar full of hip youngsters and beloved customers, it was going to come as quite a shock that I may be lugging around a 4lb reindeer to help tell this story. I explained to Ralph that room was tight, and Bianchi, being a racing bike from the early 1990's, could only hold a minimal amount of weight unlike Action Boy. That her gears were not meant for 14% grades with 40 extra lbs of weight and as much as I loved his company, he did not know how to change a flat, a broken spoke, or pitch a tent. I reminded him he was from the freezing north, and we were headed to the hottest place in the USA. But I stood corrected, the hottest place on earth, was apparently, the dryer after his bath and he had seen it all. We argued like brother and sister as he insisted that he needed to come; there was no negotiating. So that's how we became a posse of five.

 The route has officially been set. Zion to Bryce, up over Mt. Lion to Capitol Reef to Fish Lake and Otter Creek, then onto Cedar Breaks National Monument and back to Zion. 493 miles, nearly 40,000 ft of climbing, and 10 days on sore butts. If we managed 50 miles a day, we would be golden, returned home just in time for society to take grip on us again. I imagined Utah as a flat valley of heat where we could push 90 miles days and bake in the 100 degree oven. Very Very wrong, as this is what happens when one imagines and idealizes a place they have never been to. Bryce peaks at almost 11,000 ft, and last I checked upon sunrise it was 17 degrees F at Mt. Lion. Good news is Capitol Reef will dethaw our frostbitten toes and fingers as the heat of the desert I thought existed conjures in this reef below. Awaiting for us in this town's solemn post office, our 1/2 point, will be a package we hand crafted to ourselves, filled with the finest of whiskey and delicacies of non-melted chocolate espresso beans, really only the simplistic necessities that makes one happy in stories like these in a state opposed to alcohol and a desert so hot that it does not let chocolate exist in a solid form. It is no longer about how far we can go or making it from point A to B and instead of writing about the million of miles that would have been covered, this story and sweat may ultimately tie friends together through inspiration of vastness and the fearlessness of discovering the unknown.

 Departure Date: May 27, 2014