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, July 24, 2014

Day 11. Funny Face Day

Miles: 39
Temperature: 82 degrees F

Deep in sleep, a tired body slumped in a boroque castle amidst a stinking onion field. Beyond a gator filled moat lay a dream world where butlers were making green eggs and ham and baking bagel shaped bran muffins. And just as quickly as saliva glands came to life, the alarm clock sounded and the park sprinklers aimed directly into our tent with the precision of a sniper rifle. The nightly turbalance continued into dawn, were we discovered O'Reilly was being stocked by staples that steal precious air. But loaded with enough rubber tubes to match Ralph in size, no amount of staples would win this warfare. Just as oil runs like blood pulsing through cars, tubes fuel a forward two wheeled motion, like cells absorb the banana's nutrients to pedal onward. 

Cities fashion a certain type of culture, unseen in the outskirts of America. Sitting for hours in small town Cafés peering over paper coffee cups, over caffeinated, a true side of our weird breed is exposed. We get to know a side of town that's friendly, isolated, naive and happy with big screen tvs, barefoot summers, and idle conversations. 

Our condiment supply has grown to a diverse array of daily necessities. French's yellow paint colored mustard, stoneground Dijon, chocolate malty vitamin packed ovaltine, the magical world of sriracha, and of course Henry's viscous golden syrup. We could turn any bland British meal into the French delicacy of foie gras. 

It was a day of city exploration. With Iowan farmland in my bloodline, the monotonous cornfields annoyingly itched with repetition. We rode by a farmhouse, seemingly flooded in a photosynthesized sea of green that was creeping quietly and constantly toward the sky. And then plumiting by Walmarts who's gluttony consumed city blocks. And 4 wheeled tornadoes made of twisted steel tormented us just for fun. Home was a hostel where we bargained for camping and were then bestowed another bed by a generous stranger. 




Field Notes: 20 east to 95s (95 has a shoulder large enough to haul an oversize truck hauling a house. Old Hwy 30 to Cleveland Blvd (84 business loop) good shoulder busy roads. Ustick Rd all the way into Boise - not many cars, flat and straight. Great beautiful Hostel in Nampa.