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.


Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Day 16. Zonked in too big of a town.

Miles: 97
Elevation gain: none. Downhill in a horrid funnel of a headwind. 
Temperature: 100 degrees and deathly hot 

The welcome sign to Montana was plastered with a big black bear. A nerve wracking nights sleep was wrestled with nightmares of negotiating our gourmet bagel breakfast with mommy and her cubs. 

It should have been an all down hill day, but these unfortunate daily headwinds have slowed the wheedled boys to a pathetic crawl. The heat sucked motivation from every pore and at mile 85 shelter was found at a gas station stocked full of IPAs, ice water, and AC. We poured into the ice cold store like a dog in a fur coat drenched in the boiling sun all day. 2 hours, 2 beers, and 2 ice creams later we were normal enough to enter the massive town of Missoula, population 60,000. 

Realizing that Montana must be the state where the west supply of oxygen is produced, they could title it tree and Mosquito Capitol. Groceries and beer are ridiculously cheap, and people are friendly but poor. The locals call it big sky for a reason; as though the hemisphere was on stilts. Vastly encased in the soft green porcupine mountains, horses line front yards as an average house pet. 

The one downfall of bike touring is rolling into cities without a solid plan is an overwhelming nightmare. On the skirts of town a narrow path lead down to the Mosquito infested river and after failing at our first try to find a trail into the national forest, this might have been the gold mine to a nights sleep. Old tattered blue tarps and filthy blankets lay under a dirty clearing along the stagnant river water. Garbage littered the dense growth, ripped magazine pages and empty beer cans. Unaware that Missoula was at one time the second largest meth town in the America, little did we know where the trail led. Walking into the home of the towns runaways, they had that look of oblivion, lost in an unhealthy drug binge, torn clothes, and wreckless. They lived without love in angery states and we left. Home was found at an overflowing KOA campsite at the opposite edge of town as dusk fell. Packed in like sardines, NO VACANCY was all they said to Ralph. A pair of hitch hiking college kids took us in to share a plot of grass on their overpriced grassy lot. 99 cent cans of corn and peas were snacked on and asleep next to the company of 80 campervans and tents, we were ready to leave the city before we had even seen it. 

There a certain mindset that comes with treks like this. At the end of exhaustion, no matter how hard the day, there is a fleeting moment that makes it all worth it. The mind shuts off, and silence is seen in the most beautiful places in America. It isn't something that can be found or experienced in a car, for us at least. It is gifted earned. Humanity wouldn't display its greatness, showers could never feel like Christmas, and warm coffee with real milk and sugar wouldn't make or break a day. You don't need a lot to experience the pleasure of life; somewhere I'm wondering if too many Americans have missed that. 




Field notes: 93N after Sula for 10ish miles there is no shoulder and it's tight and windy, but after that the shoulder is so large it makes up for the last. After Hamilton there is a bike path all the way to 6 miles outside of Missoula.