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.


Saturday, August 9, 2014

Day 26. Quincy Washington

Miles: 68
Elevation: flattish
Temperature: 95ish 

Some days are just hard. They push edges and test the brink of human limits. 2000 miles in every pore is sucked bone dry, mentally stretched and physically empty. There isn't much left to think or say, just tears of tiredness that cling to cheeks. Sick of cars, burnt from the impulsive sun, missing dear friends, stuck in thought, dehydrated, probably hungry if only I could tell, and crashing from caffeine and sugar overload. Some days are just hard, but the wear and tear of near defeat passes with a simple good nights sleep. 

A solid nights worth of dreams was just a short ride and mattress away. But then the day unfolded to a headache. Arising to a blissful morning of silence, the sunrise soothed us in and out of waking sleep. Camp tea and coffee made a leisurely morning, and the coolness of the night still blanketed the land. But it was a desolate and thirsty thirty miles to the first water stop. Ice cold hydration was finally served in an all-American, anywhere crack town. But the coolness set by clouds had cleared and the heat of the day drenched the earth. Bolts lossened and flew of racks but duck tape was handy. O'Reilly's legs just wouldnt work, but fried chicken loosened legs of stone. We pulled that wild card from our load. Like the one in UNO. Splurge was the word and we needed those moments of personal clean running water, ice and electricity to regroup. To reorganize life. Long sprawling days left panniers rummaged. And a scattered life out of two bags produces a scattered brain. Lacking focus and motivation, laziness and defeat try to claw their way through.

But the plan was ruined by Arcade Fire, an overplayed radio band. They were performing at one of the most reputable outdoor venues 20,000 people could flock to. But it was in middle of a desolate sprawling desert. The town, habitated by a mere 3,000, we were the only white people in town. It had a sole McDonalds riddled with hidden gangs and all 80 mattresses in town were booked. The day seemed endless. Action Boy rebelled, deflating outside the air conditioned red and yellow French fry factory.  Good news: locals gave us prestine directions to a burried campsite ten miles out of town at a lake full of wild herons. A stray huskey barks and runs in fear as we search for sleep in his home. Withered, dirty, frail, thin, and scared he needs a friendly hug, but not even my trail of the heartiest 24 grain bread could lure him in. Slice by slice they were stacked like fallen dominos. If he could just let us love him, we would keep him warm and feed him all our goodies. Bad news: we have no daily photos. But I'm sure you will all be excited to hear Ralph is deep in thought today preparing his words of gritty detail. I'm taking the day from this story and will be sitting in a hot shower then lying in an AC room. Probably the best thing since Sirarcha was invented. 

Field notes: hwy 28 to soap lake. Lovely!!! A Must! After that it is just unpleasant to Quincy. Good shoulder though. Same for the hwy from quincy to George.