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.


Monday, August 18, 2014

Day 36. Big Trees.

Miles: 66
Elevation gain: 4,000ft
Temperature: Cold, foggy, freezing cold. 

Our French Canadian friend is quite the entertainer. His serious concern about the "big climb" were snickerly hilarious. This kid has spent the past two and a half months on the road, cycling solo from Montrel to San Francisco. But his red Surly bike was equipped with about anything one could need for a day trip into the corporate world. At 9am our technologically advanced friend had all the statistics for the day. Three major climbs totaling 4,000ft with a north by northwest tailwind. As long as we weren't hitting the Sierras or the Rockies, hills no longer matter and anything without dehydrating 100 degree day was doable. But we got a good kick with Vincent and we gave him serious props for towing his entire life around. 

We hit the skyrocketing redwood forest. Ralph's mouth hung open in awe with a drool puddle pooling for hours. He got lots of waves from backseat kids faces smashed to windows. Trees jetted from a rich soil where they embaced their geographic cordinates for hundreds of generations. They were old, full of stories, and had bark tattered by foggy nights. An interlocking network of roots clenched deep into the center of the earth. Conks revealed tales of hard winters and disease like a deep wound that scares for decades. Their massiveness zapped any ego at an immediate glance, and that magic children feel seeing Santa for the first time at the mall seeped into adulthood. The road weaved through canyons of trees like turning pages in a fairy tale book. Trees too giant to be real, too old to Fathum. You know, kind of like a 19 year old talking stuffed reindeer paired with a 29 year old human girl friend. 

Beach camp was full of Hippies pulling up in burdendy ford explorers headed to Burning Man. Wearing Hammer pants and tie died shirts it was like straight out of a movie. Their Labrador sits and stars at the picnic table laidened with food, they forage the beach for campfire driftwood, and their two year old puts sand in every craney of her ear and nose and drinks from the doggy water bowl. Gosh it's fun to laugh. And I'm sure others say the same about us. Falling asleep cozy and mummified in duck feathers, our neighbors to the left play handwritten music while tripping on acid by the campfire. California sure is weird, but it's home. 

Sunrise in the Rewoods:

Monster Slime trees: