I stand humbled...

by the Alps. 

My hiking buddies who really know me never ask, "Jeff! Let's do this hike. It'll be challenging!" They know what my answer will be. "Hell! No!" 

I'm at the stage of my life where the biggest daily challenge I want to face is finding the "ON" switch for my coffee pot. I don't seek challenges. I'm a closet wimp. I want to breeze up passes because I trained for them. I like easy. 

That being all said, I'm physically suffering from the onslaught of the Alps. In my four days of hiking here, I've accumulated 17,191" (5240 meters) of uphill. That's 3.25 miles of ascent. OY!

No wonder I'm  fatigued and cringe at the thought of a no-elevator third floor hotel room. 

All the tromping I did in Colorado's High Country couldn't prepare me for the sheer steepness of the Alps. I might as well have sat in an Iowan cornfield reading Harlequin Romance novels, munching on Bonbons, all washed down with gooey chocolate milk. I thought I came prepared!

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.ch/2017/08/my-final-resting-place.html

I discovered on these four days of hiking, the four stages i experience from all this strenuous activity. In fifteen minutes, my cotton t-shirt is just got out of the washing machine wet. In thirty minutes I'm exuding an "Eau de Sambur" scent. It's definitely not an expensive cologne. In an hour, I'm taking intermittent breaks to scrape the grit and grime off my tongue. Between the steep terrain and the exertions, I'm dragging that particular body part in the dirt. As the Aussies say, "this is hard Yakka!" 

Now a word about the trail conditions: In my past, I've heard "alternative facts" about the condition of the Alps paths. From what I was told, I envisioned groomed and manicured tracks. I fantasized about seeing scantily clad French maids vigorously sweeping the trails with old fashioned corn brooms. Sigh! That's not the case. The trails are every bit as rocky, rutted and rough as the ones in America's wild places. (Maybe worse). There's no daydreaming on these hikes. You really must watch your step. 

A few days ago, I sat outside a cafe at the Col de Balme. This mountain pass serves as a border between France and Switzerland. From a proprietress as ancient as the Alps, I purchased an overpriced cheese sandwich (minus the cheese) and half liter of water. I took my humble bread and water meal outside and looked into Switzerland for the first time in my life. I got giddy and started to laugh out loud. This is so nuts! 

Then I realized if Hannibal (the Carthaginian General) was able to get elephants over these passes, I should be able to get my ass over them as well. 

It's all good.

Keep looking in, the Alps are amazing...

Cheers!

Jeff

The People Talk...

funny here and other first impressions.

I'm now in Chamonix, France where English is a second language. That's OK.  I'm so deaf  even if the locals were speaking my only tongue, I wouldn't hear them anyway. So I smile like an old docile clown and shake my head yes or no to make my point. If that doesn't work, I just smile until they feel sorry for me and figure out what I want. Most of the time, I'm successful. 

Today, I woke still groggy from a Jet-lag hangover. For me, the feeling manifests itself as having an out-of-body experience. For instance : This morning I cracked open a raw egg at the breakfast buffet. Silly me, it was a do it yourself hard boiled egg station. There was a vat of boiling water next to the tray of eggs. Somehow, I left out an important step in food preparation. 

After eating, I decided to see if I could decipher the  hiking directions sent by Alpine Exploratory Guide Services. They are written in the British English language which is more than a continent away from the American English language. On today's amble I figured out  I just need to follow the signs. That's my kind of hiking. Cut to the chase. Who has time to read when they are hiking! We're BUSY! 

Now I'm optimistic I won't make the Le Monde's front page news for getting farblondzhet (Yiddish for lost) in the Alps. Thank you Alpine Exploratory. 

The Alps are steep. It was a 4,400 foot climb to Lac Blanc in a scant 5.5 miles. 

Humidity lurks in the Alps too. In Colorado's dry high-desert climate, people don't age, they desiccate. Here there's plenty of nature's moisturizers. Sweat! No wonder, the only wrinkles I noticed were mine. 

Ahh, but the mountains themselves are cut-your-finger jagged. Islands of rock poker through the thick glaciers. Yet, people and ski gondolas climb up them. Simply amazing. 

My first impressions? So far, so good. Although I might have caught a bug in transit. OY! 

à votre santé! 

Jeff

My Final Resting Place...

will be on Mount Sneffels. (14,150') in Southwest Colorado.

My brother Mike owns a hand written set of directions on what's to become of my estate, and my ashes. The instructions are specific on where to place my four-six pounds of gray powder. (Mostly granulated bone).  One third of me will be spread facing east toward the rising sun. (I'm a morning person) The rest will be scattered toward the San Juan Mountains. I want a wind blown perspective of all those luscious acres of Federally-protected Wilderness Areas. It's all about the big views. 

The San Juan's are the most dramatic, steep, rugged and wicked-wild mountain range in Colorado. The Sangre de Cristo's mountains are close, but lack the depth and breadth of the San Juan's. The San Juan's possess more real estate to get lost in. I've been exploring the area for about 40 years, but barely broke the surface. 

My summer game plan was to hike heaps of Colorado. On a daily basis, I pushed this senior citizen body into dependable shape for my upcoming Alps journey. There, I'll be ambling the Haute Route from Chamonix to Zermatt.  I'll be ascending 5,000'/day on many of the stages. That's the equivalent of walking out of the Grand Canyon a few times a week. I'm pleased to say, mission accomplished. I'm feeling healthy and fit. I'm lean but not mean. I'm ready.

It's been a soggy summer in Colorado, more reminiscent of a typical Seattle winter. It's green, flowery and buggy. There was a stretch where I thought mud and mold would digest Barley the Van. Yet, I felt happy to be in the State which adopted me in 1978. 

During this sojourn, I thought a lot about things. There will come a time when life in Barley the Van won't be possible. I'll have to settle down. I think my next to last resting place will be in Southwest Colorado. By that time, I'll be looking up at the views instead of gazing down from the peaks, passes and basins. As for now, I'm not ready yet. There's that one-way ticket I have to Europe. 

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Who knows what my future or the World's will be? 

Which brings us back to the start of this post. Who will deposit what's physically left of me on Sneffels? 

I'm hoping Keith and Justin Sambur (my nephews) and maybe a few others who liked me will deposit my remains. (You guys better stay in shape to haul me up there!)  It'll be OK for them to anoint me with a Double IPA. I won't need to stay sober for the scree-lined descent. I'll be staying up there. 

All these photos were shot in the Centennial State. Thank You! Colorado for giving me sanctuary here. 

The last photo is me on incredible Mount Sneffels. Note the measuring cup in my hand. I want my nephews to get the portions right. 

Next stop...

The Alps.

Follow along, this could get interesting.

Cheers,

Jeff