“Don’t look back...

Something might be gaining on you.”

Satchel Paige

Yes. We are all growing older.

Except! This past year, I experienced a decade’s worth of aging.

The feeling of maturing came in two phases. The first was watching friends and family go out on injury leave  The majority were cancer related. Most notably were Mike (AKA the best brother in the world) and 40 year buddy Kevin D. Fortunately both seem to have responded well to treatment. 

Then there were a few who didn’t make the cut for the roster of the living. The list included one of my favorite people on the planet. (AKA Joe “Trauma” S.)  That one really hurt and still does. 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2019/06/parting-is-nothing-

The second phase was personal. 

It was just two days after I turned 64, arthritis took up permanent residence  in my left knee. If you thought I walked funny before, you ought to see me hobble now. 

The hits kept on coming. Here’s a few examples:

The semi-automatic “Rat-Tat-Tat” heartbeats that alarm clocks me into full wake up mode. A few thought provoking minutes later, my heart rate resumes its usual 58 beats/minute.

The “almost pass out” head rushes I score while tipping my noggin back to take a sip of water.

The fact that I’m shrinking (I only had 64 inches of height to begin with) but my ears and nose appear to be lengthening. I won’t mention the hairs emanating from them.

My bum makes contact with Mother Earth more often than before. In other words, I fall a lot while hiking. 

The lame injury I sustained from the simple act of flipping a blanket over me. (tweaked back). Better yet. Spraining my wrist while turning a book’s page.  Strenuous stuff.

The numerous episodes of epistaxis without the trauma of being punched in the nose. 

My skin is thinning. A brush up against a twig will cause major hemorrhaging. Lately a hike is not complete without a blood letting

The higher than average times I lose my train of thought while speaking to others.  Occasionally my listeners will tell me, “That’s OK Jeff,  the cars were probably empty any how.” 

So maybe a few of you are thinking. Jeffy! What are you doing about all these Owwies and afflictions? 

My answer? Absolutely nothing. I don’t want to know the “Why?” I chalk it up to attempting to be an endurance athlete with the DNA of a merchant. I wasn’t bred for an active/outdoor life. 

However, I reckon as long as I possess the physical and mental Mojo to lace up my trail runners, slip on a pair of my signature baggy black shorts and get “Out There!” I can’t be too hurt or impaired. 

So that’s what I do. 

Who says ignorance isn’t bliss? 

I’m 65 and I still go over the speed limit occasionally.

Stay in motion. The other option sucks.

Cheers,

Drinking IPAs won’t hurt you either.

Jeff

Just like Bronco Football at...

Mile High only different.

Since I moved to Durango in August 2019, I’ve done my best to dip both feet into the concept of  “Local Community.” 

Surprisingly, I found there’s a BIGLY amount of events occurring in this small town of 19,000 inhabitants. 

In order not to miss a beat, I decided to use a hands on approach to finding out what’s going on. To do this, I’m religious when it comes to reading the Telegraph weekly newspaper, scanning the colorful posters found in brewpubs and grocery stores and checking the”Durango Events” website. With these informative sources I’ll choose one from Column A, two from Column B etc.

I’ll  pass on events that scream out “Jeffy! This is NOT for you! Stay Away!” IE: The Labor Day Weekend Four Corners Motorcycle Rally. (I hid that long weekend.) 

In late August, I noticed a poster announcing the Fort Lewis College Football Schedule. Well, I like watching football. So I went online to get a ticket. Hmm. No online ticket sales. From the website “all tickets are sold at the gate.” I thought, that’s odd..

On game day, I made my way up to the breezy Mesa where Fort Lewis College resides. I looked about for a STADIUM. You know, multi-level stands, banks of flood lights and lots of crowd noise. The usual stuff. Nothing was tackling me. 

I turned right when I spotted a Fort Lewis Police Officer driving his rounds.

“Excuse me! Where’s the football stadium?” 

He gave me a 180 degree wave. 

“It’s over there. If you go past Talon Lane you went too far.”

No wonder I couldn’t find it. The Skyhawk’s playing field sits below a sixteen foot berm. There’s plenty of free parking available in nearby lots. The ticket office consists of a fold-up table under an EZ Up canopy.  The cost of a senior ticket is a paltry $5. There’s no bands or scantily clad cheerleaders. The football players run by a gauntlet of appreciative fans. There’s elk poop on the upside of the grassy berm. The Steamworks Brewery beer garden sits practically in the end zone.

I started to grin and take photos.

Skyhawk Football is emblematic of Durango, CO. It’s approachable. It’s laid back. It’s  uncrowded. It’s small town community fun.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2019/10/i-wasnt-born-in-small-town.html

For the record, the Skyhawks lost yesterday to Colorado State University-Pueblo 21-13. The Local Heroes had more penalties than completed passes. Oh well. Can’t win them all. Which brings up this point. The Skyhawks have won more games this season than that other team in Denver. (Minus the $101 cost of a ticket and the $15-$20 offsite parking fee too.)

I know which team I’d rather see. 

So far, I’ve attended two games. The season finale is on November 16th. I’ll be there. Come join me. I’ll spring for a half time brew.

Who knows? If enough fans attend maybe we can do the Wave?

Go Skyhawks!

Jeff

Last photo: No long lines to use the facilities either.

WARNING! Paria Canyon is not for the...

Rupophobic! 

Yes, if you fear dirt, dust, mud and scrunchy sand getting into any and all orifices, hiking Paria Canyon might not be your cup of silt. If that’s not enough of a shudder, there’s lots of ankle-to-waist deep “too thin to plow, too thick to drink” River wading miles to deal with too.  Oh! Did I mention the shoe-sucking quicksand?

Yes, Paria is both beautiful yet messy. The Paiutes Indians tried to warn us White Folks. They gave the River it’s name. Paria means “muddy water.” Hydrological studies have occasionally found two pounds of silt/mud in a Mason quart jar of so called Paria water. No wonder my trail runner shoes began to weigh as much as Fabiano boots. 

While picking up the backpacking permit in Kanab, the nice BLM folks informed us of a series of flash floods that temporarily changed the Canyon’s conditions. 

“A flash flood caused a rock slide to block a portion of the river. Hikers were practically swimming for a few miles.” She went on to inform us “Another flash flood came through and cleared the rock debris. You won’t have to swim.”

Brad (brother from another Mother) and I had to deal with mud, mud and more mud. Solid footing was a rarity. On one particularly greasy stretch, I wiped out and wallowed in the muck three times. Sure footed Brad only went down once. We were moving at a less than two mile/hour pace. A cold front chased us out of the canyon a day earlier. We covered the 38 miles in three long days. 

In October, 2009, I visited the Canyon with another brother from another Mother. Nelson and I had to deal with another set of obstacles. A flash flood had gouged out three deep pools. There was no getting around them. The pool’s depth was tall.  Nelson and I are short. Neither of us wanted to wade through with our dry clothes on. Our solution was to run them in the raw. I went first. The waterline went up to my chest. The temperature of the pool was hypothermia inducing. It wasn’t a leisurely swim. 

We did three deja vu’s of this scene. After our immersion in the third pool we were shivering. It was time to stay high, dry and walk in the sun. The rest of our hike was pleasantly uneventful except for having to be fished out of a few pockets of quicksand. 

Despite these travails, Nelson and I were both smiling at the end.

Here’s my point: Canyons like people, change. Mother Nature is dynamic and so are we. In a relatively short time I’ve gone from a full-time traveler to a homebody sprawled out on a La-Z Boy recliner with a comforter encapsulated me.

I’m not complaining. 

But here’s what hasn’t changed. The human requirement for wild places. 

When I maneuver out of this cozy chair, I still want the views, the open spaces, the places devoid of people, the dust, sweat and mud that comes with being alive and active Out There. I’m OK with the mess. Apparently I’m not rupophobic.

I’ll leave you with three quotes from the not-so-rich but famous. 

Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.

John Muir

 “Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit, and as vital to our lives as water and good bread. A civilization which destroys what little remains of the wild, the spare, the original, is cutting itself off from its origins and betraying the principle of civilization itself.”

Edward Abbey.

“The idea of wilderness needs no defense, it only needs defenders.”

Edward Abbey.

It’s safe to say, I’m a defender of Wilderness. 

Let’s fight the good fight to protect and preserve wild places.

Jeff