This wasn’t my first wrestling match...

vs. the Grim Reaper.

Nine years ago, I was slammed by a sedan while riding my bicycle. Three Docs gently told me, I should have been killed.I continued to be alive and got my active life back. 

I showed them! 

Now I think back upon all the other previous times, I’ve come close to entering Death’s Door.

Here’s a few graphic examples: 

Around 1976, I was working my first Forest Fire. At sunset a crew of Smokejumpers dropped in on us. At 0-dark thirty I was digging line next to an expert firefighter. A silently burning snag timbered between the two of us. Maybe three feet away.  In a moment another Smokejumper ran over to check on his compadre. After ascertaining he was OK. My neighbor Smokejumper said, “That’s the way, Murphy bought it a few years ago!” Holy Shit! I didn’t know people could die digging fire line! Who knew?

In the 80’s, I scored a career on the Fort Collins fire department. A two story house was in flames. The seat of the fire was on the first floor. My crew was assigned to drag a third hose line to the second floor and check for extension. There was zilch visibility due to the smoke. We moved by feel. The firefighter behind me roughly tapped me on the shoulder. He leaned his helmet into mine. “Hear that? The truck company is opening up the roof. Let’s wait so we can see better after they vent the place.” I stopped. When the smoke cleared. I was a mere 12 inches away from taking the Express Train from the second floor to the still burning first floor. The fire had burned a hole in the ceiling. 

It was 1992, I was returning from a 70 plus mile attitude adjustment bicycle ride. I was just two miles away from a much needed meal when a classic 1960’s Ford Mustang turned left in front of me. I went from 20 mph to zero. I didn’t even have time to hit my breaks. My helmeted head smashed a side panel causing a four inch dent in real steel. I was bruised but not broken or dead. That $50 helmet saved me.

In November of 2001, I journeyed to Utah’s canyon country in search of solitude in an attempt to make sense of the senseless murders of the 9/11 terrorist attack. I was returning to Fort Collins without answers, but carrying less stress. On the eastbound descent off Eisenhower Tunnel  I hit a patch of black ice. My Ford Explorer slid perpendicular across three lanes of traffic. An 80,000 pound semi-truck took evasive actions and missed me by a long stride. An impact I would have never woken up from. I wish I could have thanked that Mario Andretti of truck drivers.

My life was then pretty tame until the above mentioned wallop by the sedan in 2011.

But! The close calls didn’t end on US Highway 2 in Montana. 

In 2016, I was checking out a petroglyph on a cliffy edge in appropriately named Death Valley National Park. The slab of rock I was balanced upon tilted downhill with me still attached. I was going over backwards. My first thought was, “So this is how it ends...”  Miraculously, my foot snagged an exposed tree root before I began to really plummet. The incident screwed up my knee, but I still had a pulse. 

Presently we are all facing a new Merchant of Death. Covid-19 strikes without the screeching of breaks, or the soft thud of flesh impacting medal and nothing is burning except the feverish victims. Something as innocent as dabbing your eyes prior to hand washing can cause a cascading affect of sickness/possibly death.  As in all things Merican, our response has been individualistic coexisting with a “believe what you wanna believe” mentality. There’s reasons our infection rates are spiking and Europe has shut its borders to US citizens. Face it. We’ll be dealing with Covid for more than awhile. The virus doesn’t care If our Administration wants to wish it away with a “Move along! There’s nothing to see here” attitude. Our lives will be imperiled until an effective vaccine is discovered. 

For me, it seems like it’s always something when it comes to dodging the Great Inevitable. 

As usual, I urge you to stay safe, sane and healthy. 

Best wishes to my readers for making it to the other side of Covid.

Lastly Bicycle Helmets save lives (or else you wouldn’t be reading this.)

Cheers,

Jeff

“People who need people are the...

(In the time of Covid) are the (un)luckiest people in the World.” 

My sincere apologies to Barbara Streisand.

There’s no way to sugarcoat it. Covid sucks. We are all being negatively impacted by this submicroscopic scourge. Even a guy like me whose been social distancing for well over a decade is bothered by it. One might say I was doing SD before it was cool. BUT! The folks I feel the sorriest for are the ones I nicknamed “The Mayors.” 

What’s a Mayor personality? They are the people who will sprint across a room to meet and greet a stranger. The intro would go something like this. “HI! I’m ..., Damn fine to meet ya!” For them, being a stranger is only a temporary condition. They are our gregarious, more the merrier, outgoing and optimistic acquaintances. Mayors have obese social calendars. From sunup to bedtime they are engaged with others, oftentimes in group settings. Their Minimum Daily Requirement for Socializing is off the charts. They get twitchy if left alone for fifteen minutes. For Mayors , social distancing and minimizing their exposure to others is Pure Hell. 

It’s a lifestyle I’m aware is out there, yet it’s  foreign to me. Where’s the silent, down time? When do they decompress? And most of all, when do they read! 

We all know Mayors. 

I’ve been doing Welfare Checks on my Mayor buddies. “Are you OK? Do you need to talk about your feelings? I’m here for you. I’m retired, I have plenty of time to listen. I can provide you with tips on filling in the quiet times.” 

Alas. I can only offer help and suggestions. We are all dealing with Covid on our own personal levels. This is what I know. Merica’s approach to Covid has been random and haphazard at best. We are now living in the New Age of Entitlement and Anarchy. (Established November 8th, 2016). Do whatever you want, whenever you want. An Individual rights and liberties trumps all other choices. Screw society. 

So...I don’t get caught up in the daily diatribe over masks. I do wear one in public places. Personally I’m looking down the road to the creation of an effective vaccine. Until then, I’ll continue doing what I just did. I’ll go camping.

On the Wednesday before the July 4th weekend, I headed up, up a rocky road to a Colorado Pass. About 400 feet below the actual pass, I found what I was looking for. A flat spot with no neighbors. I popped the top of my camper. I unfolded a camp chair. (This is the International sign of “Campsite taken. Please move along” It works in most states except Texas. https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2015/03/big-bend-epiphany.html )

After my chores were done, I hefted a day pack and went out to explore a few trails. It was all quite lovely and mostly empty of people. I returned to a warm Solar Shower for my daily ablution. I began to read. Toward sunset, the mountains began to blush. I opened a cold IPA. Deer and marmots (without masks) were the only other mammals around. I felt happy. I slept  like a just fed baby. It was so good, I decided to do the exact same thing the following day. This is how I’ll get through Covid-19. 

Does this mean, I’ve gone totally Robinson Crusoe? Of course not. Like I said in a previous post. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2020/06/seeking-serenity-in-uncertain.html

A few pleasant, fun, funny and entertaining folks are always welcome in my camp. More than likely, I’ll play Uber Jewish Mother to you. This invitation extends to the Mayors I know too. (Just so you don’t bring a Zip Codes worth of people with you).

Have a sane, safe and healthy July 4th,

Jeff

The “Enforcer” was a nickname...

we lovingly bestowed upon my Father.

Sid Sambur was a small man with big opinions on what constituted right vs. wrong.  He had no qualms about tossing out the Yellow BS flag if he noticed wrongdoings. When it came to “putting people in their place.,” he wasn’t equipped with a pause button. He would not submit  to being taken advantage of or being belittled.

There’s multitudes of Sambur stories of my father’s Clint Eastwood persona. Here’s one example: 

In the early 70’s, I was still living at home in the Bronx. It was toward dusk when I headed out with a buddy on a short bicycle ride. Unfortunately, I flatted out. We began pushing our bikes back to our somewhat safer neighborhood. As the darkness descended, we pushed faster. Too late. We found ourselves in a cul de sac of teenage White thugs displaying sharp knives. Their message was simple and direct. “Drop the bikes, you Jew Bastards and run.” This wasn’t the time to attempt negotiations. We dropped the bikes and ran.

When I got home, I was more than shaken. (Those were the longest knives I’ve ever seen!) Dad heard me come in and asked, “What happened to you? Where’s your bike?” Between sobs, I related the events to him. “Jeffy! Get in the car. We’re going to the Police Station.” 

Dad drove to the PD as if our jalopy had lights and sirens. Sid Sambur didn’t gently make entry into the Station. He erupted volcano-like through the front door. I followed along  on the trail of  pumice and ash. “I want to speak to someone about a bicycle theft. Those hoodlums pulled knives and called my son a Jew Bastard. I want to file a report.” 

The Cops response to Sid’s explosion was shall we say, underwhelming. Only a bicycle theft? Just knives instead of a Saturday Night Special? Being called an Anti-Semitic slur? Yawn! thought New York City’s Finest. 

The Detectives were lethargic at best. Sid got louder and angrier. There was finger pointing too. Finally one blue collar guy had enough and began filling out the paperwork. After I gave my statement, we were ushered out the door. My Dad was still voicing his strong opinions.

I never did get my bicycle back, but I did see another dimension to my Father. 

Sid Sambur is no longer with us. May he finally get a good night’s sleep and Rest In Peace. 

I believe he passed on his “when you see something, say something” gene to Jeffy his youngest son. 

If Sid were alive today, he’d be nauseatingly appalled (like me) at our current state of affairs. He too would see the stark similarities between Germany In the 1930’s and America in the present.

 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2020/02/adolf-hitler-was-most.html 

The difference is my Father would verbally speak out. I use an I Pad to get my point across. I fear the repercussions of getting punched in the face or worse by voicing my opinions. Like I mentioned in my last post, there’s a lot of pissed off people out there.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2020/06/seeking-serenity-in-uncertain.html

So...on this Fathers Day, I’d like to Thank Sid Sambur for bequeathing me with my “Don’t follow the crowd” gene. That “Lord of the Flies” mob mentality is oftentimes wrong. 

Last photo: Me toasting to the memory of Sid. He was the ultimate survivor. 

Cheers to all the great Dads who made a difference.