“I know that a man ain’t supposed to cry…”

Lyrics from “I Heard it Through the Grapevine” by Whitfield and Strong

My last verklempt moment occurred at a Sambur family gathering in Boulder, CO. We were hovering around the kitchen counter pre-Happy Hour time when my nephew Keith innocently asked, “So UJ (Uncle Jeff) how’s it going in Durango?.” 

Like a shaken, not stirred IPA my thoughts and emotions gushed out. “Well, it’s been over four years since I settled there. I really like the town. It’s progressive with a liberal vibe. There’s always community minded events going on. Most of them have been a lot of fun to attend. 

I’m still in awe of the interesting and beautiful places within the Four Corners region. It’s really superseded all my  wild lands expectations. It’s the most incredible  area I’ve ever seen or lived in. I love the campouts, hikes and my exploratory trips. Best of all, Durango is at the epicenter.” 

I sighed and continued with the glum part, “Socially it’s been a bust! Sure, I know a few dozen “Hi, how’s it going? Nice day if it don’t rain” acquaintances, but no real consistent Happy Hour/Dinner or hiking buddies. I spend most of my time alone and feeling lonely. I’m not happy about this. In fact I get depressed!” 

With that, I started to weep. Apparently, I looked so pathetic my nephew’s  daughters lined up to give me reassuring hugs.

On my long drive back home to Durango, I relived that sad moment. It was time for me to go introspective. 

“Face it Jeff! In Durango I’m an outlier. A harmless misfit. 

I’m one of the handful of residents without a dog/fur baby. (Or as I say, Durango is a  city of 19,582 people with 23,174 canines) Below is my dog Fido.

I hike instead of mountain bike. (Less chance of injury)

I’m  a small man with BIGLY opinions which I’m not shy about expressing. I ask a lot of questions too. Do you know what you get in a room of ten Jews? Eleven opinions. 

 In a laid back mountain town like Durango, where I’ve overheard, “I don’t give a shit about anything!” (Said while they were vaping from a product purchased at one of the over dozen dispensaries) I could come across as being a bit of a pushy New York Jew.. 

I’m  not a joiner or follower  in a “the more the merrier” type of town. I have a tendency to slide to the side, the bigger the crowd gets. 

I don’t possess a Polly-Anna or Pauly-Andy personality.. Unfortunately I’m too aware that bad things can happen for no apparent reasons or at anytime. Although I’m also aware that the same can be said about good things.

Throughout all this somehow I maintain a steady smile though.”

For whatever the reasons are, despite my volunteering gigs, helping to organize neighborhood get togethers (Like Durango’s first Kwanhanumas party) and holiday food drives,  being seen at festivals, fundraisers, concerts, movies, brewpubs, local hiking trails and coffee houses, I’m not meeting potential buddies or significant others. 

This was getting to me in a bad way. I felt depressed about my social situation. 

Sure, I’ve read the studies about senior loneliness. That spending this much time alone is poison  for my physical health (I just had a heart monitor glued to my chest for two weeks) and well being. But this much I know. Being depressed/unhappy about it is far worse.

I knew about the five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I had been unhappy about the my social scene for awhile. It’s  time for me to move on.

So I took a deep Zen-like breath, and I decided to accept my fate. I’ll cease stressing about my lack of Durango human interaction. I’ll stop forcing the issue of trying to meet people and allow situations to develop  organically. All the while continuing to pursue scenery in the Four Corners region while utilizing Durango as a basecamp. 

I’ll run this chapter of my life as long as my Mojo, muscles and innate wanderlust allows me to. 

Then who knows? Maybe by then, I’ll meet a few people to hang with. If not I’ll move to Boulder where there’s heaps of Outliers and weird people. 

All the photos were taken within a long days drive of Durango. 

See why I live here? 

Cheers,

Jeff

For extra credit readings on senior aging, please check out:

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2021/07/this-buds-for.html

My Too Extreme Four Corners Labor Day

 Motorcycle Rally Escape.

When I moved to Durango in August 2019, I chose to hunker down for the long Labor Day Weekend. The same weekend as the Four Corners Motorcycle Rally. After all how bad could it be?

 It was bad. Over three days of excessive noise, excessive machismo/testosterone and too many red MAGA hats on Main Avenue. I made a silent Sambini vow. “Never Again!”

In 2020, I drove across the state of Utah and settled down in Nevada’s Great Basin National Park.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2020/09/my-great-basin-escape.html

In 2021, I won an online auction item for a ticket to the “Yampa Valley Crane Festival.” 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2021/09/my-greater-sandhill-crane-escape.html

In 2022, I made a repeat performance at Great Basin NP.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2022/10/climate-change-now-its-personal.html

This year with gas prices hovering over $4 plus/gallon, I decided a getaway closer to home was economically speaking the correct escape plan. 

That’s why I signed on for a volunteer trail maintenance gig on a nearby over 14,000 foot mountain. (Depending on the source, there’s between 53 to 58 of these stoney behemoths in Colorado). In this post, I’ll leave the mountain and the non-profit organization unnamed.

About a week before the gig, I received an email from the non-profit on where we’d meet followed by a rudimentary game plan for the Labor Day weekend. The message turned out to be classic hooey/Fake News. The note was a far cry from the reality of what transpired on that long weekend.

Me being me, I arrived 1.5 hours before the starting time. I figured this would be a great way to meet my fellow volunteers and organizers as they drifted in. Here’s what happened:

Two volunteers were surly, the rest were friendly and all were incredibly younger than me. (Fourteen years separated me from the next “light senior.”) The three crew members representing the non-profit were half an hour late. 

A bad omen.

We gathered around the late arrivals, who dispensed little information except for “Wear lots of sunscreen!” 

I glanced at my watch and realized we were getting dangerously close to Happy Hour. It’s then when I blurted out, “Are we camping here or camping to our work site?” 

“Find a place to camp nearby and meet here at 6am tomorrow” was the reply.

I popped my camper up while popping a can of IPA. All volunteers and crew members retreated to neutral corners. So much for the social aspect of this campout. (I even packed extra beers and boxes of cookies for sharing.) I this point I began to have serious misgivings over my choice of volunteer gigs. 

It was a crappy nights sleep between the night owl ATVers and the 14er hikers slamming vehicle doors at 3:5O am. There were more sleepless nights to follow. That first morning  I became conscious, somewhat oriented and alert around at 5 am.I figured the crew was late for the meetup so a 6 am start was a Jewish 6ish. OY! Was I wrong. At 6:03 we were told to “load ‘‘em up, and move ‘em out.” This was quite shocking to me.

At the worksite trailhead, we met the crew leader for the first time. (You didn’t need to be a management consultant or play one on Facebook to realize there was dissension in the ranks). 

We were told to grab some tools and amble up the trail. Which we did. Eventually we got to work. The gig was both Herculean and Sisyphean at the same time. Let’s just say we moved a lot of rock (including an estimated 640 pound hernia inducer. ) On the first day in the first hour, I made a vow to myself. “Self! Don’t get hurt! Self! See this gig through and don’t EVER think of volunteering for these guys again.” 

And that’s how I spent my Too Extreme Four Corners Labor Day Weekend Escape. Good thing I had a hefty supply of aspirins and IPAs. 

All in all we created three steps, and one nice retaining wall. My advice. Read the fine print before you volunteer. 

All in all I’d rather be a Forest Ambassador or a Trail Angel.

Cheers,

Jeff 

My Midsummer Stonerfest Retreat…

OK, so the name isn’t the Carbondale Stonerfest, it’s the Carbondale 52nd Mountain Fair. 

Stonerfest is my nickname for the yearly celebration of old Hippies, aspiring new ones and everyday people. There’s even families. Plus! All varieties of music. (From Grudge to Gospel). It’s the closest thing I’ve seen to an all-inclusive event.

The price of entry? Free. Nada. Zilch. 

The Stonerfest happens on the last weekend of July. By this time, I’m in need of a three day hiking break. My legs are worn, scabbed over and feel like anchors. The long weekend is 72 hours of under indulgence of exercise combined with an overindulgence of unhealthy food choices, an OD of IPAs, lots of people watching and a few chewable gummies for good measure. 

It’s also my time to mingle with Carbondale’s Endless Honeymooners Martha and Jim Jim. A twosome I’ve known for over a quarter of a century. They are gregarious “more the merrier” types. An unstated goal of theirs is to meet and greet every human on our planet. I believe they’re half way there. (In other words, they are just like me only different.) 

Typically I arrive early Friday afternoon. Since I have an “in” with the JJ Mart RV Park owners I set up in their driveway. It’s definitely a five star urban campground. Free WIFI, an electrical plug in, free bicycle rental, hot showers and kitchen privileges. The campsite fee? 1.5 cases of IPAs which Jim Jim and Martha say isn’t necessary, but I insist upon because it’s the right thing to do. (Never take advantage of peoples generosity. It’s very un-mensch like).

The Stonerfest launches at 4ish Friday afternoon. (Give or take multiple minutes), with a Native American blessing. Brevity wasn’t part of this benediction and somehow my mind drifted. (Could have been the IPA and half a gummy). 

Then my favorite part of the Stonerfest. The very primal citizens drum circle! This hour long sweaty performance reminds me of that old Todd Rundgren song. “I don’t wanna work, I just want to bang on the drum all day.” Personally, as far the music scene goes, the rest of the weekend seems anticlimactic. After a greasy slice of pizza and a few more IPAs, my performance came to an abrupt curtain call.

I woke predawn on Saturday drank lots of coffee, had a BIGLY veggie and egg omelette to prep for my volunteer Peace Patrol gig. It’s a dirty job but someone has to imitate Barney Fife at Woodstock. Might as well be me. (And others). The orientation meeting informed us of the few  attendee constraints. Most of it was common sense rules. No glass, (protect those barefooted Hippies), no dogs, (so those barefooted Hippies don’t step in dog poop), no outside alcohol and no weapons.

A newbie Peace Patrol volunteer needed clarification on the weapons ban. “What if someone arrives with a 9mm and a AR-15 and claims they are “Service armaments”? You know there’s Americans who feel naked without a weapon.” 

The volunteer coordinator thought this over for a minute. “If they can show “Service armament” paperwork from their Gun Shop or the NRA, I guess we’ll make exceptions. Just be sure to say “Have a Happy Mountain Fair!” 

This is sort of the vibe of Stonerfest. Don’t ruffle any feathers.

I assumed by position at a main gate playing Walmart greeter with a Barbie themed pink  Peace Patrol T-shirt. It’s an easy gig. The only incident I encountered were the two pierced, tattooed women attempting to sneak a “service cat” in.

 

What’s next? Service gerbils?

By 11:30 my replacement Peace Patrol officers came by. I gave them a report and passed the baton of peace patrol authority to them. Whew! I needed a break. This past July was the hottest worldwide month in recorded history. (Source NASA).I returned to the JJ Mart RV Park for some shade, a shower and some reading time.

Before sunset (after a few IPAs and half a gummy) I was ready to Mountain Fair once again. 

For me, the Festival isn’t about the music (although every now and then I’ll tap my toes) it’s about the people watching. I’ll hang on the outskirts like a voyeur looking through a window of humanity. True entertainment. When the crowd fills the outskirts, it’s time for me to fly. (It’s not fun being 5’4” and feeling lost in the sauce.)

By Sunday am, I was back to my early shift Peace Patrol gig. With the wails of Gospel singers in the background, I said “Good Morning!” to many families. The partiers would arrive later. By 11:30 I was done. 

Martha then went on duty at another gate. I removed my pink Peace Patrol shirt, donned a loose tank top and joined her. It was a total undercover assignment in case she needed muscle and backup. Martha knew EVERYONE coming through so we chatted in between her acquaintances.

By 1:00ish, it was time for me to do a heat retreat. I headed back and prepared Sanctuary One for my reentry back to Sambini’s Summer of Hiking and Camping. 

Later on I made a half hearted return to the festival after a few IPAs. (sans gummies though). 

Just as I was about to call it, I received a Martha text. “We’re at Beerworks! Come join us for dinner!”

My reply. “On my way!”

By this time our conversations degenerated into a Cheech and Chong skit. It was that kind of weekend. After hugs, those Honeymooners headed to the festival. I returned to their quiet neighborhood.

By 6ish on Monday I was gone. Here’s where I went.

As always, the Stonerfest never disappoints. Yet, I’m always ready to get back to the wild places of Colorado.

I’m already booked into the JJ Mart RV Park for 2024.

Thx Martha and Jim Jim for being such great hosts. It’s always a pleasure.

Cheers

Jeff