Chasing Memories.

Chasing Memories…

It had been over 1.5 years since the Wandering Wondering Jew last touched down on the Front Range of Colorado. A Sambur family reunion (just like an Irish Catholic family reunion only heaps smaller) was the reason. With this in mind, I made a game plan for my return to the flatter and more populated part of the Centennial State.

In order to break up the long drive I decided to stop for an overnight in Salida, CO. 

Salida is a cool mountain town which sits on the banks of the Mighty Arkansas River. It’s a artsy community with a youngish liberal bent. It’s also home to the Victoria Tavern. 

Ahh! The “Vic” was a notorious, famous/infamous dive bar made legendary by Team Bar2Bar on Ride the Rockies. RTR was the Denver Post sponsored bicycle tour through the passes and mountain towns of Colorado.

Team Bar2Bar was a collection of drinkers with a cycling problem. Before you think “what a bunch of low rent dirt-bags.” (Well maybe just a little). Let me tell you about a few of our members.

1. A HIV research Doctor for the CDC
2. A cable guy

1. A pilot for a commercial airline 
2. A librarian 
3. A High School principal 
4. Two managers from Fortune 500 Insurance companies.
5. A massage  therapist 
6. A liquor store manager 
7. An accountant 
8. One Jewish firefighter
9. Two Cybersecurity experts who worked on “if I told you, I’d have to kill you” projects for the Gobment.

I was the CEO and social director.. From 1988-2008 I rode each and every mile and drank pretty much whatever decent beer was handed to me. 

They were simpler times. People got along despite educational, political and social differences. All it took to become a member of Team Bar2Bar was to buy a round and not be a putz. See? Simple. 

With a feeling of nostalgia for those Good Ol’ Days, I stopped at the “Vic.” Alas, it was shuttered. It too, had made an untimely departure from this world. BTW. Three of the original Team Bar2Bar members have started a heavenly version of Team Bar2Bar.

RIP:

Jack:The High School Principal

Joe AKA “Trauma”: The liquor store manager.

Paul the Pilot

Next stop was Boulder, home to my nephew Keith and his effervescent wife Courtney. They lead frenetic lives centered around their children Sydney and Dylan. This being a Sunday was no exception. Dylan was acting in a play to a sold out audience. Cortney scored the last ticket for me.I was expecting scalpers when I arrived, but fortunately not. The mini Meryl  Streep’s and Robert De Nero’s  were extremely talented. The crowd of mostly adoring parents went wild at the curtain call. I’ll admit it, I really enjoyed the show. Afterwards we all went out for Happy Hour and dinner. That for me was the real standing ovation.

Next stop was Fort Collins. For a little over three decades, the “Choice City” was where I worked, purchased two residences, threw huge parties in them, made friends and acquaintances and fell in love a few times. As a life-long restless by nature kind of guy, Fort Collins came closest to that elusive concept (for me) of “Home.” 

In 48 hours, I met former colleagues and buddies at a Happy Hour gathering. The venue  wasn’t conducive to deep conversations. Although I did manage to ask each and every one of them. “Sure you don’t want to move to Durango? I could use a few buddies there.”

On the second day, I had more in-depth  visits with Nelson (for a hike) and Paul and Robin for dinner and Happy Hour. Between the three of them that’s over a hundred years of friendship. That’s not easily replaceable. Before these meetups, I made breakfast for my nephew Justin. A whirlwind stopover.

Remember the reason for me being on the Front Range? A family reunion! 

The best brother and sister-in-law in the World (AKA Mike and Robin) were flying into DIA. I happily volunteered to be the Uber driver, concierge, bellboy and guide for the inaugural “Tour de Acclimatization to Thin Air.” (No need to go into details, but fortunately the end result was positive).

Yes! We’d be turning our backs to those boring mountains, high altitude passes (with a view) and brewpubs to the west. 

Our goal was the lower Oxygen laden tablelands of eastern Colorado where’s there’s grass! And cattle hanging out in stinky cow-pie rich feed lots! And windmills! And tornado watches! And a few pockets of humanity where the locals call home like Sterling (3,875 feet) and Fort Morgan (self proclaimed “Oasis of the Plains” at 4,324 feet.)

Yes! Those were our vacation destinations.

All kidding aside, this was my 72 hour adult quality time visit with Mike and Robin. We made the best of the situation, had some laughs, caught up on family gossip, visited the revitalized downtown of FM (Paris! Rome! New York! Fort Morgan!) and ate way too many breakfast buffets at our hotels. 

You see when M&R are with their children and grandkids, they morph into the best parents and grandparents in the world. A gig they take seriously and which I fully understand.

My mission was complete when I dropped Mom/Dad, Grammy/Grampy off in Boulder (5,318 feet).  My chasing memories tour was at its end. As usual, I’ll miss them all. 

Now back in Durango, my new memories have been place based instead of people based. The Four Corners region has superseded my wildest expectations of beauty and interest. Sadly for me, the social scene has been lagging behind. Between trips, I’ll keep plugging away and putting myself out there. 

Wish me luck!

Cheers to all your fine memories whether they are old or new,

Jeff

PS. Before I left the Fort, I made a quick stop at my former Old Town home. I was shocked by what I saw. The landscaping I lovingly planted and nurtured had gone feral and overgrown. The house itself was painted over replacing the bright sunny yellow and blue trim with a military olive green low lighted by poop brown trim. The insult was the new owner never asked me for permission! The overall vibe was dark and menacing. I imagined this is what Boo Radley’s  pad looked like in “To Kill a Mockingbird.” I sulked off feeling sad.

The author Thomas Wolfe was right, “You Can’t Go Home Again.” 

“Jeffy writes a lot better than he speaks”

Statement from my sister-in-law Robin Sambur

I’m not a public speaker. My comfort zone is one on one/small group conversational communication or just plain silence. 

I’m the kind of guy who when asked about a campout will gush. “The hiking and weather were perfect. I didn’t speak to anyone for a week. It was great!”

So why would I leap an intergalactic distance beyond my comfort zone with a Holocaust Awareness presentation at the Durango Public Library? Because of the recent rising trifecta of White Supremacy, Nationalism and Anti-Semitism. Because a former president is honky dory with breaking cheeseburgers with two avowed Anti-Semites and Holocaust deniers. That’s why.

The full title of the program was “Holocaust Awareness: A unique perspective from a son of Holocaust Survivors.” 

Honestly, children of Holocaust Survivors in NYC are as prevalent as pizzerias.  There’s heaps of each. BUT in Durango, CO land of Anglo American descendants of the Mayflower,

I knew my family history would stand out. 

As one long time resident opined, “Durango is a pretty sheltered town.” 

I launched the idea to Daisy the library’s programming director. After a few emails and a synopsis of my talk, I got the green light. That was about six months ago. OY! Now I was committed. I’d eventually have to stand up in front of strangers and speak. 

The plan was to use my family themed blogs as a template for the talk. I’d intersperse historical events as well. For the visual part, there was black and white family photos. Easy! Right? (except for the speaking part).

I purchased an old fashioned lined school kid notebook and started writing my spiel.. No problem with that. After a few drafts, I had my thoughts and ideas on something solid and tangible. Now I needed to vocalize the story since Spock-like Volcan mind melds are a rare talent.

At home, I stood in front of a sunny side window and began to read the story from the notebook. Bad idea! This was too distracting and caused too many “Ummm” and other stuttering moments. I memorized the talk.

Three days before “Program Lift Off” one of my few buddies in Durango granted me an audition. Sarah even fed me! It didn’t go well , my talk not her meal. I had to take it from the top twice before I got through my speech. Sarah was kind enough to give me encouraging words, although I knew I had to elevate my game. 

I was nervous. I couldn’t sleep or eat! Although Happy Hour IPAs went down well. Then! A lightning bolt struck nearby, the Red Sea might have parted once again. A Sambini original idea was formed. I’d feed the audience.After all food is the universal ice breaker.

Armed with two Crockpots of vegetarian Minnesota Soup and two bags of “Cutie” oranges,

I met each and every audience member at the door. I introduced myself, slipped them an orange, “cuz there’s a lot of scurvy going around” and pointed them to the soup. I urged them to “Eat! Eat!” bringing out my Jewish Mother in a man’s body instincts. I made a connection. Ice Broken.

I flew through the presentation without the need to dodge any rotten tomatoes. The spectators was estimated to be from 55-60, (which is a Super Bowl crowd for Durango.) 

Special shout out to my neighbor Tanya Spielberg who filmed the talk and fellow Member of the Tribe Nadine who shot the photos. 

Here it is on YouTube: 

https://youtu.be/JqHc4kAAuzs

Read all about Minnesota Soup:

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2020/01/

Last photo:

Everyone except my father (standing in the middle) were murdered in the Holocaust. Yes, there’s four children in the family photo too. 

Get the word out, the Holocaust happened. Nick Fuentes and his ilk are wrong. Humanity can and should do better than this.

Let’s perform more acts of Tikunn Olam (repair the world) and less acts of death and destruction.

A $2582.94 VRBO Rental Scam is

was how I began my winter getaway of (somewhat) discontent.

 

It all began so innocently in Snobsdale, AZ. My usual Holiday season hangout. 

Snobsdale is all about the sunshine, uphill hiking, tank-top wearing warmth, viewing blockbuster movies and of course, the fabulous shopping. I rented a VRBO condo with all the above nearby. 

Admittedly, I had a malevolent premonition about this joint. My kosher “Spidey Senses” were warning me, but the price was right and it was available. (For a reason). 

I booked it.

Upon entering, I was overcome by the distinct smell of mold (and a possible scam.)  It didn’t take me long to find the source. A dripping warm water pipe splashing into a full turkey roasting pan below. The carpet was spongy boggy wet. 

A did a quick 360 through the rest of the wreck. It was heavy on TLC. Tender Loathing Care. 

I retreated outside before I developed an upper respiratory infection. I phoned the management company. “Plushy Hosts” the name itself should have tipped me off. (More like Flush the Toilet Hosts.) This began a roiling blend of actual conversations, texts and emails filled with platitudes and stonewalling. I was getting nada with my demand for a refund. 

I took a deep breath and headed back inside to shoot crime scene photos. I knew this was going to become a full blown 💩 poop fight. 

I was right.

I booked another rental 200 feet away. It was clean, quiet and comfortable. That same day, I filed a dispute on the VRBO scam charge with Capital One. Days later I was credited the dough, BUT the slumlord could dispute my dispute.

We’ll get back to this drama later…

As I mentioned before, Snobsdale in December is usually fine weather. One doesn’t expect freeze warnings, or gloomy skies or an Noah’s Arc deluge and hale. This isn’t Fake Weather Reports. This really happened. I soldiered on while wearing more fleece and Windstopper jackets. At times, I even donned pants.  Outrageous! 

It wasn’t just me. The locals concurred it had been an atypical in a weird way winter. 

On January 2nd, I marked myself “Safe!” after surviving another holiday season. I aimed Sanctuary Too further south for my 2023 inaugural campout. Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument would be my pad for three weeks. 

In January 2022, I spent two glorious weeks in this jewel of BIGLY views (including the Great Border Wall of Bigotry which can be seen from the campground.)  Last year the weather was perfect with incredible sunsets . The vibe was senior citizen retiree chill.  I could have easily spent more time there.

It was not to be in 2023, the swaddled baby layered look was the typical campground fashion statement. Morning lows were often in the high 30’s. Sunsets drove me quickly inside my cab or camper. Throughout the night, I could hear my neighbors furnaces kicking on but not off. 

The worse stretch was the three days of low lying London like clouds, which caused my solar panels to valiantly strain to keep my camper batteries charged. Low energy batteries means no cold IPAs. A true Sambini catastrophe. 

But the real true catastrophe was the Capital One message I received five weeks after filing a dispute. The slumlord disputed my dispute. The scam was back on and I was the victim. The onus was on me to prove my innocence to Capital One. I had two weeks to gather the information they requested. The corporation wasn’t  asking for much, just Police Department confirmed fingerprints, a swab from my inner cheek for DNA sampling, a note from my Bar Mitzvah Rabbi vouching for me being a mensch and a cover letter plus copies of texts, emails and photos. 

All the while being in the middle of nada with problematic WIFI coverage and obviously no printer.. A total aggravating inconvenience. 

Fortunately long time buddy Brad was granted a week off from the Ms. He’d be joining me in Organ Pipe and later on in Puerto Penasco, Mexico. Brad became Mr Xerox printing off a pulpwood forest’s worth of evidence and documents. 

From the border town of Lukeville (formerly known as “Gringo Pass”) I Priority Mailed the weighty package to Capital One. 

After that it was onto Puerto Penasco. Brad and I were supposed to spend six nights there. We left after four which were three too many. 

And that’s all I’m gonna say about that.

I returned to Organ Pipe for the simple reason, camping there is simple. 

Meanwhile my  important provisions such as IPAs, coffee and lastly food were getting low. After a month of camping I decided to spend a few nights hoteling it in Yuma, AZ. It was here at the termination of the Colorado River where I’d decide my next move. Baja, Mexico or Anza/Borrego State Park in California. 

By now astute readers have picked up this hasn’t been a typical winter getaway for me. It’s usually invigorating and fun. This one has been a grind. My kosher “Spidey Senses” screamed “No Bueno!” for taking on border crossings, military check points, pesos and a language barrier. 

Back to the 1.7 years of $$$$ for Happy Hour IPAs scam. (Based on two IPAs/night. I’m not the lush many people think I am).

On a feeling Meh and cloudy afternoon in Yuma an email appeared from Capital One. 

“Please check your documents for an important message.” I followed their instructions. “Capital One will be giving you a refund since your DNA, fingerprints, letter from the Rabbi, photos, texts and emails were conclusive proof of your innocence. UNLESS the scammer disputes your dispute with another dispute. The scammer has 90 days to dispute. Please hold onto all your evidence since we still don’t trust you.

Hugs and kisses from Capital One,

By the way. What’s in your wallet?”

I’m now in Anza/Borrego State Park where the sun miraculously appeared. The winds abated. The temperatures now are pegging the delightful range. Birds are fluttering about and singing. Flowers are in bloom..Hummingbirds pollinate them. Butterflies go about their business of being beautiful.  Plus my IPAs are still cold and the morning coffee still hot. 

Now this is what a winter getaway is supposed to be like. 

Cheers!

Jeff

Last photo, This is what the inside of Sanctuary Too looks like. Would anyone really want to spend a lot of time in this chaos of camping clutter? 

It’s all about the weather.