I’m suffering from Covid...

Fatigue. 

I’m guessing I’m not alone. There’s probably around  331,000,000 of my fellow Mericans somehow affected by this malady as well. 

Here’s my symptoms:

I’m worn out by walking halfway into a grocery store then perform a quick 180 degrees when I discover I left my mask behind. (Only to find many “It’s my rights!” folks are unmasked in the same store.) I’m sick of the smell and feel of hand sanitizer. I’m burnt out from repeating my new mantras. “Don’t touch your face, eyes or nose.” and the ever popular  “Wash your hands!” I miss summer blockbuster movies and mindless brewpub patio Happy Hours. I’m tired of pondering “where have all the hugs gone?” I’m over the lameness of watching baseball (when their aren’t Covid cancellations) without real live fans in the stands. I’m exhausted of thinking about a future with more questions marks than answers. Most of all, I’m disgusted with Merica leading the World in total Covid cases and body count. (Shouting “We’re Number One! We’re Number One!” seems inane and inappropriate.) 

Covid has grown weary to me.

So how am I coping with this daily assault on my senses? I leave, that’s how. I say a silent “Bye Bye” to the endless news and possible sources of contamination. I head up gnarly roads with my 4X4 “New Toy.  I find isolated spots to camp. I hit the hiking trails early while others are still in “snooze mode.” I see incredible 100 mile views. I stay unmasked and mostly to myself. With any luck, I lack cell phone coverage. I eat when I’m hungry, sleep when I’m tired and take solar showers au naturel. My Happy Hours consist of IPAs, a bowl of mixed nuts and a NY Times Bestseller non-fiction book for company. The days go by in a simple and basic way. I feel stress less. I smile inwardly often. 

You might be thinking I’m Robinson Crusoe. I’m not. Sure, it would be nice to share the solitude with like minded folks. I’ve gone fishing  for company, however most of the time I return with an empty creel. I suppose everyone is dealing with Covid Fatigue in their own way. 

Good thing I had those 6.5 years of experience living alone in a Van down by the river! 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2017/04/the-stigma-of-single-man.html

So Fellow Sufferers, hang in there. Maybe we can meet for a drink on the other side of Covid

Until then,

Stay safe, somewhat sane and healthy,

Jeff

Rowing near...

Nirvana.

In my first year of living in Durango, I noticed the moment when Spring morphed into Summer. 

“How’s that? Jeffy“ Well, I’ll tell ya. Mountain bikes began to yield to watercraft on vehicles and trailers. All of a sudden my fellow Durangoans were schlepping rafts, pontoons, kayaks, duckies, and SUPs (stand-up paddleboards. I just learned the acronym a few weeks ago). Alas, there were no rowboats. Not even the inflatable kind. 

Rowboats! Who the heck cares about those cumbersome craft in the adrenaline junkie town of Durango? 

Me. I care.

When I made inquiries on where I might find a small slow rowboat, the locals gave me grief. “Dude! You need a whitewater kayak! Where’s the challenge of taking a rowboat on flat water?”

I patiently explained to my listeners. “When I wake up in the morning, I extend my left index and middle finger onto my right wrist. If I detect a palpable pulse, I’ve passed my daily challenge. The rest of my day is bonus.”

If they question my manliness further, I’ll follow with “how many burning buildings have you made entry into?” That usually stifles them.

There’s a reason I own an infatuation for those barely moving vessels. It’s sentimental. That’s why. 

When I was still a fledging under my parents wings, springtime would eventually settle upon the Big Apple. A cadre of buddies and me would take the Lexington Ave #5 train downtown to 77th street. We didn’t carry much except a pot-induced smirk, a few bucks and a return subway token. 

We’d dawdle our way to Central Park while enjoying the uniqueness of of our fellow New Yorkers. Our sojourn was usually around the Easter/Passover weekend. Of course, we’d see Jesus look-a-likes decked out in flowing white robes and sandals. But what really caught our attention was his nascent followers bowing at his feet! We never saw a Passover Moses though.

Our ultimate destination was the rowboat rental kiosk in Central Park.  Once we placed a deposit on a rickety, leaky craft, we’d perform a watery lap around the 22 acre Central Park Lake. For a bunch of teenagers born and raised in the Bronx, this was nearly a Wilderness Experience. We’d see carp, turtles, ducks and swans. We fixated on the green water, the vegetation and not the nearby canyons of skyscrapers. It was quiet and peaceful for NYC standards. This made a lasting impression on me. Enough to realize residing in the Big Apple wouldn’t be in in my future.

Nearly a half a century later, I found myself in Durango’s Big 5 sporting goods store. There I was waiting to pay for a pair of trail runners. The customer in front of me had a sizable box on the counter. I noticed the words “Inflatable rowboat.” Off I went to check the product out. Hmm. Two person boat, three inflatable chambers and holds up to 440 pounds. Why that’s 3.18 times me! On the box there was a photo of a GQ looking man chivalrously extending a hand to assist an attractive young woman aboard the boat.

Wow! Potential dates for a mere $59.99. SOLD!

Ionically, the manufacturer named the model “Challenger 2.” On my maiden voyage I rechristen it the USS Sambini. (My old fire department nickname. Much more preferable than being called “Hey A—hole!“ ) 

Now,  you’ll find me on the mighty (47 acre) Pastorius  Reservoir. (Just like Lake Superior only different). I’m there a smidgen after sunrise. It’s just me, the birds, the silence and the placid waters. The only skyscrapers are the nearby La Plata Mountains. While I’m putzing around along the shore, I feel content and happy.

Ahoy Mateys!

“I’m Popeye the Sailor Man...”

Stay safe, sort of sane and healthy. 

Cheers in our time of Covid.

Admiral Jeff 

I wasn’t born in a small town...

Well I was born in a small town

And I live in a small town

Probably die in a small town

Oh, those small communities

Small Town 

Lyrics by John Cougar Mellencamp 

Unlike John Cougar M, I never lived in a small town, until now in Durango, CO. (Population 19,000). 

In 1978, I chose to take the purported advice of Horace Greeley to “Go West, young man, go West and grow up with the country.” I left the chaos of New York City behind along with its 7.8 million inhabitants. Let it be known I never agonized over my life changing decision to leave the “Big Apple.” 

I moved to Fort Collins, CO where the population was about 62,000. At the time, it felt sort of puny. I remember all the hubbub when it’s first Target store opened on the outskirts of South College Avenue. The common comments one heard was “who’s going to go all that way to shop?” Now it’s location is considered less than midtown. When I moved away in 2009, Fort Collins’ population had grown to 141,000.

Next stop was Tucson, AZ with its 525,000 inhabitants. My furniture were barely in my rental’s door when I knew it wasn’t a right fit. I felt like a small Gefilte Fish in a big pond. On top of that Tucson was far from thriving. The “Old Pueblo” felt... well old, worn and in dire need of a makeover. The streets were rutted, litter was as prevalent as cactus and petty theft seemed to be the rule of the land. I made very few human connections there. (You know who you are.)

Alas, due to a lower than average cost of living and a recession fueled degradation of my 401 pension, I was economically stuck there for four winters of discontent. 

Then in July 2011, the “Poop Happens” dart of fate intervened. Harshly. I was rear ended on my bicycle by a sedan. I woke up in a ditch. I broke eleven vertebrae and sternum. My face was made messier than usual. It took me a year to heal.

Eventually I received a monetary settlement. Financial Freedom. I wouldn’t advise this as a way to bolster your retirement savings. I sold, tossed or donated all my worldly possessions in my final winter of discontent in Tucson AZ. In April 2013, I became “Homeless by Choice.” 

Leaving Tucson wasn’t a decision I agonized over either.

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/06/i-never-thought-of-myself-as-a.html

For over six years, I traveled. By the spring of 2018, the rootless lifestyle had lost its new Barley the CamperVan feeling. 

I wisely chose Durango, CO to settle in. 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2019/08/in-america-if-you-dont-have-address.html

I moved to this regional center of Southwest Colorado primarily for its location to so many square miles of Wild and Scenic places. (All these pretty photos except a few were taken within a few hours drive from my home). The city might be small but the views and surrounding landscapes are BIGLY. 

But there's another thing that’s HUGE about my new hometown. Durango is a petite city where people have San Juan Mountains sized passions. Since moving here, I’ve had the pleasure of attending two meetings of Durango Green Drinks. What’s that you might ask?

Straight from the website: Durango Green Drinks, a fun, informal monthly gathering organized by the Sustainability Alliance of SW Colorado. A fantastic group of sustainability-minded local non-profits sponsor the event and rotate hosting responsibilities. October is being hosted by our friends and partners at Mountain Studies Institute and The Wilderness Society. It is a fun and relaxed opportunity to connect, chat, network, and be inspired. Brief announcements are followed by short presentations by host organizations, which rotates monthly. There is plenty of time to network and catch up with friends. Green Drinks is non-partisan.

After a lively Happy Hour, a handful of people got up on soapboxes and spoke about their passions/causes. Here’s a few examples:

An earnest young Mother was seeking signatures to present to the Durango city council. She wanted to place distance restrictions on how close microwave towers can be to a residence. “My children got sick when a cellphone tower was placed near our home. We moved. Now they want to put another tower near my new home. I don’t want my kids to get sick again.” Whom was I to doubt her? I signed her petition.

An older gentleman was asking for people to participate in a silent protest to raise local awareness of the “Climate Crisis.” 

A member of “Conservation Colorado” spoke at length about environmentally friendly politicians running for office. He held the crowds attention. 

A member of the “Great Old Broads for Wilderness” talked about the non-profit’s advocacy program pertaining to wilderness preservation issues. She went on to state the GOBOW aren’t all talk. They sponsor hands-on mitigation projects as well. I’m a dues paying member of this organization.  I attended a fen restoration project. They call me a “Great Old Bro for Wilderness.”

Throughout all these presentations, I sipped my “Yankee Boy Basin” IPA and grinned. I too, have my passions. I burn at a higher than 98.6 body temperature when it comes to these environmental/wild lands sensitive issues. I might have found “my people.” They were speaking my language. 

I’m feeling at home here. 

Just wish Durango had a Target Store.

Cheers from the prettiest part of Colorado,

Jeff

PS. The bartenders in the brewpubs know me by name. They pour me an IPA without me asking. Not sure if this is a good thing!

I mentally prepared myself for...

The worst for my gig as an Ice Lake Trail Educational Ranger. My  assignment would be talking up “Leave No Trace” Conservation Ethics to hordes of hikers. 

FYI. Ice Lake is the most popular and populated trail in the entire San Juan National Forest. 

A few days prior to me “going live” I attended a San Juan Mountain Association volunteer meeting. (I’m a dues paying member of this feel good non-profit organization.) The informercial took place at Happy Hour in the SJMA parking lot. All attendees were masked up and socially distanced. Naturally, I brought a six-pack of IPAs to share with my fellow stewards of the land.  

The cooler was socially distanced too.

I had one taker. Tough crowd. 

Three SJMA staff members gave three distinct point of views on crowd control on our public lands. The one factoid I gleaned was this. Ice Lake was scoring 500-800 visitors/day on a sub-8 mile (round trip), 2400’ elevation gain (one way) trail. That’s a lot of Facebook selfies. Of course the gorilla in the corner was Covid and political divisiveness. I walked away with more questions and concerns than answers. However after 28 years of being in emergency services, I know there are times you have to shrug your shoulders and wing it. 

I arrived around 7:30ish to a nearly full parking lot. In the time it took me to fuss with my backpack and gear, the parking lot was in overflow status. I donned my green SJMA baseball cap and a gray US Forest Service volunteer t-shirt. It wasn’t a uniform that screamed, “You will respect my authority!” (Quote from Cartman of “South Park” fame.)

I headed up the trail. The sky was shockingly blue. The temperature was hovering in the perfect zone.

Armed with my avid imagination, I figured the trail would look like Mile High Stadium after a Broncos overtime win. I noticed a few discarded doggy poop bags and one crumpled can. I’ve seen worse. Most of the hikers I passed had “game on” for Colorado’s fickle mountain weather. (Bulging backpacks with water, food, rain gear and dry, warm clothes.) The early hikers are usually “in the know.” This wasn’t their first rodeo. 

Generally speaking, it’s the late starters, who are ill prepared on what might lie ahead. The give away is their I Phone in hand. I suppose they have an “app” for food, water, shelter and warm, dry clothes. 

My hike up was uneventful. Mostly I was saying a masked “Good Morning!” Every now and then, I’d perform a welfare check on folks. Fortunately, all seemed conscious, oriented and alert. At Ice Lake, (elevation 12,260’) the crowd was subdued. It was as if they had arrived within a Cathedral. (Which in fact they did, just one without walls or religious guilt.) I took my lunch in an out of the way place. Afterwards, I turned downhill. 

The uphill crowd was thicker than hours ago. Many were hiking with their four-legged friends. About 50% had their hound tethered to them. I sincerely thanked them for this curtesy. Other pooches walked in lockstep with their owners. I thanked those dog lovers for training such a well behaved canine. Then their were the troublemakers. The Bowsers who were ranging far and wide from their owners. They were looking for mischief. To these owners, I’d say, “Excuse me. I’m Jeff, I’m a volunteer for the Forest Service and a local mountain loving conservation organization. I believe your dog might be harassing the wildlife.”

Most were cool, and immediately leashed their wandering dogs. One woman asked me so innocently, “There’s wildlife here? What kind?” 

Outstanding! I had an audience.I ascended my invisible podium. “Well, there’s ground squirrels, chipmunks, deer, marmots, lots of birds and my favorite-the American Pika.” (I was working the patriotic angle here.) Next she asked, “What’s an American Pika?” I began to warm up to my roll, “American Pikas are arguably one of the most adorable mammals in our Great Nation. They are the size of your fist, tawny gray in color, with little round ears and no tail. They live above tree line where you are heading. They are hard working vegetarian farmers. True salt of the Earth animals. This is their time to “make hay while the sunshine’s” They’ll feed on their harvest throughout the winter months. If your dog chases them, that’s less time for them do their chores. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for a winter starved mild mannered rodent. Would you?” 

She called her dog and leashed him. “Sorry! I wasn’t aware. I totally understand. Thanks for the explanation.” I was smiling behind my mask. “Score!”

I went back up to Ice Lake the following day. I disassembled a few fire rings (blazes are verboten in the Ice Lake corridor) and picked up some detritus. I did some bonus elevation and miles to nearby Island Lake. I made more contacts with my emphasis on making recommendations to the bevy of backpackers. I kindly asked them to make camp in the lower basin among the trees. I explained it this way. “The above tree line tundra is deceptively fragile. Camping upon it, might cause resource damage. Besides, we’ve been getting afternoon thunderstorms. Your shelter has lightning rod aluminum poles! One more thing to consider, your tent might photo bomb someone’s Facebook selfie.”  That last point got their attention. Many nodded in agreement.

Score II.

All in all, I felt the experience was a positive one for me and hopefully for some visitors. I was thanked more than once for being “out here.”

Alas, in our time of Covid, I’m hesitant to partake in this gig again. Many guests come from the Virus “hot spot“ states of New Mexico, Arizona and Texas. At times the trail is quite narrow with  no place to get aside in an appropriate socially distanced  manner. Masks like mine were the exception instead of the rule. At my age of 65, the cost/risk benefit is too high. 

With Merica’s body count soaring, I’m more than concerned. I don’t want to contract Covid. It would put a major damper on my hiking and Happy Hours. I’ll surely volunteer again in the post-Covid effective vaccine future. (Whenever that may be).

Last photo: If people overcrowding weren’t enough, there’s llama jams on the Ice Lake Trail too.

Stay safe, sort of sane and healthy,

Jeff 

“Jeffy! Would it be OK...

If the kids visiting you for two weeks this summer?”  was the question Robin (my sister-in-law) posed to me in the spring of 2004. 

It didn’t take long for me to answer, “Sure!” 

Before I signed the papers, there were certain conditions which had to be met. “Jeff, promise me you will bring them back alive and you won’t lose them again. (Picky. Picky. Picky. I only misplaced them once!) “OK” I lamely answered, “I promise.” Robin had one more condition, “The kids are sort of chubby. Can you work them enough so they shed a few pounds?” It didn’t take me long to answer, “That!  I can do!”

My nephews Keith and Justin arrived in Colorado from NYC around mid-summer. After picking them up at Denver’s airport, I laid out the game plan. “Guys! We’re going to do a two week lap of the best parts of Colorado. We’ll either be backpacking or day hiking. There will be no days off. We will have fun. Am I crystal clear on this?” 

The Boys knew the drill from their previous trips to Colorado. Get up early, backpack or day hike, move to another venue, eat, drink, sleep, repeat. All was going well. It was the the usual, me verbally abusing the kids and they tag teaming back at UJ. (Uncle Jeff). Most of the time, I’d cut them off with, “Next! On Oprah. Mean Uncles!” 

The one incident I remember was in the Uncompahgre Wilderness. We were sporting full backpacks for a three night trip. The summer monsoons of thunder, lightning and rain Oh My! was our weather pattern. I was on top of an above the tree line pass looking down at two specs of humans way below me. The clouds above were coalescing into something scary and nasty. I had to motivate the youngsters. “Boys! Would you rather be shopping? I’m sure we can find a nice mall nearby. It’ll be easier on you than backpacking.” Their answer was an emphatic duet of “ F—k You! Uncle Jeff!” I laughed but my lines did the trick. They hustled up and we retreated to less exposed areas. 

All memorable journeys must come to an end. After finishing the Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness Four Pass Loop. 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-future-aint-what.html

We headed into Aspen right in time for brunch. I ordered a breakfast burrito and coffee. The Boys asked for burgers and fries. Keith spoke out, “UJ? Would it be OK if me and Justin have a beer?” (It was 11ish am). “Sure! Why not? You guys deserve it. I know you worked hard these past two weeks. You both did great.” 

When the beers arrived, they toasted each other. What did my nephews say when they clinked bottles? “We survived Uncle Jeff! We survived Uncle Jeff!”

The next day I dropped them off at Denver’s airport. 

About half a dozen hours later (I missed those kids already) my phone rang. It was Robin. “Jeff!” Oh oh, I’m in trouble now was my first thought. “Yes?” Robin practically shouted, “The Kids look great! They each lost ten pounds. They look so healthy. They had a great time too. Thanks so much!” My answer was short and sincere, “My pleasure.”

Sixteen years later, those Boys are now Men. They followed the American Dream by getting married, having kids and buying a home. In other words, they did everything I never did. Keith and Justin grew up! 

A few days ago, the stars and planets aligned. Their wives and parents (Brother Mike and Robin) granted them a few hours off to hike with their Uncle Jeff. By 7:30 am we headed up above tree line. Keith hung with me stride for stride. (Am I getting older and slower or is Keith getting fitter and faster?). Justin wore a satisfying smirk as he brought up the rear. Neither had any complaints as we gazed at 100 mile views, puffy clouds and stunning wildflowers. Six miles in we took a lunch stop near a babbling waterfall. We reminisced about our past trips together. “Remember the time...” We got back to my truck just as the clouds began to yield rain. It was perfect timing to complete a perfect day.

Now you might wonder, “Where do Keith and Justin live?” My nephews reside on the Front Range of Colorado.

 Coincidence? I think not. They saw the light years ago.

Thanks Brother Mike and Robin for giving me the best nephews in the world.

Stay safe, sane and healthy out there,

UJ

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