My Fear Factors.

My Fear Factors.

I’ve been visiting Death Valley for about a quarter century. (That makes me sound old!) This BIGLY National Park is one of my Happy Places.

in that time , I’ve discovered about a dozen “Go To” hikes. 

This year I noticed a new sensation in a “repeat Canyon” hike. The amble features an eighteen foot marble like unclimbable (for me) chute.  There’s an alternative  route in place though. It requires dealing with a slick eight foot chimney. When I was younger, I’d take a deep breath and scramble up the obstruction. It never felt right, especially on the return descent. This time, I paused while standing atop a stack of jumbled  rocks.Hmmm. Did this chimney grow? Wasn’t their more hand and foot holds? Where did that slight overhang come from? Thoughts of what could happen made me hesitate. I gingerly stepped off the ramp and retreated down canyon. The sensation was fear.

It’s not just the thought of taking a tumble. I’m more concerned about “What Ifs?” I’ve become overly cautious.

When I provisioned up for my Death Valley National Park three plus weeks desert wander, I sort of went overboard.

I’m carrying enough water to fill a kiddy pool. 

My food supply is equal to a Safeway Supermarket. 

I brought enough “Cutie” oranges to keep scurvy at bay for the entire US Navy. 

I could host a Sigma Phi Nada fraternity party with all the IPAs in stowage.

Starbucks offered to buy back my horde of Pike Place blend  Apparently I cornered the market.

I’ve downloaded and paid for the premium Gaia GPS app. Maybe I won’t get lost as often. 

My storage unit is stuffed with enough warm clothes for a Ernest Shackleton South Pole expedition. Mind you, I’m spending my time in the desert.

I precariously perched extra gallons of gasoline  onto Sanctuary Too for a long sought journey into Racetrack Playa. The National Park Service issues dire warnings about the road in. “Beasts and Monsters lie beyond this sign. Be aware and be prepared.” Hence all the extra gas. Honestly, it’s a jiggle-your-love-handles washboard route. (A reminder for me to go on a diet). My chain smoking slacker neighbor at the end-of-the-road dry camp arrived in a Kia hatchback sedan. So much for beasts and monsters. (But I had more food, beer and stuff than he had!)

So I’m left to ponder. Why did I become a wimp about things I barely thought of when I was younger? I survived then, why wouldn’t I do the same now?

My lame excuses are age and experience. I’ve been living this wandering wondering lifestyle since I was 17. While others were getting married, raising a family, working to keep it all together and pursuing the myth of the American Dream, I was “out there” hiking, car-camping, bicycle touring and backpacking. I’ve gotten lost, gone hungry, understand thirst, been injured and had to limp out to an ER. I’ve frozen my tuchas off by not carrying enough wool, fleece or down clothes. Worst of all, I’ve run out of IPAs. HORRORS! I’ve experienced all of these events more than once. To use the cliche, “been there, done that.” I didn’t find those moments enjoyable back then. Why should I now? 

But Jeff! What about challenges? What about pushing your mental and physical limits to the extreme? To this, I answer. Considering I was bred to be a tailor or merchant, I’m OK with my resume. (Remember, I was Northern CO’s first Jewish professional firefighter). I’ve sidestepped the Grim Reaper more than one person has the right to.  I have nothing to prove. 

BTW. “Fall Canyon” is the hike I retreated from. The name says it all.

Last Photos: Sometimes  Death Valley hikes require a rope and a ladder. I examined both of them. Neither would have met OSHA standards. I used the ladder. YIKES! 

Be careful out there. I’m sure Aron Ralston wasn’t planning on cutting off his arm when he ventured into “Blue John” Canyon.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2019/08/at-least-i-didnt-have-to-cut-off.html

Jeff

For me, Winter is the Third Great…

Inevitable. The cold, dark and snowy season is only preceded by the other two Great Inevitables. Death and Taxes. It’s no secret, I’m no fan of winter. 

When I began peeling off the fall months on my wall calendar, i knew it was time to go proactive. Three weeks in an overpriced VRBO in Snobsdale, AZ, BOOKED! A week plus with Brother Mike and Sister-in-law Robin in FL. BOOKED! Two weeks of camping in Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. BOOKED???

Yes, I was concerned about being n the same camp spot  for fourteen nights. It would be a first for me. I’m sort of a restless Wandering Wondering Jew. I prepared for this outing by purchasing a National Geographic Organ Pipe Cactus map. Hmmm. It’s right on the border of Mexico. Looks like there’s a few hiking trails, but not an overwhelming amount. Closest town with a grocery store is 35 miles away in Ajo. I better provision up with lots of IPAs, coffee and I guess some food too.

After a nine hour, 600 mile cruise, I found myself at Campsite #160. “So this will be home for two weeks?” were my initial thoughts. I set Sanctuary Too up in 70 degree temps,  popped open a camp chair and a Double IPA while enjoying a technicolor sunset. This might not be so bad after all.

I established a comfortable routine. Wake early, drink coffee, watch the sunrise, eat, set off for a 6-12 mile hike, return to camp, eat, shower, read or write, drink beer number one, watch the sunset, eat, stargaze with beer number two, read and go to sleep. I know, pretty exhausting yet simplistic. 

My neighbors were cold weenies from mostly wintery states: the Dakotas, Maine, Minnesota, Washington, Wyoming, Wisconsin and LOTS from Colorado. One older Dude from Salida, CO nailed the Snowbird sentiments. “My skin is getting thinner. It’s seems harder for me to stay warm in the winter, I’m really enjoying  these toasty, dry temperatures. My joints don’t ache either.”

Exactly! 

The campground is dominated by pairs of retirees. I smile while waving a friendly hello as they amble by. Then I’ll  return to my Kindle book. I rarely engage in conversations. I’m not the kind of guy who intrudes on other’s Endless Honeymoons. Besides its just a stark reminder that I’m a single senior citizen in a Couples World. I’m already well aware of this. 

Organ Pipe National Monument isn’t all perfection though. Being this close to the Mexican Border gives it a feel of a Demilitarized Zone. All those lurking Border Patrol Agents, old mining roads with “CLOSED” signs on them, the discarded migrant debris and the Good Samaritan oasis’s. It’s hard not to feel someone is watching you, even though you are probably alone.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2022/01/im-first-generation.html

All in all, this has been a great-eyes-wide-open getaway. Will I be back? Heck Yes! Maybe this is a sign of maturity and aging. I can sit still longer and enjoy the little things, especially when it’s warm and sunny.

It’s my mea culpa to be a cold weenie. But, I’ve always been this way. At this point of my life I might as well do what makes me happier. I’m not languishing, feeling too lonely or experiencing malaise. For me, these are positive objectives. 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2022/01/languishing-is-word.html

Here’s a suggestion. Do what makes you feel better no matter what your Great Inevitables are. 

Last photo: in Organ Pipe NM the  Sprinter Vans are gathering for the start of mating season. It’s not dangerous to be near them until the males go into rut. Then I suggest putting it into reverse very slowly. 

Next stop Death Valley National Park.

Cheers,

Jeff

I’m a First Generation…

American.

In the years leading up to the 1939 official start of WW II, my Grandfather Benjamin, (a jeweler in Vienna) shipped my mother and her two siblings ahead to New York City. Later on Bennie arrived minus his wife/my mother’s mother. The “why” behind this  event is and shall remain a Sambur family mystery. I’m positive it’s not a feel good story.

My father immigrated to New York in 1937. He said goodbye to his family in Poland. He never saw any of them alive again. 

When people ask me about all of this, I wave it off as “Holocaust Stuff.” 

Yet what is “Holocaust Stuff” to the progeny of the Holocaust survivors? 

It’s about immigration to another land with little more than memories, the clothes on your back and a piece of luggage. 

So it’s no stretch of the imagination to say, I posses an inordinate amount of empathy for immigrants. My parents ability to escape the run-or-die anti-Semitism in Nazi influenced Europe is the only reason I’m breathing air right now.

The world works in strange ways.

Recently I left Durango”s winter behind while seeking desert warmth and sunshine. I was on a nine hour 600 mile southwest mission. Currently I’ve been camping for over a week at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. This desert jewel straddles the AZ/Mexico border. It’s a land of stately saguaros, extraterrestrial looking mountains and of course Organ Pipe cactuses. 

It’s also a region dominated by Border Patrol Officials driving 4X4 pickup trucks. On a 42 mile loop road I spotted eight Border Patrol units. I actually had a too-close encounter with one. The young male officer was barreling through a wash heading the wrong way on a one-way road. He shrugged sheepishly before he sped off once again. I have no idea what migrant phantoms  he was pursuing. No explanation was given. 

The National Park Service signs are atypical too.

While hiking the trails. I’ve discovered evidence of migrants heading in a northerly manner. A desert bleached shirt, hat and trousers. A blown out black garbage bag with empty plastic containers of surgery juice drinks, colas and salty snack food. I poke the remains with my shoe trying to extract a story from the litter. How many were there? What was their destination? What caused them to risk it all to come to a foreign land where they won’t find a “Welcome Wagon” to greet them? This is what I know, the decision to wander was probably made in desperation. Like my parents their options were few.

On an exploration drive I came upon The Great Wall of Racism. Inspired by a fat, finger pointing xenophobe with a flair for theatrics, it was something to behold. But not in a good way. The fifteen foot wall is mesmerizing and nauseating at the same time. It’s a severe gash across the desert. Like Trump, there’s absolutely nothing subtle about it. The Wall is an in-your-face “F—k You!” to our southern neighbors. A stark reminder of failed diplomacy and an off kilter foreign policy.

All this costly economic and ecological damage to prevent wannabe laborers who mow our lawns, clean our hotel rooms and pick our produce. Sure there’s a few bad apples lugging drugs. GASP! However, those smugglers  are severely limited to how much they can carry. (Most drugs enter the country through legal border crossings. Source USA Today, 1/19/2021) Besides, if Americans didn’t crave the contraband their would be no smuggling. Supply and Demand. Heck! The Loser who supposedly penned “The Art of the Deal” should understand this basic economic premise.

A justification for Homeland Security and our massive Military Might is the necessity of “Protecting our American Way of Life” 

However. America’s biggest threat already lies within our borders. The January 6th, 2020 attempted coup  orchestrated by Made in America White Terrorists  was an attack upon Democracy. Yet there are those (including 147 Republican Congressmen) who call these Rebels without a clue-Patriots. Trying to overthrow the Federal Government? Now THAT’S unAmerican! 

 Unfortunately Trump, the BIGLY LIE and his enablers and ring-kissers aren’t going away. (Just like Covid). Democracy is at risk. That’s  more frightening than migrants (mostly potential laborers) coming across our Borders. 

If my parents were still alive today they would agree. 

Visit Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. Take a hike and put yourselves in the shoes of the migrants. You might get a dose of empathy. 

“Tear Down This Wall! 

Ronald Reagan 

June 12, 1987

West Berlin

Here’s a few other posts pertaining to our Border:

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2019/07/we-will-build-wall.html

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2015/03/borderlands-national-park.html?m=0

For further reading:

The Devil’s Highway by Luis Alberto Urrea

14 Miles: Building the Border Wall by DW Gibson

Stay safe and healthy,

Jeff

The Nile…

 is more than a long rive in Africa. 

Recently I had a dose of Covid breakthrough de-nial. 

I hadn’t been feeling right.

Here were my symptoms:

1. Occasional dry cough and wet sneeze. This created instant social distancing and personal space.
   
2. Raspy voice. No,I don’t sound sexier.
3. Congestion  minus the green slime.
4. Incredible thirst. I’m drinking two gallons of water per day instead of one. 
5. Fatigue, but not enough to slow me down much.
6. Increased tinnitus. There’s an orchestra of clanging cymbals inside my head.
7. Chills 

 

At first I attributed these maladies to going from the dry warmth of Snobsdale back to Durango winter to toasty and humid Florida. All this motion within 72 hours. When I arrived in Florida to see brother Mike and sister-in-law Robin I was ill. (They both had breakthrough Covid and were past the contagious stage). 

In a day or two, I said to Mike, “I think I have Covid. There’s no allergens in the air and this isn’t acting like a typical cold.” 

Mike reassured me, “Jeff you would know it if it were Covid. It really hit us.”

After a sleepless night due to being nervous, very nervous the best brother in the world administered an at-home test for me. The results were negative. I was relieved but still felt unsure. No cold ever treated me this way.

The above symptoms continued. 

When I returned to Durango, I discovered four of my neighbors had come down with breakthrough Covid. Sort of like “Bang! Zoom! To the moon Moderna, Pfizer and J&J vaccines!” (Apologies to Ralph Kramden for the semi-quote.) The trifecta of vaccines were no match for the Oooooommmmmicrom variant. 

I happened upon Molly out walking her dogs. She’s a nurse, neighbor and one of the afflicted. 

I asked her what her symptoms for breakthrough Covid were. She nearly repeated all of mine including the unquenchable thirst. I told her about my negative Vid test. “The tests aren’t perfect for Omicron. There’s lots of false negatives.” 

BINGO! 

My breakthrough Covid hasn’t been debilitating. It’s been more annoying than anything . I’m now in Organ Pipe National Monument on the border of AZ/Mexico. I’m camping and hiking.I’m indulging in Happy Hour. I’m doing what I usually do. It’s been a hassle but it’s better than being attached to a ventilator in an ICU.

I’ll survive. 

Last photo: I’m not ready to be buzzard bait yet. Once again, I dodged the great inevitable.

I still trust the science behind the vaccines. The one thing we seem to be certain of is the uncertainty of Covid. Don’t be a long river in Africa. 

Our parents were right. Health is our greatest wealth. 

Jeff 

“Languishing” is a word…

 the New York Time bandies about when describing the current feelings of many Americans.

The psychologist and author Adam Grant provides an explanation:

Languishing is “the neglected middle child of mental health” and “the void between depression and flourishing — the absence of well-being.” He concluded: “By acknowledging that so many of us are languishing, we can start giving voice to quiet despair and lighting a path out of the void.”

Mr. Grant nails what some of us are experiencing as we stumble towards Earth’s third anniversary of Covid Freaking 19. 

Personally, I use a stronger word for what I’ve been dealing with since the latter part of 2021. I call it “malaise.” 

From the Merriam-Webster dictionary: “a slight or general feeling of not being healthy or happy.”

I’ve been “off” since November 2nd, right after the neighborhood “Pusher Party”. The days seemed too short and the nights too long. I questioned myself each and every date. “Is this the 5:30 time when I click on the coffee pot or the 5:30 time when I pop a top of an IPA?” I guess that’s to be expected when you’re averaging less than a handful of hours of sleep/night. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2021/11/you-dont-have-to-be-pusher.html

It didn’t help that my engagement calendar was mostly devoid of events to look forward to. (An appointment for a Subaru oil change isn’t socially  satisfying). I felt isolated, lonely and listless. Just like in the Covid lockdown days of 2020. No bueno. 

This past summer,I wrote about Covid hangover. In case you missed it: 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2021/10/the-covid-summer-of-not.html

I began counting down the days for a three week getaway to Snobsdale, AZ. (AKA Scottsdale). Well, I made it. It’s not that I’m in love with the fabulous shopping at the nearby Snobsdale Fashion Mall. I like it here for simple reasons. I’m outside more and hiking on ice-free trails. It’s been warm enough for flip flops, tank tops and baggy shorts. I’m catching up on my sleep. There’s hummingbirds, flowers and leaves on trees. I’ve seen lots of blockbuster holiday movies and have enjoyed a few Happy Hours with some old buddies. My time here flew by. I never once had to think is it 5:30 am or pm? For my mental health this was the right thing to do. 

 After Snobsdale my winter avoidance will continue. 

In a few days I’ll be in South Florida visiting the world’s  best brother and sister-in-law.  (AKA Mike and Robin). 

Then a short return to Durango for a Push Back Pizza Party. (Sanctuary Too will awake from hibernation.) Two days later, we all will be in Organ Pipe National Monument with a BUSY itinerary of hiking, reading, staring at desert scenery and drinking IPAs. In other words, working on my tan more than anything.

Followed by a few weeks in Death Valley National Park. By then, Durango’s daylight will be longer and the temperatures will be more moderate. Plus, I’m not too far away from desert camping. 

Soon, I’ll post my predictions on what the new year and beyond might bring. 

Here’s a preview. In the wee days of 2022,  all 329.5 million Americans will gather on the perimeter of our Great Nation. While holding hands in a continuous circle, we’ll all belt out a rousing rendition of Kumbaya. It’ll be the start of a Second Age of Enlightenment and the New Renaissance.

Well, not exactly.

Wishing you and yours a languishing-free New Year.

 

From Darkness a bit of Goodness

And charity.

As sure as the odds are of me popping a Happy Hour IPA, the US will surpass the million Covid related fatalities milestone in the near future. 

America’s Civil War was our last comparable infamous Death benchmark. Between the years 1861-1865,  620,000-750,000 Blue and Gray combatants were killed. (Most succumbed to disease rather than bullets or bombs). On November 3, 2021 the US Covid death count blew by that number in less than two years.

This is not something to be proud of. 

The US is now Numero Uno for Covid Deaths in the World. (Despite making up a mere 4.2% of Earth’s  inhabitants). Regrettably, many of these deaths were avoidable. Statistically speaking vaccines save lives. It’s mostly the unvaccinated and elderly who are ending up in the mortuaries. 

“Just since this summer, 150,000 unvaccinated Americans have needlessly lost their lives despite the widespread availability of vaccines,” Dr. Peter Hotez of the Baylor College of Medicine, in Houston. Source New York Times. 

So…the US will continue to stumble and stutter to the 1,000,000 mark.

Here’s what I’m proposing. People will make wagers on pretty much anything. How about a call the date of one million Covid deaths in the US?  

(This pool will make a charitable contribution to the hungry of La Plata county, CO.)

The rules are simple:

$5 entry fee/date.

Choose a date or a series of dates. 

In case of a tie, the betting pool will be split accordingly.

The “House” (that’s me) will subtract $1 per bet. Each and every George Washington note will be donated to the Durango Food Bank. In other words,  20% of your wager will go a worthwhile local charity. 

https://durangoareafoodbank.org/

The House (that’s me again) will accept cash, checks and PayPal. 

Contact me at: jeffsambur@gmail.com to place your bets and payment information.

My date is March 17th 2022. Saint Paddy’s Day.

Bets must be in no later than New Years Day 2022.

Feel free to forward this post to the other gamblers in your life. (More money means more donations to the DFB.)

I understand this is a dark post. I mean no disrespect to the victims of this seemingly endless pandemic. Some of the money will flow towards helping the hungry and the living of La Plata county. That’s how I’m justifying writing this.

On a personal note. I’ve become numb to the daily grind of Covid. 

Jennifer Nuzzo, an epidemiologist at Johns Hopkins University sums up my current feelings about the virus.

She was asked when the pandemic would end, she replied: “It doesn’t end. We just stop caring. Or we care a lot less.” She added, “I think for most people, it just fades into the background of their lives.”

Source Washington Post.

Stay healthy and safe out there. 

Jeff

“You don’t have to be a Pusher…

to attend a Pusher Party.”

This is how my neighborhood party invitation began. Here’s the rest of the invite.

“Hi Nice Neighbor,

I need HELP! That’s why you’re invited to the Pusher Party. I’m not big or strong enough to push my camper into the garage for hibernation season. 

When: Monday, November 1st at 5 pm

Savory hot veggie Minnesota Soup will be on hand plus garlic bread guaranteed to keep the vampires at bay. Bring a bowl, spoon and appetite. Cold IPAs will be available too.

Dogs can assist if they understand the “Mush!” Command. Owners will have to supply the puppies harnesses though.

Three or four more humans should overcome the laws of physics involved.

Thx in advance,

Jeff” 

With this neighborly 911 call for assistance, Sanctuary Too was docked into winter storage. 

Despite the lightheartedness of making a party out of a non-event, this simple act represents a verklempft moment (Yiddish for overcome with emotion) for me. 

 I named my Toyota Tundra and camper Sanctuary Too for a reason. In a world which seems to strive towards chaos, I’ve discovered campsites featuring silence, neighbors who are four-legged instead of two and sunrises/sunsets which leave me inwardly smiling. I can go days without speaking yet never feel lonely. While camping my life becomes simplified: eat, hike, read, write, drink IPAs then repeat. I sleep better too.

This temporary cessation of all the above makes me sad. But there’s another SAD going on inside of me. Seasonal Affective Disorder, AKA the “Winter Blues.” 

For those who are unfamiliar with this term, from the Mayo Clinic:

“Seasonal affective disorder (SAD) is a type of depression that's related to changes in seasons — SAD begins and ends at about the same times every year. If you're like most people with SAD, your symptoms start in the fall and continue into the winter months, sapping your energy and making you feel moody.” 

Going back to my Syracuse, NY college days,  I began to notice a loss of energy and enthusiasm starting around Halloween. I felt “off.” The notorious winters of Upstate NY didn’t help either. The long nights, gray skies, cold and snow only exasperated my malaise. By around Saint Patty’s Day in March, I’d usually snap out of it. I’d begin to feel awake and rejuvenated at the same time.

 I had no explanation on why this yearly pattern happened to me. It wasn’t until the early 80’s while reading a newspaper, I noticed an article, “Maybe you are SAD for a reason?” It was an informative piece explaining SAD and it’s signs and symptoms. I clicked off the list. “Yes, that’s me. Yes, that’s me.” It was an OMG moment. “I’m not totally crazy! There’s a name for what I go through! I’m not alone!” 

According to the American Academy of Family Physicians 4-6 percent of our citizens suffer from SAD. (Lucky me). But there’s an easy remedy. A few mornings ago, I dusted off my light therapy gizmo. While most of my fellow Americans are asleep, I’m drinking coffee, reading the New York Times Morning Brief while soaking up the rays of my Happy Light. The half hour treatment fools my feeble mind into believing the days are longer. It smooths me out. 

Consider this a PSA on SAD.

Alas, long nights are only one facet of winter which I dislike. There’s the cold and snow too. To be honest, I fear winter. 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2019/12/i-have-acute-chionophobia.html

By mid-January I’m hoping my neighbors and friends will participate in a “Pushback Party.” Of course, there will be Minnesota Soup and libations on hand. 

By then Sanctuary Too and I will be ready to fly south for the start of another camping season. 

Stay warm and be safe,

Cheers!

Jeff

If you are curious about what’s Minnesota Soup.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2020/01/minnesota-soup.html