Why do you think it's named...

The Grand Canyon? 

"Leave it as it is. You cannot improve on it. The ages have been at work on it, and man can only mar it. What you can do is to keep it for your children, and for all who come after you, as the one great sight which every American... should see."

Theodore Roosevelt

On any hike during Psycho Season (AKA Springtime), one must be aware of extreme weather fickleness. 

Brad and I descended into the Canyon and met summer. We sought shade like Bedouins in the desert. A cold front blew through two days later. We then sat in the wimpy sunshine like snowbirds at Miami Beach. Last night, a chilly rain assaulted us at Tanner Beach. White Death struck at temporarily misnamed Desert View tower and the rest of the South Rim. Barley the Van was coated with the evil White stuff too. 

It wasn't a comfortable hike out. However it was a great journey. After all, it's the Grand freakin' Canyon! 

I'll let the pictures tell the rest of the story.

Goodnight,

Jeff

My Brother from another Mother...

Meet Brad, A two decade buddy.

He's my hero and baby brother for two reasons: 

A) Brad beat cancer twice.

B) He came up huge after my car/bicycle accident and proved to be the ultimate buddy. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2014/07/three-years-ago.html

Here's the tale: As I laid supine on an uncomfortable backboard in the ER, decked out in a neck brace, IV's running into me, blood oozing out of me and a heart monitor on. I made emergency phone calls. Let me tell you, no one picks up the mobile when you really need HELP! After I ran the gamut of family members. (I batted 0-6 on those.) I started calling  friends. One of the first was Brad. Of course he didn't pick up.

"Dude! I got hit my a car. I'm f--ked up! That climb up Mount Whitney is not going to happen for me. Get someone else to go with you. Maybe Jonathan. I'm scared as hell too! Bye!"

When I eventually healed and got my strength back, Brad phoned me. Unlike everyone else on the planet, I picked up the call. Here's what my hero said.

"Dude! You were cheated on Whitney. I'll get the permits for a backpack trip. We'll summit on our last day of hiking. Interested?"

Was I interested?

Do chimpanzees eat bananas? Is Antarctica nippy? Do the Yankees have fans in the Bronx?

Heck yeah! It was then Brad unknowingly became a member of the exclusive Sambur clan. (We are small in numbers and stature). 

It was an amazing backpack trip in the Sierra Nevada. The scenery is such, once in awhile I was forced to sit down to take it all in.  I nearly cried a few times.  (Manly men can cry too)

The finale was my first ascent of Whitney (14,505') and Brad's second. BTW. It's the highest point in the Lower 48.

Brad took one for the team. That's an unselfish act. Doesn't that qualify as a brother from another Mother? I vote yes. 

Tomorrow, we'll begin a four-day 40 mile backpack trip in the Grand Canyon.

This ought to be fun. 

On the road again...

It's Not Yankee Stadium...

But it's still America's Pastime. That includes me since I'm an American. 

The venue is Chase Field in Phoenix, Arizona. The local Boys of Summer (Diamondbacks) are playing the Los Angeles Dodgers. I'm cheering for the old Brooklyn Bums. Besides, they have Donnie Baseball AKA Don Mattingly managing the team. 

Mattingly has always been a Yankee fan favorite. (That's me) He played his entire 14 year career for America's Team. Afterwards he became a hitting coach and bench coach for the Bronx Bombers. He was a finalist for the managing position when Joe Torre was ousted from the job. I still miss Old Joe and never warmed up to the new Joe. 

I wish Donnie Baseball was given a chance to follow in Joe Torre's footsteps. I'm sure there are other Yankee fans who feel the same way.

So...Go Dodgers and Don. 

Of course Go Yankees and Rockies too.

For those keeping score, the Dodgers were shut out tonight. 6-0.

It was still more fun than going to work or being in Kansas.

So Long Tucson...

My A Team did an admirable job of watching over me during my stay in Southern Arizona. 

Thanks Sid and Clara! 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2015/03/watching.html

Nothing catastrophic happened, physically or emotionally. 

Tucson hadn't changed much in 18 months and neither have I. The Old Pueblo still seems to be a city living from paycheck to paycheck. In 2011, it had the dubious distinction of being the 6th poorest Metro area in the US. In a recent survey by WalletHub, Tucson ranked 143 out of 150 cities as far as recession recovery is concerned. 

As I drove the main drags in town, I couldn't help but notice the over-abundance of pawn shops, tattoo parlors, trailer parks, thrift shops, used car dealerships, check cashing businesses and billboards announcing "We Buy Ugly Homes!" 

Transients huddle up at major intersections facing the cardinal directions holding handmade cardboard signs. The signs don't resemble the one I made. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2015/03/two-years-of-being-homeless.html

Clearly, the city center doesn't scream "We are a thriving Metropolitan!" 

There's fits and starts of pockets of prosperity. There's a shiny new trolley system, a well-developed bicycle trail along the dusty dry river beds and a few new tony restaurants and pubs Downtown. Tucson is a slow work in progress. 

It's not all negative though. Tucson is a great place to whip your body back into shape with its abundance of hiking trails. After being a reluctant Beach Bum in Hawaii, I needed to move! 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2015/02/goodbye-to-hi.html

It's a fine place to sit still for March Madness.

University of Arizona baseball is the lovable bastard child of Tucson sports too. 

Tomorrow morning, I'll partake in my all-time favorite Tucson activity. I'll get in Barley the Van and leave the Old Pueblo behind. 

The road trip starts!

Have You Seen...

Peggy? AKA the "Gila Angel"?

The plan was a simple overnight backpack trip in the nearby Rincon Mountains. 

We set up the shuttle before the sun rose and and began hiking uphill.  I might not have been paying attention for a moment or three to the whereabouts of this almost septuagenarian power plant. I crested a short rise and waited in the shade. I waited and waited and waited. Crap! 

I double-backed about a half a mile at a faster than usual clip. No blond-haired Minnesotan marathoner in sight. Crap II. With visions of the Arizona Daily Star's front page reading, "Ex-Firefighter Abandons Granny!" I sought cell phone service on a rocky outcrop. 

 I phoned the Misplaced One first. It rang a few times. I held my breath. She picked up!

"I'm lost!" (That was an understatement)

I scanned the landscape from my aerie and spotted some motion. 

"Walk around. I think I see you." Sure enough it was my hiking buddy. 

"Stay on the trail and walk away from the City. Stay on the trail!"

In a few minutes, we were reunited. So.. Just like Lewis and Clark, "We proceeded on." The rest of the 21 mile, two day trip was kind of  ordinary. 

What's anything but ordinary is Peggy. Her resume reads 70 marathons finishes. She slogged through  the Bataan Death March Marathon just two weeks ago. (Try running on sand for 26.2 miles!). Her energy is boundless. I'm a statue compared to her. All this motion from a retired nurse who was born during the Harry Truman administration. Simply amazing. 

Meeting Peggy in Tucson was one of the few social highlights of my four winters here. She's an inspiring friend. 

I'll keep a better eye out for her the next time we hike. I promise. 

Baseball is calling me to Phoenix on Saturday, and I must go. 

Don't get lost.

Jeff

How many of you can...

Say you still fit into a shirt that is 28 years old? 

This ugly orange shirt was a commemorative souvenir when the Syracuse Orangemen came so close to beating Bobby Knight and the Indiana Hoosiers in the 1987 Final. 

Damn you! Keith Smart for that fade-away jumper! 

I air the shirt out each Final Four Season. Now, I'll  tuck it away until April, 2016.

March Madness is a great reason to sit still for three plus weeks in Tucson. 

Another wonderful tournament and worth the lack of motion.

Speaking of motion, I'll be on the move again soon.

Go Badgers! Oops! Too Late!

Kosher for Passover Bagels and Beer?

Today's Blog will be similar to a Passover Seder. There will be a lot of storytelling going on. Lucky for you, my buddies tell me I spin a good yarn. Then again, maybe they were telling me a story.

When I was growing up my Mom, Clara Sambur (May She RIP) was the kosher keeper of the Sabbath flame. She made sure we adhered to the strict Jewish dietary rules (the kashrut). We had two sets of dishes, one for meat products, the other for diary. Our beef and poultry were purchased from a kosher butcher. (The animals were slaughtered in a traditional  kosher manner). You would never find a morsel of treif (non kosher food) in the Sambur household. Not under Clara Sambur's watch! 

Our religious convictions went far beyond food though. We attended Temple services regularly. My two brothers and I all went through the Bar Mitzvah process at the tender age of thirteen. At one stage of my life I was able to read Hebrew. We observed the High Holy Days, Purim, Chanukah and of course Passover (Pesach). 

When my Mother's flame was snuffed out at a relatively young age (she was 52, I was 17), the remaining Sambur's were left without a Guardian at the Gate. My two older brothers had already left the nest. Sid (my father) was dealing with being a widower. On my own, I drifted away from the religious aspect of Judaism. 

Back to Passover. Of all the Jewish holidays, this one is my favorite. I compare Passover to Thanksgiving. (Minus the Detroit Lions or Dallas Cowboys playing football). You get together with family, friends and strangers and eat too much, sing a few Hebrew songs, kibitz (chat), drink four glasses of bad wine, read from the Haggadah (the Passover text about the Exodus) and laugh a lot. It's pretty much guilt free. 

Well, I thought it was guilt free until I Googled the definition of Chametz (non kosher for Passover foods including all fermented grains and beer!) Yikes! 

From Wikipedia: According to Jewish law, Jews may not own, eat or benefit from chametz during Passover. This law appears several times in the Torah; the punishment for eating chametz on Passover is the divine punishment of kareth ("spiritual excision"), one of the severest levels of punishment in Judaism. 

OY! I don't follow the rules of Chametz. I haven't since I was 17. No lightning bolt has struck me so far, although now I wonder if the sedan that whacked me on my bicycle was a steel messenger from Yahweh. Nope, I won't go there. My God is a bagel and beer-navolent Supreme Being. I'm hoping he/she overlooks my dietary transgressions for the next 7-8 days. 

I am a pretty good cultural Jew, just not an observant one. Look at my Blog's name. Doesn't that say something about me? 

Happy Passover! 

To all my Christian friends, may you enjoy a very Happy Easter. 

Cheers!

Jeff

See in photo two, I even hung a mezuzah in Barley the Van. There's a piece of parchment inside it with a Jewish prayer. 

Thannks Rosie for the gift that makes me smile.

Photo Three is the Keeper of the Flame.