Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Rocky Mountain National Park...

"Now he walks in quiet solitude, the forest and the streams, seeking grace in every step he takes.
His sight is turned inside himself, to try and understand
the serenity of a clear blue mountain lake."

Rocky Mountain High lyrics by John Denver
(It's not often I'll quote John Deutshendorf, Jr)

At 101 years young RMNP is still a precious gem amongst our Nation's Parks. 
Unfortunately, being beautiful has its price. It's the third most visited NP in the U.S. Last year a whopping 4.16 million trod upon its roads and trails. That would be similar to having the entire state of Oregon's population stopping by for a visit. (If that ever happened, I'd race to Oregon. Think of all the untrammeled recreational opportunities there would be.)

Yes, RMNP can get Grand Central Station crowded, but there are ways to avoid rubbing body parts with your fellow hikers. As a service to my billions of fans, I'll point the way. 

One: Wake up early. I'm not talking about the  "Today Show"  early. I mean just a nub of gauzy light early. Kind of when sunrise is a distant rumor. 

Two: Drink two pots of strong Starbuck's coffee washed down with a substantial breakfast. 

Three: Start driving to the trailhead avoiding all the deer, elk and moose who are all in the midst of a quiet Animal Planet moment. Make sure you smile, wave and say good morning to the four-legged vegans as you ease by.

Fourth: Park your ride. There will be plenty of spaces to choose from. 

Fifth: Do a little fussing and packing and start up the trail. The air will be as crisp and cool as that first swallow of a Union Jack IPA. (That will come later at Happy Hour.) 

Sixth: Enjoy! You will be alone. Just you and your thoughts and the beauty that surrounds you. A good way to start the day. More than likely, you won't see anyone until you begin to head back down to civilization. 

That's when you'll encounter the legions of the ill prepared.
As in this recent episode: 

On my return from Timber Lake, I saw a portly mid-60's couple. They were decked out in the latest Walmart sneakers, cotton socks, jeans and black Harley Davidson shirts. Neither wore a pack.

After I said a friendly "Hello!" the gentleman asked me.

"How much further to the lake?" He was already panting. 

"Well Sir, it's a ways and you haven't even begun the 2,000 feet of climbing. It might not be a good idea to try for the lake. You aren't carrying any food, water or extra dry clothes in case a storm rolls in." 

"I'm carrying water!" With that said, he pulled out a plastic 8 ounce bottle of clear liquid for the two of them! 

"Sir, in Colorado we call that amount of water a shot. People don't age in this state, they desiccate." 

"Well, maybe we won't go the lake then."

At least this gentleman saw the light.
BTW: This couple were only a half a mile from the parking lot.

Riddle! How can you spot a Texan who is ill prepared? The same scenario as above except they are holstering a side arm attached to their belt. I suppose Fox Fear Network might have ran a story about man-eating marmots. 
.
Personally, spotting an armed hiker in the wilds constitutes a clear and present danger to me. I leave the scene ASAP. 

Jeff's Rule of Thumb states.  The ill prepared hiker factor increases exponentially as the sun rises. 

BTW. I wasn't paid to write that rant about being ill prepared by REI, although it would have been nice.

I'll shut up and let the Centennial Park plus one speak.

Please be safe out there, 
Jeff

There's still time to sign up! 












Wednesday, June 22, 2016

PSA II...

The end result. 

When I wrote a blog about my high PSA (prostate specific antigen) test I was amazed at the many responses I received.  


Three buddies stepped forward and provided  me with scary, yet useful information. They relayed their personal experiences of having this trouble making gland surgically removed. All three were incredibly honest in their assessment of what life is like without a prostate. Surprisingly, they were all upbeat about their futures. They had beaten cancer. 

Then again, I heard from many who had also heard the bad news of an elevated PSA test. More than a few went on to undergo a painful biopsy. The results were good in their favor. Yet, in introspect, the bloody procedure seemed so unnecessary. 

I even received strongly worded messages from a few women acquaintances. As far as I know, women don't own a prostate, but they sure have opinions! 

With all these wide ranging thoughts going through my head, I paid a visit to a Boulder urologist on June 14th. 


After a back and forth session of information gathering by both patient and Doctor, we got down to business.

"Well, Jeff, it's time for you to assume the position." 

I sheepishly submitted to a body cavity probe. (Never again will I think of going into a burning building as a strange choice of careers.) 

When he was done,  he told me what I already knew. "You have an enlarged prostate." 
No surprise since I've sat on a bicycle seat for over a quarter million miles in my life. I was pleased that he didn't exclaim, "Oh My God! There's a bloat of wallowing hippopotamuses growing on your prostate!" 

The Doctor then advised me make an appointment for an ultrasound prostate test. He also wrote out orders for a more in depth PSA blood test. 

On June 16th, a vial of red stuff was drawn from me and sent to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota. (No wonder health care is so expensive.) 

Today, I opened up a secure website to see my grades. Here's my scores:

6/16/2016 10:50 AM
  • TOTAL PSA 2.30 ng/mL
  • FREE PSA 0.30 ng/mL
  • PSA RATIO F/T See Comments ng/mL

Dr. Lonny said they rate a "very good." 

I am now very relieved and happy. Maybe now I'll be less distracted in my day to day activities. (Like losing five Nalgene bottles in a month and driving over a solar shower). 

Now I can on with my travel plans for the summer and go back to being a full time Wandering, Wondering Jew. It's a dirty job but someone's got to do it. 

To all of you who did welfare checks on my mental health along with good tidings, a sincere Thank You! It was very appreciated. 

I know I worried about this a lot. Sid Sambur passed on his worry gene to me. 

Sid also had prostate cancer at my age. 

I bought lakeside property to celebrate. I'm camped at Horsetooth Reservoir for another night. Come on up and join me and Barley. I have plenty of IPAs and I'm willing to share.

It's true, health is our greatest wealth. Just ask Steve Jobs if you were now able to.

There are so many pretty places to see.
Cheers and thanks again,
Jeff

PS! There still time to sign up for the G W,W J Sweepstakes!






Thursday, June 16, 2016

My Father didn't play with...

me. 

For Sid, being a Dad meant being a good provider. He brought home the brisket (can't say bacon. Our kitchen was strictly kosher). We were raised with Old World family values. This makes sense since my parents were escapees from Hitler's insane concept of human genetics. (That is why I flinch when a Presidential candidate proposes "round ups" based on ethnicity.) 

In the Sambur household parenting tasks were strictly divided and adhered to.

Clara was in charge of nurturing, hugs, feeding us (too much) and making sure we wore our galoshes on rainy days. In Mom's eyes, her three children were God's perfect creations.. Mommy's love of her "boychicks" (little boys) was boundless. We could do no wrong. I think she  often overlooked our transgressions in a Jewish Motherly way.

Dad provided the reality check. Sid's approach to parenting was laissez faire. He believed in hands on intervention only if we strayed away from the concept of being a "mensch." (From the Merriam-Webster Dictionary: a person of integrity and honor.)

Punishment came in two forms. We would hear about our screw ups forever, despite our many hang-our-heads-down apologies. When I became an adult, I still found myself muttering "I'm sorry" to him for a bad deed done decades ago.. It's true, Jewish guilt is the gift that keeps on giving. 

The other form was physical, but never brutal. If we were given the choice, we would have chosen physical over emotional. At least, the slap was over and done with in a second. 

Sid still loved us, just sort of in a different way. 

I'm pretty sure I became a mensch too.

Now I'll get to the point:

I've  never been a father (at least, not that I'm aware of) but I've been around a lot of children. Instinctively, I follow Sid's example and tend to shy away from these miniature humans. Sure, I'll smile at them, wave and say hello, but I'd rather be somewhere else. Being around kids never felt natural to me. 

Well, that changed with Little Dylan. She stole my heart. I think it's her smile that's so reminiscent of Clara's. OK. She giggles a lot too. 

I think Sid would've been taken by her too. He might have even played with her. 

Happy Father's Day! Sid! 
I love you. Thanks for instilling me with sensible values.

It's not too late to sign up for the Great Wandering, Wondering Jew Sweepstakes
OY! What have you got to lose?
http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/06/the-great-wandering-wondering-jew.html