“Homeless by Choice”

is how I describe my current address. On April 1st, I’ll be beginning my sixth year of this lifestyle that most people try to avoid. Being homeless. 

If you’ve been following along  you might have noticed lately I’ve hit a washboarded and potholed stretch of road. I’m having so few Eureka! moments to offset subjecting myself to 66 square feet of living space, the dubious at times toilet and shower facilities, the endless dinners of less than gourmet cuisine and the constant challenge of keeping my IPAs cold. Things I never thought much about, now feel strange and strained. 

One might guess correctly, I’m questioning what this is all about. You can say that lately I’m going through the motions of being in motion. 

Maybe it’s the incessant winds bearing  a “Damn the Torpedoes” attitude.

Maybe it’s a stubborn cold that refuses to unfurl the White Flag after two-plus weeks.

Maybe it’s because I feel like I’m floundering along instead of Wandering with a laser-like precision.

Maybe ( I can write this because I’m proud to say this is the Bigliest honest blog in the World ) it’s starting to get lonely out here. 

Maybe it’s a combination of all four.

However! With all that said, I’m not thinking of placing a “For Sale! Make Me An Offer,” sign on Barley the Van. I haven’t looked at Real Estate guides either. 

I’m more than half way through this road trip. Soon, I’ll make the big turn north and east towards Colorado. I’ll stop along the way: Zion, Grand Staircase/Escalante, Bear Ears ( what’s left of them after they’ve been drawn and quartered by an environmentally insensitive Administration ), Canyonlands and maybe a few others. 

My long range plans are to spend a few months in Colorado. By August I’ll head toward the Northwest and work my way down towards Fall. I’ll spend Thanksgiving in Colorado. Scottsdale after that. January 2nd, 2019, I’ll climb aboard a big plane kangaroo bound for Australia. 

All these plans are subject to change. Maybe I’ll meet a woman who not only lusts for me, but shares my Wanderlust. Stranger things have been known to happen like a Racist Commander in Tweet. 

 Which reminds me, I’m still running for President in 2020. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/11/my-2020-presidential-campaign-begins.html?m=1

In the meantime I’m hoping to get my being in Motion Mojo back. I’ll continue to look for a sign. I’ll keep my eyes open for that Pink Barleian Van. 

From Joshua Tree National Park where the campground resembles a noisy Cancun Spring Break crowd minus the wet T-shirt contests and MTV. 

 Happy Passover!

Happy Easter!

Cheers!

Jeff

Final Photo: this is my Joshua impersonation for asking for Divine Intervention.

“Goodbye Death Valley!”

supposedly was the parting words of a of prospective prospector who got lost with other “49ers” in the winter of 1849/1850. One of their members died in that Valley. They thought they would all perish there. 

The name stuck. 

A few months ago, I decided to try something new and completely different. I vowed to spend a month in the Death Valley National Park region. I based this decision oh past visits there. The temperatures usually follow the Goldilocks Principle. They are not too hot, not too cold, but just right. (Normally it feels like being on the receiving end of a touchless massage). 

This year that wasn’t the case. Of course, I mentioned this in a blog.

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2018/03/being-cold-weenie.html?m=1

However despite Mother Nature turning a cold shoulder to this WW J, the month went by. It wasn’t the best of times nor the worst of times. It just was. I’ve come to realize no matter how poor a day I’m having eventually the clock strikes Happy Hour. 

Death Valley National Park is still my good Buddy. It’s the largest National Park in the lower 48. (A whopping 3.37 million acres. That’s a lot of Rhode Island’s). It’s mostly Wilderness. Elevations range from below sea level to above tree line. It’s the home of the pupfish and other hardcore survivalist. It’s beautiful in a raw, cerebral and unforgiving way. It’s a place where you can easily escape the other 39.5 million people who call California home. All it takes is a pair of trail runners, a willingness to explore and enough food and water to get you through the day. 

Hint: the further you venture the less people you see.

Its one of my favorite places on Earth. 

One day, I’ll return to say “Hello! Death Valley” once again. 

Chillin’ with a cold germ in Borrego Springs, CA. 

Still haven’t found my stride on this current road trip. I’m hoping for a change of

Mojo. 

Cheers

Jeff

Manzanar Revisited..

Back when I was on the fire department, I took on the role of referee. In other words, I often threw out the Yellow BS flag when colleagues stepped across the line. It was a dirty, thankless job but someone had to do it.

When Firefighter X proposed all firefighters don Kevlar vests for protection against physical assaults; I threw out the Yellow Flag. I even called him to state my strong opinion.

“Firefighter X! If you didn’t treat people in such a demeaning, condescending and disrespectful manner, they wouldn’t throw punches at you. Hell! People you work with want to punch you, but don’t want to get fired over it.” 

There was no mandatory Kevlar vests issued.

When Firefighter Y wrote a Department wide email proposing placing firearms on all pieces of apparatus; I threw out the Yellow Flag. My Department wide email suggested to Firefighter Y if he wanted to carry guns, the local Police Department had a few openings. Weapons were never placed on the rigs.

When some mean-spirited coworkers “Outted” a Gay Firefighter; it was me who made phone calls to Battalion Chiefs screaming out for justice. “Battalion Chief Z! That’s a hate crime! Those bastards need to be reprimanded. Letters need to be placed in their files. What they did was wrong!”

So...it’s not surprising as of Black Tuesday 2016 (Election Day), I’ve thrown out my fair share of political rants. They are my blogs Yellow BS Flags.

While in Bishop, CA I drove out to Manzanar National Historic Site for another look. I was there in September, 2014. I made this report.

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2014/09/manzanar-japanese-american-internment.html

In the aftermath of Pearl Harbor, Executive Order 9066  transformed an old apple orchard into a Japanese Internment Camp. Let’s just refer to these prisons as FDR did, “concentration camps.” Over 10,000 people of Japanese ancestry (many of them children and young adults) ended up in the Owens Valley of California. They didn’t have a choice. They were forcibly displaced. They left behind homes, belongings, friendships, memories and livelihoods. In total 120,000 Japanese were incarcerated in many inland camps throughout the the Nation. 70,000 of them were born in the USA citizens. 

Alll for the crime of their skin color, last names and the angle of their eyes. Shameful.

FDR, Congress and the Military chose to ignore the 4th Amendment (unreasonable search and seizure) and the 14th Amendment (no person shall be deprived of “life, liberty or property, without due process of the law.”) Two clear violations by people who are supposed to uphold the fine ideals of our Constitution. After Pearl Harbor fear and paranoia took over. Reason exited Stage Right. 

We now are in the throes of an Executive who is either unaware or uncaring (or both) of America’s sordid past. President Evil’s leadership style is fear based and divisive. 

We are being led to believe a majority of Hispanics are card carrying members of the MS-13 Gang. 

A Continent of Nations are all “Shit-Hole” Countries. 

It’s OK to create a Travel Ban on predominantly Muslim countries who have no ties to 911. 

Women, minorities, religious groups, the handicapped, Gays and transgendered are all fair game in his daily War of Words. In his World, it’s Right to be White. Choose your parents better next time. 

As far as the Media goes, if it isn’t Fox Fear Network, it’s all “Fake News.” 

His attempt to leverage (blackmail) the DACA program (affecting 800,000 who know no other Nation as Home) for the construction of the Wall of Shame. It’s not everyday a President gets to substitute one Racist themed idea for another. 

The List goes on and on and...

The Moral Lesson of Manzanar is going unheeded by the Powers to Be. We are devolving back to a Black Eye moment in American History.

Folks, it’s Unconstitutional. It’s UnAmerican. It’s wrong.

I’ll end this lengthy blog with a quote from Clarence Darrow (Scopes Monkey Trail lawyer).

“As long as the World shall last, there will be wrongs, and if no man objected and no man rebelled, those wrongs would last forever.”

That’s why I keep throwing out the Yellow BS Flag.

Jeff

Being a Cold Weenie...

is a curse.

We base our decisions on past experiences. ( I.E. A child quickly learns the harsh lesson of a hot stove top. )

So after a decade’s worth of visits to Death Valley National Park in the months of February and March, I deemed it warm enough for a month long layover from true winter. Alas, Ma Nature has a way of monkey wrenching the best of game plans. In that time frame Death Valley had below average temperatures and above average winds, dank clouds and precipitation. Bummer for me. 

While there, I was able to recruit Greg L. ( a former firefighter colleague ) to backpack the Cottonwood/Marble Canyons Loop with me. Of course, it was cooler than normal. Ice formed overnight on nearby puddles. I froze my tuchas off the two nights we camped. Of course I whined about it. ( The 28th Amendment guarantees me the right to complain. If everyday citizens can possess a weapon of mass destruction, I should have the Right to whine. )

After a while, Greg had enough. I can’t blame him. I can become the Wandering Wondering Whiner pretty easily. He said, “Jeff! You need to get over this cold weather obsession.”

I replied, “Greg, I envy people like you. I wish I could handle all the seasons. My life would be so much simpler.” 

As we started hiking ( me wearing two layers of fleece while Greg wore a cotton T-shirt ), I thought about what he said. 

Then it dawned on me, I come from a long line of Cold Weenies. It’s in my DNA.

Mike and Robin ( the best brother and sister-in-law in the World ) split their time between Palm Beach, FL and Queens, NY.

My Dad, Sid spent the entire year in South Florida. No Snowbird action for him. Sid rarely flipped on his AC even in the muggiest most sultry of Delray Beach summers. He might have been a Cold Weenie, but he was no Heat Weenie. 

Recently, Israel sent 10 competitors to the Winter Olympics in South Korea. Let’s just say the results were no “Miracle on Ice.” 

Go way back to Biblical times. Read about Moses leading his manna munching Tribes for 40 years through the Empty Quarter of the Mideast. Hebrews are the People of the Desert. No one calls the Jews the “Frozen Chosen.” 

Being a Cold Weenie is in my blood. I’m unable to click my flip-flops together three times ( with eyes closed ) and say out loud, “I’m going to live in a Igloo. I’ll bide my time making Snow Angels while naked.” It’s not going to happen. 

So...one day I’ll probably settle down half the year in Colorado. The other half in Snobsdale, Arizona. This might happen sooner than later. 

From cold ( of course ) and windy Bishop, CA.

A chilly Cheers,

Jeff

PS. All the photos are from the Cottonwood/Marble Canyons Hike. That’s Greg who now knows I’m a Cold Weenie. 

Final photo. There are alligators in Death Valley NP.

I think about Everett Ruess...

 a lot each and every time I meander off in the Southwest deserts. The region is wrinkled, contorted, tortured and beautiful. It’s an equal opportunity area. Fools or those who come prepared, can meet the same dismal fate. America’s SW is a harsh land.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Who’s Everett Ruess? 

Everett wandered the SW from 1931 to 1934. Then the land wasn’t fenced in. There were few National Parks or Monuments. Towns had the feel of outposts rather than bastions of civilization. Roads were rudimentary. Everett’s means of transport was his feet and a few burros. One day he went into a Utah canyon and forgot to come out. He was last seen in Escalante, Utah. His body was never discovered. He was 20 years young. Mr. Ruess is a mystery that’s never been solved.

 

Everett gained fame after his death. There was poetry in his letters to friends and family. There was teenage angst in others. His love of Wild Places was palpable. He was a starving artist. He was sort of a slacker. He had no problem with asking his parents for a handout. Mr and Mrs Ruess supplied the cash for him to go along his merry way. Maybe this was their way of keeping their eccentric son from becoming a family embarrassment. 

In contemporary times, Everett would reek of cannabis, have dreadlocks and reside in Telluride. He would be a Trust-a-farian. 

So why do I think of Everett? 

I too venture alone into the Southwest canyons, mesas and cliff sides. It’s a is vast landmass.  There’s plenty of rugged terrain devoid of trails. The few that are out here might have been made by game, old miners or intrepid hikers. When I spot them, I follow them not knowing where they might lead. I tiptoe into mine shafts until the light fades away. This isn’t smart. Things can go wrong out there with no one to hear your cries of “HELP!” 

At times rocks which have been stationary for eons might decide to shift. This occurred to me on a cliff a few years ago. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/02/as-i-was-falling-over-backwards.html

If you don’t believe me ask Aron Ralston. 

Mother Nature is a beautiful thing until she decides to maim or murder you. 

I take less risks now. I’ve become much more conservative overall. A twisted ankle or a sprained knee would be a bad thing. I don’t have a desire to hike into a canyon and forget to come out. I’m not sure if people would find poetry in my blogs or beauty in my photos. I might not ever get famous! 

I promise to be careful out here. 

Cheers from colder than average Tecopa Hot Springs,

Jeff

“Yet what is travel...

If not the art of creative homelessness?”

From “No-Man’s Lands” by Scott Huler

It’s been six months since I’ve resided in Barley the Van.

I spent four of those months overseas. I had no choice but to leave my four-wheel  Buddy behind. Barley won’t fit in an airplane’s overhead bin compartment. 

The other two months, I slept inside a thing called a bedroom. There were no wheels beneath me. I had indoor plumbing!  So this is how the other 99.8% live. 

 

For half a year, I’ve been living as large as a 6’3”, 239# Lying Scumbag President. It’s now time to readjust to Barley’s 66 square feet of living space. ( most of which is a Queen-sized bed. ) 

I’ll be reading by headlamp, drink my water from Nalgene bottles and cook on a Coleman stove. I’ll be showering outside with solar heated water. I’ll admit it. It’s sort of a feral existence. I can’t  dwell too much on how strange my life must seem to “normal”folks. At times, it’s even strange to me. 

I’ve now been in the Greater Death Valley Region for over a week. On my hikes, I’ve seen two jackrabbits, one Desert Bighorn and a docile Dude from Washington State. I knew he was harmless since his pick up truck sported a “Kill Your Television” bumper sticker. That’s a Peace-nik. 

It’s been quiet. A little too quiet, as I’ve noticed nothing but couples in the campgrounds. The few single travelers own dogs; which in  their World makes them a couple too. The stigma of the single man in the white van, is once again, becoming my reality. 

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

I might be going through the motions of solo traveling. There’s only so many times in a day, I can say out loud, “Look at that! Isn’t that beautiful?” But there’s no Significant Other on the receiving end to appreciate the scene. Nor a companion to clink drinks with at Happy Hour. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2017/12/i-fear-im-losing.html

I’ve been at this WW J thing a little short of six years. Maybe there’s an expiration date to this solo kosher Wandering? 

With all that said, ( No One writes a more honest blog than me. No One. It’s 100% Fake News Free ),  for the next three months I’ll continue on my way to remote places in the SW.  I’ll have plenty of time to wander, wonder and ponder. I’ll keep looking for a sign to show me the way.

Who knows? One day, I might drive into a campground and there will be a pink Barleian Van owned by a WW (fill in the religion) Woman. It could be a match made in heaven.

Don’t get me wrong. I still love traveling. I just might be losing my Mojo for going solo. Only time will tell. 

Cheers from chilly Death Valley National Park,

Jeff

I’m posting this from Pahrump, NV. There’s more gun dealers and casinos than grocery stores. There’s no brewpubs but I can buy plenty of Bud Lite. It’s not on my list of possible places to settle down. 

It’s now politically correct to say this, it’s a shit hole. 

“The True West Differs from the East...

 in one great, pervasive, influential, and awesome way: space." 

“Blue Highways” by William Least Heat Moon

For a wee bit over three weeks, I was lying low in Flat Florida. 

Yes, I loved my quality time and Happy Hours with Mike and Robin. (AKA the best brother and sister-in-law in the World). Yes, it was wonderful to view mellow manatees, stilt-legged shore birds, pelotons of pelicans and playful porpoises. Yes, I loved the endless miles of beach walks while listening to a soothing surf. Yes, I enjoyed my ocean sunrises and sunsets. Yes, I thrilled at the Fire and Fury of witnessing a NASA rocket lift-off from Cape Canaveral. Yes, it was great to wear tank tops and baggy shorts for days on end. 

The only negative was when an alligator ripped my flesh. Well, not exactly, but it sounds a lot more heroic than being filleted by shrubbery. ( I’ll never look at those green predators the same again )

Despite this blood loss, I had a relaxed, easy going 22 days of Beach Boy bliss.

But, I found myself missing the West. I needed uphill. I craved canyons, mountains and passes. I was lusting for Zip Code sized Big Views devoid of people. I desired Space. 

The definition of the what the West is, or where it begins scores opinions from authors, explorers, the US Census Bureau and one Wandering Wondering Jew. 

Wallace Stegner described the West as “the geography of hope.”

Gertrude Stein said: 'In the United States there is more space where nobody is than where anybody is. That is what makes America what it is.”

John Wesley Powell that one-armed adventurer and long time director of the US Geological Survey believed the West began to the left of the 100th Meridian. A line separating moist from arid lands. Or another way of stating this: Mother Nature provides the water for crops vs. the necessity of irrigation.

The US Census Bureau gets right to the point. According to this Governmental body counter, the West is comprised of the Rocky Mountain Region, the Great Basin and the West Coast. They tossed Hawaii and Alaska into the pot as well. I guess they didn’t want America’s newest states to feel left out. 

For one WW J, the concept of the West is pretty simple. The better part of America begins on the hilly side of Interstate 25. This 1,068 mile north-south road doesn’t run from Canada (Eh!) to Mexico (Si!), so I conceived an imaginary four-lane in my mind for completion. ( Sort of like Borders;  just human drawn lines in so many places.) 

Jim Morrison of the Doors sang it all so well. “The West is the best.”

I’m now in Snobsdale, AZ. I’m provisioning Barley the Van for a month’s stay in Death Valley National Park. From there, I’ll visit the Mohave Desert, Joshua Tree National Park, Bishop, CA ( an eastern Sierra Nevada town on the 395 corridor), Zion and Bryce NPs, Grand Staircase/Escalante and Bear Ears National Monuments ( what’s left of them after they have been desecrated by President Short Term Thinker ) and a bevy of other beautiful places in the Southwest. 

My ETA back to Colorado is mid-May. Right in time for a blizzard of heart attack heavy wet White Death. Once there, I’ll see Family, friends and Rockies and Junior College World Series baseball. 

So...if you find yourself on the sunny side of the Southwest, feel free to look me up. I’ll have a spare box of Macs and Cheese and extra IPAs (AKA the Nectar of the Gods). I’m willing to share. My library is well stocked with history books too. Does any American really desire a future President who isn’t well read? I think not. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/11/my-2020-presidential-campaign-begins.html

The last photo is one month’s worth of Happy Hours. A fella can get mighty thirsty in the Desert.

Fun folks are always welcome at my campfire.

Cheers

Jeff

Here’s some extra reading if you are curious about a WW J’s typical day.

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2017/05/a-day-in-life-of.html