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