“We never camped as a family growing up. Although I seem to remember my father pitching a tent in the front yard during a sleepover. Yes, yes – and he came up on us with a flashlight when we were telling ghost stories and scared the bejeezus outta us.”
I fondly remember the love and silliness that was Dad: my
brother comes by it naturally. It’s difficult to believe this memory places my
father at an earlier age than my brother is now with his two boys. His sudden
passing has left a chasm in our family that has never been filled.
I recall the camping trips I took another lifetime ago on
the Blue Ridge Parkway with four children, their father, and a Chihuahua –
experiences encapsulated and carried off with the wind like dandy lion seeds. But
unlike my father’s ethereal presence, my former family is out there somewhere, living
their lives without me. One could
argue that a wrenching divorce is just as painful and sorrowful as death.
DAYS 10 & 11
Ridgeway, Colorado
“Do you mean everyone is nekkid?!” my mother asks in an
incredulous tone. “I mean – don’t they have those little loin cloths like you
see in the movies?”
“No, Mom,” I sigh. “That’s Hollywood trying to keep an ‘R’
rating.”
And I am reminded of all of the modesty and inhibitions that
I am supposed to have, but somehow it skipped a generation.
When we arrived after three hours of travel, we set up camp
for the first time without incident, working together in tandem as if we had
been doing it for years. Appalachian picnic tent with our colors flying, and a
nice raised platform for the main tent (although I didn’t think it was too nice
that night when I didn’t put my glasses on and tumbled off of it).
Our first evening at Orvis Hot Springs was Saturday, and
with the first night of the meteor shower it got a bit raucous with the locals
as the evening progressed.
There are several pools, each with a different temperature.
The stone paths are lit with ground lights and when you reach the large pool,
the steam rises in the sub-freezing temperatures. With the uplighting, it is
quite a mist-ical scene. You can only see silhouettes of glistening bodies, and
no one pays attention when we disrobe.
The stone path is not only freezing, but it is slimy like a
slug trail as well as uneven, making walking with the bad foot glaringly
awkward. And then there is always the night blindness. But I have the
uplighting and a hand from my love.
Unlike Cottonwood Hot Springs, the floor of this pool is
gravel instead in mortar and stones, which makes for a wonderful foot massage.
In the corner is the main water source flowing like a strong fountain, and to
sit under it is glorious until it becomes painful. On the other side is another
trickly fountain with cool water. There are shallow wading areas and small
pools scattered about. And this is only one of five pools, the hottest at 110
degrees called the Lobster Pot.
There is a quarter moon, and I am now reminded and saddened about
the light pollution dilemma. The last time I saw this many stars was when our
church group traveled to Arizona to the Reservation (“Rez”) in the early 80’s,
pitched camps, dug latrines, and taught bible school to the local children.
Unfortunately, the concept of “Navajo time” has stuck with me over the years.
105 degrees – ouch! And we make our way over to the ledge so
that we are not completely submerged. Everyone is speaking in hushed tones and
there is a calm atmosphere. Until…
“Oh my Gawd, y’all! These stones are cold! Are y’all here?
Oh there you are!”
And she arrives like a bat out of hell, disrobes in front of
the one source lamp, cackling
all the way. Needless to say, that’s when the party begins. All we could do was
shake our heads as cheers arose from the steam, and the tone of the evening was forever changed.
And still the stars fell, and wishes were made.
I wake up in the middle of the night. Dear God, I am still
in the same clothes I changed into after my shower. At least I have good socks
on, PJ’s, t-shirt and new furry hoodie where I can pull the drawstring tight
and have this little circle around my nose and mouth, which is how he finds me
the next morning. Several times during the night we wake up and laugh about
busting our camping cherry in this manner.
Around 4:30 in the morning, someone pulls in behind us with
a really bad transmission – at least in reverse. They have a dog and proceed to
get settled. The campsite sets on a dirt road that goes somewhere, and there are
people all during this evening going to that place. That van is now setting up
camp. Damn, it’s cold. And I have to pee. I manage to get the zipper open and
the fly open, and PLOP. There I am on the ground, tumbling off the raised
platform onto the gravel. My elbow hurts. More falling stars, more wishes.
The sun is up and my love is outside. I am wrapped up like a
mummy and can see my breath, smiling because I did the camping thing in
sub-freezing temps – but then again – I didn’t really have a choice, now did I?
Within minutes, the early morning van guy is outside chatting with Him, and
they immediately drum up a simpatico rapport as if they had known each other
for years.
I make a move to exit the sleeping bag – but damn! It’s cold
and I didn’t dress right so I greet him from the tent. He is a musician; his
partner a yoga instructor, and we cannot imagine a more serendipitous meeting
of kindred souls.
Lovey makes a breakfast to die for on the grill that even
veg heads would die for. We plan to meet for a soak after they go out for
breakfast, and then it hits me. The sunshine is out; in the morning, there is no uplighting and
silhouettes. And we’re sober.
This is when the modesty and inhibition kicks in.
“Does that mean they’re going to see us nekkid?” to which he shakes his head and giggles.
Well – I had to write this morning anyway (Freud would have a field day), and by the time I got down
there, they were walking back up. A good thing too, because they are part of the
8% ers who wear a suit. And then we have my love who is clearly very
comfortable in his natural state, even during the day time.
I don't remember much about that day other than messing around at the campsite and taking soaks throughout the day, but the calm atmosphere and kindred souls were totally regenerative.
That evening, we fired up the grill with our new friends and broke bread together. Soon the instruments came out and we had ourselves in an old-fashioned Hootenanny, although my six chords and my love's play-by-ear were no match, and we were happy to listen to his own poetic, melodic music.
They came over the next morning with proper goodbyes and hopes and wishes to stay in touch. But as we all know, circumstantial meetings rarely turn into long-term friendships.
"There is always room for you to stay in Colorado Springs," he offers. And I can tell that it is truly genuine.
After packing up (which is like putting a million puzzle pieces back together so everything fits just right), we took our last soak and leave for Moab.
Our first two days of tent-camping go off without a hitch, except He lost his prescription glasses around one of the pools. I simply knew they would be found ("Oh no, they grew legs"). Three days later and a half-state away, they were found.
So there. Either a wishing star was granted, or I asked the Universe in the right way.
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