“Hot springs! Hot springs! Hot springs!” The chant filled our car, accompanied by some excited fist thumping on the center console. As we descended the serpentine highway from Ourray, Colorado towards Orvis Hot Springs, the anticipation steadily grew. We were psyching ourselves up to relax as hard as humanly possible, no holds barred. Finally, our destination emerged from a cloak of spring snow, and we bailed out of the car, hurriedly bagging towels and tea mugs as we hustled in.
Becca and I have developed very few long-standing traditions during our time together. Traditions imply repetition and a certain amount of stability, both of which we have yet to master. That being said, Orvis is the exception that proves the rule. Since we first stumbled upon this steamy oasis while on a road trip through the Southwest a few years ago, we’ve managed to return a couple times a year without fail.
To fully understand the magic of these particular hot springs, you’d have to go there and soak until you turned into a giant, happy raisin, but barring that, I’ll do my best to explain. Orvis nails a perfect balance of rustic earthiness and accessible comfort. To me, it feels like a mix of a Zen rock garden and a Swiss mountain lodge. Plump Magpies fill the trees around the pools, and every now and then, the bright cry of a peacock cuts through the burble of running water. It’s a sublimely peaceful spot. It’s also clothing optional, and not in a creepy way. If people want to soak in the clothes God gave them, they’re free to do so. If we could all internalize the notion that a naked booty doesn’t have to be sexualized, we’d avoid a lot of chafing.
And speaking of chafing- prior to our most recent return to Orvis, Becca and I were feeling rubbed raw by road life. 90% of the time, traveling full-time and living in our car brings us deep joy. It’s exciting and perpetually interesting, and we’re constantly saying, “I can’t believe we get to do this!” During the other 10% though, the mantra changes to, “Why are we doing this?” The toll of bad weather, infrequent showers, foiled plans, and unfamiliar surroundings can sometimes create a generalized sense of weariness that can be hard to shake. Thankfully, though, washing away troubles is what Orvis does best.
After checking in, we rushed straight to a secluded corner of the grounds where two small, unassuming pools sit side by side- the lobster pot and the polar plunge. These pools are aptly named, with the former hovering around 120 degrees while the later sits at a brisk 55. Savoring the dramatic contrast between them is our favorite pastime at Orvis. It’s a shock to the system that serves as a powerful reset for the body and mind. After a few rounds of jumping from one to the other, we began to experience a full-body hum as if every cell were vibrating simultaneously. Eventually, an intoxicating loop of hot cold hot cold hot cold was formed, and we found ourselves stuck in the cycle, feeling hot spring high and performing our ablutions with an almost ritualistic fervor. Our finite supply of drinking water proved to be the only limiting factor. In our experience, hydration is the not so surprising secret to hot spring marathon success, so when our bottles were empty, we broke free with a concerted effort of will and headed inside to refill them.
In the community kitchen, we encountered a couple of old-school hippies in a fast-paced and abstruse discussion of all things esoteric. Together, they were weaving a metaphysical compilation which apparently sought to integrate everything, and yes, I do mean everything. When we entered, they had just established that the earth had been seeded by cosmic beings from the Dog Star (who may have been fungi?). These beings, the anunnaki, imparted their wisdom to the Egyptians who then misused it, so God used the Hebrews to put them in their place. Then, the hippies jumped forward a few thousand years and asserted that Jesus was the perfect disciple of the original cosmic wisdom which he learned from Tibetan monks according to sacred texts preserved by the Essenes, but he had also come to each culture individually at some point in time. This was a truth guarded by six-fingered people (the nephilim, who are the shunned descendants of angels who mated with humans). They went on in this vein for a long time, drawing together bits and pieces from Native American traditions, yogic practice, and much more. Sasquatch even made an appearance, though I don’t remember how he fit in exactly. It was heady stuff, so I felt utterly taken aback when one of them suddenly broke the rapid stream of conversation, turned to me and asked, “Man, are you taking all this in?” I genuinely wished them well on their spiritual quest, but had no idea what to say about such a huge tangle of ideas, so I stammered something noncommittal and lame. I think he picked up on my confused but positive vibrations because he asked me no more questions and instead offered Becca and I some chaga tea. He showed us the fist-sized, woody growth he had foraged and was now using to make this medicinal beverage. Never ones to look a gift ‘shroom in the mouth, we accepted two, steaming mugs with thanks.
We decided to amplify the anti-inflammatory effects of our tea with a long, therapeutic wallow in the large central pool. As we plopped in, the snow picked up with a vengeance, hissing into the pool and sizzling off our skin. We happily settled in to watch. The heavy, gray clouds roiled above us, clinging to the skirts of the surrounding mountains like needy children. Gradually, the trees above us began to stoop under the weight of the snow, seeming to huddle in a bit closer to the warm, billowing steam which wafted from our pool. The whole tableau created the most delicious sense of coziness, like swimming in the best cup of chai you’ve ever had. We drank it in, and our weariness began to evaporate. We chatted and laughed, relishing a growing feeling of contentment and tranquility.
When we finally dragged ourselves from this wintery Impressionist painting, we set off for the finale, a purgative stint in the sauna. This turned out to be the cherry on the top of our relaxation Monday. As we sweated and stretched in the blistering steam, we could feel our muscles loosen. Our jaws, shoulders, fingers, and toes let out sharp cracks, reverberating off the wooden walls. Our pores gaped, and we could feel (and smell) the toxins leaving our bodies. We cooked until we just couldn’t take it anymore, then rinsed and repeated.
When, at last, we got back into the car to leave Orvis, we collapsed into the seats like a couple of limp noodles. I felt like a completely different person. My chair, which had so recently felt like a cage, now felt like the most luxurious recliner. The prospect of indefinite wandering no longer felt so daunting.
Would love to have dipped in the lobster pot with you two traveling Dog Stars! Love from the Cherokee Nation.