June 21, 2017
We started our trip to Oregon on the summer solstice. A mystical day to begin a mystical journey. Before we had even pulled out of the driveway, I was looking for a spot for lunch. Such foodies we are. I had found Juniper Hot Springs, our destination for the night, on the Internet just the night before. The magic of Google. It would take us through Craig and Hayden. I had been wanting to check out the granary reformed by the folks we met at the Colorado Agritourism Association’s annual conference. The timing didn’t work out to eat lunch in Hayden though. I wondered where we would end up. Chris’ Facebook page would later remind me that we ate lunch in Kremmling. Mexican, if I remember correctly. The safest option in rural Colorado for someone who doesn’t want to eat meat. And who wants to drink margaritas.

Chris is a responsible driver though. He was nervous about driving and hauling more than a hundred thousand dollars of my parent’s equipment. So when the waiter came to the table, I wasn’t sure what he would say. Then came the familiar phrase of comfort…. “Margarita. On the rocks. Salt.” And when the waiter turned to look at me, I hesitated like a deer in headlights. I thought about ordering lemonade or asking if they had root beer, but when I opened my mouth “no salt” is what came out.

In all our travels and all the places we’ve lived, Chris and I still have a romantic attachment to Mexican. Memories flash through our minds – smiling faces with dark sunglasses in the bright sun, sand and surf. I think we’re immediately transported to our honeymoon and other warm, sunny vacations with family and friends. Like when I played beach volleyball tournaments with Volleyball of the Rockies or won the Corona Open. It was a true testament to my volleyball as well as my drinking skills. I was quite proud of myself in those days. And when asked by the headliner on stage that night my advice to everyone in the audience, I had the same words of wisdom I would share today… “Just love each other.” Of course today I add “Just breathe!” Not to mention enjoying afternoon beverages on the patio on a warm sunny Colorado day, with chips and salsa. There’s so many incredible memories locked up in a salt-rimmed glass. Or in my case “no salt.” It makes me smile as I write this even now. Let’s just say, margaritas have been the cause of a broken sobriety streak on more than one occasion, the most recent of which was yesterday.

I had been a couple weeks late for my period, so I had been abstaining from alcohol again. The yo-yo cycle I’d been on for years now… “I’m pregnant…” “no I’m not…” “yes I am…” “just kidding.” Each time, trying to restrict my behavior and “be a better person” so that I wouldn’t have a miscarriage this time around. Because the truth is I did want kids. But I also loved those trips to Mexico and margaritas do still bring a smile to face.

I’ve also blocked out some of the other memories that weren’t so nice. Like the really cute, firefighter at the Corona Open who held my hair while I vomited in the bushes after I got off stage because I’d been drinking all day. I heard the next day he was Mr. April on the fireman’s calendar. Or when I had to leave a five-star all you can eat brunch without eating because of the five-star all you can drink dinner I had enjoyed the night before.

The sun was still a couple inches above the horizon when we pulled off the highway onto a winding dirt road toward Juniper Hot Springs. The margaritas and heavy meal were starting to settle in. We were tired. Anxious. In the middle of nowhere. We’d never been here before, but I loved the idea of the honor system hot springs and campground. Affordable. Private. Off the beaten track.

The further we got down the road though, the more concerned we became that maybe it was too off-beat. I’m optimistic by nature. I still wanted to believe that we would arrive at a newly discovered gem. That whomever had bought this place wanted to transform it into a healing wonder available affordably to all. And I maintained that optimism as we passed the gently flowing river and had the hot springs in sight. Chris was the one who first started feeling paranoia. Feeling eyes watching him through the emptiness. Thinking about mosquitoes so close to the water’s edge.

When we finally pulled up to the pools and stepped out of the camper, we were greeted immediately by the shed skin of a snake. Not sure if the skin’s former owner was still nearby, we let Ginger quickly relieve herself and put her in the RV while we explored the situation. It had been a long drive. I grabbed the pipe out of the camper and took a heavy drag, spanning the horizon as I exhaled.

The first thing I noticed is that the payment envelope said “Juniper Springs” instead of “Juniper Hot Springs.” Well, maybe that was ok. Maybe they didn’t need to be too hot. I had heard that the heat can irritate psoriasis anyway, so maybe that was a good thing. The eternal optimist.

We opened the gate in the wire fence to approach the pools. Before I had a chance to dip my finger in the water of the first pool to check the temperature, I noticed insects swimming in it. Definitely not “hot.” Instead of the crystal blue water that appeared on the Juniper Hot Springs website, it was stagnant and filled with algae. The magic of Photoshop. I knew that water looked too blue to be true. Instead, the walls surrounding the pools were crumbling into the water. Falling apart at their seams as they separated from their base nestled along the side of Juniper Mountain. An old blue baseball cap swam at the bottom of the pool, leaving us to wonder what had happened to its owner. And leaving us with no interest in staying any longer. The first night of our hot springs adventure would not be spent in a hot spring.

What would we do now? We were in the middle of nowhere with no reservations for the night. I suggested we camp anyway and skip the soak. Clearly the owners of this place were having a hard time keeping up with it. I recognized the signs of overwhelm. I bet they had dreams of revitalizing and restoring it. Dreams beyond their budget and ability to deliver at the moment. So they were doing the best they could. I appreciated that they were making it available to the public in the meantime. And we had the whole place to ourselves.

But Chris felt uneasy. The Hills Have Eyes kind of uneasy. So we got back in the Ford and headed back to the highway. The sun was setting behind the hill beyond while Chris searched his phone for a place to stay. Thank God for cell data service and Google voice search. Even in the middle of nowhere, we’re never really that far away. As long as there’s a cell tower nearby. A public campground was available about twenty miles away in a town called Maybell. They had converted the town square. That sounded promising.

It was late in the day and I wasn’t about to start looking for or suggesting other options. I used to love to control our driving routes. Maybe I still did since I had printed directions for every day of the journey to bring along with us. But early in our relationship, Chris surprised me with an overnight Valentine’s trip to Paonia, more than a four hour drive each way. We hadn’t even left town and were already arguing at the gas station. My mind works like my mother’s – it loves to do everything based on what’s most efficient. Not just the most efficient route, but the most efficient lane on the most efficient route. But this day, we had to do something different. We didn’t have time to rush through the journey and limit our enjoyment to the destination. The journey had to be a core part of the experience and I was going to be present and enjoy every mile of it.

It was then that I decided to let Chris be my chariot driver. Chris realizes that efficiency is not the only way to make a decision. Rather than blocking universal influence with logic and rules about how things are supposed to work, he is wonderfully open and creative. So if I could realize that Chris’ job was to drive the chariot however Spirit guided him and that my job was simply to observe as much as I could along the way, we found an entirely new peaceful existence together. And it’s worked ever since. I took reams of notes on that trip. It was the start of my journey to three babies, twenty million dollars and world peace. But that’s a subject for another book entirely.