So I might as well just tell you how it all went down:
On a tip from a friend, I headed out to Ridgway, CO to “take a dip in the hot springs,” as my friend put it. The simplicity of the statement was the draw, really. And the directness. It was as if I didn’t have an option.
So, after a desolate drive from Green River, Utah (I finally discovered that I was, after all, in Utah) I roll up to the Orvis Hot Springs, which sits just outside some lovely Colorado mountain range. I slam my door shut and enter the small lodge/office.
“Let me show you around,” says the lady behind the front desk.
Done and done. She leads me through the very ski resort-like surroundings.
“Here’s the kitchen. The showers. You’re planning on camping or lodging?”
“Camping.”
“Great. Now, this way to the hot springs.”
“Sweet.”
“No alcohol beyond this point, no electronics, no food, and clothing is optional.”
“Huh?”
“Clothing is optional.”
She opens the screen door and I am led through a garden of sorts, where there are steaming pools of different shapes and sizes. What were also of differing size and shape were the naked old people. Everywhere. And I must emphasize OLD.
“So this is as far as we’ll go.”
“Okay.” I choke on the words. A woman—probably 60’s—climbs out of one of the smaller pools wearing a summer hat. That’s it. A summer hat. I’m not sure I had ever seen a pair of old female titties in person prior to that moment; I’m not insinuating that I’ve actively sought out images of old titties before—I just think I’ve probably seen them in like—well, I have no idea where I’ve seen them.
Well, my friend gave me direct orders. “Take a dip in the hot springs.” I was left with no choice.
“How much is it?”
I set up camp and try to forget my trepidations. Not only had I never skinny-dipped before, but I was—at first look--by far the youngest person there by a good 30+ years. I set up camp and took the plunge. Well, it was less of a plunge and more of a locating the least populated pool, keeping my underwear on, and tip toeing into the scalding hot baths.
Did I forget to mention that these springs are loaded with lithium? Naturally, of course. The lithium comes out of the mountains and all that jazz. But I probably could of used a little crash course on a) how long to stay in the lithium hot beds and b) what to do when you are totally tripping balls on lithium.
I stayed in there way too long. But it didn’t hit me right away. I was soaking in the good life for quite a while, not minding the naked ancient couple across from me and their floating genitalia. I got out after a good 45 minutes, totally chillaxed, and made my way to the kitchen to prep some food for the campfire I was planning. I got out the Ginsu knife, and held down the broccoli stalk for decapitation. Then came the lithium. How to describe it:
At first, pure wooziness. The spins, dizzy qualities, you name it. Then came the flu-like symptoms. My bones ached. My stomach was about to spill over. I thought I was going to shit for days. I dropped the Ginsu and the broccoli, made my way over to the nearest chair and collapsed. I had to ride this one out.
What made things worse, or better (depending on your perspective of these things), was that this Orvis Hot Springs was clearly a place where people, obviously old, came to get all zenned out.
“Want some water melon? It’s community water melon,” says the toweled man standing over the largest watermelon I have ever seen. It was either the lithium or he was flying through a tunnel of watermelon.
“No, I’m good.” No I was not.
“Please help yourself. Help yourself to everything.”
Huh? What did that mean? Help myself to the acid beneath the kitchen sink? It even sounded like he might have been offering a trip of the oddly sexual kind.
“No I’m definitely good.” Not sure if I said that, exactly. My responses were on autopilot as I tried to keep my stomach from upending itself.
“Here, have some water.”
“Thanks.” I took the water from the old man—but noticed that his hands were definitely not wrinkly or arthritic. They were young and—tattoo! I recognized that tattoo! Not on his hands, but on his wrist.
“What the—“
I look up and—you got to be kidding—I see the face of one Michael Henry Harrison, flying through a tunnel.
“I told you we’d meet up,” he said, like a glowing god flying through a watermelon tunnel.
“I’m not okay,” I said to him.
“You stayed in there too long. The lithium. It’ll get ya.”
How long had he been here? How long had he been with the natives? Had he become a naked, zenned-out old person? His hands still looked okay….
“Just chug the water till you piss. It’ll pass in like twenty minutes. It’s not that bad.”
He was right. Twenty minutes later—felt like a million bucks. Plus, I had my travel buddy back. I remembered, from ages past, that this place was part of our plans. He had waited for me. What a guy.
“Come. Let us play with the old people.”
I followed him into the land of lithium and open, Colorado sky. The stars were heavenly that night. And the night after that, and the night after that, and the night after that, and the…
We left the next day.
p.s. The place was $30 for overnight camping, all the naked old people you can get, and steaming hot springs even until 10pm the next day after you check out. The best deal ever. (http://www.orvishotsprings.com),
So did I ever get naked? Go there and see for yourself. I might still be there…in lithium coated spirit.
-- JEFF
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