i left my heart . in colorado

View From the Million Dollar Highway
Between Durango and Silverton
in Colorado

When I left Pagosa, I knew I'd be back some day. There were so many other things to explore, trails to hike, conversations to deepen, and then of course the healing nature of the springs to revisit.

I'd hoped to spend an entire day in Durango, a small city that was to remind me greatly of Berkeley, with cafes and pubs and boutiques and lots of people happily milling about. Before I hit town, though, I stopped for gas.

I'd been worried about my brakes and tires as a pressure light kept coming on and when I flipped my gas cap close, I looked up to see a Toyota dealership smack in front of me. (Hail Mary full of grace.) I pulled in and the service manager Cody Lujan helped get everything checked out while I sat and enjoyed their free coffee and WiFi. He gave me some excellent advice about how to drive the mountain and assured me that everything was okay. What a relief! He was so sweet and supportive. I couldn't help but give him a big hug, feeling fortified for what lay ahead.

Durango was indeed so charming that I felt if I stopped I would want to spend at least a week there. There was only one thing to do . . . drive straight through. I would save Durango for a return trip to Colorado.

When I booked my next campsite reservation in Ridgway, Colorado, I had no real idea of where I was going, only that Route 550, named "The Million Dollar Highway," was challenging. Challenging was an interesting word for it. As I started up the mountain, dark clouds were gathering and a light rain began to fall. The rain grew heavier. I followed a big truck for a number of miles until it pulled off to the side of the road. Either he was glad to be rid of me tailing him, or weather conditions were getting worse. I decided to forge ahead and the road began climbing through what I imagined the most diverse and awe-inspiring landscape possible, but the best (and worst) was yet to come.

Another View
from The Million Dollar Highway

The hairpin turns, the narrow roadway with no shoulders and drop-offs that one slip of the wheel would mean instant death, were quite terrifying. With the rain falling and cars and trucks speeding around the corners, I found myself clinging to the steering wheel, straining to see and to make the next turn.

Then, at around 11,000 feet . . . snow! It was something I should have anticipated given the elevation, but it was August, the height of summer after all. Should I have brought chains? The signs said so. Fortunately, it lay only in swaths on the roadside.

I'm convinced there is no true vocabulary for the sheer magnificence of the Rockies. Heights and planes and hues I'd never encountered appeared before me—waterfalls cascaded from rock walls, remnants of old mining efforts clung to the sides of the cliffs, clouds and mists encircled the peaks, all creating a mystical, dreamlike sense of dislocation.

The Brown Bear Cafe in Silverton

Up, down, down, up. My top speed going over the mountain was between 15-25 mph. An hour in, I reached Silverton, an old silver mining town at 9,318 feet and a delightful sight below. I was a bit of a wreck at that point and I stopped at The Brown Bear Cafe and asked the waiter about the conditions ahead. "Rain," he said matter-of-factly. "Maybe snow. Go slow." I thanked him and headed out. In another hour I would reach Ouray, called "the Switzerland of America" but at some point, I stopped and simply wept at all the beauty I'd just experienced. It so filled me with the deep knowingness/unknowingness of this world. How could one not feel whole and holy in such a place?

Ouray was a happy town with a hot springs as its focal point. The spring itself looked a little commercial to me when I pulled in for a look-see, but people were out in the pool, even in the rain, clearly enjoying themselves. Ouray was only ten minutes from my campsite, so I made a note to take a trip into town later to check it out.

Almost to Ridgway, I noticed a sign for Orvis Hot Springs. When I checked into the park, Dennis, the host told me that this was a better option than the one in town. "Clothing optional, though," he winked. I pondered that as I drove up to my site.

View of the Marina
in Ridgway State Park

Ridgway.

My site was lovely, with nice shady trees all about, on Elk Ridge between the San Juan and Cimarron Mountains. There was a reservoir for swimming, lots of trails, fresh drinkable water, showers and even electric to hook up to . . . pretty posh! I set up camp and was ecstatic to hear that no bears had been seen in the area. "Well, maybe one, on the other side of the campground," Dennis informed me. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! I decided to take precautions regardless. I didn't want to end up in my sleeping bag as a bear tortilla.

I set up my new bed with the pillows underneath. Perfect! It was much more comfortable than the air mattress. The rain began to patter on my tent roof as I settled in and listened to some of Steinbeck's "Travels with Charley" on audio, then I shut down. The profound silence of the mountains struck me. No insects. No night birds. Just the sound of the softly falling rain.

My Happy Campsite on Elk Ridge

When I awoke at sunrise, it was quite cold, maybe 40 degrees. Thankfully, the layers of quilts I'd burrowed under kept me quite comfortable during the night. I made coffee and my favorite egg white, fresh tomato, goat cheese with pepper omelet on my camp stove. Quite yummy! Afterwards, I took a walk around the park and met Kathy and John, whose RV "Sundance" was across the way. They'd been coming here for years (a good sign!) and they pointed out the elk herd in the field down below and also let me know about the waterfall at Box Cañon Trail in Ouray. I would definitely check that out the next day.

The birds here were incredible. For almost half an hour, I was just inches away from a Hairy Woodpecker and came very close to some of the biggest Grackles I've ever seen. There are also small bright Mountain Bluebirds that flitted about through the pines. Quite pretty. Impossible not to feel happy up here in the woods!

I hiked a sweet trail down to the reservoir, about a mile and a half. I only thought about bears once. Okay twice. I was definitely not used to hiking at 7,100 feet and became very fatigued and had to stop and rest several times along the way. I was happy that I'd brought lots of water, realizing that I might have become a bit dehydrated while driving. I deliberately did not drink great quantities of liquid on the road as it ultimately meant having to make more stops, but I also believe that the dehydration was inadvertently compounded by being in the hot springs in Pagosa.

Hot springs! I headed to those at Orvis to see what they were like. (Note: there were no photos allowed inside the springs.) Ahhh . . . once again I had been led to a most heavenly spot. There were lovingly-tended gardens throughout the property with hollyhocks, fuschias, lilies and everywhere hummingbirds the size of bumblebees. Stone paths led to a variety of stone basins, one the size of a small lake, the others perhaps 4-6 feet in diameter.

I walked in wearing my blue bikini, but immediately realized my error. Everyone in the pools was . . . naked. I walked back into the dressing room and ditched my suit. When in Rome, I thought. Soon I was walking, towel in hand through the lush gardens, naked as a jaybird except for my hat, sunglasses and flip-flops. I'll admit that it was a little awkward at first to be completely nude among a group of strangers, but no one made me feel uncomfortable. It all seemed very natural. Though I did notice that everyone couldn't help but peek at each other, some shyly, others pretty openly.

The day was sun-drenched and in the 70s. I slipped, still somewhat self-consciously, into the main pool, which was as warm as bathwater and maybe 40 feet in diameter by 5-feet deep and swam about until I found a rocky nook to cling to. The soft sun, the breeze, the very healing vibe, all felt just wonderful.

There was a smaller pool off to the side that was shallow and mossy and separated by a cool stream of water that sprinkled down from a pipe. The smaller pool was much hotter than the main pool, but refreshing nonetheless. The facility had two private indoor tubs, too, as well as a sauna, but what interested me the most was, "the Lobster Pot," a small 4-foot in diameter stone pool with temperatures that hovered around 106-114 degrees.

I immersed myself and instantly felt like melted butter. In fact, a man, naked of course, peeked around the corner at me and said, "The other pool is drawn butter." It took me a minute to get it—lobster pot, drawn butter—but when I went to respond, he was gone.

I spent the next 4 hours immersing and re-immersing myself in the Lobster Pot, pretty much having it all to myself. It was so peaceful, so serene, that all of the stress of driving the mountains the day before just drifted away and I almost feel asleep when I took my towel out onto the grass and lay there in the sunshine.

The Town of Ouray
and the Waterfall at Box Canon Trail

After a somewhat stormy night on the mountain, I vowed to go back to the hot springs, this time a bit later in the day. But first, I wanted to see the waterfall in town. I hiked up to Box Cañon Park, amidst a Montane forest with White Fir, Douglas Fir and long-needled Ponderosa Pines. The panoramic views at 8,100 feet were stunning and the falls themselves exhilarating. Later, the park attendant, Karen Olson, talked with me about the features of the park. She was so friendly and lovely, I just had to take her picture!

Karen Olson at Box Canon Park

After a bit of lunch in Ouray, I headed back to the hot springs. I was sitting in the main pool when it began to rain pretty hard, with large drops that bounced off the surface of the pool, forming both a small bubble and then a jet that shot upward at every contact with the water. It was transfixing to watch.

There was righteous thunder and it was a bit unnerving to be in the water, but I was assured that a bell would be rung at the first sign of lightning, so I stayed in the pool, feeling the cool rain dance on the top of my head, my lips, my eyelids like a benediction. With the sound of the rain, the aromas of the multitudes of flowers all around, the sky bruised with clouds, the mountains greyly beyond, I felt like I was entering some kind of trance.

After a bit, I moved to "the Lobster Pot" when it began to hail. This was even more interesting and for some reason it just made me laugh. I was sitting on the edge of the pool when a man (a very good looking man, mind you) approached and sat down on the opposite edge of the pool. We began to talk about what he did for a living, the usual preliminary kinds of social conversation that you might have with any kind of stranger. Except that this stranger, of course, was totally naked.

However, it seemed so natural, so unaffected in this completely serene and spiritual setting, that despite the fact that I couldn't help notice and admire his physique, what really drew me to him was his very kind blue eyes. In fact, they matched the Colorado sky. I say, kind, because they were not steely as some blue eyes can be, or hard like some can project, but a very soft blue, like the interior of a violet.

Others joined the pool, including a man who claimed to have been a major drug trafficker in a past life. He'd traveled all the back roads of the West and Mexico. "Marvin Wrangle" (not his real name) was really a nice guy who offered to make me a map of all the hot springs from there to California. We went and sat under an awning while he wrote out an extensive list. I was so grateful for this information and it was most sweet of him to take the time to do that for me.

I went back to "the Lobster Pot" and I was happy to see that the man was still there. Now it was just the two of us and we talked some more before I felt I had gotten a bit too much sun in places that quite frankly had never seen sun. I wrapped my towel around myself and headed inside to leave and the man followed me to my locker and asked if I'd like to have dinner with him. I must have blushed as I was quite taken aback. Readjusting myself, I explained that I had to be back on the mountain before dark, especially with the weather turning. I suggested that we meet for breakfast in town, and he agreed. At that point we realized that we'd never really introduced ourselves. "Matt," he said. "Karen," I replied. We shook hands and I almost lost my towel. Oops!

There was indeed another mighty storm that night with gusty winds shaking the walls of the tent and rain pummeling the roof all night. I slept little for fear of the lightning and woke early. Everything was soaking wet and muddy as I pulled down the tent and packed up the van. I was a mess and hurriedly took a quick shower, dressed and drove into town as we'd agreed to meet at Kate's Place at 9 am.

When I arrived, Matt was already there having a cup of coffee. He got up to greet me and was very sweet to the waitress (always a good sign), who promptly brought me my own cup. We chatted for a good bit, then finally ordered breakfast. About then, a friend of Matt's from Denver happened to come into the cafe. It was quite a bit of serendipity for them both and it was fun seeing these two friends interact. Clearly, they both loved and respected one another.

I ate very little as Matt seemed very curious about me and I had to stop and answer his many questions. I wanted to know about him, too, and we had a fabulous time swapping stories. I loved his positive life spirit. After breakfast, which he so generously offered to buy (thank you again, Matt), we stepped outside so that I could show him the Zen Gypsy Van. In turn he showed me the truck he'd been traveling in. Though he'd lived his entire life in Colorado, he explained, and had traveled the world, this was the first time he had really explored his home state. He was making a grand tour of it and in part he would be retracing the route I'd just taken. We both had mountain bikes strapped to our cars, which was quite comical.

My Friend Matt Nylund
at Kate's Place in Ridgway

Someone snapped our picture together and we had a final hug goodbye. What fun it was to make a new and very interesting friend! I set out for my next destination in Moab, Utah feeling uplifted and delighted at my good fortune to meet Matt and all the other good folks along the way.

May Your Own Travels

Be Filled with Equally Marvelous Sights!

Karen