Hot Springs

So let man consider of what he was created;
he was created of gushing water
issuing between the loins and the breast-bones.
-- Qur'an

Saturday, November 28, 1998
One year ago: Bugs, Mr. Rico!

After Jack spent another wakeful night in the truck camper bunk (I slept there too, but it didn't bother my back like it did his), he came inside the house and slept most of the morning on the couch. He needed it, poor guy! But he doesn't whine or ask for sympathy about his back pain, which is chronic, but low-level most of the time.

Jack's father had already left on a hunting excursion with a buddy. We drove off with his mom, to drop her somewhere upstream on the Klickitat. She has a sideline business of ferrying cars ("shagging," they called it) for people doing steelhead fishing on the river. Jack had some scenic areas for us to visit on the way to the Carson Hot Springs, where we were spending the night.

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I'm really glad I got the chance to meet Jack's family. It doesn't change my opinion of him, but everyone has layers of the past that inform the present. His dad had teasingly said, ahead of time, "Be sure Anita knows that she's going to spend the holiday with hillbillies!" This wasn't true, of course. I wish my parents were around for Jack to get to know, and my godparents. He has met my sister M---- and her family.

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We toured around on the small back roads, trying to find an unmarked overlook that's one of Jack's favorite spots. That's one of the great things about this trip: Jack sharing his love of this area with me. He told me that he always has to make a few casts back and forth to find the correct dirt road, and sure enough, we had to double back this time. Turns out that the small sign he remembered is indeed there (it looks like a suburban road sign, small and green, with the single word, "Vie point") but it's only visible from one direction, and it's on the opposite side of the road from the turnoff.

We bumped and bounced a short way through the woods, making the older SUV that Jack drives look much more authentic by splashing through the mud puddles. A short walk through the trees to the edge: the view was worth it! A very sheer cliff (thank heavens there was a fence at some parts) looked down to where a creek enters the Klickitat river.

Jack had his binoculars in the car, so we took turns with them. Jack was out of pipe tobacco, so he indulged himself with a cheap cigar. Yuck! I followed along the edge of the cliff from one view spot to the next, with a slight amount of tension. There was no one around for miles. I only tortured myself a little bit with trying to figure out what I'd do if Jack slipped and fell to someplace where I couldn't reach him. No cell phone. I can't drive a stick shift (though I guess I'd have to in an emergency). I don't think we had any rope or anything.

Of course, nothing bad happened. All we could hear was the water far below, and the dripping of melting frost from the treetops. Jack indulged me with posing for this two-shot, propping the camera on a stump with his money clip.

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We headed on down the road to the next little town where Jack stopped for gas. Oops! We'd left his money clip, with money, on the stump at the viewpoint! I suppose this was a mistake on both our parts, and Jack didn't get pissed. I was glad we'd discovered the loss within a few miles, and that we weren't fighting a schedule where we needed to get somewhere at a specific time.

We backtracked, picked up the clip, and continued our drive. The trip down the valley to BZ Corners reminded me of the Shenandoah Valley, where I went to college. The hills on either side of the flat agricultural land would be called mountains, or at least foothills, back in Virginia. We were so remote that the land was pure farmland, with no overlay of tourism or artsy stuff.

Our route was southerly, following the White Salmon River valley down to the Columbia again. We lucked out on the weather all day, and it was still very mild as we arrived at the Hotel St. Martin at the Carson Hot Springs, where we were going to spend the night.

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We checked in, booked baths for later, then drove to the next town where Jack and I wanted to hit the Internet cafe that was supposedly attached to the pizza parlour in Stevenson. I wanted an email fix! But we were disappointed; the woman working there peeked over into the blocked-off, darkened room with lit monitors and said, "Looks like they are still using the workstations as servers." We decided not to stay for pizza, but proceeded to a mexican restaurant in town that Jack had been wanting to try.

The food at Joe's El Rio was indeed tasty, and the young waitress did a good job. We split our dishes -- smoked pork with chile verde, and a smoked roast beef burrito -- which reminded me of the first time we went to dinner.

A stop at the grocery store for provisions (eggnog to combine with the brandy Jack had along, some cookies and soda) and a back-road drive (of course!) back to the hot springs, and we were ready for the baths.

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The mineral water from the hot springs smells of sulfur, but not overpoweringly so. We separated at the door, Jack to the men's side and me to the ladies' side. Apparently there are some differences in the setup! Jack told me later that there is not a sound over there. There were a few voices heard in the women's area, and signs asking for quiet made me think that chatter could be a problem sometimes. The main source of noise was the blasting faucets filling the tubs, and the hoses used to scrub the areas down after use.

After I undressed, the attendant led me to an alcove sectioned off by curtains, containing a large old claw-foot tub. (No curtains on the male side, Jack tells me.) There was a pitcher of ice water with paper cup on a chair beside every tub -- only one container of ice water in the entire place for the guys. I was left to soak in water as hot as I cared to make it. Bliss! I even let some water out and refilled it with more hot, as it started to cool off.

Finally the attendant checked on me, and I allowed as how I was ready to get out. "Don't bother to dry off," she said, and led me around the corner to an area filled with narrow beds. She arranged a flannel sheet, had me lie down on it, then wrapped it around me and covered me with a wool blanked. "How do you want your wrap? Loose, medium or tight?" I chose medium, seeing as how it was my first time. She briskly tucked the sheet and blankets around my feet, sides (pinning my arms at my sides) and shoulders. "Do you want your eyes covered?" "Oh, sure," I said, figuring I might as well go for the full experience. She told me to lie there until I felt like getting up, and pointed out where the shower was. This would be needed, to wash off the sweat which was the point of the whole exercise!

I stayed in my wrap for a while, heart pounding from the heat, then got up, showered and dressed. Since we'd been unable to book massages for that evening, and Jack had agreed to undergo that new experience, I went to the front desk of the hotel and inquired for the next morning. There were two slots, the first of the day, which fit exactly with our travel plans. I grabbed them.

Our only difficulty: how could we be sure to wake up in time for 7:30 am baths, and 8:30 am massages? There was no phone in the room and not a clock in sight! So Jack wrote a program on his laptop, that would start beeping at that time. We laughed at our geekiness!