Bathing Beauties

This morning (well, early afternoon), we set out for Jemez Springs, which we thought would be an hour away and not unlike Hot Springs, Arkansas. We headed north toward Bandelier, first through the usual scrubby desert just outside of Santa Fe, then through mountains dotted with pinones. Soon, we realized we were on the very scenic route: the elevation started to change, the road got narrower and windier, the hills were covered with ponderosa pines and Douglas firs, and there were signs for elk crossing. If someone had told me we were in the Pacific Northwest, I would not have been surprised, especially since the weather was unusually grey for Santa Fe. Suddenly, we came upon a giant grassy clearing—a 15-mile wide volcanic caldera that is millions of years old. We had come out of the forest onto a vast valley of grass.



Getting back into the car, we began seeing signs for Jemez Springs, still 30, 15 miles away. Eventually, we began to see signs for picnic areas and scenic overlooks, so we stopped at the ranger station, still in search of springs. Apparently, we had already passed them, but the sky was ominous and thunder rolled in closer, echoing against the mountains. Just a mile south was the Jemez State Monument, the ruins of a mission built to “keep out the savage natives.” We wanted to see it, but the threat of getting struck by lightning kept us out—the museum folks warded us off. So we headed a little further down the hill into the town of Jemez Springs, figuring we’d wait out the storm over lunch.

Now, when I say town, I use the word loosely—it’s really just a few buildings on either side of Rte. 4, one of which is the “historic Victorian-era bath house” (looks more like a bungalow at the dacha). The other two are restaurants: a deli and a biker bar. One guess as to where we went. (Hint: “I’m in a suit of burgundy, deer head’s lookin’ at me…”). The rain was coming down and we ducked into a booth, order burgers and beers, and chatted with the waitress who warmed up after carding us and realizing we were, like her, from the east coast. (Well, she was from Ohio, like our friend Blythe who plans on working Sturgis this year. She--the waitress, not Blythe--came out for a man she met on the internet 6 years ago. Just married.)

*Travelogue interlude*
Los Ojos, in Jemez Springs, NM, serves up a decent burger and some darn good fries. They have pool tables, a stage, Fat Tire Amber Ale on tap, and the obligatory antlers on the walls, so it must really rock on a Saturday night. Leather vest and tattoos are optional, but I would advise against “the special” (I should’ve known better…). Instead of a cheeseburger with green chiles, you get an open-faced burger smothered in a nondescript glutinous sauce reminiscent of bad Chinese food. I’m lucky to have lived to tell the tale.

After a particularly loud clap of thunder, we realized it was getting late and we had to get moving or else the whole day would be a bust. We tried the monument again, but they still wouldn’t let us through, so we did the most sensible thing one could do during a lightning storm: head for a body of water. The springs we went to are a ten-minute hike off a barely-marked parking lot. It was no longer raining, but the air was cool and wet as we tromped through dark red clay in the middle of evergreen forest. Still within earshot of the road and eyeshot of the parking lot was the spring—a pair of cascading pools steaming slightly in the damp air and filled with milky warm water. The top pool has a tiny grotto that houses the spring source, and we soaked for a good long while, enjoying the mountain air and the view.



Apologizing for the cliché... this is one of the most beautiful, unbelievable spots I have ever seen in my life.



Reluctantly, we packed up and drove home, this time taking a more southerly route. Almost immediately past Jemez Springs, the landscape begins to change. On our right were sheer bluffs, on our left cliffs striated with a deep, deep terracotta red. I have never seen a “red rock west” of quite that color before. The further we moved along, the richer the colors, until finally we drove through the shantytowns of Jemez Pueblo, and back to our familiar desert landscape.



I am so lucky that this is my life.