We drove slowly down a quiet leafy street, searching for an address, hoping the wealthy residents didn’t think these elderly gawkers were casing the joint. I pointed to a white flat-roofed mid-century: “There! That was our neighbor’s house, and the two-story boxy thing here used to be our home.” The curved archway in front of the blocky box’s front door was just so wrong. (More on that later.)
As I stepped from our rental car onto that oh-so-familiar street, an image of a wailing preschooler appeared in my mind’s eye. The limping strawberry-blonde dribbled a trail of crimson blood behind her on the chalk-white sidewalk, and sputtered something about her ruined patent-leather shoes between her sobs. Of course, trauma can erupt out of nowhere even in the most peaceful of settings, as we all know from the news the last two weeks. Or news, any week.
How could I have forgotten THAT? Turns out I hadn’t, even though I thought I’d told Padre every detail I could remember about my life on South Gaylord Street, in Denver’s now-upscale Cherry Creek neighborhood, where my family lived during the 1950’s. Some of those preschooler’s happiest memories, and a few traumatic ones such as a reckless, ankle-mangling ride on the back of a neighbor boy’s bike, played out right here on this street.
As we snapped photos it was as if I’d opened a dusty old attic trunk and my young parents walked into the frame, their three boisterous children clamoring for attention, sounds of laughter, tears, and love echoing up through the swaying green canopy of overarching shade trees. Oh, I remembered. I was there.
We are still spending trip credits banked due to pandemic cancellations. This time, it’s a short Rocky Mountain road trip to visit an old college friend, visit my childhood Denver home, and soak in Colorado’s famous hot springs to ease our aging joints and soothe our news-weary souls. In an anxious world growing more frantic every day, our unhurried drives through Colorado’s gorgeous mountain scenery led to much life reflection on both our parts.
For instance: Now we understand why, for thousands of years, Colorado’s original inhabitants gathered at hot springs. Warring tribes met around the healing waters, and left their differences behind to soak in the medicinal steam. Together. Maybe that’s what our world needs, a hot springs on every block? Couldn’t hurt.
Anyway, my wise mother who loved hot springs was on to something crucial about peace and happiness, and here’s what we learned, along with useful travel info if you’re planning your own Rocky Mountain Hot Springs road trip anytime soon.
FIRST INSIGHT: They’re Called HEALING WATERS For Good Reason
My mom didn’t seem so keen on camping, but Dad enjoyed it so much he built his own camper (really!). So Mom probably said, “Yes dear, I’ll camp and cook for the family as long as you take us to hot springs,” and he gladly complied. Win-win, and the little strawberry blonde girl developed a lifelong love of same, minus the camping part, although I’ve done my share. Today it’s firm hotel mattresses for us instead of camping cots (or back in the 1950s/60s, hard ground), and our creaky knees appreciate that very much.
We soaked in four of Colorado’s 29 hot springs, visited a fifth, and hot tubbed under towering mountain trees by the river. The healing water helped our knees, true, but also calmed what I call ‘gerbil mind’ which hops from thought to thought as swiftly as a leaping gerbil darting around its cage. Give my mind a disturbing thought to chew on (plenty of those last week) and the wheels spin for hours.
Not, however, when I’m floating in steaming mineral waters, staring up at the crystal-blue Colorado mountain sky, swallows and larks chirping on tree branches, a mountain creek’s soothing waters tumbling over boulders nearby.
When I’m bubbling away in hot springs, physical relaxation paired with natural beauty enables an inner sense of peace, even when the heart is burdened. Anxiety eases and the present appears, a healing place far from disturbing phone notification pings. In the present, there is calm, at least for a while. In that place of stillness, I more than once prayed for peace – for myself, for others, for the hurting world. It’s not much, but it’s something, at least.
So again, maybe that’s what our world needs, a hot springs on every block? Couldn’t hurt.
More life insights coming up, but first, our list of Colorado ‘healing waters’ locations, with descriptions:
Glenwood Hot Springs, Glenwood Springs, Colorado
We arrived on the same day they reopened the refurbished 100-ft long, 104° therapy pool. Soakers swarmed, but there was plenty of room for everyone. We navigated the length of the 405-ft main pool, dodging pink flamingos, orange lobsters, and water-winged-equipped floating babies.
The resort has welcomed visitors sine 1888, and the pool’s age was obvious when I churned out laps above the cracked lines of the cement pool bottom. The lap lane section makes up just a sliver of the main pool, which is the world’s largest outdoor hot springs pool by far. There is also a deep diving section, the Shoshone tube chute area, and the Sopris Splash zone.
We stayed at the Glenwood Springs’ attached lodge, a pricier option that includes pool admission and breakfast poolside. A bridge connects the resort to the Glenwood Springs downtown area, filled with enticing eateries, museums, and boutiques. We also discovered the train station, where for $30 one can easily travel to and from Denver in about four hours.
Iron Mountain Hot Springs, Glenwood Springs, Colorado
Iron Mountain Hot Springs sits just down the road from Glenwood Hot Springs on the banks of the Colorado River, and here we chose our favorites among 16 pools lined along the river’s bank. Pure thermal mineral water fills the pools, with temperatures ranging from 98° to 108°. We found it surprisingly easy to have a pool to ourselves, due to the facility’s careful management of entry numbers.
The towering red rocks of the real Iron Mountain loom over the river setting, which attracts birds and encourages nature contemplation. Downsides include the expense (twice the cost of other hot springs), road noise from Highway 70, and lack of a cold plunge pool. I blocked out the road noise by floating on my back in buoyant pure mineral water. Water blocks out all sorts of stress when ears are under water, as any decent lap swimmer knows. (Block out the world = swim laps, we say.)
One more enticement: Iron Mountain is constructing ten more pools, including a cold plunge pool finally, which crazy Scandihoovian girls such as this strawberry blonde appreciate (as my politically-incorrect Dad would say).
Strawberry Park Hot Springs, Steamboat Springs, Colorado
Found it! A cold plunge pool! Not only did I find it, I was the only soaker brave enough (nuts enough?) to plunge up to my neck in the icy stream-fed cold pool during our visit. Trust me, you must try cold plunge. No better way to induce that sooooooo very relaxing stage of sensation just before you pass out. No seriously, try it. It works. (And I didn’t pass out. Just gasped a bit.)
Strawberry Park Hot Springs sits far from civilization high up in the Medicine Bow-Routt Forest, perched among rocks in a stunning forest setting. In the winter, visits require 4-wheel drive or chains, but our little rental car plodded up the dirt road no problem on a clear spring day, as we oohed and aaaahed at the incredible mountain views.
Strawberry Park is made up of five cascading stone masonry hot spring pools with sandy bottoms, situated along Hot Springs Creek. Perfect for nature-gawking but tricky to reach, and walking up/downhill to reach the pools from your car required. You can soak naked if that’s your thing after dark, or book rustic lodging spread out on the forest hills surrounding the pools.
Old Town Hot Springs, Steamboat Springs, Colorado
Back in downtown Steamboat Springs I churned out more laps here, while Padre headed off to find a glass-blowing studio. This facility’s enormous lap pool is situated next to several hot pools of varying degrees. This is a full-on fitness facility for workout types. The lap and hot pool areas are relaxing, but not the ‘hot springs’ vibe of a classic mountainside spring. Lap swimming under an azure Colorado sky on a warm spring day, though? Heavenly.
Hot Sulphur Springs, Colorado
We didn’t soak here, just toured, but whoa! What a funky place! We definitely want to try it. 22 mineral pools and baths fed by a 35,000 feet deep fissure in the earth heated by magma volcanic lava flow. It looked quite basic, but fun. Tripadvisor reviews can be brutal (“70s era cheap motel feel”), but Colorado National Park Trips has it listed as their 2nd rated Colorado hot springs, after Glenwood Springs. At the very least it’s for anyone who seeks to escape civilization, since the tiny town of Hot Sulpher Springs is way WAY out there.
Stonebrook Resort, Estes Park, Colorado
Stonebrook Resort is not a hot springs, just cabins on a river, and that’s enough. We booked two quiet nights here, and took blissful soaks in our private hot tub directly on the Fall River. Our cabin sat just a short hop from the entrance to Rocky Mountain National Park, where our Green Jeep Tours driver showed us the dramatic crystal-clear lakes, the wildflower meadows, the alluvial bolder piles, sub-alpine forests, the elk, the jagged peaks, the otherworldly mountain scenery. Wow.
That’s as far as we made it in terms of Colorado’s hot springs, but we’ve added a Southern Colorado Hot Springs journey to the ‘future trips’ file since there are 24 more Colorado hot springs to visit.
SECOND LIFE INSIGHT: Old Friends Are Treasures, Whether We’ve Kept In Touch Or Not
One day in the lonely depths of pandemic life, Padre set to a new task: To locate old college buddies he hadn’t contacted in decades. First he googled, then he mailed letters, then he waited.
His efforts paid off when he heard back from all but one, which led to rich phone conversations, zoom get-togethers, and this road trip. One of his buddies with a life-threatening illness resides in Northern Colorado, so we stopped by to visit.
Tom, his wife Nancy (also one of Padre’s college friends), and other family greeted us with warm Midwestern hugs. We shared our life stories all afternoon, as the years melted away and the love remained.
Padre told me on the way there that Tom was the kindest person he ever knew, and Nancy told me, in an aside, the same thing about Padre. I asked Padre later what behaviors he associated with Tom’s type of ‘kind’ and here’s what he said.
Back when they roomed together the four roommates would engage in deep philosophical debates during the height of the Vietnam War, as college students are wont to do. Padre and Tom were often on opposite sides of the debate, but Tom never pushed or criticized those who disagreed with him.
Instead, Tom sought to understand and accept, while maintaining his own opinion in the face of all that strident college-age arguing. He was open, genuine and honest, tolerated other’s frailties, and appreciated their differences.
Padre exudes that same acceptance to others, and maybe that’s why so many family members, his co-workers and retirement residents, looked to him for wise counsel and compassionate acceptance.
What amazing young men these old buddies must have been, still are! Life, love, human connection, acceptance. And despite the distance, the miles, the disparate life journeys, they discovered they were still close friends despite all the decades apart.
And by the way, looking back over our lives, it’s easy to pick out the kind people, isn’t it?
THIRD LIFE INSIGHT: My Parents Did Their Best, And They Did a Darned Fine Job of It
I don’t think I saw my parents as real people until I was about 25 or so. Before then, they formed a unit I challenged, questioned, criticized, and yes, rolled my eyes at. Once I became a parent myself everything changed, of course. That’s how it goes for most of us, since we often can’t appreciate what we have until it’s gone, until we walk in our parents’ shoes awhile. Then we understand.
What I understand now is that my hardworking parents did a bang-up job raising a mob of, shall we say, exuberant children. Sure, I remember yelling and mistakes, but there was always care, love, fun.
When I dragged my bloody ankle down that sidewalk, I’m sure my mother cleaned it up (not to mention raced my sliced-up self to the hospital). When I almost died of convulsions due to the 1957 pandemic flu, my mother screamed for our next-door neighbor to race me to the hospital (again). When I knocked myself out flying down the basement stairs in a cardboard box, I don’t remember what she did but I’m sure it was the right thing because I’m still here.
(And fyi if you’re wondering why the little strawberry-blonde girl kept having mishaps, let’s just say that even as an elderly person I still say ‘why not?’ instead of “why?” when I’m about to do something stupid.)
Dad was right beside Mom all the way, and together they kept us safe, took us on wonderful trips, loved us. It’s obvious to me now, especially after hearing other kids’ not-so-nice parent stories. I was lucky; we were lucky, and I’d spend a fortune for one more moment on that shady tree-lined street with my parents, if only.
Today, a 4500 square-foot house sits where our charming brick bungalow once stood, with an annoyingly awkward arched cement doorway. That new arch shouldn’t bother me, since I suspect it was the builder’s attempt to maintain a hint of the old house’s beautiful red-brick arched doorway. Time to get over it, though. That place isn’t ours any more, hasn’t been for decades. It’s some other child’s world to live in and remember, and that’s ok, since that’s the way all neighborhoods, and all lives go, eventually.
And FINALLY: Mountains Upon Mountains
All this life reflection made our Mountain Pass challenges seem minor, and they were in the grand scheme of things. We hit a sudden, almost-whiteout snowstorm on one pass, and our gutless rental groaned in protest more than once when we begged the little car to try harder. The snowy devil’s hairpin turns made us gasp at moments, too, but we emerged unscathed (and so did the little car).
Our time last week traversing Colorado’s Rocky Mountains, and visiting our own pasts, showed us that it takes time – a lifetime, or several centuries – but eventually what’s hidden gets revealed if we look. Water grinds down the rock, transforming solid stone into flowing rivers, and life itself reveals to us what matters in the end. We see what relationships mattered most, we see who’s been kind to us, we see the truth.
And the deepest truth of all becomes so obvious when we’re old enough to put all the pieces together. It’s not the places, but the people who love us and share life with us that matter most. I guess that’s probably why I’ve never heard of anyone who, on their deathbed, said they wished they’d spent more time at work.
Of course. Why is it so hard to remember this crucial truth, now that we enjoy the luxury of time to look back and reflect?
With that last idea, I do believe it’s time for a long, healing soak* so I can think that thought into permanent life action and never forget.
(*a jacuzzi tub is not a hot springs, true, but it’s hot water so I’m good!) FYI We’re headed to Iceland in August – more soaking, yay! – so hope you’ll stay tuned. Thanks everyone, as always, for following along.
Next up: Indiana and Iceland: stay tuned!