For the last few years, I have made an annual pilgrimage to Iron Mountain Hot Springs, in Glenwood Springs, CO. It seems like I’m usually around 3 to 4 hours away from the place. It’s always a long drive over mountain passes, winding your way through slow-moving trucks and wide-eyed out-of-state drivers whose hands are locked at 10 and 2 on the wheel, knuckles as white as the crests of the mountains looming over I-70. This time, my approach was over Gore Pass from my home in Walden, CO.
The leaves in the Colorado Rocky Mountains are at their peak right now. We were lucky enough that an early snowfall didn’t drop them all like it has done in years past. As you climb up through the mountains, the blazes of orange, red, and yellow run together like a fire, burning off the end of summer. A sawtooth line of black pines cut through the aspens, with a river of still green trees hanging on to the jade of the fading season.
It isn’t the myriad of fall colors you will see in the deciduous forests of the eastern half of the country. The splashes of color are intense here and for shorter sections, surrounded by the grey of sage brush or the meadows of cut hayfields which follow the snaking river basins and soft willows smoldering with their own subtle reds and yellows.
In a short time, they will be gone, and with them the vehicles stopped on the side of the road with their occupants taking pictures and quickly ducking back inside. In a few weeks, the mountainsides will be glazed in snow. The oranges and yellows will be replaced with snowplows. It is a bittersweet season in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. A last, brilliant bloom of color which will fade and succumb to months of winter, with its wind-sculpted drifts and long nights. The scent of woodsmoke on the air. The tromp of snowboots coming in from the cold and the breath that hangs in the air with every exhale.
Each year, I have gone to Iron Mountain Hot Springs. Unlike the more popularized Glenwood Hot Springs, with a double Olympic sized pool, these springs feature over 20 smaller pools running along the hillside on the opposite bank, almost down to the Colorado River. The majority of the resort is a place of quiet for the adults, while the kids can splash and shout and play in the large heated pool. Adult beverages are allowed in the pools, which serve as an accelerant to the relaxation.
This was my fourth or fifth time to the Springs. Each time, I have come the experience has been meditative. Three of those times, including this one, I have been alone. I usually find a nice quiet pool and camp in it for a few hours. The warm mineral bath pulls all the stress out of your weary bones, and your arms float in front of you. Sometimes I make a new friend or two or three for the day. We chat about things the way that only friendly strangers can, knowing that we will never see each other again. We joke, share our stories, and then part ways, oftentimes without even having a name to put to a face when we say goodbye. It’s like that a lot, getting out and seeing new places; especially when you travel alone.
This time, I got to hang out with Ev and Nicole, two ladies out from North Carolina. I learned that Ev was actually a Quebecoise from Montreal originally, and so we quoted Letterkenney with another man about my age neither of us knew either. Nicole reminded me of Paris Geller from Gilmore Girls, grown up, happy, and less intense than her days of hanging out with Rory. I think Ev was a trade up for her as a best friend. I’ve learned that if you want to meet your people, just bring Letterkenney into the conversation.
I visited Iron Mountain Hot Springs twice with a woman I was dating, on each of our birthdays during the time we were together. But the other times I have been here, I had something heavy weighing on my mind. The Springs provide such a relaxed and meditative experience that each time I have been here, I have left with a light heart and a feeling that everything was going to be okay, no matter what happened. Last year I didn’t make it up to the Springs because of the lockdowns. I took a drive alone to see the leaves by Aspen, CO and drove right past the place. I could see people in the pools and the thought of being around that many people at the height of a pandemic would have killed the mood. I wonder now if stopping would have made things better during such a isolated summer.
This last time, I drove home, stopping off at Uncle Pizza to devour most of a medium pizza myself as I drove Glenwood Canyon at night. (I shared the crusts of two pieces with Penny.) I thought about a friendship of mine that recenty… Two souls parting ways. For I don’t know how long. Maybe forever. I stopped fixating on the work that could have been done to salvage what was left, and instead I decided it was better to move on. To stop picking at a wound. No more letters. No more gifts sent in the mail. Or random acts of coffee. Each time we had spoken at the end was like taking that sharp breath before a cold, hard wave hits you. Knowing it could be your last. Wishing you had taken a deeper breath, but what was in your lungs was all that you would have.
Like the seasons, relationships change. Sometimes we are dragged into Winter and other times we wake up to the sun rising on a chilly, but calm summer morning. I used to fear the change of the seasons, but now I see the beauty in each one. Summer cannot be Winter, but each is amazing in its own way. Each one will come back again and again. Other people will come into our lives and fill that hole that has been left behind.
Sometimes we need a pilgrimage that helps cleanse our soul. For me sitting around in hot water is always a spiritual experience. This time was no exception. I plan to return every year, close to the anniversary of my birth, just to unload a lot of crap that has built up through four changes of the season and everything else that has accumulated.
Maybe I’ll see you there sometime.
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