Let's Go, Jane!

The campervan pulled to the left on some grooved pavement. Jane gripped the steering wheel and corrected gently. To her right, the Colorado river flowed across some rocks, creating small whitecaps. The scenery was lush, a far cry from what she’d seen for the last three days driving through Utah.

She had only 24 hours until she had to return the campervan in Denver, which meant 4 hours of driving today. After three leisurely days of hiking in Utah, the Colorado portion of her trip felt rushed. Determined to make the most of this driving day, she had googled things to do along the route. She would be passing through Glenwood Springs, known for its natural hot springs. That might be a good way to break up the trip.

She pulled over at a rest area on the outskirts of town and searched for “hot springs near me.” A number of sponsored ads popped up, with ticket prices ranging from $50 to $100. “No, that won’t do,” she thought. She added “for free” to her search. The first result: South Canyon Hot Springs, three miles away. Four stars, with 465 ratings. “Perfect,” she thought.

She read a few reviews. Most were very positive, saying things like this was the highlight of their road trip. A few were negative. One man complained that the water was murky, not clear like he remembered from his childhood. Another woman complained that she’d run into some locals who followed a “clothing optional” rule. She was offended and told them so. People do love to complain.

Jane found the exit and drove a couple miles down a narrow single lane road. She saw a clearing on the right side with one car parked. She pulled up next to the sedan and shut off the engine. She went through the parking routine she’d perfected over the last few days in the heat, covering all the windows. She grabbed a towel and headed out the sliding door.

The trail was easy to find. A hard packed narrow dirt path leading from the parking area through some low brush. Down a hill and then up and to the left. As she reached the top of the hill she saw that she wasn’t alone. A tattooed woman with purple hair was drying herself off, and a man, presumably her husband, was still soaking. “How’s the water?” Jane asked. “It’s amazing!” the man replied.

Jane looked around at the mountains. She snapped a few photos of the water, carefully framed so the guy wasn’t in them. She pulled her tank dress over her head, leaving her in a sports bra and bike shorts. She slipped out of her shoes and took a tentative step in at the edge of the water. The rocks were slimy, covered in algae, and the water was warmer than she’d expected. A few more steps and she reached the sandy bottom. She lowered herself into the water, which was shoulder deep when kneeling. It felt so good, like a hot bath after a long day. She felt the tension from all those hours of highway driving leave her body.

The tattooed woman finished drying herself off and headed back toward the parking lot. The man was friendly, chatty. Introduced himself as Hank. They’d come from Wisconsin to attend some new age conference in Arizona and were on their way back home. Their RV needed new tires, and the guy at Mavis told them about this watering hole as a way to kill time while they waited. Hank was a retired pipe fitter, now he retrofitted tractors for ginseng farmers for extra cash. “They need the tractors to be lower and wider, with exhaust pipes that reach below,” he explained. Jane listened politely, as he shared what he knew about ginseng farming.

Hank drank some water, put on his hat. “I think I need to get out now,” he said, “I’m overheating.” He stood up and turned, and Jane froze. There, on his left shoulder, was a large swastika tattoo with the words WHITE and POWER. Jane’s breath caught in her throat.

Oblivious to her reaction, Hank started talking about their road trip. Last weekend they’d been stuck at a truck stop for an entire day because the RV needed a new alternator. He liked Colorado, liked that weed was legal. He smoked a lot of weed, had given up all the hard stuff. It was how he coped with the fact that his granddaughter had killed herself. “She was a real hippie,” he said, “used to pick weed in fields in Oregon. I was always there for her. She hung herself.” Then he casually mentioned that he’d spent some time in a Federal penitentiary.

Jane’s thoughts were racing. She nodded along, a tight smile on her face. The kind you wear when someone says something shocking, and you don’t want them to know you’re shocked. Was she in any danger? She was alone in a hot spring in rural Colorado…with a weed-addicted, federally-convicted, white supremacist. What the hell was she doing? She was having trouble reconciling these facts with the friendly man in front of her. The man who seemed to think it was okay to unburden himself to a complete stranger. “Is this solo female traveler thing for me?” she wondered.

She kept Hank talking, putting him at ease. All the while wondering how this encounter would have been different if her boyfriend Gary had joined her on this road trip as originally planned. Gary had a way of disarming white people, even the haters. He would have had Hank shaking his hand, wishing him a safe trip, clapping him on the back. Hank was drying himself off, struggling to put on his shoes. Wheezing with the exertion. He’d moved on to talking about Sedona–something about vortexes and crystal energy and having his aura read.

Jane rose and started drying herself off. She slipped her shoes on and wrapped the towel around her waist, gathering her clothing in a bundle that she held tightly against her chest. “Well, it was nice meeting you,” she said. “Have a safe rest of your trip,” she continued, politely. Never rude, even when faced with a man who would kill her boyfriend for sport. Maybe he got the tattoo in prison, maybe it doesn’t represent his views. “Then why keep it?” she thought.

She walked slowly down the path to the parking lot. The purple haired lady was sitting on a rock in the shade. They waved goodbye and Jane got back on the highway to drive the last two hours to Denver. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she should have spoken up, but she gave herself the grace to know that traveling alone means you can’t always do the right thing. She thought about calling Gary, just to hear his voice. Instead she hit play on her Spotify and lost herself in the harmonies of an Indigo Girls song, as the mountains passed her by.