A good friend from grad school wanted to celebrate her birthday up in the mountains, and many of us, searching for any excuse to get outta town and the city for the weekend, enthusiastically obliged. She rented a cabin somewhere in the woods near Luray, and after a long 3 hour haul through Friday rush hour we found our way through the burbs, across the hills and farmland, over some minor speed bumps that Easterners consider mountains and into the deep dark woods of Western Virginia.
A Texan buddy's SUV made it up and back with her loco Costa Rican dog, Maya, in-tow. I do believe her West Texas vehicle is thoroughly haunted, as when we were just getting going the Explorer started to whine some sort of battlecry: spontaneously, the automatic door locks started to lock and unlock furiously like a machine gun. Perhaps it was issuing expletives or something more poetic, in its own Explorer lingo, like "Remember the Alamo!"
Anyway, as we entered the compound the warm glow of the fire pit greeting the company, and we sat around it telling stories and sipping on Dominican Rum and Cokes while the jacuzzi warmed up on the back porch.
As I've said before, if "sitting in hot water" was a hobby, I'd definitely be an enthusiast. Being around all those Coloradans (with their folding chairs and headlamps!) made me miss the hot waters of the Rocky Mountain state: both the rooftop jacuzzis of Denver and the hot springs of Ouray and Glenwood. We talked a long time about what size tub we'd all buy for our mountain homes once we inevitably all had grown flabby, old and lazy.
The cabin we rented out was quite authentic - and I sighed with nostalgia at the attributes that reminded me of various homes that dot rural Americana: the "Trespassers Will Be Shot" sign on the front door, the waterfowl wallpaper, the kitchy explanation of hill billy lingo ("U'sins best be gettin outta at' ere crick!") and the necessary rifle above the fireplace accompanied by a rusty knife, just in case some sad city slickers forgot to exercise their God-given right to bear their arms.
It's a good thing the landlord thought to have that covered - because all we wanted to be preoccupied with was how hot the hot tub should be (I believe 104-107 is the range which provides the optimal therapy) and whether we had enough limes to make it through the weekend.
The weekend was a success. Miraculously, we even made it out of the hot tub for a period of time. We went to Luray Caverns, which boasted among the most exquisite rock formations I had ever seen. The pool (pic above) was the most incredible: the mirror reflection on the water was such that it created the sensation of an exotic desert landscape that was vaguely extraterrestial.
