Hot Springs and Crumbling RVs

Soaking at Indian Springs No. 1
After three days of driving and this brutal Wisconsin Winter, this was the sign pointing to bliss.

Martye's little adobe house.

Soaking in the mineral water baths in TorC rocks my cranky middle aged many times broken boned body. In a good way.

We soaked every day we were there but for the last, and Indian Springs was my favorite. It's a run down old hotel with the springs on the same property, housed in a bare bones metal roofed shack.

The pools are concrete, with pebble lined bottoms.

Because it's a natural flowing hot spring, there's no chlorine smell in the water, and it averages somewhere between 101 and 104 degrees Fahrenheit.

It is very salty water. The first few days I felt like a seal or a whale coming up for air, because whenever I took a deep breath, I'd rise up like a balloon, then fall back into the water when I exhaled.

I thought it was from one too many bean burritos this winter, carrying around an extra 30 pounds of my own human lard.

But a few days later we soaked at another hot spring across the street and the owner told me it was the salt content.

One more week in those hot springs and I'd have had dreadlocks.

Some days we'd walk down the hill to soak, others we drove, because walking home after a hot soak is like trying to move around with warm rubber appendages.

T or C is a strange town, filled with closed buildings, old crumbling hotels and beat up RV parks.

Every other yard seems to have an RV in it, too, most of them in terrible shape.