Day 13

We are at Hot Springs National Park. This morning we got up early to hike because, well, what else do you do in a National Park. Plus, I really enjoy hiking. I wanted an early start because it’s going to be 100° again, and I wanted to hike before the heat got too oppressive. G3 was not as excited about hiking. From the moment we started, he complained. He said this was a boring national park, and there’s nothing to see that he couldn’t see at home. Part of me agrees with him. The trails here aren’t anything special, but they are in a different place, a different state—which for me is enough. I tried to explain that sometimes going to a place you don’t like isn’t bad because you were lucky enough to have been there. You still got to have that experience. How would you know if a place was good or bad if you never saw it yourself? He didn’t agree with me.

When we started out, I let him choose the trail, hoping that might make him a little more enthused—or at least feel like he had some voice. It did not. We walked part of the Hot Springs Mountain Trail, but after 40 minutes of walking, it was apparent G3 didn’t want to walk anymore. I told him we could turn around and his mood immediately improved. He became very chatty and wanted to talk about Stephen King. I walked back part of the way with him and then he went back to the campsite alone where said he was going to read. I headed off to do a little more hiking, this time along the Upper Dogwood Trail. It is already hot out, but at least the trail is shaded, and there is a slight bit of breeze to keep me from overheating.

In 1921, Congress designated Hot Springs as the nation’s 18th National Park. G3 and I seem to agree that it is the least interesting of all the national parks we have been to. Too bad Dad never got a chance to get here. He might’ve suddenly had a better opinion of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

I take it back! Dad would’ve loved it here. The reason it’s called Hot Springs Nation Park is because there are Hot Springs. However, the only way to enter the Hot Springs is to pay to go into one of the bath houses. There are two active ones, only one of which requires you to wear a bathing suit. Obviously, that’s the one I took G3 to. In the bath house, Quapuw, there were three hot pools each a different temperature: 98°, 102°, 104°. When you go to the beach, you sit on the sand until you get hot and then you go in the water to cool off. In the bathhouse, you sit in the air-conditioning until you get cold, and then you go into a hot tub. I was surprised at how long we ended up staying. I thought we’d be there an hour, maybe two, but we ended up staying more than three. We alternated between going into the hot tubs and reading. I think G3 very much enjoyed the experience, he certainly seemed to enjoy it more than hiking this morning. Yes, Dad would’ve been very happy here, too, because Dad always loved soaking in a hot tub.

People have been coming to Hot Springs to soak in the thermal water since the 1830s. The original bathhouses were simple structures, some not much more than a tent. Later, the structures developed into beautiful elaborate Victorian buildings, but they were made of wood which tended to catch fire easily and was susceptible to rot. The years between 1911 and 1939 are considered the Golden Age of Bathing. During that time, bathhouses were constructed in a mix of Spanish mission and neoclassical architecture. And some of them are impressively beautiful and grand. The Buckstaff Bathhouse is the only one still around from the Golden Age, and from what I was told, the bathhouse is run in a more traditional way—hence not the one we went to.

We popped in at the National Park Visitors Center. Once upon a time, it was the Fordyce Bathhouse, but the National Park converted it into a museum. I walked through the exhibits on all three floors in about ten minutes. G3 took much longer. I waited patiently for him on the porch. When he finished, he was mad that I was quicker than him. I admitted honestly, “I was bored.” Bathhouse history—beyond the surface—just wasn’t interesting. (I can almost hear you all gasping—me admitting something historical is…boring!) G3’s mouth fell open and his eyes bugged a bit, “But it’s from the 1920s. That’s my favorite time in American history.” I had no idea. If there was a tour or if a ranger was giving a talk, I probably would have had more interest, but just looking at display after display is dull.

Next, we walked on the touristy side of the street because G3 wanted to look in the gift shops. Tourist towns all have the same crap, they just stamp a different name on it. I was ready to be done after five minutes, but G3 had to go into each and every store.

Back at the campsite, it was too hot, again, for a fire. So we played frisbee for awhile and then cards. It is incredibly hot even now at 9:00 at night. I am laying in my tent, not moving, and I am still sweating profusely. Beads of sweat are trickling down my skin everywhere. I feel so icky, it’s like I didn’t shower—or sit in baths—at all today.