A psychedelic trip to the Riverbend Hot Springs

I had never heard of Truth or Consequences until I saw it one day, this quizzical dot on the map, out in the middle of nowhere and on the way to nothing. I was planning my big roadtrip across America and T or C was nowhere near any of my travel itineraries. I certainly was not changing everything just to drive through some podunk town named after a 1950’s game show but deep down, it’s sheer existence ate away at me. It was a zit, and the more I messed with it, the more it bothered me. That is until the morning I pulled out of a dirt lot in Alamogordo and made a right instead of a left. While the original plan was to leave White Sands and go straight to Santa Fe, plans have a way of getting forgotten when nice weather and a new guy are involved. But really, it was all about the name, Truth or Consequences, and I was willing to drive three hours to a tiny town in the middle of nowhere just because I dug it.

When I first pulled into T or C, I was already road weary, having stopped to wait out the incessant spring winds. As I approached the exit, it was nothing but dirt hills and construction crews, and I couldn’t help but think it was probably just another shithole like home. The long drive to my RV park did not help my cynicism in the least and as I located my new digs for the next three days, my spirits dropped. Our temporary home away from home was a trailer park plopped atop a sketchy hill with slim RV spots and tight turns. The welcome sign was ripped to shreds and the place looked condemned. I did not have the highest of expectations but this was a tad bit lower than I imagined. So on that first night, when I should’ve been checking out the town, seeing what was what, I instead stayed in my tin box drinking Modelos and crying into my Lovesac (my new favorite pastime).

The next day I woke up in a haze, groggy from feeling sorry for myself, and set out to make the most of my time in T or C. This proved to be a challenge as I drove all over photographing different ghost towns only to learn a very costly lesson in the stability of SD cards, which resulted in 700 corrupted images. Then I accidentally killed a bird (more tears). The whole day was a disaster. I was 0 for 2 in that God forsaken place and really regretting my decision to pay for three straight nights. Just as I was considering hooking up and fleeing into the night, a friend I’d met in Alamo mentioned the “world renowned” Riverbend Hot Springs and asked if I’d like to go. I scoffed. In fact, I more than scoffed. I mean a trip to the local Del Taco had already done me in when the chick at the counter told me they had no cheese, no queso, and no chicken so the idea that anything in this place was “world renowned” had me fucking floored. I agreed to go just to see what people in this part of the world referred to as “renowned”.

So there I was, in some semi-stranger’s car, shoving chalky pieces of hallucinagenic laced chocolate into my mouth, washing it down with raspberry seltzer. The Riverbend Hot Springs is at the end of a road where (you guessed it) the river bends, so my friend and I took a joint down to the water’s edge and hung out with the ducks while he smoked, and I waited for my chocolate to do it’s thing. I was not quite sure what was in store as I’d never been to a hot spring before but the reviews were phenomenal and my friend spent a small fortune for us to sit in water for a couple hours so clearly there was something to this place. But standing there in the grass, staring at the bamboo partitions surrounding the exterior and all the geriatrics walking around in matching robes, I just couldn’t quite tell how it was all going to shake out. This was either going to be fucking awesome or a bunch of old people having an orgy. Either way, I was in.

The way the hot springs work is you have to reserve a time slot, and you pay by the hour. You can either free roam in the public pools for that hour, hanging out in different jacuzzis with a bunch of strangers, or you can book a private room. My friend booked both, one hour free roam followed by an hour private. The drugs started to kick in and somehow we managed to show up ten minutes late when we’d only been 20 feet from the door for half an hour. It was all very hush hush as we checked in and the woman buzzed us through the security gate like visiting hours at the psych ward.

I walked through and immediately felt like an asshole. The place was beautiful, amazing, tranquil, an absolute dream. Once I cleared the walkway, I saw the slate baths, all lining the river with a spectaular view of the mountains at sunset. There were bougainvillea vines crawling along the trellises above, shading the different levels of luxury seating. And there I was, high as a kite, just trying not to fall face first into the water. We made our way to a couple free seats and began to disrobe. I focused on my task: one leg, two legs. Whew, nailed it. A bath opened up and I stepped in, letting the warm bubbles wash over my pasty thighs, wiggling my fingers in the effervescence currents, and I knew I was fuckkkkkked up. We sat there awhile in silence, both totally stoned, glad we didn’t have to share the water with another couple, fearing the moments of awkward knee bumping and intentional eye aversion.

It wasn’t long before we had to exit back to the exterior to check in for our private session. This time we were buzzed into a different door through to a numbered room. I could immediately see why the private baths were so superior: the enclosure was completely private except with a balcony overlooking the water, teak chaises lined either side of the circular bath. It was class class class all the way as I dumbly threw one leg over the stone pool, then the other like a tranquilized elephant. I bobbed in the waist deep water, trying to decide if I was dying or not.

I was still making my decision regarding my lividity when I looked up and saw my friend pull on the fresh water handle. It was like a scene from Flashdance as cool water rained down from the ceiling over his entire body. I stared at his smooth brown skin and the way his bicep bulged as he ran his rugged fingers through his short dark hair. He wiped his face and I realized how dark and pronounced his brows were. Droplets ran down his washboard stomach. Everything was slow motion. I had the revelation that he was sexy, like really sexy. All of a sudden I had to get out of that water, that room, that moment. I stood up and swung my big ass back over the stone partition, wrapped myself in a towel and plopped down in the chaise with my sunglasses on. These fucking mushrooms weren’t going to have me falling in love and shit. So I sat in my chair, arms folded over my chest, looking out into the water and laughing hysterically.

Nope, not today mushrooms. Not today.

We left the Riverbend Hot Springs drained, still high, and totally starving. A quick sunset stop overlooking Elephant Butte followed by the most dynamic veggie pizza I ever had in my entire life, and Truth or Consequences ended up being one of my favorite plot twists on the whole trip. T or C was not at all what I expected: a really cute little hippie town with an amazing hot spring resort, nice people, and a killer pizza parlor.

Moral of the story: Sometimes you just need a change of perspective.