A Surprise Stay

“Hello?” I said loudly but politely as I made my way down the dark hallway. About halfway through, a middle-aged man poked his head out of one of the rooms and gave me a surprised look. 

“We’re closed!” he said as a matter-of-fact statement that indicated I should not be there. 

“But I think you just spoke to my mom on the phone and said you guys had an available room,” I attempted to jog his short-term memory.

“I didn’t talk to anybody. We’re closed for the season,” he barked back. 

I was confused and the look on my face must have relayed both my confusion and desperation in the moment. He stepped out of the room into the hallway and his physical expression softened. 

I tried to briefly explain the situation and the day and continued with the only facts I remembered from the call with my mom, “…Hot Springs Resort,” I said, desperately. And with that, a light bulb seemed to go off in his head, followed by a subtle nod and smile. 

“She probably contacted the De Anza Springs Resort,” he said. “They’re open year round. They’re also the only other place with motel rooms in town. Do you know how to get there?” he asked. 

“No sir.”

“It’s pretty simple. Keep going east down the highway for another two miles or so. You’ll see a sign with their name on it, pointing to a gravel road on the left side of the highway. Follow that gravel road for about two more miles and you’ll be at the gate for their resort.” 

“You’re sure that’s the only other place?” I asked, not wanting to ride an additional four miles just to find out that wasn’t it and making for an eight-mile total detour. 

“It has to be,” he said in a tone that I found reassuring enough to believe. 

“Okay, thanks!” I said, walking back the way I’d come through into the glaring light of the midafternoon sun. Through squinting eyes, I wondered how I was going to be able to afford to stay the night in a gated resort hidden two miles off the highway. I assumed it had to be fancy and exclusive, but reassured myself that I was ahead on my budget and desperate for a place to sleep that had air conditioning. 

I took the left onto the gravel road and tried to find the best lines through the loose gravel and the harder packed dirt when it was available. About every quarter of a mile, I’d pass a sign made of plywood and cut into some sort of Kokopelli-like character in various physical arrangements. Sometimes the signs would also have the name of the resort and a mileage update, but not always. I generally just took it as a good sign that there was in fact a motel at the end of this gravel road and I continued to choose optimism that it was also the place that was expecting me. If this wasn’t the place, and I had to turn around and ride this gravel road two miles back to the highway, I threatened myself that I would just camp next to the gate and wouldn’t be that upset if a coyote ate me in the night. I was really in a great place mentally.

Finally, a gate appeared in the distance. My initial concerns of this place being an exclusive, fancy, and expensive resort were somewhat tempered by the fact that the gate appeared to be your standard-issue cattle gate. I reasoned that nobody looking to impress exclusive clients would gate their resort with such a regular-looking gate. I stopped next to a call box and pushed the white button on the bottom. 

“Hello,” a cheery, but staticy, voice called out. 

“Hi. I think you spoke to my mom on the phone about a room for the night. I’m the guy…” before I could finish my sentence the voice cut me off.

“Oh yes! We’ve been expecting you. I’ll buzz you in, follow the signs to the lobby on the main road.”

Before I could reply, a buzzing sound filled the air and the gate began a slow, inward swing. The road went up a small hill and turned to the right past a row of trees. As I made the turn, I saw what looked like your average RV park with a couple of structures scattered about the property. It was clearly the off-season as only a few of the slips were occupied. I followed a sign directing me to the right, and as a golf cart approached heading in the opposite direction, it was immediately clear to me why this resort was tucked so far away from the main road. 

The occupants of the golf cart, a couple I guessed to be in their early sixties, waved cheerfully—while completely naked. My eyes darted down to confirm they were in fact naked and then back up to their eyes as quickly as possible. What the… I thought to myself. I quickly scanned the horizon for other people to confirm my new assumption that this was a nudist resort. It didn’t take long. Even in the low occupancy of the off-season, every person I saw was totally naked. Well, except for some form of footwear. 

After I was checked in and found my way to the room I decided it was time to call my mom, to clarify if she did or did not know this was a nudist resort and failed to mention it.

“Well…” she said in a sly tone, giving away the answer immediately. “I was just nervous that if you knew you might not go and it was the only thing available,” she confirmed, paused, and laughed. “Are they all naked?” she asked through her laughter. 

“Yes mom, they’re all naked.” And then I started laughing too.