Every year for the past 20 years of my life we have taken a road trip during the summer. When we lived in Austin, TX, we had the privilege of knowing some people who owned a house in Pagosa Springs, CO. So we would pack up a full car, car meaning Suburban, and head north through Texas, New Mexico and then into Colorado. We are a family of six. I’m the oldest of four siblings; Emma is 19 and the twins Hudson and Moselle are 15. Most car rides are spent peacefully enough when we’re not yelling at each other for a range of annoyances or laughing our heads off at sentences like, “The United States is going down hill because of saran wrap.” Of course it was funnier in our tin can of a tank.
Pagosa Springs is a smaller town. It’s permanent residential being about 1,800 people-- the size of Corban University. There’s a sign on the one movie theater in town that reads: Do Not Feed The HOBO. The admonishment is referring to their one homeless man, and that he’s been homeless for the last 19+ years and that it’s not likely to change through more handouts, so please kindly refrain from giving him anything. There also is a resort with at least 19 hot springs of various temperatures called the Springs Resort and Spa; my mom’s personal favorite. Every time we vacationed in Pagosa, we would get week to month long passes, depending on how long we were staying, and sit in the pools the size of hot tubs, or wade in the river that the resort overlooks.
The trick to being at the Resort is to go to and from various pools, all with different minerals and healing properties, and you do this all day. So we always bring along lunch, and my parents like to bring along various alcoholic drinks, that they drink in moderation, with them to the pools. Now my dad is a native German, who grew up enjoying a beer with dinner since he was thirteen, so we have been given sips, usually unwanted on my part, since we were young as well. Well Emma, my younger sister, had at that time tried some of my mom’s wine a few days before and got a sensation in her chest that made it feel like it was closing in on her. We came to the conclusion that she must be allergic to alcohol. As we made our way around the pools one day, my mom had made a Roman Coke for my dad and her. They were sitting in a pool and Emma came over and asked to try mom’s drink. At this point I should point out that we were not alone at the pools, but instead there was a couple sitting in the pool with my parents. However, this did not impede Emma in the least from excitedly saying, “You know I don't think I can have wine, but I think I'm ok with hard liquor.”
Aside from just the hot springs there’s also good food to be had in Pagosa, like my favorite burger and fries of all time which resides in Pagosa’s Bear Creek Saloon and Grill. Though as a family we most enjoy The Pagosa Brewing Co & Grill, which was always just a short drive down from the house we would stay in.
Walking up a wide gravel pathway you enter the beer garden through an opening in the fence that surrounds the area. To the right of the opening is what looks a little like a very long airstream trailer built into the ground, which houses where servers go to get drinks and appetizers. Walking through you see wood chips covering the ground. Long picnic tables are scattered around and at the back left is a stage area covered by an awning where live music is played most days. To the back right is a bar and kitchen housed in a more permanent building. In the corner of the front right of the fence there’s a small play area for children. The atmosphere is friendly and inviting-- casual.
Well four years ago we arrived once again at The Pagosa Brewing Co, excited for fresh caught salmon fish and chips and salmon tacos. We waited around for a few minutes for a ready table as the eclectic group of bluegrassers played in the background. As kids we were already getting antsy. Soon we were seated and started with the menu. Eventually our waiter came by: Marcus. Dressed in khakis and a staff shirt he arrived with a certain panache, as if he were dressed in something different from everyone else.
“Good evening folks. What can I get y’all started with?” He was an excited talker.
My dad, a native German who appreciates a good beer was already smiling at him. “I am interested in your ales, but I’d like any input you can give me.”
“I already know what you’ll love. It’s called the Peachy Peach and it is to die for.”
“Really?,” my dad said with a grin.
“Yes sir. I don't do nothing blacker than me. I don't like chocolate ice cream I like vanilla. I've never dated a black girl. I got sisters and man they crazy.”
My dad raised his eyebrows, but kept his composure. Meanwhile, I am having a bit of a harder time as I cover my mouth with my hand.
Marcus continued, “Man these guys are bustin’ my balls for drinking that girly drink and I'm like mhmm I'm gonna drink it till it's gone, cause it’s chronic. Man it's addictive. I wouldn't lie to you.”
My dad only smiled. “You’ve sold me on it now. What more could I want from a drink?”
Marcus nodded, “You won’t be sorry. You’ll be glad to have tasted it before it’s all gone.” He wrote the rest of our drink order and food down and walked back to the bar inside to get our order in, We looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“That guy is amazing,” said my dad.
“Wow,” my mom said with another chuckle.
He entertained us for the rest of the night with his strange, but straightforward remarks. As we finished our meal and went to leave, Marcus called our way as he began clearing the table, “I hope you folks have a fine rest of your evening. Y’all come back and see us real soon.” We all smiled and thanked him.
“I hope Marcus is our waiter the next time we’re here,” my sister said as we walked back down the wide gravel path to our car. But sadly that was to be the last time we were there. Someday perhaps I’ll return to the town with a lifelong hobo and flamboyant waiter, but for now I’d like to think he’s still there swearing that Peachy Peach is the best thing on the whole menu.
