Off my bucket list--trip to Hot Springs Village

At my advancing age, I hate to admit to any kind of mis-hearing, mis-understanding or forgetfulness, because folks (including myself) might think I was on the edge of dementia. But I’ve discovered that younger people have memory issues, too.

In late June, a sister from Virginia reserved a condo for a week in Hot Springs Village. We other sisters who lived as close as Benton and Little Rock, were asked to spend a day or two with Barb before the big family reunion over the July 4 weekend.

Since I travel to Hot Springs about every Monday to a writers’ group, I decided to go visit Sis while I was that close to The Village. I had directions from Malvern Avenue to Highway 7. Barb had sent directions to the condo, either from the East gate or the West gate.

After the meeting which ended at 12:30, off I went, down Malvern to Grand Avenue, across it till I came to the intersection with Central. I knew my way to Hwy 7 from there. What I failed to realize (and herein lay the problem) was that Hwy. 7 made a sharp turn north, but in my searching for the HSV sign, I missed the Hwy. 7 sign. Soon, I was on Hwy. 5 headed to the East gate and, eventually, home. But I wasn’t going home.

OK, no need to panic. The East gate was ahead of me. I drove and drove and drove. Then I saw a green sign, “Balboa Gate, 2 miles.” Whew! I knew that was also an entry into the largest gated community in the U.S. But there were a lot of other things I didn’t know.

Driving in behind two vehicles that were entering the gate, I noticed both drivers held a card out to a meter and the gate obediently opened. OMGosh! I didn’t have a card! But as I pulled up, a miracle happened: the gate opened!

Another “whew!” and a whispered “thank-you-Lord,” and I relaxed and began reading my directions—which, unbeknownst to me—were of no avail. But I followed them till I got to a place where I had to turn right or left––a dilemma, because it wasn’t in the directions. No signage, either, at the intersection of Andorra and Desoto.

I pulled into the parking lot of a Lutheran church and called Barb. Carolyn was already at the Los Lagos condo, so between the two of them—one holding the phone and the other reading a map––and me driving with one hand t an ear and one hand on the steering wheel in those unfamiliar, mountainous, curvy roads, I finally made it—an hour after I’d left the Garland County library.

They had waited lunch, so we had a light repast of tuna salad, tomatoes and crackers. Plus, big laughs at my recounting of travel travails. A swim—in the Adults Only pool––then a stint in the hot tub refreshed us, since the heat of early summer was already upon the land.

That night, Barb opened a new box of Mexican Train dominoes, which we all three learned to play.  Carolyn lost and I won!!