Springs forward (vacation in a future home)

Mule deer behind my Buffalo Lodge room

From first glance, I knew where I would land in Colorado Springs. Looking at any other apartments seemed pointless, especially when the landlord offered me the place that night, leading me to buy a celebratory whiskey at a fine-dining place. The next morning, I checked out a sixth-floor apartment in a new apartment tower, but I pictured a frustrated Percy pacing the balcony and maybe even taking a dangerous leap. I was heartened to see the woman who He could handle the yard at the first apartment.

Fountain Creek, Manitou

Only after I moved in did I realize the backyard afforded views of Pikes Peak. The morning was cloudy and rain had just coated the region, another storm in a stormy winter. Later I would see the peak coated in a snowstorm, the only views open to me from Woodland Park, Florissant and other spots in the mountains.

After that appointment, I ran into roadblocks. I called and ran into dead ends with other rentals. Frustrated at the fall-throughs, I drove up to Woodland Park just to drive Ute Pass, then settled in Manitou Springs for a late lunch, where the owner tossed all sorts of advice about apartments in Manitou. I briefly entertained them, but wanted to gamble on the place I wanted first.

Since I planned to move to the Springs, I would not be a tourist again. I picked a quirky place to crash during the apartment hunting trip, the Buffalo Lodge Bicycle Resort which caters to the large volume of cyclists who visit the area. It sat a stone’s throw from Garden of the Gods, the city’s famed red rock wilderness park, and Manitou Springs, the adjacent resort town with springs still pumping out excellent water. This hotel could only be found in the Springs, and suited me perfectly. If my plans to move fell through, at least I had three nights at the Buffalo Lodge.

Fireplace, Buffalo Lodge

Too early in the season for cyclists, I had the place to myself most evenings. The lodge was loaded up with animal mounts, including a golden eagle that had been grandfathered in due to its age and a bison above the bar. The lodge staff told me there were more animal heads in storage, including a mountain lion, relics from its days as an actual hunting lodge. I opened up the windows of my room, letting the cold air seep in, and read a book after completing the application for the apartment.

On the first, I sat at the small bar in the lodge and talked with the desk attendant and her husband, who was stationed at a local Army post. We covered ground from the view atop the Manitou Incline to the difficulty in shooting a bighorn sheep to the need to get out of Scottsbluff, Neb., their hometown.

Mule deer near Garden of the Gods

Their friendliness was symptomatic of everyone I encountered. People offered advice on who might know about rentals or my luck in finding one so quickly. Moving with a job helped, especially when landlords want to see monthly income equal to 250 percent of the rent. Waitresses told me stories about having to lean on friends for lodging. I felt blessed to arrive in town with the same job I had in Nashville. One guy at a brewpub gave me his business card.  I listened where I could, to anything people said about the Springs and living here.

I learned a bit about the neighborhood, picking up advice and scraps of information with every person I encountered. While cruising the new neighborhood, I stopped at Stir Coffee and Cocktails, a coffeeshop with a full bar in an old gas station garage. The business stood in a shopping plaza with a grocery and a hardware store. I imagined it would be a frequent stop.

Siamese Rock, Garden of the Gods

Another frequent stop would be Garden of the Gods. I quickly discovered that people used it as a commuting shortcut on weekdays and it was not a hive of activity on foggy mornings. No one had to hike far to have any trail to his/herself. I spotted a herd of mule deer, had my head buzzed by a hummingbird and took a few short hikes in the shadow of those looming red stones. 

By my departure time on Saturday, I had a inkling of the place I would soon call home.

I might not ever stay at the Buffalo Lodge again. Once I settled, I could recall the sharpness of the wind through the window and the refreshing peace of the lodge every time I drove by.

Spring and springhouse in Manitou