I still owed DF a day at Mira Vista Resort for her birthday, a present from a couple of months earlier. We set the date and took our chances with the weather. The monsoon should be appearing, which could mean rain, or clouds.
This is a free range website, where we advocate roaming most everywhere in a nude lifestyle. So, you may ask, what are we doing talking about a penned in resort? Well, could you even imagine us going to a clothed resort? Simply, there IS a time and place for a resort and this one doesn’t require that we dress.
Mira Vista is very pleasant and relaxed. There are social conditions there. There are facilities, amenities, people to interact with, fellowship and events to participate in. In many of its aspects, there is a taste of what life should be ideally.
This morning, there are overcast skies. The threat is here, but we’ll chance it. Hard lightning and thunder look to be out of the question. The temperature will be only 90F. Looking at that silver lining in this cloudy sky, this means that the concrete walkways won’t burn my feet and I won’t need to be concerned about shoes. The direct harsh sun all day, sitting in a reflecting swimming pool won’t be such a threat. If the rain comes without the static electricity, then it will provide a sensual contrast, as we climb into that gigantic hot conversation jacuzzi pool to wait it out. It may even be better this way.
We are carnuding out River Road and up into the lush desert foothills of the Tucson Mountains. We had gotten undressed after returning from a lecture last night. There is no sense ruining that streak this morning. My kilt sits within reach in the off chance that we would be stopped, or find ourselves in an emergency. DF has a beach towel draped across the passenger seat that she is sitting on. She could pull it out from under her body and wrap herself in it, if necessary. An electronic gate shows us onto the property. We note the new architectural changes, as we wrap around the parking areas to nest the car next to the office and the pool area.
It always gives me a sense of liberation to arrive in a place, climb out of the car nude and make my way through the front door of an establishment and not feel any sense of being out of place. Check-in is easy. My TNS (Naturist Society) card gives a discount as DF bides her time looking over the local art and the lovely décor in the homey historic lobby. A pair of old suitcases hangs prominently from the wall above a lush fluffy couch. Each of them is hand painted with a florescent glow of abstract saguaros in a fun desert scene.
We head out to the parked car and gather our arm load of conveniences, then make our way to the pool area. We claim a pair of lounger chairs with a convenient table between them. We have a cooler filled with fermented snacks. Local garlic goat cheese, Dutch smoked gouda, a cornucopia of various olives, pimento, tomato, artichoke hearts in spiced oils.
First, a mango comes out. It is very ripe and a slimy mess, but we have no concerns of making a mess of our clothing. It will simply wipe off, or there are public showers by the pool. At lunch, we will get a hefty pile of large French fries to supplement our lunch from the restaurant.
The shady massive ramada with its long lengths of white cloth overhead feels luxurious. We rest, stretched out in our recliner chairs. We bide out time casually sampling each pool in turn. The main pool has a slight chill, but we adjust quickly and gently side-stroke some laps together. The volleyball pool is just a tad warmer. The 30 foot long conversation pool stings with heat then becomes just right with its spa jets crisscrossing the path lined with sitting benches.
I have inquired previously about photo policy, “None of the water facilities.” “None with anyone else in the background.” Fair enough, the plan is just to make a few shots with the smart phone, in case I decide to write about this later.
Last night, we had texted two member friends that we would be visiting. Around noon, we are delighted to be greeted by them. They smile as they undress to their deep tans and claim their own two chairs. We turn ours around to face each other. Through the day, they provide background on the facility and introduce us to others. They make us feel at home. All of the people are very friendly and pleasant. This is a wonderful upscale place and everyone is perfectly acceptable as they are, just here to enjoy themselves. We find none of the uncomfortable distance, that sense of being a stranger, which is often found at a resort. A regular membership tends to make things personable here.
We eventually settle for a spell in that probably 30 foot long conversation pool. Talk goes this way and that, among the several people that are congregated there. A fellow wades over and sits down on the steps next to us. His girlfriend is comfortable lounging on the stairs. He and she seem to know us, but we can only smile and attempt to connect the acquaintance. Could it be one of those “Don’t recognize you without clothes on” situations? Then, it comes out, as he smiles, “I know you from your blog.” We have a chuckle.
Coincidentally, the next day at Redington Pass, we meet a man with his young son as we head up the trail. He points to us and says, “The Free Range Naturist.” It is gratifying to hear that people are enjoying this.
I came here, when they first opened the resort. It’s now been several years ago. It had just been bought and changed from a previously gay establishment, hence the wonderful antique decor. The plan was to build condos around the property. Most of these have now been constructed, in phases.
We eventually choose to take an exploratory walk around the grounds to see how it has changed. Our friends head into the bar/club house for the happy hour. They tell us that there is sometimes a jam session there. “Did you bring any instruments?”
I tuck a sit-down towel under my arm and grab my cell phone. I need nothing else. I’m loving the barefoot mobility. The gritty cement sidewalks ramble through the area. The texture changes as I step up into the dining room and feel the uneven boards on the old hardwood floor. Some spots give my feet a cushioned carpet. Temperatures vary. I feel particularly naked and liberated.
We pass by the old lava rock walled rooms dating back to before Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn used to recluse here, from when it was a dude ranch.
The construction of condos has gobbled up large parts of this oasis. The old fake Wild West town with its barbecue setup is nearly gone. The ability to wander in the desert is greatly diminished. Instead there are tasteful two story condos with rustic extra thick vigas to highlight the stucco walls. It is a quiet canyon-like walk between these buildings, all circling the original central area like gigantic wagons.
We give a couple of exercise machines a try in the weight room.
Out the full length window, a vigilant turtledove is sitting on eggs in the arm of a saguaro. It sits quietly and stares. We speculate if it is staring at us inside, or its own refection that appeared with the afternoon sun.
Through the years in observation, I’ve discovered that these birds are as stupid as imagination could believe. They will commonly attack their refection, fall down knocked silly, get up and do it again.
We give several machines a try, but never commit to a proper workout. It is a nice airy spot with wall size mirrors to try selfies and floor to ceiling windows.
Around the walkway, on the other side of the building, we find a nice game room addition with a pool table and ping pong setup. We try selfie pics with the cell phone, using the full wall of mirrors in this room, too.
Wandering back, all the while, each person that we meet smiles and says a greeting, whether they are sitting on their front porches, or walking about like us.
Dinner and into Evening:
Our friends decide to join us for dinner.
The dining room is in the old stone two story building with picture windows. The wooden floors glow. They don’t echo with the stomp of heavy cowboy boots, tonight we hear the soft padding of bare feet.
The meal is delicious. We eat veggies, mine oiled up on top of pasta. We look out across the valley, up to the mountains. The old covered wagon decorates the grounds entrance.
There is an observation deck with a comfortable couch for watching sunsets. The overcast day is just breaking up, as we make our way in the perfect air to watch splendor in peace. We attempt photos and enjoy each other’s company. Cloudy, it doesn’t look like much, but as time goes on, these billowing greys open up more and more. Eventually, we are treated to a fine sliver of a moon in the middle of color.
Things dim, the lights come on in the club bar and we hug our goodbyes.
DF and I like to dance. The theme for the party in the bar this night is “The Blues Brothers.” We have thin black ties, appropriate hats and dark sunglasses for the occasion. I have been putting on Blues Brothers youtube videos this week. We have been dancing around the house.
We arrive, decked out in these three items and one purse. We’re fired up and ready. The music is five Stevie Ray Vaughn numbers in a row. We have to request the Blue Brothers. The DJ plays two common songs and then goes back to a litany of country and disco. There is no blues.
Frustrated and disgusted, we strip off our regalia and leave the bar. Oh well, how tough can it be to slide back into that conversation pool filled with smiling faces and be massaged by the hot jets.
Eventually, we pack ourselves up and take one more sampling. It is the jaccuzzi under the gazebo at the entrance. It is on our way to the car. It was the old well, I’m told. It is constructed of rustic stone.
Here is the Mira Vista Website, where they tell their own story: http://miravistaresort.com/