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Day Trippin': Hot springs and painted hills over spring break Deedie Runkel and Canelo check out the Painted Hills at John Day Fossil Bed National Monument. [Photo by David Runkel] Monday Apr 3, 2017 at 12:01 AM By David Runkel for the Mail Tribune Editor's Note: Day Trippin' is a recurring feature that gives readers a chance to play tour guide and tell us about a nearby getaway. It's been a tough winter. So when spring break arrived, we decided we needed a change.  We couldn’t afford to be away for long, so we cast about for options. We ultimately decided to head for a hot springs resort in the Cascades and then on to the Painted Hills in Wheeler County.  It was yet another gray day in late March when we loaded the car with our luggage, snacks, drinks and our chocolate Labrador retriever, Canelo, and headed north and east from Ashland. First stop was our favorite bagel place, in Sutherlin, a short hop off the exit 136 ramp, only to discover it now calls itself a bakery. Thankfully, the bagels are still handmade and available with cream cheese, smoked salmon and capers.  Delicious.  An hour later we exited I-5 going east through Springfield along the overflowing McKenzie River (route 126) for an hour to Belknap Hot Springs resort.  We were attracted to Belknap, which has been a secluded retreat in Lane County for more than 100 years, by its two large, heated pools, one in the narrow space between the lodge and the roaring river and the second surrounded by evergreens on the hillside a short walk above the lodge.  With the temperature in the low 50s, we changed into bathing suits, and with our coats and hats on walked to the Upper Pool. The water was 104 degrees, hotter beside the piped intake from the natural springs on the other side of the river. Only two other people were there to share the nearly 20-by-60-foot pool.    Surprise. The sun came out and gave us a show as it began to set behind the cedars.  We were at peace.  A rainy day of reading and dipping in the pools among the raindrops followed. The clouds lifted the next day and we walked through the extensive Belknap gardens. After a last 30-minute healing soak we headed east on Routes 126 and 20. Because food is not a priority at Belknap, and burgers are the featured menu item at both restaurants six miles away in McKenzie Bridge, we diverted to Bend for a salad for lunch. Then we were on our way to the Painted Hills, where two decades ago our youngest daughter experienced an epiphany of sorts.  It had been another dreary Oregon winter, and Sara had been spending many hours in labs and the library at Reed College in Portland. A field trip to the Painted Hills made her realize that her scholarly life was colorless, revitalizing her interest in art and the outdoors. The Painted Hills, part of the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument, are alive with color, and we were happy we arrived with blue skies and a bright sun. We’ve traveled in many parts of the world and read and seen pictures of many other places, but what we encountered was totally new — large mounds with nothing growing on them, streaks of various shades of red and yellow on a gray backdrop.  We walked a couple of trails for better and different views, and drove to a cove with a collection of smaller hills, also palettes of sumptuous, natural colors.   At the monument headquarters, several panels tell the story of the geology of the Painted Hills. No one seemed to be around.  A knock on a side door produced a ranger who offered a little bit of information and pointed us toward the nearby town of Mitchell, where he assured us “you can get almost everything you need.”  Nine miles later, we pulled off Route 26 into the town, hoping for a gas station. In the three blocks that comprise Mitchell, we passed a couple of old buildings nearing a state of collapse before coming to two gas pumps standing alone. We pulled alongside them and went across the street to a cafe, encountering two older men who advised us that gas was not available (their fuel seemed to be beer). It was getting close to 4 o’clock, an hour after the pumps were locked for the night, they pointed out. The next place to buy gas was 70 miles away, they said, and hoped that we would make it. So did we. Off we drove for the town of John Day. One gets the feeling that not much is ever going on in the town, population less than 2,000. On a warmish evening, the place to be was the Dairy Queen, where high school kids and a sprinkling of the town’s elders mixed in the dining area while a steady stream of trucks kept the drive-thru window busy.  Rain returned the next day, so rather than continue to explore, we took Route 395 south to start a long-day’s drive home. No forecaster could have predicted all the conditions we weathered: first crossing the Strawberry Mountains in a snowstorm and barely missing a large rock that had tumbled into the middle of the road.  A mocha and a cinnamon bun at a small cafe in Burns revived us. There we got a short history lesson on eking out a living in rural Oregon from the Rosemarie, the cafe owner, who not only cooked and baked and served but ran a bed-and-breakfast inn, a wine shop and a group home for older citizens, all the while bemoaning that she had not followed her dream coming to what is now Southern Oregon University and taking up stage acting.   Back on the highway, we drove through the area where last fall’s standoff between disgruntled ranchers and the government took place. At one point, a large lake appeared on the horizon. It went on for 10 miles. Nothing had been built around the lake, no boats nor any signs of boat ramps were visible. On the lakefront, there were white deposits, signs of salt. A Google check revealed that Lake Abert was an alkaline lake, dangerous to those who tried swimming in it, with a population of brine shrimp, but no fish.  It fit right into the landscape of sage brush and graying, brown turf.  At Lakeside, lunch beckoned. Two police vehicles were parked outside a cafe in a converted house, where the special of the day was a grilled cheese sandwich, tomato soup and a small drink for $7.50. We shared, adding a package of chips for 50 cents.  We were about as far south as you can get in Oregon and about to head west on Route 140 toward home to end our trapezoid trip. Quartz Mountain brought another snowstorm, and then over the Greensprings we hit more snow before dropping down into our valley, where we were greeted with sunshine and temperatures approaching 50. Signs of spring. We hope.