(see Part 1: Colorado morning.)
(see Part 2: A mountain ride.)
(see Part 3: From the heights.)

Oh, how I loved our last 36 hours in Colorado. From Telluride, the drive to Rico was chilly and drizzly, the mountains misted over so we could no longer see their peaks. But that's okay, because everything was shrouded in a mountain-cabin-mystery, a coziness that we felt on the entire drive to Rico. We had no idea what to expect...

When we arrived in Rico, population 205 {yes, I said two-oh-five}, the clouds had broken, and the air was filled with a mountain crispness once again. Rico's population reaches close to a whopping 500 in the summertime, and practically all of those people must have come to dine at the Argentine Grill. Who knew this one-horse town contained such a trendy 4-star restaurant, using organic and local foods, with a chef who apprenticed under Wolfgang Puck? And lucky us, we were staying in the Rico Hotel {the only hotel in town}, which was attached to the restaurant...

We dragged our suitcases to our room through a hallway bathed in dark, calming colors, and just a few steps further found another hallway that led to the restaurant - an open kitchen, the warm, homey sound of people gathering, forks clinking on plates, laughter. We seriously couldn't wait for dinner that night...

First they brought sliced baguettes with fresh real butter and a head of garlic that had been halved across the diameter and slathered with olive oil and sea salt and roasted to crispy mouth-watering perfection. I dug in, while my mother, not as well-versed in unconventional food presentation, asked in her Jersey accent, "What is that? A pomegranate?" {Really, mom? And you're married to an Italian?} It was meant to be scooped out and spread on that delicious bread, of course.

I had 4 slices.

Next was the appetizer: carrot ginger soup with pesto cream. For dinner: charred spicy beef tenderloin taco with mango, avocado and cilantro. For dessert: vanilla crème brulée with candied hazelnuts and caramel sauce. Oh, heavens....

We stayed for hours and talked to our adorable hippie waitress who was wearing a hair turban, along with a few bikers from California. And then we learned that we would get to come back in the morning for our complimentary breakfast! With all that delicious food in my tummy, I would have slept perfectly that night if my mom {who is a night-shift nurse by profession} hadn't woken up at 3am and declared, "Well, that's enough sleep for me for the night. I'm ready to get up," as I grunted, moaned, and pulled the pillow over my head.

The next morning, we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast {baguettes with fresh butter and homemade jam, eggs, bacon, and fruit} and lingered a little longer in Rico...

On the way back to Durango, we passed the entrance to Mesa Verde National Park, full of weird rock formations and unique landscapes...

At 3pm, we finally arrived back in Durango, the origin of our entire trip, and savored every last bit of our final Colorado afternoon. We had left our swimsuits on the back seat, ready to go, because we knew we were going straight to the mineral pools at Trimble Hot Springs.

The next two hours we spent there were so precious to me, because it reminded me of my seemingly endless summer days growing up at our town pool in Madison, New Jersey, and swimming with my mom. Trimble Hot Springs seemed more like a pool for the locals than a tourist hotspot, with a clubhouse, bathhouse, a regular chlorine pool with lap lanes, and another pool area just for soaking in the mineral springs. The stone walkways were bordered with hollyhocks and black-eyed Susan's and other wildflowers. It was the perfect end to our trip, soaking in those warm waters together at the base of the mountains.

Since you are only supposed to soak for 20 minutes at a time, we retreated to the grassy lawn where children were cartwheeling and throwing Frisbees. Fluffy white puffs of something floated through the air like snow, and I lay back on my towel and closed my eyes. A folk singer who was serenading us from underneath a tent began to sing one of my favorite songs, "Love At the Five and Dime" by Nancy Griffith, and I wondered if this afternoon could get any better.

As the sun set, we went back to our beloved Logwood B&B, exactly where we had started on that first, fresh, crisp morning when I had opened my journal to a blank new page. Since then, I had filled those pages with a thousand memories.