Saline Hotsprings

THE woman approaching the hot spring was wearing nothing except for my missing gray ski hat. I had been shivering in my sleeping bag all night without it. The dawn still hadn’t lifted the chill from the valley, which is encased like a tomb by snow-topped mountains. I didn’t have to look too closely to see that she was freezing.

“What are you doing with my hat?” I said, in a tone probably too aggressive, given that we were about to share a steaming hot tub in a desolate California desert valley about three times the size of Manhattan. The woman took off my hat, and her long blond locks rolled down to places you don’t politely look at when speaking to a naked stranger. ....

http://travel.nytimes.com/2009/02/06/travel/escapes/06american.html?hp