SPA DAYS AT WHEELER HOT SPRINGS

One week before spring and there you are, molting, crabby, your biochemistry screaming, “Get me out of town.” “Wheeler Hot Springs, Ojai,” a voice says. “Now.”

So your friend, who needs no convincing, pulls up in a Cadillac convertible with red leather seats, and by the time you get to Trancas, you’d testify the steering wheel had become a divining rod. You gaze at Anacapa and inhale the freshly tilled earth, but mostly you think of the steaming waters in that little gorge you’re heading for.

The roads keep getting smaller, you’re wiggling your way through orange groves. Two hours after you’ve taken off, the hot spring’s around just one more bend. There’s the Wheel, the serious biker’s bar on your right with all those Harleys parked out front. But who wants Altamont when Woodstock is just across the narrow bridge on the left? You sprint the last lap to your private room; those tubs are calling you.

Someone’s left out piles of thick white towels. And chilled spring lemon water en carafe. You think about purification, baptism, renewal, the Chumash who used to soak in these sulfur-filled waters in the woods. And soon, in the 104-degree brew, you don’t think at all. Instinct moves you between the hot and the bracing cold pools.

The hindbrain does eventually signal hunger. You remember slouching toward brunch across the way several months before. Drinking Mimosas, eating soft, homemade, orange poppyseed bread in Wheeler’s sun-filled, cheery dining room. That earthy leek and potato soup you had, fragrant with celery seed. The smoky, tender chicken cooked on local oak, that sea-shell pink salmon with the wistful Bearnaise. And the most luscious pumpkin pudding known to post-Puritans.

Here for dinner, with the menu changing each week, it’s always serendipity. But there are constants too: the clean rustic room, the warmth of the host, fresh flowers, live music, pine-wood floors. The scintillating wine list which makes it hard to choose. And tonight, (it’s still winter) fires are blazing in the big stone hearths.

You love the mineral water on the tables which comes right out of the ground. Owner John Kaufer, who bought the place a couple of years ago (it had been closed for a while), tells you there are 12 springs on his land. He’s thinking of bottling the water some day. And maybe opening an inn. The springs, he says, first opened in 1891. Patrons surely didn’t eat the splendid radicchio, goat cheese and pecan salad back then. Maybe they’d recognize the wholesome hot sourdough pumpernickel bread.

Service is so pleasant, the music is so good, you’ve completely forgotten Los Angeles. Dinner’s fine, everything’s fresh, you like the authentic spanakopita, the clear wild rice, the way grilled foods are gently done. Your urban voice hasn’t disappeared completely, though, and you wish some of the dishes had more punch. The lime cream on the salmon is anemic, the citrus vinaigrette on the spinach salad faint. The fabulous ginger pound cake gets it right.

The spicing does need sprucing but why quibble over herbs when you’re in love? Wheeler Hot Springs is what you come to California for.

Wheeler Hot Springs Restaurant and Spa, six miles north of Ojai on Maricopa Highway 33, (805) 646-8131. Beer and wine. Open for dinner, Thursday-Saturday, for brunch Saturday and Sunday. Reservations necessary. All major credit cards. Special: Thursday and Sunday, hot tub and dinner (food only) for two: $40. Saturday and Sunday, hot tub and brunch (including champagne) for two $25. (Must request special when making reservations.) Dinner (a la carte) for two (food only): $35-$75.