I feel a need to add ‘New Mexico’ to the title because there is also a Clayton Lake State Park in Oklahoma, which I have also been to. Clayton Lake State Park is probably most famous for having dinosaur footprints. They were not originally visible, but were partially uncovered in the work they did on the dam for the lake, and later actually became visible when water going over the spillway washed away dirt and debris that was over them. This makes me wonder about all of the things that are hidden. How many places are there dinosaur footprints that we just don’t know about? Or fossils buried beneath the surface? Or caves with no entrance?
But I jump ahead of myself. The real story of my visit here doesn’t start at the park. It starts the day before. It’s the journey to first get there. All of the cool places I go seem to come after many hours on the road. Sometimes there are beautiful landscapes to look at, sometimes just monotonous hours of pavement, mile after mile, one cup of coffee after another.
I left Socorro in the afternoon for a two week trip to Oklahoma. I never make it out as early as I want and it’s a long drive. I have learned over the years to plan my departure day a day early so that I can actually get out of the house and make a few hours on the road. Then the next day, there is nothing I can find to distract myself from hitting the road.
It was a fairly pleasant drive. My route this time is taking me up to the northeast corner of New Mexico and then across the panhandle of Oklahoma. I-25 after Santa Fe travels through mountainous country and it was gorgeous. The weather was cloudy and it rained off and on. At one point, I even saw remnants of fresh snow on the ground despite the fact that my car said it was still 70 degrees outside and it’s late July.
The landscape changed into gently rolling, grass-covered hills as I went further. It rained for an hour or so and I was happy to watch the little water drops. Later, it quit actually raining where I was, but I could see it raining around me. I watched lightening flashing in the distance ahead of me and to both sides. I watched the sun set, occasionally peaking through the clouds. The sky and landscape in some areas had that sort of dreamy, cloudy, pastel-like quality and I could see mountains silhouetted in the background.
I stopped once on the side of the road not long before reaching Clayton, and the wind was blowing so strongly I thought about just not getting out of the car. Then I thought, “What am I here for if not to feel? I’m alive and I want to live like I’m alive, not hide from a little moving air.” So I got out for a couple of minutes with the wind plummeting me and looked across the grass covered plains. There weren’t any other cars on the road that I could see and no houses in sight either. I love unpopulated places. They make me feel somehow right.
It’s funny the way one’s thoughts start to work after a long drive alone. The road produces a sort of hypnosis. I find myself in a strange sort of almost meditative state, but less quiet and serious than real meditation is supposed to be. It has more silly thoughts, more randomness. It’s less sacred, but more real. I cherish those conversations I have in my head on long drives. I enjoy the crazy, off-beat things that start to pop into my head.
Then there is the night alone in some motel in the town of Clayton. I’ve stayed at enough motels in my life to feel oddly at home in them. They all seem kind of the same after a while. Although I settle in quickly, I feel like I don’t leave much trace when I leave. It feels so transitory when I pack up the next morning and I’m gone almost as though I was never there.
So after a long drive and the motel, then I get to go check out the state park. It’s famous for the dino tracks, but my first destination is a nature trail that is about a mile long. I’m just looking to stretch my legs since I know I have a lot more driving ahead once I leave.
It’s a sunny morning and although I know it will be hot later, it’s early enough to still be pleasant. I have the trail to myself and it feels peaceful. At first, I like the feel of the tall grass moving past my ankles and the grass is alive with grasshoppers as I walk. I feel pulled along the trail, winding under tall cottonwoods by the lake shore. The gentle feel of the grass later starts to irritate my ankles until each step means a painful sting from each blade off grass. The pain from each fades quickly leaving only a general feeling of irritation. But each new step brings the pain. I’m relieved when I make it back to the car.
Then I drive over to the trail-head to see the dino tracks. There are a handful of people there as it’s the main attraction. The trail leads across the dam and not a majestic dam, but a big pile of rocks and dirt sort of dam. It’s windy and sunny and the walk isn’t much fun. There is a board walk along the dino tracks and signs about not littering and not stepping off designated walk way. I want to say something about how fascinating it was or about how I learned something cool about some sort of dinosaur. But the truth is, I didn’t like it much. The tracks mostly just looked like boring old indentations in the rock. The board walk and signs felt distracting and civilized. So I snapped some pictures and hurried back to the car.
I sped away towards the Oklahoma panhandle and Black Mesa State Park with my music for company. Soon to get lost on some dirt road without cell service to power my maps app. I discover a strange little stop on the side of the dirt road, apparently having stumbled across some sort of National Grassland or something.
This is the way of my travels: long drives, motels, surprisingly pleasant nature walks that turn less pleasant, attractions that I rarely find attractive and unexpected finds along the way, all followed by more long hours behind the wheel.
