So I was disappointed that I could not stay there longer. The extreme heat and low humidity made it hard to breath, especially as I proceeded to do a bit of rock climbing in the direct sunlight. At 110 degrees, with 5% humidity, and at a somewhat high altitude, I'm surprised I didn't get a nosebleed.

I am not surprised, however, that I came close to hyperventilating and even passing out. When that almost happened, even though I'd only seen part of the place, I had to get in the car and get out of there. I could have conjured a way to stay, but I was not really even thinking straight.

The heat and dust played havoc on my digital camera, too, which made a whirring, grinding noise that I had never heard before. At some point it just wouldn't take any more pictures.

Click here for a PDF of the brochure I picked up at Toadstool Park (2.9MB) The term "toadstool" is defined as "a sandstone slab resting on a clay pedestal, resembling a mushroom." To quote the pamphlet that is available at the entrance to the park, "Toadstools are created by the forces of wind and water, eroding the soft clay faster than the hard sandstone rock that caps it. Erosion eventually collapses the giant toadstools while new ones are forming."

And on top of everything else, I was the only person there. I could not remember seeing another person or another car or vehicle for as long as a half hour. So while this spot might not seem too terribly remote or exotic to people who live near or are familiar with the region, I really was not certain where I was or what I'd do if the heat finally got the better of me.

But I'm not complaining. I'm just setting up a rationale by which I make another trip to this place. And I will do that. Maybe I'll stay at the B&B in High Plains.

I did manage to see one fairly big section of Toadstool, and there were areas where, under the influence of the heat and lack of water, I imagined myself not on earth but on a dehydrated, infernal planet with no forms of life.

The ground was rock hard, and covered with bone chips and fossil fragments. Seeing the distinctive rock formations and the lunar looking landscape made the visit worthwhile, but I have to come back during a more hospitable season. There is a self-guided trail that goes for about 1 mile, and I think I made it about 1/3 of the way into it before turning back.

There is something uniquely satisfying about finally reaching a place like this. Call me crazy, but places like this are the only reason to travel.