He set his tiny feet on the first rock and wobbled against the water rushing over his knees. I stepped onto the downstream side of the same rock and braced against the cold and the current. Standing firm but paralyzed, he turned his head and looked up at me, but his words weren’t needed.

After our first day at Dinosaur Valley State Park, when I could no longer resist my somnolence in the face of the awful Battlefield Earth, I lifted the sleeping boy from next to his mother and tucked him into the pallet we had made on the floor, then climbed into the hotel bed.

Despite the time change overnight, Benjamin woke me in his usual 6-7 a.m. range asking, “Daddy, will you play with me?”

I got dressed and took him downstairs to scope out the coffee situation. The breakfast buffet, a $10.95 “convenience” easily skipped, did not distract me from the free coffee (despite its inferiority to the fresh-ground I brew at home).

When we returned Shannon was up and getting ready for the day. I mentioned in the previous post that she’s awesome, right?

Back at Dinosaur Valley State Park, we reported directly to Track Site 2, which promised the fossilized footprints of some of the largest beasts ever to trod Earth. The river was wider here and the hillside had been shaped into what looked like stadium bleachers.

Across the water, on dry limestone, several pre-teen girls huddled around a miniature short-bed truck. Shovels and industrial brooms in hand, they listened intently to a woman wearing Texas State Park garb.

The map showed that we would have to get our feet wet. Labeled as a “rock bridge,” several large stones lying under about six inches of swiftly moving water provided our only path. Shannon, still not feeling well, bowed out, but Benjamin and I removed our shoes and inched our way to the shore.

“Just hold my hands and let me stand downstream from you,” I said. I pointed to the first rock that loomed under the water just a few inches from the bank. “Now, go ahead and take a step.”

Benjamin quickly found his footing, but was unsure enough to ask for an assist. I scooped him up and my feet throbbed with the cold by the time I padded from the second rock to the third. Over the next several stones the pain began to give way to numbness, but I still avoided slippery spots.

Safely on the other side, we saw a fallen sign that read “Tracks.” The girls we had seen before were now in a section of the riverbed that someone had walled off temporarily with rocks, about two steps below where we stood.

They busily pushed large brooms to clear muddy water from the smooth limestone. Each time one of them swept, I briefly made out another dinosaur footprint before it refilled. Water leaking from the imperfect dam kept the girls busy.

The State Park Lady invited Benjamin to step down and set his foot inside the tracks. “Go ahead, son, that’s fine,” I said. He happily ducked under the makeshift tape fence and jumped to the sloppy scene below. Along with the other children, he had a hard time being patient while everybody took their turn.

   

Next: Someone falls on the way back. Is it me? Benjamin? Both?