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| I needed to turn south. The name, Bridge Port Road, appearing on the road sign was the ticket. It was a good blacktop road. A concrete bridge could be seen coming up. My hopes fell. Quickly slowing, crossing the bridge, I looked from side to side as is my ritual. There are always reasons to stop. Huh, J.K.? I should have looked behind. I didn't realize a car was on my tail. It was the General Lee with Rupert B. Teenager at the wheel. Urg. I waved him past. I think he waved back, sorta. |
| I told J.K. I'd be a while. |
| That's a cypress tree down there. Ah, cher. |
| What is our need to get out on these things? Why do people sit on the edge of the Grand Canyon? Why do they disobey every guiding sign to sanity put there just in case theirs is not intact? |
| Back when the old bridge was the way to go, it was not safe. The authorities had disavowed all responcibility back then. I was on my on. I went out on the bridge. I did not take a picture of the new bridge in case my wife may want to commit me, there will not be that evidence. There is other. I had to fight through the growth to get to it. There was no chance from the north side. Nature is trying to help here, but there are those who resist her guidance. |
| Returning from the middle of the bridge and no longer above the water, my left leg fell through the bridge as I moved it forward. The right leg held. I was in a squat with my left leg fully penetrating the surface of the bridge. I did a one leg de squat that would have amazed coach. I know I elevated. Nothing but creosol on my jeans to mark the occasion. Nature laughed. |
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