Bridge-phobia

When I was a child, we used to rev our V-8s and play “jump the Skyway”. “The Skyway” was the original bridge in St. Pete, Florida that got rammed and dumped by a rogue tanker. We’d crank up on 34th Street, and tear past Florida Presbyterian College [Now Eckerd, since the drugstore magnate bought it]. The idea was to hit the perfect incline at 100 mph and leave the ground. If you managed this death-defying feat, you had awesome bragging rights.

So, it’s 30 years later. I’m driving home, minding my own business, all youthful indiscretions long gone in my past. All of a sudden, I might get creamed by some punk fleeing from the cops. Life is full of uncertainties. In fact, I got hit head-on a few years ago by a foolish woman trying to pass a dump truck in the rain. I'm addicted the "dash-cam" police chase shows, and when the fleeing hoodlums invariably smash into things, it makes me shudder. I recently replaced the late, lamented Mercedes Panzerwagon with a generic Chevy Astro van. My neighbor Dennis, the heroic truck driver who canceled contracts to carry Hurricane Katrina relief to New Orleans, said the Astro's V-6 is so quick because it's "the 350 V-8 with two cylinders sawed off". I fully expect to be motoring along, minding my Ps and Qs, and get smashed by some bulletproof hoodlum fleeing the law. Living in the sticks gives me better odds that it won't happen, but the local weekly paper invariably has the details of last weekend's chase by the county Mounties. Burt Reynolds and Hal Needham filmed nice portions of "Smokey and The Bandit" in this area, and all these years later there are still nut cases who think they can reproduce carefully choreographed stunt work on our mountain roads.

There is a basic element of horror that attaches to the Minneapolis bridge collapse. As we get older, we expect to be tooling down the road, minding our lives, and certainly not jumping bridges at 100 mph. The old Sunshine Skyway got bumped by an errant ship, and collapsed into Tampa Bay, taking people with it. When that news broke some years ago, it was what is referred to in The Possum Den as a "jaw dropper".

My heart goes out those who have lost loved ones in Minneapolis. It takes the breath away. One can dodge a fleeing felon or idiotic motorist, but when the road goes out from under you, it's like an act of God where you have to hang on and hope for the best. We never think of bridges until we cross them.