I drove out to the Gorge today hoping some of the stormy skies over the mountain would offer a seldom view of the canyon, despite the fact they were playing out in the opposite direction.
Walking up to the bridge a woman in a bright yellow windbreaker smiled at me and in passing remarked, "it's sort of freaky!" I thought she meant the power of millions of years of erosion until I stepped onto the structure itself and felt the steel tremble each time a large vehicle went by. Somehow I hadn't remembered this from an early morning visit years before, when I was with other people and it would have been more fun to be afraid.
Despite promising myself I would refrain from dipping onto upaved surfaces in a low clearance station wagon unless my life or livelihood depended on it, later in the day I traveled a dirt road surrounded by sage for no other reason than to be surrounded by it in slanted light. The terrain was much tamer than that on the mesa with Mary Beth weeks back, I’m relieved to report, because I had no one but myself to soothe me through the voyage. Early on I saw a middle aged guy walking along the side of the road in a cardigan and casual trousers, which I took as a sign that at least on the surface, the stretch would be well mannered.
