We had seen the green highway sign that read ➞ Carpenters Bluff 4 miles. I did a google and saw this nice looking old bridge spanning the Red River into Oklahoma. Hey being a photographer, it looked a place to go.

The journey started easy enough. A nice little adventure we hobbits thought.

Now I am from West Texas. The roads there are straight. You can see for a long way and navigational turns hardly ever require you to remove your right arm from that manly dangle across the seat. About a mile into the route this little car came upon my bumper. I am from West Texas,  I am also comfortable with space. This follow vehicle had the drivers side mirror hanging with baling wire. The otherwise pleasant (I am sure) young lady was a girl of many talents. She had a Marlboro in one hand, cell phone in the other, texting of course. She also had a big gulp that she somehow was working. And she was a bumper rider.

This road proceeded to become nightmarish in it’s 90 degree turns. The big reflection in my little mirror remained a constant too close size. I swear I took a quick glimpse in the mirror as we were making a right turn and both my dogs were still leaning right from the last left turn. I kept looking for a place to pull off but every turnoff was marked with a bullet hole  ridden “no trespassing” or “don’t even think of turning here” signs.

We pressed on and I kept pressing pedals trying faster and slower. The multi tasker seemed oblivious to my existence. Just as I was thinking I needed a Xanax, a road going to the left appeared. Relief.

We made a faster than comfortable left and I was ready to get some blood back to my knuckles. My wife is afraid of heights and does not have a fondness for crossing old bridges. I hear this drawn out “honey” moan from her as I see that the “nice looking old bridge” looms dead ahead. No one mentioned it had only one narrow lane. I start to pause to collect myself when I get a flash of lights from my mirror. The girl of many talents has also made the turn and is itching to be in Oklahoma.

We reluctantly start over the bridge. I am sure the view of the setting sun on the Red River is nice, but my eyes never wavered from the sagging wood planks and missing or rusting guard rails. With a sigh and a pulloff we rested safely in Oklahoma. The girl gave a friendly wave as she raced on to her next victim.

Now the only thing left is to turn around and repeat the process.

When you come to a bridge over troubled waters, don’t overthink it. Just consider yourself blessed to have the bridge…†…monos en theos…jim