Crossing back to Texas
A late afternoon crossing of the Red River into Texas via Carpenters Bluff bridge.
Thought it very fitting to have and orange truck show up!
Sorry for the delay in posting. Same old fighting nagging health problems. Cross my fingers I am feeling better and am getting around a bit better. Last series of injections in my back were slow to provide relief, but the drugs seems to have finally found the right area.
Peace out, a special blessing to all our fighting men & women providing for our freedom. Not an advocate of war, but these folks are doing work I didn’t have to do and I thank them for my safe and warm sleep…….monos en theos†††jasL
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