When I was a teenager, I had a recurring nightmare about a bridge a mile from my parents' house.
Sometimes I would be behind the steering wheel of my car. Other times I would be walking.
Always, I would approach the bridge to find that the raging waters beneath had swept away the concrete decking. I would end up in the middle of the flood, watching the ground break under my feet.
The dream occurred so often and bothered me so much I started taking different, longer routes to my destination. And I would never, ever, ever drive over it at night.
At that time, I had not yet delved into dream interpretation. I figured the nightmares were perfectly normal for a girl who fears both driving and heights. I also figured the story about that bridge's roll in a gruesome fatal accident years earlier might also have played a roll in starting the dreams.
Then last weekend, as my husband drove to my folks' house after a day of Christmas shopping, we happened upon a "Road Closed" sign that cut off access to that road. Farther down, we saw a bright orange fence barricading the bridge.
Curious, Dana and I ventured beyond the sign and this is what we found.
Those are my husband's feet. He wears a size 11-1/2 shoe, so that should tell you how big that hole in the decking is.
Coincidentally, my nephews work in bridge construction, and their company received the bid to repair (not replace) this bridge.
Heh. It's not that I don't trust my nephews' knowledge or abilities when it comes to bridge construction. But I don't think I'll be driving over this bridge again any time soon.