This Spring we headed out early one morning. Mist was still hanging in the trees as we crested Thompson. We rolled down the backside (no brakes) and out into the wilds of Oregon. Well, not really, but sometimes it feels that way.
Not sure why, but sometimes you get a particular place in your head and the only way to get it out is to ride right up to it. That happened this day and this railway bridge, or what is left of it was what showed itself to my subconscious. Once it was there, like that Ace of Base
song, it could only be shaken in the way that I knew how. It is weird when a place - not a person, a thing, a song, or a food (as is more often the case) is the thing that you can not seem to get out of your mind. An actual place.
Also not sure if Clint or Simon had been there before, but they humored me as I told my tale of this strange bridge and its odd locale. We talked of the possibilities that it once held for the region. Transporting lavish goods from one end of this particular farm to the other. That is how short it is. Just the shape of this valley. It may be a good place for a picnic at the top? Carey SH had shown me this spot a few years earlier (she held the same reverie for it that I did - maybe this was passed along?) but I always look off to the right as we pass its connector road on rides. It is nothing, this road, nor its connector. It would barely be a blip on your screen if you decided that you need to add it to your ride one day. But that does not mean it is not there. Because it is.
We slid underneath it. Marveled at its massive weirdness, had a pee, found a dead snake and were on our way.
It was quickly forgotten in terms of an actual road on the ride. Later in the day as the blood churned in my head and we stomped up the gravel coated Pumpkin Ridge; this old bridge could not have been further from my mind. There were not only peacocks to listen to but llamas to look at.
At the time it seemed so important. I guess the important thing was that we had heeded the call.