Bridges

My sister sent me a link to an article in the Washington Post about people's fear of driving over bridges and it really hit home with me. Watching the horrific bridge collpase in Baltimore this week didn't help either. Driving over bridges freaks me out, especially ones that are high, over water, and narrow. When I lived in Philadelphia and New Jersey, I drove over the Ben Franklin and Walt Whitman bridges all the time with no problem. Those bridges didn't bother me. Why? Because they had multiple lanes in each direction and I felt comfortable enough on them to get in the middle and cruise to the other side without fear that I would go over the edge. Thankfully, I don't have to drive over many bridges now. There's one around Perdido Key in Florida that I have to drive over to get to my time share in Gulf Shores, Alabama when I go there in the fall. It's high, narrow, and has only one lane on each side. I have to psych myself up to get over it. It's not a long bridge, but it's still a white-kunckle drive for me. I have to pray and keep my eyes on the vehicle ahead of mine. At least no one can come on the side of me and run me off the road since it's only one lane each way. 

When I was younger, I don't recall being afraid of driving across bridges. I don't know when the fear set in. Middle age, I guess, but the fear is real. Driving across some bridges immediately makes my heart rate increase. I hate driving like a nervous wreck, but that's what happens when I have to encounter a bridge. 

Years ago, when I moved from central New Jersey to Brooklyn, the movers wanted to follow me in my car to my new apartment and they wanted to take the Verrazzano Bridge. Yeah, no. I'd driven across the Verrazzao before but I wasn't planning on driving across it again. I told the movers I'd meet them at the apartment in Brooklyn because I'd be taking the Holland Tunnel to the Battery Park Tunnel instead (and that's what I did).