So, I like bridges.
The monumental ones that are bigger than life, conquer all fears, and blaze in the most wanderlust filled of dreams. The small ones that barely count as more than a stepping stone from one side to the other and yet fill a visual need that barely existed before. I like their structures, their purpose, the hard won expansion and bulky modesty. From the immense thrill of driving across one as the sun sets, windows rolled all the way down and music blasting,to the quiet wonder of walking beneath one, breeze rolling off the water and uplifting my spirit towards the highest points of construction.
Bridges are freakin’ brilliant is what i’m saying.
And my most favorite of them probably comes as no surprise. Completed in 1833, at the time the longest suspension bridge, it’s neo-Gothic beauty hasn’t faded even a bit. So after taking a gander at the SS Peking and passing by a weirdly subdued South Street Seaport, me and Kat followed behind joggers and bicyclist on the East River Bikeway to get a pretty fantastic view of the Brooklyn Bridge. And while I think Kat wasn’t too enthused about having me drag her half across Manhattan just to view a bridge, I fully maintain that you haven’t truly seen Manhattan till you’ve been both slightly harassed by a weird dude on the subway AND seen the Brooklyn Bridge up close and personal. The weird dude on the subway came later btw.
But that’s a story for another post.