She made it sound like it really wasn't a big deal. I started wondering if this was worth the inconvenience, but we kept driving, spotted a county park sign and turned. We ended up in a housing complex with no sight of a park or bridge to be seen. We kept driving. We saw another park sign, and turned left. This time we ended up in a biological preserve area, but again no bridge. I began to get angry with the person in charge of putting these highway signs up. An inpatient me turned to Mr. B. and shouted, "Who in the hell put these signs up and where in the hell is this historic bridge?" The ever calm Mr. B. said, "I don't know, but we can't go back the way we just came." "Why not?" I asked. "But we'll get lost." An optimistic Mr. B. replied, "because we know the bridge is not that way, we already checked." So Mr. B. and I kept driving, deciding to travel the opposite way we came and head back towards the interstate. At this particular, frustrating point, I began composing a letter in my head to mail to the city manager suggesting better signage if they wish to attract more tourists to their historic bridge town. Well, heading back to the interstate, there it was. The county park and the Historic Bridge sign we had just spent 45 minutes looking for. We took the road to the right and found our bridge. It wasn't want I had hoped it would be, but it was old. The year 1886 is definitely historic!
Mr. B. standing on the historic bridge |
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