Bravery

The day started out innocently enough. The only thing on the agenda was to take the scenic route through Colorado instead of Interstate 70. We took highway 13 to highway 40 through Steamboat Springs and Winter Park. Both of these towns are bustling with activity during the skiing season; during the summer they are calmer. There are galleries and little shops, but really, we were just going to see how Steamboat Springs had changed since Tim had been there some twenty years ago. Needless to say, it's grown up a bit. As we drove east on highway 40, nearing Interstate 70, we had to make one final sightseeing decision--to see or not to see the Royal Gorge and Bridge. Our track record for "off-the-list-things-to-do" has been excellent. We didn't know the hours of the Bridge, and it was nearing dusk. We were definitely taking a chance. As we drove down highway 115 toward Canon City, calculating the miles, watching the sun, and praying that the bridge would be open, the foremost thought on both of our minds was getting there in time to enjoy the view.

Casually, I said to Tim, "So, do you want to drive on the bridge or walk on it?"

Something, maybe a road sign, maybe a lousy driver, distracted both of us before Tim answered the question. We were again focused on the mission of beating the clock. We saw a road sign that said the bridge was open until dusk; we had to hurry. As we pulled up to the entrance gate, we both thought it was too late. There were only a few cars in the parking lot.

A gentleman walked out to our car. I asked him, "Is it too late to go on the bridge?"

"Nope," he answered, "you have until dusk which should be about an hour."

"Do we drive or walk across?"

"You can do either. Hang on; let me get your tickets."

He returned with a small pamphlet and two tickets to the carousel that was closed. The nice man told us about the petting zoo, the buffalo and the big horn sheep on the other side of the bridge. Tim and I looked at each other and pulled the car forward. We had no time to think about whether we would walk or drive, the bridge was only 200 feet away. After a slight pause I said, "Just go!"

Here is where the bravery comes in. For those of you who know Tim (or have read previous posts to know), he is not crazy about unsecured heights. Before either of us could think through the decision, there we were, pulling on to the tallest suspension bridge in the world--1,053 feet above the Royal Gorge. The bridge is barely wide enough for two cars to pass. (Thank goodness we were the only car on the bridge.) But the worst part, (It completely unnerved me.) was the sound. The maximum speed on the bridge is 10 m.p.h. Each inch the tires rolled, the wooden boards underneath us groaned and rattled as if they could give way at any moment. I have to assume this bridge is safe, but it sure didn't sound like it! I told Tim not to look down at the precise moment he looked down. He didn't just look out at the gorge; he looked down...between the boards...1,053 feet to the Arkansas River. We were too close to the edge for me to look through the boards; I was looking out and down--shrinking farther and farther down in my seat. With a death grip on the camera, I stuck my head out the window and took some pictures. Most of them are of the railing; a few are of the river and the gorge. By the time we got to the other side of the bridge, I was darn near close to hyperventilating. Tim was smiling from ear to ear. On the other side of the bridge, is a path up to Sublime Point. Sublime? I don't know about that, but it was a captivating view. I took a few pictures then handed the camera to Tim. We witnessed yet another beautiful sunset as Tim shot picture after picture. I stood at the top of the point wondering just how many he was going to take. All I wanted to do was get back across that bridge. The sun could not go down fast enough for me. We got back in the car, took a couple of pictures of the white buffalo, then rounded the corner to go back across the bridge. The noise was no less unnerving, but I had gained a little confidence. Tim asked me, "Do you want me to stop so you can get out and take a picture?"

"Uhhh, no. Just get to the other side; then we can talk about walking out on the bridge."

When we pulled off the bridge, I asked Tim, "Do you want to walk out on it?"

Before I gave him a chance to answer, I blurted out, "Just park right there. There's no one here. Just park." He stopped the car, and we both got out. First, quickly and boldly, then tentatively and meekly, I walked out on the bridge. I have no idea how Tim was walking because I was too scared to look back. It was at that point that I looked down through the one inch gaps between the boards to see the rocks and river below. That was just about enough for me. Tiptoeing to the side, I timidly leaned over the edge. It was almost dizzying. We had walked approximately one third the length of the bridge. Tim looked at me; I looked at him. "Enough?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think so. Do you want to walk to the middle?" I prayed he'd say no.

"No, do you?"

"I'm ready to go back." I answered nonchalantly. "But if you want to go out to the middle..."

"I think I'm ready to go back."

I got a little brave and bluffed, "If you want to go to the middle..." (Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.)

"Well, if you want to."

"No, I don't want to, but I will if you want to." (Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.)

"I'll go if you go."

I had to back down. "No, I don't want to."

"Okay."

"But if you want to..." I grinned at him. I knew if he called my bluff I'd have to walk out to the middle of the bridge. I also knew he wouldn't back down.

He was kind. While I know he would have walked out to the middle of the bridge, he had mercy. We both turned around and walked back to the car. When we got in, we were both smiling.

"I'm proud of you," I said.

"You should be," he replied.

We both laughed and shook our heads. I think if either of us had had time to think about what we were doing, we may not have experienced that crazy bridge.