by Michael T. Heath

Created on: December 04, 2008   Last Updated: January 15, 2009

TWICE

The path led downhill from a short woods into a brief meadow. We strolled hand-in-hand through fresh clumps of rudbeckia, daisies and purple vetch in a mid-morning bright to the point of pain. I liked this piece of Colchester, Vermont. Just up the short slope was a fast highway and rush-hour traffic was hurtling by, ignorant of this treasure. Ringed by new-growth forest along its upper banks, this fragrant spot of heaven was almost completely shielded from view. It was dramatic. Off the western edge of this little field a sheer drop plummeted 80 feet or more to the roaring Winooski River.

An archaic railroad bridge vaulted the chasm to a similarly tiny meadow on the opposite side. A longer bridge hopped from that promontory to the farther bank, where GMR tracks barreled on into town. Our day was getting off to a great start. We'd discovered this place walking along the highway one day trekking back to college. Then we'd found a way to get down to where we were; checking out the first of the bridges. I laid my ear on the nearest train track. There was only the sound of trucks and cars passing at high speed above us. We couldn't see very far: the tracks curved out of sight a mere hundred yards to our left around a rocky cliff. I looked at my companion. "What do you think?" She was game. "Let's go for it!" I put my ear to the rail again. Not a peep from the curved iron. We walked up on the tracks and began to cross the bridge. The creosoted timbers continued their even pattern but the packed gravel soon fell away. It was an old iron bridge from the Fifties, with giant bolts pinning the wood ties onto the structure. We stepped gingerly, avoiding gaps between each tie and the raised, rusting bolt heads. The bridge ironwork had been painted a washed-out verdigris, with prominent warning signs threatening people like us to stay off the structure because of the danger of trains passing through. We ignored them and carefully tred tie after tie as the roaring Winooski River pounded below. My companion was even more cautious than me, so I stopped and turned back to encourage her. Behind her a train suddenly barreled around the cliff going full tilt. I yelled "TRAIN!" as a blast from the train whistle shook the ravine. We ran in terror towards the far bank. I galloped over the wood surface, feeling the approaching engine rattling the iron tracks beside me. Suddenly I noticed she wasn't with me. I looked back and saw her down: tripped by one of the big bolt heads. A

• 1
• 2
• 3
• Next Page >>