One Bridge

Several decades ago, a friend and I were planning to record some music at a studio not too far from us. We both knew the general area, but weren't sure exactly where it was. A few nights before our studio time was booked, we decided to find the place so we wouldn't waste money if we were late finding it.

We started out in the late afternoon. Sunset had passed when we turned off the main road. Time and space seemed warped as we drove. Hours seemed to pass. Then, there was the bridge.

The first time we passed it, neither of us really paid any attention. After the third time, we both knew something was amiss. The next time, I began to wonder aloud if Rod Serling was standing just on the other side of the bridge, cigarette in hand, saying, "Imagine if you will: a bridge..."

We both agreed that if we saw the bridge again, we'd stop. Well, we stopped. I flagged down a passing pickup truck. My friend asked where the road turned off that went to the studio. "That's it right there," the driver said, pointing about 30 yards down the road, on the right.

He was right. In minutes, we were at the studio. My buddy and I exchanged confused looks, and headed home.

We passed one bridge.