Bridge carries some heavy weight

To remember when the last bridge fell down in Spokane, you probably would need to be gulping handfuls of Focus Factor washed down with ginkgo tea because you would have to be in your early 100s.

The Division Street Bridge dropped under the weight of two streetcars back in 1915. Five people were killed.

Two years earlier, the Latah Creek Bridge was completed. Some of us pass over that mighty concrete span every day.

Many vehicles laden with trash cross the Latah Creek Bridge on their way to the waste-to-energy plant.

The bridge is at the bottom of Sunset Hill. Well, not at the very bottom yet. It still is raised above the questionable activities underneath in High Bridge Park.

Until the recent bridge-collapse tragedy in Minnesota, I never gave the old Latah Creek Bridge a nervous thought.

Not a man to speak my fear and infect others, I didn’t mention my newfound dread of driving across the 94-year-old concrete span. Even to my wife.

However, she recently noticed me steering the car with my elbows and pressing my palms together as I quietly muttered implausible promises to God if he would allow me to cross the Latah Creek Bridge “just one more time.”

“How come you don’t pray in the left lane?” she inquired. The bridge has four lanes, two in each direction.

“Is that more efficient?” I asked.

“Maybe, if you believe in signs.”

“Signs? Have you seen a sign?”

“Nothing heavenly – just metal. Back there, it says trucks should use the left lane on the bridge.”

“Why?”

“City engineers say the bridge is better-supported in the center.”

“And you have been letting me drive in the outside lane for years.”

“If the bridge breaks, everyone is going to die. It would be over more quickly for you, being on the edge and all.”

I was touched by my wife’s concern that I should not suffer longer than necessary.

Sometimes, I ride the city bus across the Latah Creek Bridge. Yesterday, we picked up a passenger at the west end of the bridge.

While waiting for the rider to board, I scrutinized the bridge through the bus driver’s window. There seemed to be almost no shaking.

I counted the passengers on the bus. Eleven total, including myself and another fat guy. We weighed well more than 200 pounds each.

I made a move for the door just as the driver pulled away.

“LEFT LANE!” I called out too late.

The bus driver drove at least 50 yards in the area dubbed the “speed lane to eternity” by my wife.

I had to cross the bridge again later that day. I’m still here to tell about it.

You folks hauling trash to the waste-to-energy plant probably can count on a few more safe crossings, but don’t push your luck. Stay in the center lane and don’t weigh down your vehicle with heavy items.

Hold a garage sale. Let some other devil-may-care citizen cross over the Latah Creek Bridge with your heavy junk.