A few weeks ago, I did a series of posts on bridges. When I had the opportunity to take this photo of the Burrard Bridge, I thought the old girl definitely deserved a place in the pantheon.
Every time I drive across this one, I want to stop in the middle and take photos of the tiled central span and the ship's prow, decorated with the bust of a woman, that seems to leap directly out of the cement.
When I walked across for a better look recently, it wasn't the first time. At UBC in 1967, my new friend Pat and I walked for hours and miles. From Totem Park residence, we walked to Kerrisdale and back without pausing. Downtown, we sat through Dr. Zhivago twice, then walked back to UBC.
One spring evening, Pat and I walked downtown and back from Fourth and Dunbar, by way of the Burrard Bridge. At 2 am, as we strolled along deep in conversation, the police stopped to ask what we girls were doing out so late.
"Just walking and talking," we said. We weren't aware of it at the time, but with all that deep conversation, we were also preparing to cross the bridge to our adult selves.