As you might remember, I often wonder how we get to be the way we are.  Everybody has some little quirk that they can’t explain.  Sometimes they become full fledged phobias that set new limits in irrationality. My personal quirk, which hasn’t reached phobia status yet, is a dislike of tall bridges with no overhead structure.  It became evident once when I was driving from Seattle, Washington to Vancouver, British Columbia.  I had directions and I was looking for New Westminster Road.  The problem was that I saw a freeway exit that said “New Westminster”, but it seemed much too far from where I was going.  I knew I was at least twenty miles from my destination, but I certainly didn’t want to miss my turn.  I took the exit and the whole time was saying “This can’t be right” to myself.

    As I rode along, I saw this monstrous bridge off in the distance to the East.  It was miles off to my right as I was looking for a road sign to make sure I was on New Westminster.  There was no sign anywhere and I began to realize that the road was sort of drifting to the right, toward that bridge.  I kept thinking, “Man, I’d hate to cross that bridge.  I know that can't be right.  Nobody said anything about the Mother of all Bridges.”  Shortly there was a sign that said “New Westminster 5 miles” or something to that affect.  At this point I realized that I was headed to the town of New Westminster and not the street New Westminster.

                             

    At one point I was headed straight at the bridge and then the road was doubling back and I was headed south.  There were no exits along the way that I recall and I was committed to crossing the bridge.  It seemed the road was laid out so you could get a good running start at it.  As I’m driving along, getting ever so closer to the bridge, I could tell that the huge pylons I had seen weren’t for the bridge.  However that wasn’t reassuring.  The only thing I could say was, “shi-i-i-i-i-t, shit, shit, shit.”  I have no idea how wide the bridge was, but the railing along the side was about two feet high.  I started migrating toward the center lane just in case the steering went out or something.  I began to wonder if vinyl seats stained easily.  There was some overhead structure about midways the bridge, but it was too high to even look up at.  At one point I thought about stopping, getting out and lying down.

                  
                            It was the orange one about a million feet off the water.
   
Somehow, I made it over the bridge without schitzing out.  I have analyzed this irrational fear and have pinned it down to not having anything overhead.  I’m not afraid of heights.  I can imagine climbing a radio tower and it doesn’t bother me.  But when I imagine getting to the top...shi-i-i-i-i-t, shit, shit, shit.