The trouble starts as I turn onto I35 in Duluth.
“Construction One Mile Ahead,” announces the sign. Inwardly, I groan. Today, I will be forced to deal with something I hate—the dreaded orange cones of construction sites. My orange cone phobia isn’t very serious and many people probably share it—a morbid fear of losing control of the car and hitting the dang things—but nonetheless, it’s a phobia.
Something about the glaring orange color and the narrow driving lane restrictions gives me the willies.
Now here I am, forced to run an orange cone gauntlet. Gritting my teeth, I forge ahead and surprisingly perform beautifully. The flag people are very helpful, and I’m feeling pretty good about my driving skills—until the turnoff to the Blatnik Bridge leading to Superior, Wisconsin where I have an appointment.
“Right Lane Only,” directs the new sign. On the bridge? No, surely not the bridge? The fearcreating side of my brain comes to full attention and tightens my hands on the steering wheel; forms grape-size sweat beads on my forehead.
My orange-cone-phobia has just run smack dab into my fearof heights-phobia. Crossing this high bridge as far away from the edge is the only way I will drive over it, but today I have no choice. I must drive in the right lane.
Furtively I glance down and the sight of Duluth’s deep, cold, harbor waters far below sends shudders down my spine. Noting hundreds of seagulls flocking on a small island, I wonder, could I swim that far if I had to?
I snap my head forward, squelch this morbid thought and concentrate on the narrow lane ahead. I do not think about the dangerously low bridge railing just inches from the passenger side of the car. I do not think about how easily a car could flip over it.
I simply follow the car ahead, trying not to fall over the bridge side. The orange cones now seem insignificant in light of the larger problem of life and death.
Finally, with a huge sigh of relief, I maneuver down the offramp to solid ground. Whew. Once again I have avoided the grim reaper, and feeling Mother Earth under my car wheels, begin wondering why I was so nervous.
I am so happy and relieved; I don’t notice that the return side of the bridge is completely closed, until later when I’m on my way back to Duluth.
With sinking heart, I follow the “Road Closed-Follow- Detour” signs to Tower Avenue, then down back street alleys and deserted byways until finally, the graceful, very tall arches and high suspension cables of the Bong Bridge glitter in the midday sun. A crossing that looks even higher than my earlier day’s experience.
But what choice do I have? Fearfully, I turn onto the tall structure but am relieved to discover the middle lane where I drive as far away from the edge as possible.
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