I'll Cross That Bridge When I Come To It

After my writing my last entry, I paid for my meal, then found a payphone to mail off the adventures. Then started walking. And walking. And, I was amused to see, making better time than many people traveling in cars. They were backed up as far as the eye could see.

Turns out, there was an accident somewhere south of there causing the backup. Had I arrived into town a bit earlier, I'd have seen it--maybe even have been a part of it!

As I walked past the cars, seven--count 'em--SEVEN of them rolled down their windows asking what was going on up ahead. "I don't know! Whatever it is, it's beyond where I just walked from!" That's how I found out it was an accident, in fact, one of those seven told me that's what they heard on the radio, but they wanted to know how much further away it was.

After a large lunch and a couple of refills on my soda, I realized I had a potentially serious problem. The highway was lined with chain linked fences to protect the key deer--an endangered special--from throwing themselves under the wheels of passing motorists. It also meant I could not get behind any bushes to pee. And even worse, the parking lot known as Highway 1 provided quite an extensive audience. At least if they were driving at high velocities, I might have been able to pass myself off as a blur...

But I got lucky. There's a small bridge under which key deer are allowed to pass, and the chain link fence stays low to the ground as the bridge rises. I hid out on the side of the bridge and did my thing in peace. I wondered how many others had to resort to the same thing?

Eventually I walked past the backed-up cars, or maybe they finally cleared the road of debris. Whatever, but once again, cars whizzed by at high velocities, and no one stopped to talk anymore.

Darkness decended, and I started to think about where I would spend the night. Mainly, I had two choices--before the Seven Mile Bridge, or after. If I made it to the start of the bridge, I'd have hiked 28 miles--a record I never reached even in peak phyiscal condition on the Appalachian Trail. I hurt, my feet hurt, but they seemed surprisingly robust given the pounding I've given them.

Once I started on the Seven Mile Bridge, however, I would not be able to stop for seven miles. Now 28 miles is impressive, but 35 miles seemed absurd. But I felt like I *could* do it, and how cool would that be?

I decided not to, however, for two reasons. One, I've heard the views from the bridge are astouding, and I'd miss a lot of that if I did it in the dark. Second, it looked like it might rain at any moment, and walking seven miles across a bridge in the dark when the roads are wet seemed like a dangerous thing to do.

So I decided to find a good place to camp between MM 37 and MM 40--the first good place I could find.

Crossing the bridge just before MM 37--an impressively long bridge in its own right--was exhilerating. But what fascinated me most were dots of light in the water that faded in and out. I have no idea what they were, but they were interesting to watch. I'd heard people could see jellyfish and other marine creatures in the water in the daylight, but what was this bizzare thing I was seeing at night? It didn't seem like phosporesence that I'd heard about before. They looked like pin points of lights, like the stars in the sky, except it was cloudy so I knew it wasn't a reflection. And they faded in and out, in a ghostly sort of way.

I was very happy I decided to do some of my hiking at night--I'd never have seen this sight in the daylight.

Near MM37, almost immediately after the bridge ended, I camped in a small ditch next to a short chain link fence. I risked being flooded out in the ditch if it decided to rain, but it was still extremely windy--I'd guess 50 mph or more on the exposed bridge--and the ditch provided protection from the wind.

I also liked the chain link fence on one side--at least I knew no alligators could get me from THAT direction! It also seemed unlikely they attack from the road on the other side as well. I was well protected from large wildlife.

The night was brutally cold, and the wind howled all night. I put on all my layers, and crawled immediately into my sleeping bag. The day was over.

Day 3: I woke up early--both to get warm by hiking, and because I feared cops might roust me out if I lingered too long now that daylight exposed my hiding place. And, I had a bridge to cross! A big one!

I examined the little toe of my right foot--it was feeling particularly sore and I saw the reason. Blister. A big, ugly blister. I pulled out my mini first aid kit and found a safety pin, poking it into the blister. A geyser of liquid exploded from where I lanced it. I named it France, since the blister surrended so easily to the proverbial sword.

I patched up the blister, put on my shoes and pack, and started hobbling along. The famed hiker hobble is with me now, and it worst early in the morning when you just wake up and your feet think they have the day off.

At the Seven Mile Bridge, I ducked off into the woods to pee. I didn't *need* to go, but I knew I would have no private place to do so for the next seven miles. I also cut back the amount of water I was drinking--better safe than sorry!

For the next two or three hours, I walked across. I tried looking for jellyfish in the water, but the water was too murky. (Probably that wind again, which was still going strong!) The views were great, though, and I took several pictures along the way, including one of myself next to the MM 43 sign (the one closest to the center of the bridge).

At least two people took pictures of ME as they drove past, and two others using video cameras on their drive across will have a cameo of myself. I often waved to cars going in the opposite direction, and most of them waved back.

I enjoyed waving to the families the most. I imagined what the conversation in their car was going like.

"Hey, daddy, why is that guy on the bridge?"

"He's crossing it, son."

"But why, dad? Doesn't he have a car?"

I like to think I inspired others to walk across the bridge.

There's no pedestrian walkway or anything on this bridge. Just one lane of traffic in each direction, plus an 8-foot wide breakdown lane on each side of the road. I walked down the breakdown lane.

Near the top of the bridge, where tall boats to under, I wondered if anyone thought I was a suicide jumper. Why else would anyone be out there?

If they thought this, however, nobody stopped to talk me down, including a sherrif I waved to as he drove past.

After seven miles, I finally reached the other side and the town of Marathon, where I am now. =)