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The Bridge |
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August 23, 2016 |
By Mike Ashby
 There
were a great many things we youngsters of the
baby boomer generation had to learn about
driving. Some things we had to learn about do
not even exist on today’s autos. For example,
there was a wee button on the left side of the
driver’s floor board.
That button would get covered up in mud, snow or
other muck, making it both hard to find and
slippery. The button was designed to switch the
head lights between high and low beam.
In the winter, it was not uncommon for the
blessed thing to freeze in one position or the
other. That was fine if the lights were already
on low beam, but other wise you would receive
the North Idaho salute when an oncoming vehicle
went by you. If that button got mud, muck or
other things such as cow poop on it, then it
became remarkably slippery. Then you would get
frenzied trying to get your left foot on it.
To top all this off, most of us had to learn how
to drive with a clutch. As a consequence, our
feet had much to do. They just did not rest
under you and go along for the ride. Your right
foot ran the throttle, and brake, while the left
had the clutch and that elusive button to
control.
Shifting the transmission on the cars was
accomplished by what we youth called “three on a
tree.”
That was a lever on the steering column that had
to be moved from first gear, to second and then
to third. That shifting process required the
feet and hands to work in conjunction with one
another, which did not happen with regular
frequency whilst we were learning.
Shifting, dimming and braking at the same time
take a fair amount of talent and coordination,
especially if a less than calm adult was along
for the ride. We also did not have turn signals
on a lot of those early model Chevys and Fords.
To make a legal turn, you were required to stick
your left arm out the window and make a rather
goofy looking motion with your arm and hand.
Some of us were too small to get our arm very
far out that window, so the only thing other
drivers would see was a small hand wiggling in
the breeze.
If the nervous adult was not looking, the North
Idaho salute was occasionally given.
There was another button on the dash that
required diligence as well. It controlled the
windshield wipers. The wipers on those old
beaters almost always had a mind of their own,
crossing the windshield irregularly at best.
This was due to the fact they were powered by
compression off the engine, so when the
car/pickup accelerated, these wipers just sat
and sulked, but go down an incline and boy, they
beat themselves to death on the center post of
the windshield.
All these necessities of operation could take on
a huge amount of importance on narrow roads and
bridges. Our little town in North Idaho had a
bridge that was probably designed by some irate
troll in the last stages of his life.
This bridge came into being in the late 1920s,
crossing the Kootenai River into Bonners Ferry.
Since it was located on U.S. 95, the only
north–south highway for 100 miles either side,
it was a busy bridge.
There were some serious issues with this old
bridge. First and foremost, the thing was
narrow, really narrow. Getting a '56 Ford across
with a '53 Chevy going the other way was more or
less okay, as long as no one was giving the
North Idaho salute. Put some fog, ice snow or a
nervous adult into the mix and all bets were
off.
In the spring of the year, the Kootenai River
would almost inevitably reach a flood stage.
Since the south end of the bridge was lower that
the surrounding levees, sandbags would be placed
across the roadbed to keep the local down town
area dry.
That meant one had to slow down to get across
those bags. Way down.
It was at this stage that getting ones feet,
hands, gear shifter and wipers all on the same
page became exceptionally important. There was
more than one youth who banged their head on the
roof of their means of transportation because
one thing or another got out of sync.
For sheer dread, nothing could beat crossing
that dang old bridge when a log truck was going
the other way. Some of us wore our damages
rather like a fighter pilot from the war. A tore
off mirror, a dented fender or worse, meant you
had survived an encounter with a kamikaze log
truck driver.
There was one thing that would eclipse a log
truck and that was a piece of farm equipment
that took up both lanes of the bridge.
Obliviously, that meant traffic had to wait
until that machine made it across and then you
could proceed onward.
There were some among us who, fighting the gear
shifter, brake, throttle and wiper button failed
to see the dang tractor coming, and would
continue on blithely unaware that more than a
North Idaho salute was about to be delivered.
For a kid to back up on a narrow bridge with a
most disgruntled adult giving direction on how
to do it was fairly comical. The "deer in a
headlight" look would describe the adolescent's
face.
This old bridge had some fairly unique acoustics
about it, too. Since the roadbed was surrounded
by steel girders, it was sort of like driving
through a tunnel that was cracked open to
sunlight.
If your ride had a dual exhaust system, you
could get a most pleasing blast of noise
reverberating off the girders. A mellow
flatulence sound would be amplified exceedingly
well. I know more than one young mischief maker
would come down off the hill behind the bridge
with the exhaust just popping away.
This would be accompanied by a huge old grin.
Yep, learning how to drive in the 50s on an
appallingly narrow and unforgiving bridge was
not for the nervous or timid. The abutments to
that old bridge are still in place in downtown
Bonners Ferry. Simply looking across those
abutments will make you pucker, remembering
close calls on that viaduct and wonder how
semis, hay trucks and autos did not say hi to
each other more often with the North Idaho
salute.
On the abutment next to town, the city puts a
Christmas tree up every December. I’ve often
been tempted to inquire if that tree is
installed as nostalgia for days gone by or in
remembrance of dented fenders and ripped off
mirrors. |
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