bridges – erica goes traveling

Congress Avenue Bats

each year when my friends and I get together, we try to do quirky things in the city we visit, in addition to more traditionally touristy stuff. I’m not sure where on the spectrum visiting the Congress Avenue bat colony falls … quirky for sure, but also very popular! the colony consists of between 750,000 and a million and a half Mexican free-tailed bats; they summer in Austin and migrate to Mexico for the winter.

for all appearances, the bridge doesn’t seem terribly special; three lanes in each direction over Lady Bird Lake in a spot that has hosted a bridge since the early 1870s (a pontoon toll bridge). the City of Austin assumed complete responsibility over the (newer, iron) bridge in the late 1880s, which they were forced to repair several times over the subsequent two decades. by 1908, increase in traffic demanded the construction of a newer, wider bridge and a proposal for the current concrete span bridge were drawn up. at 910 feet it includes six spans which rise to 45 feet above ground; it opened on April 4, 1910.

the bats came to live under the bridge following refurbishment that occurred in 1980. there are fifteen crevices beneath the roadbed, each about 17 inches deep, which appealed to the bats and offered about 14,000 feet of potential habitat. the bats emerge from their roosts each dusk to search for food, swarming out towards the east for 10 or 20 minutes. tourists congregate on the bridge’s sidewalks, in the parking lot of the Austin-American Statesman, and on boats in Lady Bird Lake. we opted to stand on the sidewalk (near a family with two young boys calling out to the bats “hey, bats, come out so we can see you!”), but saw a fair few people out on water bikes, kayaks, stand-up paddleboards, paddle boats, canoes, and one paddling swan. we ended up waiting about an hour before the bats emerged, but in the interim the sunset off to the west provided a remarkable diversion .

California’s Highway 1

one thing I’ve wanted to do since I first lived in California was to drive along Highway 1. the few times I drove up to the Bay area while living in San Diego, though, I had time constraints and no one to enjoy the drive with me. in hindsight, I’m glad I waited because we had a great time driving back from Monterey along Highway 1 as part of our mini-moon. neither the drive nor the weather disappointed as we set off early on a late-August morning.

the highway, which runs along the coast from Orange to Mendecino County was constructed in segments starting in 1910 and sported many names over the last century, until a legislative act designated it all California State Route 1. between 1915 and 1964, all the different segments had numerical designations, but only highway planners and legislators ever referred to those numbers; designations never appeared along the roads themselves.

the stretch between Carmel (just south of Monterey) and San Simeon (site of newspaper magnate William Randoph Hearst’s famous castle) received initial state funding in 1919, followed by some federal funding in 1921 and support from the New Deal later. much of the highway went up because of the labor of convicts. the San Quentin State Prison set up three camps along the route, paid inmates $0.35 a day and offered reductions in sentences in exchange for their unskilled labor.

the stretch of highway we drove required the construction of 33 concrete bridges, including the iconic Bixby Creek Bridge near Big Sur. prior to the completion of the bridge, residents of Big Sur often endured months of isolation in winter; the single-lane stagecoach Old Coast Road, which connected the community to the inland, became impassable with rain and the rugged coastline made deliveries from Monterey or San Francsico by boat difficult. the bridge (and creek) are named after a gent who moved to the Monterey Peninsula in 1868 and purchased a large tract of land near Big Sur to harvest lumber and produce and distribute other wood products from his sawmill. the bridge was designed by F.W. Panhorst who, along with highway engineer C.H. Purcell, opted for a cement span for its lower material and maintenance costs (a steel span! that close to the ocean! what kind of fool would do that?!) and for its more natural aesthetic. it took 14 months to construct and, upon completion, was the longest concrete arch span bridge in the California highway system. the bridge itself is 714 feet long, the main arch is 320 feet long, and over 280 feet high. extensive seismic retrofitting occurred in the late 1990s but even after the updates, the bridge remains classified as “functionally obsolete” because it is less than 32 feet wide, as required with newly-built bridges.

the route finally got consistent numbering in 1964 thanks to legislative action, though different segments of highway have different names (Pacific Coast, Cabrillo, and Shoreline) going up the coast and local roads often weren’t changed to align with the numbering. the entirety of route 1 is a Blue Star Memorial Highway, honoring armed forces and the section between Big Sur and Carmel is a national scenic byway, declared in 1965 and dedicated in 1966 by Lady Bird Johnson from the Bixby Creek Bridge. and all around well worth the drive time!

Golden Gate Bridge

the last time I was in San Francisco, I was still very new to the idea of “running” and certainly didn’t consider using the descriptor on myself. but I’d brought my shoes with me and one morning a couple of us headed out from our hotel for (what now seems remarkably) an easy out-and-back run to Ghirardelli Square. I distinctly remember thinking, when my friend quipped “I’m going to sprint the last block!”, that she was completely nuts.

three years later, I proposed a run across the Golden Gate Bridge as one of our pillar sightseeing activities. what better way to see one of the most impressive engineering feats in American history than on foot! at slightly-faster-than-walking pace! the journey to get to the visitor’s center proved its own adventure and gave us a more street-level introduction to the city than perhaps anticipated (riding local public transit will do that).

prior to the construction of the bridge, getting from the city across the bay to Marin County required a ferry ride, which was subject to certain weather-related travel constraints and ultimately hampered the growth potential of the city. as the city and area grew, the need for a better means of travel became increasingly apparent as the growth rate of comparable cities outstripped San Francisco. ferries began running as early as the 1820s and regular service began in the 1840s, eventually becoming an extension of rail service. discussion of a bridge began around the same time but did not bear fruit until the 1930s.

for a long time, engineers held that, due to the depth of the channel, strong currents, persistent fog, and winds, building a bridge across the strait was impractical, if not impossible. in 1916, the City Engineer estimated, while theoretically possible, the cost of constructing a bridge could exceed $100 million – a prohibitive price tag – but allowed that a project might work, should it prove possible to do it for less. engineer Joseph Strauss (who designed a 55 mile railroad bridge over the Bering Strait) presented a plan for a cantilevered system joined by a suspension in the middle, the price of which came in at $17 million. the city assented to let him proceed on the condition he consult additional experts, who determined a suspension system the most practical for the site.

it took quite a few years of litigation and negotiation, however, before the project ultimately began construction. the Department of War feared a bridge could interfere with ship traffic or be a target for sabotage (terrorism); the railroads litigated because a bridge would compete directly with their ferry business. eventually the Department of War came around, even granting necessary land for construction on the San Francisco side; the fledgling auto industry supported the project, providing a useful counterbalance to the railroads, and serious design discussions began in 1923.

while Strauss was officially the chief engineer on the Golden Gate project, his initial design was both impractical and visually unappealing; in later years he spent a good amount of time downplaying the contributions of his collaborators, with an eye to posterity. Leon Moisseiff, who designed the Manhattan Bridge, championed the suspension design, while Charles Alton Ellis did much of the technical and theoretical work for the design, including figuring out how to preserve Fort Point at the foot of the southern end of the bridge. in 1931, Strauss fired Ellis from the project (for “wasting money” sending telegrams to Moisseiff for consulting purposes) but Ellis, who could not find subsequent work during the Depression, continued to work some 70 hours a week on calculations for the project. as a result of this dispute, Ellis received no credit for his work when the bridge opened in 1937 (that snub was corrected in 2007 in a governmental report, which gave Ellis major credit for the design).

funding for the Bridge, once it was ready to go up, proved challenging. after the crash of 1929, the Bridge & Highway District incorporated by the legislature to see the project through, was unable to raise funds for the project; they lobbied for a bond measure, which voters approved in 1930, but the bonds didn’t sell. ultimately, the founder of Bank of America (Amadeo Giannini) agreed to buy the lot in an effort to boost the local economy.

construction began on January 5, 1933, under Strauss’ supervision, and was completed in April 1937 (ahead of schedule and under budget. at the time of its completion, it was the longest suspension bridge in the world; today it is second only to the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. until 1998, it was also the tallest, with the span towering 746 feet high and the span some 220 feet above the surface of the water. steel in the bridge was fabricated by Bethlehem Steel in plants in New Jersey, Maryland, and Pennsylvania. it contains some 1.2 million rivets and over 80,000 miles of wire (with some 27,572 wires comprising one cable).

during the project, eleven workers died; one in October 1936, and ten in February when a portion of scaffolding fell through a safety net that hung below the work area. by contrast, the net saved the lives of some 19 men who fell from the work area; they became members of the informal Half-Way to Hell club.

proposals to install netting or higher fences to reduce suicides from the bridge in recent hears have not yet borne fruit. impediments to such measures have included cost, aesthetics, and concerns about what kind of effect additional weight might have on the structural integrity of the bridge. in 2008, the Bridge’s Board of Directors voted to approve a plastic-covered stainless steel net beneath and extending out from the bridge, but cost has prevented that from being installed. instead, information about a suicide helpline is installed at frequent intervals along the bridge, have trained volunteers and law enforcement officers to watch for people in distress, and closed the bridge to pedestrians at night. despite those efforts, however, the number of suicides each year remains high.

it remains one of the most iconic and visited landmarks in the United States. we saw countless pedestrians and tourists on rented bicycles traversing the span as we ourselves took it in on foot. San Francisco City Guides runs free walking tours of the bridge as well, for those that want to know more about the history of the bridge and its construction.

Hawthorne Bridge

I hadn’t really any idea of what to expect from Portland, apart from the notion that it was “kind of like” Seattle and the depiction of Portlandia might not be entirely off-base. I certainly didn’t know that the Willamette River bisects the city which is traversed by a series of bridges, including the vertical-lift truss bridge joining Hawthorne Blvd and Madison St.

the Hawthorne Bridge is the oldest vertical-lift in the country (opening in 1910) and one of the busiest cycling ant transit bridges in the state of Oregon. it carries approximately in the fall of 2012, a cyclist counter was installed to track usage and some twenty percent of the traffic on the Hawthorne Bridge comes from cyclists. it was the first counter of its kind installed on a bridge in the United States. coming in from the airport, I was a bit surprised to see pedestrians on the Morrison Bridge (to the north of the Hawthorne Bridge) — we’d just exited an interstate highway which, where we live, would have pretty adamantly deterred cyclists or anyone on foot from venturing across — but in a city that has such a demonstrably friendly non-auto atmosphere it shouldn’t have. next time we’re staying downtown, I’m game for a run along the riverfront and over the bridges.

the bridge was designed by the firm of Waddell & Harrington in the late 1900s to replace the Madison Bridges Nos 1 & 2, which were destroyed by fire in 1902. Waddell studied at Rensselaer Polytechnic in the late 1800s and spent time as an engineering consultant for the Empire of Japan before returning to the U.S. to design a series of remarkable lifting and swinging bridges. though both designs were used in the country prior to the 1880s, Waddell’s design (first proposed to span a channel in Duluth) revolutionized and popularized the design. despite (or perhaps because of) its unconventional design, it took several years and, ultimately, a partnership with John Harrington for Waddell’s design to catch on and go up across the country (the first of his design went up in Chicago on South Halstead). counterweights of 880,000 pounds are used to raise and lower the bridge some 200 times a month. it’s named after the boulevard which, in turn, is named for James Hawthorne, an early proponent of the Morrison Bridge and co-founder of the state’s first mental hospital.

Garfinny Bridge

while our guide material made reference to the Garfinny Bridge, it still came as a pleasant surprise. (partly due to the fact that we hadn’t seen a way marker in some time and I’d begun to fear we might have missed a turn.) situated “just” outside of Dingle (if you are in a car … still about an hour if you’re on foot), sources claim it is the oldest surviving stone bridge in all of Ireland. it dates from sometime in the 16th century and, like most bridges of its era, was constructed without mortar — just radial stones and clay to secure everything using a corbelling technique. the apex of the arch stands about 3 meters over the river surface.

the informational plaque indicates that the troops of Lord Deputy Arthur Grey may have crossed this bridge on their way to massacre some 600 Irish, Italian and Spanish rebels at Smerwick Bay. Grey, along with some 6,000 recruited soldiers, had been sent to Ireland in 1580 as Lord Deputy to put down the Second Desmond Rebellion. he was largely successful in stifling the rebellion, but even at the time some of his actions were questioned, such as the massacre at Smerwick. (he also executed a former chief justice for suspicion that the man supported the rebellion.) many say he promised the rebels safety if they surrendered their weapons and position, a promise that he soon broke, giving rise to the term “Grey’s faith.”

by the 19th century, the bridge had begun to collapse and people opted to ford the river a bit upstream. in the late 20th century, the bridge was restored to its current condition, which found us crossing the river by it rather than the nearby modern road.

Villafranca del Bierzo

thinking back, it’s kind of impressive how much stuff got crammed into day 26 on our Camino — the Castillo de los Templarios in Ponferrada, TAL episode #465, tasting at Cuatro Pasos, taking a potentially risky shortcut to shave off a couple of kilometers at the end of the day, Brent Spiner on the Nerdist, and the second-craziest shower I experienced while in Spain. I suppose it should come as no surprise then just how relieved we were to stumble into our boutique hotel in Villafranca del Bierzo, Hotel Las Doñas del Portazgo. (if you ever find yourself in Villafranca del Bierzo, I recommend it).

the earliest settlements around Villafranca date from the neolithic age and there’s evidence to suggest it served as an important hub for communication during the Roman period, sitting as it does at the confluence of two rivers (the Burbia and Valcarce) at the western edge of the Bierzo basin and at the foot of the narrow pass that ascends to O Cebriero and Galicia beyond. in the 11th century, the sister of Alfonso VI granted a church to Cluny for establishing a monastery that began cultivating wine. this, along with the explosion of peregrinos during the 12th century, gave rise to a sizable foreign population including many French who aided developing wines. by the middle of the century more than half the town’s inhabitants were foreign.

the city flourished for several centuries because of the Camino and in 1486 the Catholic Monarchs established the Marquesado in the town; the second man to hold the title, Pedro Álvarez de Toledo, built a castle though the one that overlooks the valley and town dates from the 1490s and was recently restored to clean up the damage done when the French burned it in 1812. following the second Marques’ death, the city endured its first of many significant hardships that concluded with the burning of the castle by the French. the plague decimated the town’s population in 1589; a flood washed out much along the river in 1715; during the Peninsular War the town served as headquarters for the Galician army and was sacked three times by the English until finally, after the municipal archives were burned, churches robbed, and castle wrecked in 1810 Spain regained control of the area. sort of — the French briefly occupied the town following the expulsion of the English. twelve years later el Bierzo was declared an independent province with Villafranca as its capitol; that lasted two years.

much of the late medieval and Renaissance character remains in Villafranca (as much of the modern industrial revolution passed the city over) including several well-preserved churches. subsequent to its construction in 1186, the Iglesia de Santiago offered ailing peregrinos an alternative to crossing the remaining 187 kilometers of the Camino; if you were too ill or too injured to continue on to Santiago you could pass through the northern entrance — the Puerta del Perdon — and receive a pardon for your sins as you would at the cathedral in Santiago if only you were physically capable of continuing onward. along the narrow streets are facades you might imagine lining prosperous towns of the middle ages — sturdy construction with impressive stonework — though care for these buildings varies widely.

our hotel stood at the end of one such street; it used to serve as the gatehouse for the bridge over the rio Burbia and has been attentively restored and updated; while the entire place exudes comfort, during the update process they left elements of the original building exposed to give a sense of what the place might have felt and looked like a century ago. while the hotel at the end of the road was lovingly restored, there were many other buildings along the way that hadn’t received the same attention. from the refurbished window balcony of one updated home you could look directly into the dilapidated and burned-out husk of another once-magnificent home that hadn’t received the same attentions. Villafranca del Bierzo was clearly thriving, but it didn’t take much to see signs of the common challenges afflicting the rest of Spain.

coming down the hill to Molinaseca

one of the more memorable things about the day coming the Cruz de Ferro after leaving Rabanal was how many more peregrinos there seemed to be than in previous days. the number had been growing, to be sure, since we’d gone through Astorga, but the number struck me on day 25 — perhaps because there were so many new faces, not all of which were welcome additions to the rotation of walking companions.

this last leg quickly became a test of patience when it came to new faces who had yet to grow accustomed to the hardships posed by the Camino (i.e. blisters). one woman we encountered on the descent did.not.stop.talking. the entire climb down to Molinaseca. after following along behind her for about 30 minutes as she regaled her companion with all manner of stories about her children, life, work, anything, I discovered (in having to sit at an adjoining table at the only cafe in town where we stopped for a mid-morning snack) that she’d only know said companion for a matter of hours! the majority of which, presumably, she’d been pouring out her life story heedless of her companions attention or interest (but what do I know, perhaps that “unsuspecting companion” was approaching all manner of peregrinos soliciting life stories and this Canadian woman was happy to oblige [yes, I know she was Canadian. I couldn’t help learning that she was Canadian]).

it was a warm day and the downhill grade was a different, if not entirely welcome, challenge after crossing the mesetas. we passed through two small villages, both hosting albergues and other lodging , though clearly struggling or abandoned outside the immediate radius of those establishments. the buildings were older and wood timbered; the two-story stone buildings lining the through-road in the first village had overhanging second floors, sticking out slightly over the narrow, cobbled road. the second village was much the same; it was an interesting approach and exit — not unlike walking through someones back yard or along the edge of someones property to get into town, which felt different in comparison to all the times we approached via the road into town that has been the road into town since Roman times.

as a counterpoint to Rabanal, Molinaseca also served as an important point along the trail of Roman gold. the town sits at the base of a gorge created by the rio Meruelo. as we crossed over the river on one of the two remaining medieval bridges, we saw a pair of women — obviously peregrinos, probably much newer to the Camino than us — wading in the water. previously we’d heard cautions against wading in water with which you weren’t familiar; with all the potential infection sites peregrinos might develop on their feet, seemed like sound advice no matter how refreshing a wade in a cool mountain-fed stream might sound.

by the 13th century, the town had transferred from the control of one monastery to another, and the latter granted a charter that provided favorable business terms for Frankish businessmen who catered in large part to the peregrinos heading into the last leg of their Camino. a number of structures dating from this period remain today, and the main street (down which we walked, from the river to the outskirts of town where our more modern hotel stood) was lined by two-story buildings in various states of restoration or disrepair. some rented out rooms, some contained narrow, packed shops, and a couple housed the first wine caves we encountered in the Bierzo region. not your typical tourist-friendly rooms like those you’d see in Napa, the Hunter Valley, or anywhere else known for its wine tasting …

in all, Molinaseca was a nice place to rest, rather than pushing on; true, spending the night in Ponferrada might have granted us an opportunity to visit the Castillo de los Templarios, but Molinaseca provided us with wonderfully comfortable beds, a chat with the Australian couple we’d met back in San Martin, “dinner” with a blue-eyed gray cat, and the opportunity to exercise a civic duty …

jousting & the Puente de Orbigo

seeing the strategic importance of the ford over the river at Órbigo, the Romans established a town here, though it remained quite small for quite some time. over the centuries, towns grew up on both sides of the river, resulting in several names for the town based on the primary function of each — Hospital for its work with peregrinos, Encomienda for the Knights Templar, and Puente for the bridge.

the bridge is by far the most remarkable site in the town. its one of the longest and best preserved medieval bridges in Spain, dating from the 13th century though several of the arches have been destroyed and rebuilt over the centuries (including two by the Spanish in an effort to halt Napoleon’s march sweep across Spain). the view from the bridge offers great views of the jousting lists, which appear to remain standing year-round though we saw a poster advertising jousts set to take place about two weeks after we walked through.

apparently, Órbigo is known for a particular joust, known as the Paso Honroso, that took place in the Jacobean Holy Year of 1434. a Leonese knight, Suero de Quiñones — scorned by his lady and wearing an iron collar as a symbol of being bound to her — sought and received permission from Juan II of Castilla to hold a special tournament wherein all knights passing the venue could be pressed into participating. those refusing to participate had to leave a token of their cowardice and wade across the river. the king proved highly obliging for the event, providing accommodations, having his herald pronounce the terms of Quiñones challenge throughout the kingdom, and “inviting” all the knights at court to participate. (as my cultural book describes it, everyone at court was bored of the “messy intricacies of court politics and gruesome dynastic wars and yearning for a simpler world they read about in … books of chivalry.”)

Quiñones chose to stage his tournament beginning in July 11, two weeks before St. James’ Day when the number of peregrinos, eager to receive the extra perks of completing the Camino during a Holy Year, was highest. during the several weeks the tournament lasted, Quiñones broke some “300 lances,” including some belonging to a Catalán knight named Gutierre de Quijada. in acknowledgement of Quiñones reputation, Quijada dressed in double-thick armor; Quiñones mocked this decision by dressing in light armor and a woman’s blouse which seemed like a good idea until Quijada knocked him to the ground. Quiñones continued to mock his opponent, dancing up and proclaiming the blow Quijada landed was nothing. shamed and embarrassed, Quijada and his men rode off, continuing on their way to Santiago. two weeks later on August 9, Quiñones wrapped the tournament up by removing his iron collar and proclaiming himself free of his lady and announcing his intention to compete the Camino as a sign of his new-found freedom.

twenty-four years after the tournament of 1434 and Quiñones’ Camino to Santiago de Compostela, he encountered Gutierre de Quijada while out riding. not one to let the previous, reputation-sullying encounter go, Quijada and Quiñones dropped their visors and rode at one another and after a few passes Quiñones fell once again but this time didn’t manage to spring up and dance around to mock the blow.

Roman bridge at Cirauqui

crossing the Roman bridge

the hike between Puente la Reina and Estella was challenging — the temperature reached 26 degrees Celsius by the time we reached our destination and we had trouble finding lunch and a place to refill water during the day. we also learned what the sun can do to the back of a pair of legs if given motive and opportunity.

the name of this town — Cirauqui — means “nest of vipers” in the Basque language, alluding either to the snakes found among the rocks on this steep hill or bandits that roamed the hills nearby. the town grew in three stages beginning in the 9th century, and some of the nicer manor houses remain with familial crests above central doorways throughout town. one of the more interesting monuments in the town is the Civil War monument, which only lists victims on the Nationalist side (fighting for Francisco Franco). while many towns removed the ubiquitous monuments after Franco’s death, loyalty to the Falange movement that brought him to power remained strong in Navarra and in some places these memorials remain.

as the title of this post also alludes to, we climbed over a Roman bridge just outside of Cirauqui. while much of the Camino follows old an old Roman road, the path down the hill leaving Cirauqui and over this bridge are the best-preserved of the entire route, by far. granted, some of the paving stones were repaired or replaced during the Middle Ages, but the essence remains — and besides, a bridge from the Middle Ages is still a sight more impressive than anything I walk over on a daily basis. as our cultural guide explains, the method for constructing our modern roadbeds doesn’t differ much from those used by the Romans. a shallow trench is dug and filled with a layer of gravel, tamped down, bordered by large, vertically-set blocks, and filled in with closely-fit paving stones. it’s interesting to think that the workers digging out, marking off, filling in and paving over Trumpy Road near our house are following in the footsteps of the people (probably local slaves) that built this road and bridge thousands of miles and years away.

an “early Gothic” bridge that dates from “only” the medieval era

the puente of Puente la Reina

Puente la Reina lies at the meeting of two paths of the Camino – that from France and that from Aragon. not surprisingly, the king established the town in the early 12th century to serve and assist the flow of peregrinos.

in the early 11th century, peregrinos had to rely on ferry operators up and down the banks of the Arga to get them across to continue their Camino. not surprisingly, there were some unscrupulous characters operating these ferries doing their best to hoodwink, misdirect, or just plain rob unsuspecting peregrinos. (obviously an age-old problem: who’s going to complain about terrible service when they’re never going to be in that position ever again? and how would you communicate that information anyway? fortunately, we didn’t have much of that on our Camino.) to eliminate this problem, a Queen of Navarra (usually thought to be Doña Mayor, wife of Sancho III of Pamplona, or Doña Estefanía, wife of García III of Nájera) ordered the construction of a bridge over the Agra.

the bridge has six arches, the most easterly of which is now underground. When it was built it also had three defensive towers, one of which featured carvings of the Virgin of Puy (which means bird) and which, according to legend, a bird came to wipe away cobwebs and wash the statue’s face with water from the river.

the town flourished for several centuries; the Templars were present for a period; several churches were constructed; citizens participated to varying degrees in wars, rebellions and the Carlist wars. besides the bridge, there’s a Templar-built church with a unique Y-shaped crucifix said to have been carried by German peregrinos from their homeland.