Bridge and Bridget

There’s a winding bridge that traverses the once infamous burning Cuyahoga River.  Upon this bridge yesterday, as I came around one blind turn, I encountered a car stopped in the inner fast lane (my chosen lane, too) too very few feet ahead.  My immediate reaction: “Oh my God, no.”  And with the brakes instantly applied, I stopped and then got around it.

Standing behind the car was a young woman alone talking on a cellphone. “What the hell,”  I pondered, “I might as well just join her.”  So I pulled over and parked in the fast lane, too.  And met Bridget, who had just run out of gas.

“I came around the bend before I even saw you,”  I exclaimed.

“I know, this is the worst possible place to get stranded,” she conceded.

“Do you have help coming?”

“Yes, my friend is bringing some gas.  She should be here in 5 or 10 minutes.”

I got a couple or iridescent orange traffic cones out of the back of my SUV and positioned them uplane of her car.  If someone was going to plow into us, they’d have to take out the cones first—nice consolation, huh?

Hold it right there.  This story isn’t going anywhere.  Yes, she was a gorgeous girl.  No, I didn’t get her number.  Yes, the gas arrived and Bridget spilled it all over me.  No, all the other cars that were surprised, as I was, didn’t crash into us creating a gory mess.  Yes, Bridget apologized profusely for spilling the gas on me and I then took over the refueling process.  No, she didn’t light up a cigarette to quell her nervousness.  Yes, we both agreed it was both an unusual and beautiful view from the bridge of the Cuyahoga River and Lake Erie and joked that we had both stopped just for the view and not because of trouble.  No, we didn’t linger any longer than necessary but got the hell off of the friggin’ freezing bridge probably never to meet up again.