I woke up hours before dawn on Tuesday, March 26, 2024 to the news that the Francis Scott Key Bridge in Baltimore had collapsed after being struck by a huge container ship. Incredible video soon followed. It was utterly appalling that such a seemingly minor incident could result in major loss of life and catastrophic damage. A few years earlier, while having dinner with a friend on the waterfront in Seabrook, Texas, we witnessed a dinner cruise ship lose control in blustery winds and come come close to careening into a pylon supporting the bridge over the Clear Lake Cut on Texas Highway 146. Of course, both the ship and the bridge in that instance were many times smaller than their counterparts in Baltimore. I ruled out any future dinner cruise with Chocoholic.
Like the Pittsburgh bridge collapse that I blogged about earlier, I had a brief, but memorable, past history with the Baltimore bridge. Just like the Fern Hollow Bridge, I was with a group of friends. We were in town for meetings in Baltimore and at the Capitol in Washington, D.C. I had a rental car, and we drove to a local seafood restaurant for lunch. For some unknown reason, I either forgot or didn’t notice that the trip would require crossing the giant bridge. I fear heights and avoid big bridges whenever possible, but I messed up big time in Baltimore. Immediately before encountering the bridge, a huge green freeway sign warned me that it lay dead ahead. There was no turnaround available that I could see. I told myself that I could do it, that I wouldn’t panic. The lives of others as well as my own depended on my successfully crossing the bridge. Most of all, my self respect depended on it. We immediately started to climb what seemed like the steepest bridge I had ever crossed. I managed to conceal my distress from the other ladies, blocked out their conversation and crossed successfully.
When we reached the other side, I breathed a great sigh of relief, and we enjoyed the rest of the day. But the memory still haunts me.