"Will Walk For Food...": Bonus Walk -- Like A Bridge Over Calm Waters (First Leg)

Here I am, hunched over my computer, nursing the latter stages of Bronchitis, with my space heater turned up high to ward off the winter's chill. Yet, I smile and feel much warmer when I think back two Sundays, to a time I was healthy and all was somewhat right with the world on a balmy, cloudless 65-degree day. The Old Guy and I are standing in lower Manhattan at about 9:00 a.m., next to City Hall to be precise, awaiting the imminent arrival of Nature Girl for a walk "of epic proportions" across the legendary Brooklyn Bridge. We had parked on the "nether" side (west side) of the park and briskly strolled through it, coffees in hand, invigorated by the walk before us. Even though you can no longer walk right past the steps of City Hall, a stroll through the southern end of the park is quite pleasant...

...harking back to the 1900s and a more gracious, graceful way of life...

...wth some signs of modernity peeking through.

With the arrival of Nature Girl (aka Sacajewa), still without her signature hat, we walked across to the entrance to the pedestrian walkway of the Brooklyn Bridge, stopping for the requisite group shot.

Our photographer this time was a subject of the British Empire, a lady from London who had just finished trekking over the Bridge with her daughter.

Did we get their names? No, we did not. So, let's call them Mrs. Brown and her lovely daughter! I think Mrs. Brown was a bit startled by our motley trio and our photo request...she moved away from us rather quickly once this shot was taken. We quickly fell into the usual "walk" pattern...me falling behind the group as I take photos of everything around me. This is what it looks like if you're walking backwards or sideways up the ramp on the Manhattan side of the bridge (not that you see many people, aside from me, doing that).

When I straightened out and started shooting straight ahead, I was greeted by waves of people of every stripe walking or biking over the city's first, and most historic, bridge. It spans a trecherous waterway (the East River, I believe) that separates what was once the largest, and second largest, cities in America. 19th Century America, that is!

Yes, Brooklyn was once the second largest city in the country...but soon after the completion of the Brooklyn Bridge, which was some time in the 1880s, Brooklyn relenquished its sovereignty (likely not without a fight) to become part of Greater New York in 1899 (along with Queens, The Bronx and Staten Island) -- the year my Aunt Angie was born (which is appropo of nothing related to the walk, it's just that the year or her birth sticks in my mind).

The OG and I had walked the bridge many, many moons ago, back in that storied time when we actually lived in Manhattan (I call that time "the glory days"). But, I was surprised to find that NG had never made this trek before! One of the facts I didn't recall from my previous walk over the Bridge was how much of an incline there is until you're on the main part of the span. After this, I could probably qualify for the Olympic Mountain Climbing Team. Oh, silly me, mountain climbing isn't an Olympic sport -- so I guess we'll never know if I could have been "a contender." But, I digress...I also forgot that there were lovely benches on this part of the span (but we were too soon into "the walk" for a sit-down).

As I kept stopping every few feet, to take pictures, OG and NG were becoming smaller and smaller in my camera's lense. I tried to hustle to catch up to them and partake of their pithy conversation, but images kept calling to me as we moved out over the water.

We were getting close to the "iconic" shot of the "cathedral" shape that forms the two concrete pillars of the bridge. It is the unique beauty of these pillars and the amazing lattice-work like cables that radiate from them, that makes the Brooklyn Bridge the most painted and photographed bridge in the world (okay...I'm not sure where the Golden Gate Bridge falls in this competition--oopps, poor choice of words--but I think my above statement must be correct since The Brooklyn Bridge is older). Ipso Facto!

Of course, the most famous rendering of the "cathedral" is the series of paintings by Joseph Stella, done in the 1930s. It's the image I see in my "mind's eye" every time I drive over the span...and certainly now that we're likely walking right over the spot where the aritst stood to capture it on canvas (actually, it was probably somewhere between the two towers). At least one (or more) of his paintings from The Brooklyn Bridge series hangs in the Whitney.

The other iconic image of the bridge is a very early photograph taken of a person standing at the edge of a not-yet completed Brooklyn Bridge, looking like he had climbed out there on one of the cables. If I recall my Brooklyn Bridge history from a PBS special when the bridge celebrated it's 100th Anniversary sometime in the 1980s, they used to charge people to walk out as far as the construction would let them, in an effort to defray costs. It is amazing the old-time photos you see from various and sundry sites, like the Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls and other natural and man-made monoliths, before safety became a major issue...there were little or no barriers for tourists and "certain death" if they slipped while peering down. I liked the "wildness" and freedom of it all...not that you would have caught me near the edge of any of those places. Though I did risk life and limb back in my high school days during a trip to Copenhagen when I had to climb from one fire escape to another to escape a room locked from the outside. The reasons why are too long and ridiculous to go into...suffice it to say I was fueled by a bit too much Aquivit or Kronenborg. Still, as I didn't break my neck, it was exhilerating to "cheat death." That was a long digression...
We're just about at the first tower, and the view is terrific.

I finally meet up with the dynamic duo, who have stopped to admire the view and read the dedications to the builders, especially the Roeblings (father and son) who both poured their lives (literally and figuratively) into building this marvel of 19th Century engineering.

Until the bridges of the Spanish builder Santiago Calatrava, I don't think any bridge as graceful and architecturally astounding has ever been made. And, there it sits, at the bottom of little old Manhattan (or the top of little old Brooklyn).