good two or three hours,” I whisper out the corner of my mouth.
“Well, we’re running late,” Sid says, tapping his Timex. “You can take a quick shower here but then we
have to go.
My guy leaves at four.”
C HAPTER 6
The Blind Leading the Blind
SID and I glide over the Al Zampa Memorial Bridge from Crockett toward Vallejo.
“Twenty-five thousand tons of steel,” he marvels.
From the moment I stuck the key in the ignition, Sid’s been issuing moving violations.
“No radio,” he told me as I reached for the knob. “No speeding,” he said as we pulled out of the driveway. “No sudden turns,” “no abrupt stops,” and in general, “no horseplay of any kind.” We’re driving to the nearby ferry because long drives make Sid carsick, unless he drives, which isn’t about to happen anytime soon. Cookie took away his license fifteen years ago after he inadvertently sideswiped a gasoline pump at Ollie’s Auto Shop. An ophthalmologist visit later, Sid was diagnosed with glaucoma.
From the passenger seat, Sid bobs back and forth, window to windshield, inspecting every angle of the bridge with the wonderment of a child. Bridges are a big deal in Crockett.
In Carquinez Middle School, one of the first things they teachyou is the history behind the Carquinez Strait Bridge. At the ribbon-cutting ceremony in 1927, the Carquinez became the longest suspension bridge in the world, serving as the final link in the Pacific Coast Highway connecting Canada to Mexico.
But that’s where the fairy tale ended. California then erected a second Carquinez bridge in 1958 to alleviate the traffic congestion from the first bridge and the new off-ramps ended up covering huge swaths of Crockett. Then the first Carquinez bridge started falling apart a decade ago, and they began building a
third
bridge, this one called the Al Zampa Memorial, in honor of the well-known iron worker Alfred Zampa, who miraculously survived a fall off the Golden Gate Bridge after slipping on a wet girder, flipping backward three times, and landing in a safety net, breaking four vertebrae. At the opening of the Al Zampa Memorial, the governor promised us that the “Golden Gate Bridge’s Little Sister” would deliver tourism and prosperity to Crockett, but that never happened. Instead of bringing people here, this sleek third bridge now helps them bypass it.
About then, I, too, took that bridge, right out of Crockett to San Francisco. After enduring too many mind-bending years of traffic jams, jackhammering, and pile driving, I managed to get off the waiting list and into pharmacy school. It only got worse for Crockett after I left. The final version of the Al Zampa ended up covering even more of our tiny town. “Sugar City” unofficially became “Shadow City,” the population leveled off, construction stopped, and the local housing market froze.
I roll down the window to pay that ungodly expensive Al Zampa toll and hear what sounds like a deadly car accident minus the screeching skid. Our peaceful reprieve from decades of construction ended two months ago when demolitionists arrived to begin dismantling the original Carquinez bridge.
Smash!
goes another metal girder as it hits the bottom of the metal bin on the flatbed boat.
Sid doesn’t share my resentment. He doesn’t see the shadows or hear the destruction. As the Zampa shrinks in my rearview mirror, he twists up in his seat belt to get a final look.
“The concrete towers, shaft foundations, aerodynamic steel deck.” Sid is talking to himself. “Truly awesome.”
Ten minutes later, Sid and I are boarding the Vallejo Ferry. The fact that I’m paying and he’s getting a senior citizen discount still doesn’t prevent Sid from complaining about the expense. But this is chump change compared to what I’m about to spend.
The ferry shoves off, and Sid and I take to the top deck, where we’re told the ride is much smoother. Standing at the railing, shoulder to shoulder, Sid smells
“Well, we’re running late,” Sid says, tapping his Timex. “You can take a quick shower here but then we
have to go.
My guy leaves at four.”
C HAPTER 6
The Blind Leading the Blind
SID and I glide over the Al Zampa Memorial Bridge from Crockett toward Vallejo.
“Twenty-five thousand tons of steel,” he marvels.
From the moment I stuck the key in the ignition, Sid’s been issuing moving violations.
“No radio,” he told me as I reached for the knob. “No speeding,” he said as we pulled out of the driveway. “No sudden turns,” “no abrupt stops,” and in general, “no horseplay of any kind.” We’re driving to the nearby ferry because long drives make Sid carsick, unless he drives, which isn’t about to happen anytime soon. Cookie took away his license fifteen years ago after he inadvertently sideswiped a gasoline pump at Ollie’s Auto Shop. An ophthalmologist visit later, Sid was diagnosed with glaucoma.
From the passenger seat, Sid bobs back and forth, window to windshield, inspecting every angle of the bridge with the wonderment of a child. Bridges are a big deal in Crockett.
In Carquinez Middle School, one of the first things they teachyou is the history behind the Carquinez Strait Bridge. At the ribbon-cutting ceremony in 1927, the Carquinez became the longest suspension bridge in the world, serving as the final link in the Pacific Coast Highway connecting Canada to Mexico.
But that’s where the fairy tale ended. California then erected a second Carquinez bridge in 1958 to alleviate the traffic congestion from the first bridge and the new off-ramps ended up covering huge swaths of Crockett. Then the first Carquinez bridge started falling apart a decade ago, and they began building a
third
bridge, this one called the Al Zampa Memorial, in honor of the well-known iron worker Alfred Zampa, who miraculously survived a fall off the Golden Gate Bridge after slipping on a wet girder, flipping backward three times, and landing in a safety net, breaking four vertebrae. At the opening of the Al Zampa Memorial, the governor promised us that the “Golden Gate Bridge’s Little Sister” would deliver tourism and prosperity to Crockett, but that never happened. Instead of bringing people here, this sleek third bridge now helps them bypass it.
About then, I, too, took that bridge, right out of Crockett to San Francisco. After enduring too many mind-bending years of traffic jams, jackhammering, and pile driving, I managed to get off the waiting list and into pharmacy school. It only got worse for Crockett after I left. The final version of the Al Zampa ended up covering even more of our tiny town. “Sugar City” unofficially became “Shadow City,” the population leveled off, construction stopped, and the local housing market froze.
I roll down the window to pay that ungodly expensive Al Zampa toll and hear what sounds like a deadly car accident minus the screeching skid. Our peaceful reprieve from decades of construction ended two months ago when demolitionists arrived to begin dismantling the original Carquinez bridge.
Smash!
goes another metal girder as it hits the bottom of the metal bin on the flatbed boat.
Sid doesn’t share my resentment. He doesn’t see the shadows or hear the destruction. As the Zampa shrinks in my rearview mirror, he twists up in his seat belt to get a final look.
“The concrete towers, shaft foundations, aerodynamic steel deck.” Sid is talking to himself. “Truly awesome.”
Ten minutes later, Sid and I are boarding the Vallejo Ferry. The fact that I’m paying and he’s getting a senior citizen discount still doesn’t prevent Sid from complaining about the expense. But this is chump change compared to what I’m about to spend.
The ferry shoves off, and Sid and I take to the top deck, where we’re told the ride is much smoother. Standing at the railing, shoulder to shoulder, Sid smells
Similar Books
