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Fresh new asphalt is on the hill at last.  The new curve in the road is sleek and black and lines up with the new angle of the bridge.   The pavement washes from railing to railing, setting off how much wider this new bridge than the one before.  The concrete barriers are gone and now you can easily climb down under to see the waterfall.  The railing is handsomer when seen without the concrete blocks in front.

Its just one small village bridge, but it took three months of hard work to build, and much careful planning before the start, including an archaeological assessment of the site before a stone could be moved. The engineering specific to this span had to be completed, contractors lined up, a parade of big machines called in one after the other in the proper order without waste or overlap.

The previous bridge was probably a century old and taxpayers fervently hope this one will last as long. We certainly won’t forget to appreciate the comfort every time we rumble across.

 

 

 

Man on the Run, book two of the Love Potion Chronicles, has just come out.  I really had a lot of fun writing this one.

I sent my heroine, Lydia Marshall, on a mission to reclaim the last of the “love potion” from a test subject before it creates any more havoc. When she finally tracks Damon down, she finds the tongue-tied, basement-dwelling computer game geek transformed into a wild thrill seeker determined to sweep her along with him. What’s more, he gleefully claims to have guzzled the potion, a chemical meant strictly for external use only.

In a panic about what the stuff may be doing to him, elegant Lydia dares not leave Damon on his own.  So rollicking  up the West Coast they go, whale watching, kite flying, balloon riding and whatever else Damon can spring on her — including some very tempting kisses.

But are her sizzling new feelings real or potion-induced?  And what will Damon do if she finally succeeds in destroying the very thing that is changing his life?

If the suspense is too much, you can get your copy here:

Amazon

Those of you following the saga of our village bridge will be glad to know the railings are finally up.  It wouldn’t do to have anyone falling over the edge.  The concrete railings, with an inlaid stone pattern in the panels, were lowered into place by crane  An additional metal rail, bolted on top, completes the ensemble.

While the inlaid panel pattern in the concrete is an effort to make our bridge beautiful — and the effort is to be commended — I would have preferred some open work so that we could glimpse the water as we drive over.

Now, the next suspense is will there be a walk for pedestrians generously provided after the cement road barriers are finally lifted.

Stay tuned.

Turns out they are not waiting until the paving is done to open the bridge.  There is now a path down the middle, between barriers while work goes on at the sides  The hill is still a swathe of rough gravel and there is a new curve in familiar old road/

With the opening, traffic had flowed back onto my road and the luxurious solitary bike strip, closed to vehicles, is no more.   I have to watch my mirror again sharply to keep from becoming a hood ornament on some speeding pickup truck.

We await the new railing and rejoice that our village is once again linked over Guillaume Demorest’s important little creek.

So close and yet so far.  The bridge, though filled in now with gravel, has not progressed much.  The row of steel rods along each side have been neatly trimmed. Looks like they will be some kind of railing.  I hope we’ll still be able to peek through through them at the rushing stream.

The stream isn’t rushing much this time of year.  It’s just a sedate brown trickle over the broad limestone ledge.  One can walk under the arch without danger of wetting one’s toes.

However, there is earth spread along the sides of the road, giving hopes of a grassy verge.  The trail into our little conservation area has been rebuilt.  Now the ATVs can get in to deepen the ruts so no bicycle can go whizzing through the brushy shortcut to Black Road.  Large mounds of gravel sit reserved for some mysterious future purpose.  Perhaps the grader napping at the top of the hill will put it to good use.

 

 

Turns out there was a reason for all those gravel trucks that began roaring down the road.  They were finally filling in the yawning gaps on either side of the bridge arch.   Now, though the completion date has been extended for two weeks, there is hope we might one day be able to cross the creek again.

There’s lots left to be done.  Bridge railing, paving, maybe even a grand opening.  But just seeing the gravel fill, knowing that one could step across if necessary, means us folks on this side of the slash are no longer cut off from our village.  Or have to take the long way round.

And perhaps this is the shovel that did it.

 

 

 

 

The many creatures that live around me are  thinking about getting through the winter.  I order load of wood.  They do their best to move into the house or set up in one of the outbuildings.  The cats are on patrol for foolish mice, to the point of ripping out basement insulation.  I come across corpses of the small  unwary regularly on the floor.

Using heat as an excuse, I missed my bike ride for three days.  When I was ready to go out again, I found somebody had already already started moving into my bike helmet.  It was neatly packed with dead leaves and nest-ready.

Unfortunately, I had to remove the new home in order to keep my skull armoured on the road.  I am still puzzled as to the builder who climbed up laboriously carrying leaf after leaf.  Seems too ambitious for a mouse.  Chipmunks live in burrows.  A small red squirrel might fit itself in with care.

There are spare helmets on the shelf.  Maybe a new subdivision will pop up before the first frost nips in.

 

This week the rows of steel rods has plastic sheeting tucked in cozily around them.  To ward off the damp night air, perhaps?  Or so  unwary birds don’t impale themselves?

The deadline is here and the bridge is a long way from done.

The gaps on either side of the concrete arch still present a formidable drop.  The little stream still rushes through its temporary culvert while rainwater gathers at the sides.  The road on either side still awaits paving.

And all of us await the moment we can once again merrily dash across our village bridge.

With only a week to go until bridge finish deadline, the yawning gaps look just as wide as last week.  The only change is a sudden  crop of metal rods sticking up inside the forms built on each side of the bridge arch.

I suppose we are looking at the muscle that will hold the wall of concrete together when the gray stuff finally gets poured.  They’ll have to run the mower over it when they are done or we’ll have a permanent fringe pointing at the sky.

Only four business days to go before the end of the month and the promised delivery of the finished item. Next week’s bike foray to the site will be most interesting.  Perhaps I should bring my own shovel.

Looks like it’s happening. Large wooden forms now edge the gap between the concrete bridge sections and the road. They are double with a space between. I expect that’s where the cement will go. Our bridge will have tidy walls leading up to the arch.

It remains to be seen what the inside fill will be. The bridge is supposed to be finished by the end of August. About ten days from now, not counting the weekend. That’s a lot of pouring and trucking and dumping and paving and finishing off with a fine bridge railing.

It is only a little bridge but I’m starting to understand the over a million dollar price tag.

This one better be good for another hundred years.

Check out Gail Hamilton’s books.