Ah, it's the end of June, and that means Moscow, Indiana, is having their shindig. This year, however, it's gonna be different.
Hearing about the bridge yesterday evening made me really sad--I vividly remember riding my bike across that bridge--all the more so because the gaps between the wooden planks that formed the roadbed were about an inch to two inches wide, which was more than enough to stop my forward momentum in a quick and decisive way. I rode slowly and in the middle of the planks, trying not to focus so much on the clearly visible water swirling around the rocks directly under my wheels.
For those interested in small town festivals, this one is a good one, and you oughta go. They are still having the festival this week as a benefit toward reconstruction of the bridge. It's a great place for corndogs, flea market bargains, and the nearby Amish clean up the buggies, wear their good clothes, and hang out to impress the Amish girls.
My promised commentary on books is postponed, as I still don't quite know what to talk about yet.
One last memory of the Covered Bridge Festival is of the road past the bridge--after a couple of sharp turns and an incline, the road straightens out into open country, with a wonderful long steep hill , then about a mile or so of perfectly flat road before a corresponding incline. As I reach the top of the hill, I notice in the distance a one-horse, two-wheel buggy heading my way. By the bottom of the hill, I'm f l y i n g . I'm nearing the buggy rapidly. The horse, at a trot, perhaps has never seen a bike on this road before--certainly nothing making a beeline straight for him. The horse freaks right on out, rears, moves to the ditch, rears. The buggy bucks wildly, and as I speed past, I can see that the young man behind the glass is, while deperately trying not to wreck the buggy or lose the horse or get hurt, is managing, at the same time he is handling the reins, to doff his hat in a neighborly hello. What a guy.
--photo from http://www.moscowfestivalin.org/