Tales from the Trail, Part III: All the small things

We’ve passed the halfway mark, folks.

As of today, Oct. 8, the White River bridge had been closed for 51 days. That means if everything goes as scheduled, we’ve got 38 more days to go to hit that Nov. 14 opening deadline — and less, if the weather holds out and construction continues chugging along. (I hear that bridge repairs are at 50%.)

It feels odd to think of the closure in terms of days — 89 just doesn’t seem like a lot, in the grand scheme of things.

But I’ll admit, this closure feels like it’s lasted forever. It’s easy to let my frustration get the best of me, and I imagine negative emotions will only grow as the weather gets colder and wetter.

So it was immensely refreshing to run into DJ as he glided into Enumclaw to get to his job at the Fugate Ford dealership on his mono wheel, playing the ukulele with a wide smile as he passed me as I was drinking water at the Blue Star Memorial (yup, I forgot my water bottle again).

“It’s my way of defeating the bridge,” he said. “… The joy that it’s bringing others, the conversation that start, as much as the bridge has been an issue, it’s a blessing in disguise, because it’s allowing me the opportunity to do what I’m doing now. It’s pretty awesome.”

He calls the instrument, which he started playing when he was 16, his Excalibur.

“It’s a good thing to break the ice, start conversation, kill the silence,” DJ continued. He wasn’t playing any song in particular, but was free-styling a happy mood; it was reminiscent of Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World,” which was quite apropos.

I continued on into Buckley in a far better mood than when I started.

Coming back, a Buckley police car drove slowly down the path, pulling over right before the bridge; I wondered if someone was riding their bike a bit too fast and was about to get a stern talking-to.

I hope those sandwiches and burritos at Crossley’s Country Brew tasted extra good, given how much work went into getting them there. Photo by Ray Miller-Still

Nope: “Today there was not a lot of speeders,” Officer Northam said. “And the motorbikes have been almost perfect.”

Instead, he was there to help Jaidin cross the bridge with supplies for Crossley’s Country Brew, located near the end of the Enumclaw city limits on state Route 169. They each held on to one handle of the clearly-heavy cooler, stuffed with sandwiches and burritos from Sunrise Bites — a Renton-based wholesale breakfast business that agreed to bring the Crossley’s Country’s order to the Buckley side of the bridge.

“Our burritos and sandwiches are really popular, so we like to keep our customers happy,” Jaidin said.

And speaking of customers, it just so happened that Northam was a regular — at least until the bridge closed.

“I saw her walking the trail and thought, ‘I could help her,’” he said.

Situations like this make me think about all the tiny variables that have to line up just right for Jaiden and Northam to cross paths on this day, in this place, at this time.

The bridge was bustling last Friday, and at times it seemed it was unsafe for bikers to ride on the bridge — I suppose some of it must have been for White River’s homecoming parade and game. Way to go, Hornets!

Standing out from the crowd was Mateo, who was clearly on cloud nine as he carried a colorful bouquet; he wasn’t on his way to the big game, but to pick up his girlfriend Audrie and celebrate their first anniversary at Trapper’s Sushi over in Bonney Lake.

“Our parents are have been best friends for a very long time, so we were always hanging out and stuff,” he said.

He easily spotted Audrie in the crowd, carrying a large gift bag.

I snapped a few photos and quickly got out of their way.

The following day, I went to a journalism convention and met reporters, editors, and designers from all across the state.

It was easy for conversation to turn dour, so I shared the first thing that came to my mind to lighten the mood — all the stories I’ve collected from the bridge. All the ways my community has come together to make the best of a bad situation in so many ways, big and small. They did their job, and brightened the room.

I probably won’t publish another one of these anthologies; the weather is turning, and my pet-sitting responsibilities have concluded.

But as I left the bridge that last time, I saw a hand-written note attached to the orange netting by green tinsel wire: “This is an aknoledgement (sic) of a lady who’s (sic) hard work and dedication made this bridge possible. Please as you pass by give Mayor Pat Johnson a kind thought. She made this bridge to serve all of us. May she rest in peace.”

Building the bridge was by no means an individual feat, but her dedication to this bridge, a huge project that spanned decades, brought me all these stories, and so many more I will never hear, and Plateau residents a lifeline, one many of us never thought we’d need.

Perhaps someone ought to consider a new bridge name — one that tells a story.