Copacabana

The things we do for love

"Code-name Ennui" and I are heading to Washington D.C. next weekend. You see, little Ennui has become a graduate student and will be attending Catholic University to study all things Irish and wants to get a lay of the land as it were. I, whose maternal grandfather was born and raised in the pundit city and who spent many of my young summers at my grandparent's Potomac River house in Maryland, just want to get back to the marble city. Everyone talks politics and news and I love it!

So, in planning our trip, I was trying to explain to Ennui about the Potomac River Bridge (renamed in the 60s the Harry Nice Bridge, but since my mother apparently never knew this, will forever for me go by the first, and most active, moniker). This sucker is the only bridge you can cross to get to my grandparents house unless you want to go miles out of the way. And it is the scariest, most horrifying monster I've ever had to traverse. Except for maybe Spaghetti Junction in Atlanta but that's just because you can see through the concrete slabs from underneath those bridges and that just seems to defy all laws of physics...



So, here's a few pictures of this beast, built in 1940 (!), 135 feet high, 2 miles long. And my dad always like to cross in our motor home, which is essentially a tour bus. Good times. Did I mention that I'm terrified of heights?

posted by Lola @ 2:27 PM