PANAMA CITY — She stretched out her arms like an
osprey riding an updraft, and I wished I could have taken her photo.
I was topping the rise of the Hathaway Bridge
earlier this week when it happened. Driving in the center lane, on my way in to
the office on a cold morning. Listening to jazz on WKGC. Thinking about all of
the things that needed to be done that day and in the days and weeks to come.
The water of St. Andrew Bay was dark, a bit choppy,
but sunlight sparkled on the ripples. On warmer days, my morning crossing
coincides with a handful of joggers, walkers and bikers using the bridge’s
pedestrian lane. This morning, there was only one.
She was bundled up, with a black jacket and gloves,
bicycling up the curve of the bridge. Dark hair whipped in the offshore wind. I
spotted her just as she topped the rise — morning sun lighting the water beyond
her, she became a silhouette. She sat up straight and raised her arms out to
her side slowly, with the grace of a dancer prolonging the movement.
I couldn’t see her face, but I imagined her smiling
at the sense of accomplishment, of freedom, of flight. The moment lasted only
seconds, but the image remains.
The old Hathaway Bridge couldn’t have supplied that
moment. It seemed more often like a barrier than a connector. Its narrow lanes
and bottleneck approaches slowed traffic to such an extent that many people
avoided crossing it unless absolutely necessary. There really was a “beach” and
“town” separation then, based on accessibility, that doesn’t exist any more.
(Today’s “us” and “them” attitudes are based on
other things, I think. Although, with construction on the east side flyover
looming, that bottleneck is no doubt going to return until the work is done.)
We moved from the town side to the beach side in
2012, and the Hathaway has become part of the day. Depending on assignments, I
may cross it multiple times in a day, and it seldom fails to give me an image
to ponder.
Steam rising from the power plant to the north, or
smoke from a controlled burn. Fishermen approaching as close as they dare to
the Navy base. A paddlewheel cruise, or a line of personal watercraft to the
south. Para-surfers and water-jet riders off Carl Gray Park.
My favorite memory of the old bridge dates from when
my daughter was a toddler. Any time we crossed the Hathaway, she would try to
hum along with the sound of our tires on the metal grating at the center of the
strand. It never failed to make me smile, hearing that sound issue from the
back seat.
My favorite memory (so far) of the new bridge is
sighting a bald eagle perched on the southern rail, regarding the passing
traffic with a wary eye. I also enjoy seeing the crowds line the span with U.S.
flags to welcome the Wounded Warriors motorcade when they visit.
In 2011, I shot video of local musician JoshBrowning singing his original song, “The Hathaway,” at Beck’s Underground, a
music venue in town that closed later that same year. Josh sang about leaving
his troubles behind on one side of the bridge, and finding everything he loved
on the other.
Like topping the rise on a cold morning and drifting
into the updraft of a brand new day.
Peace.
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