Why Did We Cover Bridges?

“There ain’t much of a difference / between a bridge and a wall / without me right in the middle, baby / no, you ain’t got nothin’ at all” – Lyrics from “Tear Me Down”, Hedwig and the Angry Inch

Bridges occupy that liminal space in between – neighborhoods, cities, states, nations. They can connect as much as separate, the natural choke points for traffic and often an impenetrable barrier for people walking or biking. At their most banal, they are unnoticed continuations of interstate pavement and guardrails blending into the long monotony of pavement and guardrails. At their grandest, they are spectacular monuments that rise into the heavens.

In that essential work on Robert Moses The Power Broker, Robert Caro describes how Moses fought for bridges instead of tunnels. Tunnels, with their inconspicuous entries and exits and unseeable footprint under water, are only noticed by the people forced to use them. In that sense, bridges are not statements, but are modern ziggurats – not to gods, but to… (whom? Their builders? Elected leaders? The triumph of engineering and vision and domination of man over nature?).

In a more practical sense, bridges are a constant challenge for those charged with keeping goods and people moving. Everyone loves to cut the ribbon on a new gleaming bridge, but the mundane maintenance of those bridges is far less exciting. Bridges are complicated, and the stakes are incredibly high. The Tacoma Narrows Bridge (AKA “Gallopin’ Gertie”) collapsed in 1940 mere months after the ribbon was cut, and the reasons for its oscillations are still being debated. $133 million, adjusting for inflation, tumbling into Puget Sound.

The Aesthetic of Covered Bridges

As I trained for my multi-day bike trip last spring, I decided to put some purpose to my exercise. I happened by a covered bridge in Hardwick in one of my early rides, and I thought a tour of covered bridges was as good a project as any – for whatever reason, they pop up on Google Maps, so wouldn’t be hard to find.

If some bridges stand as an imposing colossus, the humble covered bridge evokes the opposite. It is a symbol not of greatness or triumph, but presented more as bona fides of a small town’s small-town-ness. Hardly practical, questionably safe, seemingly overengineered – their purpose is so opaque that they verge on being an historical curiosity. Why build a roof over a bridge? Why not build it over the rest of the roadway? What is it about a bridge with a roof we find so quaint and charming (as it undeniably is)?

The bridge that most leaned into the quaint New England small town aesthetic was undeniably the Ashuelot Covered Bridge in New Hampshire.  A sign indicated that going over the bridge faster than a walk is subject to a $5 fine. This is a statement: you are traveling over the Ashuelot River and you are traveling back to 1864, under penalty of a severe fine (for 1864).

But covered bridges are subject to the same constraints as any other bridge, as much a connection as a potential barrier. When I arrived at the Tannery Bridge in Sandisfield, MA, I found it to be locked up.

Sometimes, there isn’t much of a difference between a bridge and a wall.