1973 Tribute to a Friend

FIrst posted on my Taylor Patterns website 2022-02-23

Through the woodland, through the valley

Comes a horseman, wild and free

Tilting at the windmills passing

Who can the brave young horseman be?

(“Don Quixote” - Gordon Lightfoot)

1973’ish

“We are going to Tifton after you get off work.”

“Why? And that late?”

“There is a haunted bridge on I-75!”

“How does one haunt a bridge?”

As usual, Gilbert’s statements prompted questions.

We entered I-75 South straightaway. For our first pass through the overpass, we rolled all the windows down and went through at about 45mph, the suggested speed (suggested by the myth?).

There are conflicting stories about who died there. The story I remember from Gilbert’s version is that a family (of four) crashed into the center pillar. Later versions told of an ABAC student heading home to Florida.

Whatever the background, we heard the screeching tires, screaming (to my ear, there were multiple voices) and the crashing of glass and metal.

Doubling back via the next exit and the service road we took turns sitting out the passenger side window, with our head above top of the car, hearing the sounds every time.

Gilbert developed an idea.

(Do not do what we did. Dangerous. Illegal.)

We parked the car on the service road along the west side of the lanes. Leaving the two younger fellows in the car (“Guard the car.” we told them, but we were thinking of their safety) Gilbert and I ran down the embankment.

And onto the interstate.

Watercolor, 2021-11-08, martinltpm. I painted this after learning of Gilbert’s passing.

Screen shot of comments from the original post—>

After work at the drive-in meant a night adventure. We were young. Tagging along were two guys younger than we were.

Gilbert had a plan.

Entering Tifton suburbs, we passed Lake Say-Hi on our right. We wondered why we never swam that pond. We had covered many ponds in Colquitt County, plus the Little River on the Cook County line.

“Out of our range. And closed in by residences.”

Our usual adventure involved crashing the gates at Crystal Lake, well before the park opened, to swim all day. About mid-morning we’d be summoned over the loudspeaker

“…report to the concession stand”.

They wanted our admission fees. We were regulars there on our days off (we both worked, a lot, starting out at Piggly Wiggly). But Crystal Lake is another story.

Our mission traveled in my ‘62 Chevy Impala, like this one.

Crouching, we felt the surface. If we saw lights coming (from either direction) we crouched in the grass. There wasn’t much traffic at night back then.

The pavement had grooves running the length of the lanes, about 10” in length, maybe 1/2” wide, like a dotted line, with rows of them spanning the lanes.

Gilbert developed a theory.

(Do what he did. Think. Think outside the box).

Theory: The lanes had an ever so slight curve. The pavement had a slight grade (roads are paved this way so water does not stand). The front tires hit the groves at one angle. The rear tires hit them at a slightly different angle. That produced the eerie effect as the sound waves from “road noise" bounced off the pillars and underside of the overpass.

I liked it! Mystery solved. Not haunted.

Ready for our next adventure.

Which probably involved swimming.

In the daytime.