In a recent sermon, our pastor described how he overcame his fear of heights while working as a new camp counselor.

He drew his courage from the value he placed on the counselor-camper relationship, knowing that he needed to conquer his fear so they could conquer theirs.

I overcame my fear of heights in a slightly different way – by singing what I refer to collectively as civil engineering hymns.

If you are a church-goer, you might know these reassuringly stalwart songs: “Rock of Ages”, “The Church’s Sure Foundation”, “A Mighty Fortress.”

Admittedly I had to quickly ditch “Rock of Ages” since the next words in the opening stanza are, “Cleft for me.” Not something you want to promote while crossing a drawbridge. “No, no, I didn’t mean it! Please don’t cleave!”

Sometimes the bridge ignored my pleas. The warning bell would sound. Then the speaker announced the bridge would be opening, and we all must stop at the red light on the bridge’s sidewalk. “A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing….”

Once I moved to Naito Parkway I walked across either the Broadway or Steel Bridge almost daily. My fear faded with the sheer repetition and the fact that there were so many distractions to occupy my mind.

My trek across the Willamette was a safari of the unexpected, typically involving the homeless.

During the last six weeks of summer Wendy’s offers its small Frosty for $1.00. This particular evening I was walking home with a frozen chocolate bonus. They’d run out of small cups, so I had a medium Frosty for the price of a small.

Two blocks from the bridge I noticed a woman stalled out in her wheel chair, unable to muster the strength to get up the next incline in the sidewalk. I offered to give her a push, which she accepted. We got to the top and as I started to go on my way, she said, “Is that chocolate? It sure looks good. It’s been a long time since I’ve had one of those.”

Dang!

Unwilling to simply hand over my dessert, I said I’d share if she had a cup of some sort. She dug into her backpack and pulled out a paper cup with pens and pencils in it. Those she dumped back into her pack and handed me the partially leaded cup.

I hadn’t gotten a spoon, so I squeezed frozen chocolate joy from my cup into hers. When I handed her the cup she looked at the contents, half full, and then at me. Nope. That’s what went through my head. Nope. You are not my sister. Sharing does not mean I’m giving you half. (We had a house rule that when we split something we had to give the larger piece to the other person.)

The spookiest interaction happened on the lower deck of the Steel Bridge. It was raining and dark. I noticed the plastic bag on the sidewalk about half way across.

Abandoned backpacks and full plastic bags give me an instant adrenaline jolt. Do I call the cops? If it blows up and I survive the explosion, but land in the river, which shore is closer? Oh, it’s probably just something dropped here by a homeless person. Still, what if it’s a bomb and I do nothing?

I walked past it, then turned around, went back and prodded it with my foot.

“That’s mine.”

It took a minute before I could speak. “Oh my goodness you scared me! Wait. Where are you?”

He leaned forward out of the angled bridge support with six inch sides that had hidden him.

“That’s mine.”

“Okay, I’m really sorry, but you scared the socks off me. Good grief. You scared me! What is it?”

“That’s my invention.”

Oddly, that made me relax. If you spend time among folks on the kooky spectrum, you’ll often hear that they are just a few invention parts away from changing the world. Or, a west coast alternative, cashing in soda and beer cans to buy a gold mining pan because they’ve done their research and know the place to strike it rich.

I saw the guy the next day with his telltale Yankees cap. I said, “You’re the guy who scared me half to death last night. What are you doing today?”

“Finding more parts for my invention.”

I glanced in his shopping cart which was full of computer peripherals: keyboards, power cords, yellow LAN lines…

“Good luck! I hope it works out!”

We humans have so many imaginative ways to cope. Some of us sing hymns as we cross bridges, distracting ourselves for a few minutes. Some hint broadly at what they want, hoping for a share of the deliciousness of life. Some enjoy a little shock value as they assemble the components of their days.

In Portland there are bridges across the deep which connect singing, chocolate and imagination, but only for those who enjoy walking on the kooky side.