The Bridge

I was organizing my email account to free up space recently
and came across this email I sent my mother during freshman year.
I always found this strange joy from stressing her out,
making her even more crazy.

Last night I got home from a full day at the beach, showered, shaved, got dressed then, went on a quest to find Dairy Queen. No such luck. I still haven’t figured out how to get around Savannah. So, I went back to the dorm and hung out with my boys killing time watching movies while chitchatting with the ladies who lived down the hall. Pretty typical night really. You probably won’t believe me (and I don’t blame you) when I tell you, we didn’t even drink at all. With that said, I bring you to my next adventure of the night.

Out of boredom Jeff, Nick, Dillon and I decided to grab our skateboards and go on a midnight skate run, which turned into a long walk to the top of the bridge connecting Savannah to South Carolina. You know, that huge one? It’s actually called the Tallmadge Bridge. I don’t even remember whose idea it was. The walk with the boys up the public highway was funny enough. With our skateboards in hand, each step we took on the hike up this ginormous bridge, made us more and more breathless. And we’re all in decent shape, if that gives you an idea how steep it was.

We scouted it out to see if anyone was coming then, took off. Nick and I went first. The ride started smooth then we gradually started picking up mass amounts of speed. The were grooves we had to hop over every 100 feet or so were challenging enough, but the speed and amount of space we covered in such a short time was the total rush. For your information: I have coasted over 55mph down this bridge in my car. When it was over, only two out of the four us made it down that ¾ mile. Nick and I stood at the bottom screaming as loud as we could after we finished. We were so happy to be alive. There was a time there, when I thought I couldn’t make it down without killing myself. (At least I waited to tell you.)

There are those perfect moments that call for a cigarette and this was undoubtedly one of them. It could have been a commercial. I mean, we just went ¾ of a mile in 42 seconds! Less than a fucking minute. I ask you, how often does that happen on a skateboard?

So just as I was lighting my cigarette about to walk back up for another run, this cop came up from behind me on the bridge and turned his siren on. We were so scared we did the only thing we knew to do without thinking about it, my boys and I took off on our skateboards down the off-ramp to hide in the forest.

Well of course, they followed in hot pursuit, just like the movies. We climbed over a barbwire fence but these hefty cops stopped chasing, because they knew it was a swamp we got ourselves into on the other side of the fence.

“I swear, I’m gonna kick your asses if you make me come in there after you.”

What other choice did we have? We came out.

Now, picture this: four blond surf rats in torn clothes covered in swamp mud, walking out of the woods carrying skateboards.

Jeff had torn up his new blue jeans. Nick, Dillon and I looked like we had just bathed in mud. One of the skateboards got lost, who knows where. But I have to tell you, trying to keep a straight face for the cops after seeing how ridiculous we each looked wasn’t easy. The cops gave us a big lecture about how stupid and dangerous it is to do what we just did, and told us we’d get kicked out of the SCAD if they ever caught us skating the bridge again.

"Skateboarding on government property is against the law," blah, blah, blah.

Isn't that profiling for them to pick on young college kids like that. They let us off on the condition that we walk the whole way back to the dorms, without skating.

“If I see any of you get on a skateboard I swear to God, I’m taking you in,” he barked.

We all agreed to it then, politely thanked the officers and started our trek back.

As we were walking away from this close encounter with the law–thanking our lucky stars we weren’t being carted off to jail and wondering what we would tell our parents–Nick accidentally stepped on the bottom of Jeff’s torn jeans and ripped them in half. No joke. We could walk because we were geeking out at Jeff's shredded pants from him getting hooked on the barbwire, along with his puncture wounds.

"What? I'm the only one that got hit. What's the deal?" he said to us.

Jeff struggled walking in front holding his pants together the whole way back.

They dropped to the ground. There he was, not ten feet from the police car, still standing in the reflection of their headlights in nothing but his underwear. It doesn’t get much better than that. You should have seen it.

It was a great ride and I’m still alive!

Your favorite son,

-Whit