Architechtual Autopsy

Forgot to check the time before I got on the bus. So, instead of 5 of minutes wait out doors in the cold at the transfer point, I got to wait 20+. I remember moving here and I could still count the number of times I had crossed the Mississippi. I not only can’t remember what that number was, I can certainly no longer count. The bus to University of Minnesota’s campus goes across everyday, and back (my classes are on the east bank). The first week or so of classes, I paid obsessive attention to where we were, since the bus schedule doesn’t actually list all of the stops, just the highlights. This morning, I took advantage of the morning ride and went to sleep.

After the first week or so, I relaxed enough to start paying attention to the surrounds, especially the last leg to campus. It’s hard to not notice the change from business to academic architecture. The point where this bridge - there are several - crosses The River is the only point in the middle of the city where there is actually a noticeable amount of riverbank. The whole river has a sheer drop from ground down to the water. The drop is on the west side, from quite high. I noticed, once I started paying attention, that the upstream west bank was collecting an amazing amount of junk. Then, one day I actually took the bus home in the daylight. Looking upstream, I realized the debris wasn’t simply the flotsam of environmental idiots.

It was the I-35 bridge.

Over the past 5 months (I wrote this in Jan.), the pile of girders and trusses and whatever else goes in a bridge grew and grew. Then began to coalesce. The investigation crew has been reassembling the bridge.

This evening, the shore now has about a dozen re-assembled trusses lying on the ground, with the pieces laid neatly to each other like a macabre jigsaw puzzle. A $250,000,000.00 jigsaw. There are dozens upon dozens of pieces remaining. Every month it grows more complete. The twisted, strained, and broken steel bits tell a different story than the stunning photos on CNN, BBC, or Peter’s camera. The bridge there looked like a broken bridge. The lonely flotsam collection lying tonight on the banks of the Mighty Mississippi looks simply ... lost. misplaced. tiny.

I see the structural support without the road, without the paving, and suddenly I wonder how that little pile could possibly have held a 4-lane interstate highway.

I wonder how long the corpse of the bridge will remain there, pending its autopsy.