They Burnt the Bridge Down

I drove to Kamloops the other day, where I discovered they burnt down the red bridge. That very morning. I stared at the images of this bridge on fire, and its smoldering aftermath, and a melancholy washed over me. The bridge is gone now.

Image Screenshot from CastaNet News Youtube Channel

I hated that bridge. I miss that bridge. 

Kamloops, British Columbia, is a city built where two rivers converge. In fact, that’s where Kamloops gets its name. The North and South Thompson rivers meet, and the Secwepemc peoples named that land ‘Tk’emlúps,’ or “Meeting of the Waters.” 

Kamloops has a highway that crosses the water on the eastern side, and snakes around the city, connecting its various subdivisions. Kamloops also has a bridge on the west side of the North Thompson river, which connects its southern neighborhoods, northern business and homes, and the downtown core. It also had this old, stupid red bridge in between them both, located on a waterfront road that only served the few houses, or let you creep around the downtown core toward the stadium, and the aptly named “Riverside Park.” 

The bridge was stupid because it was really old, and very narrow. I remember driving on that red bridge while still training for my full driver’s license. It’s a trust exercise – go straight, and those oncoming cars and pickup trucks will pass within mere inches of you. Breathe. It only looks scary. Once you crossed, you were in an industrial district which would eventually lead you back to the highway.

Photo: blog.hellobc.com

The bridge, known officially as the CN Rail Bridge, and known to everyone in the surrounding area as the Red Bridge thanks to its deep red colour, was built in 1887 to replace a ferry. That was replaced in 1912, and again replaced in 1936. It’s a Howe truss bridge, which utilizes wood and iron in its construction. The paint helped the wood stave off the elements. Maintaining this bridge was a challenge due to its age, but Kamloops maintained it. Or CN Rail did. I’m not sure when the bridge was altered for vehicles. When researching the history of the bridge, I read the following lines: “The old Red Bridge continues to be an iconic piece of Kamloops' identity, cherished both for its historical significance and its visual charm.” I felt like I was punched in the gut. 

Because the bridge is gone, now. 

Riverside Park is a ten or fifteen minute walk from the bridge. There’s a small grass field, a parking lot, and a beach there. If you were feeling brave, you could climb the bridge and jump off, when the waters were high enough. I’m almost certain that was not allowed. The bridge provided an iconic, small-town backdrop to a perfect day in the sun. 

I vividly remember taking my wife to this park. She was my girlfriend at the time, and we swam, read our books in the sun, and enjoyed an afternoon of happiness. 

In the aftermath of the Old Red Bridge, I can’t help but be forced to look at the other bridges in my life. The ones that were burnt down against my will. The ones that left nothing but a smouldering wreckage behind as well. 

It forces a person to ask themselves, “What kind of human being burns a bridge down?”

At time of writing, it’s heavily assumed the Red Bridge was a victim of arson. Someone attempted to burn it down a few days prior, so when it was discovered burnt down completely many days later, the whole city figured whoever it was came back to finish the job. 

I’ve met a lot of people in my life determined to burn bridges down, and I wish I understood their intentions. I wish they understood that, no matter how many coats of paint the bridge needed, or how narrow and terrifying it was to cross, or how shaky it felt, it was a sturdy bridge, still. It was our bridge. We didn’t give you permission to ruin our bridge, but you did it anyway. 

Taking stock, it’s been a long few years. There’s been a lot of celebrations, and I wouldn’t trade these years for anything. I am an optimist who works hard to find the good, but today, that’s not on the agenda. Today we need to talk about burnt bridges.

Photo from CBC News: Marcella Bernardo / CBC

Looking back, other bridges in my life were burnt down recently that left nothing but a charred husk in its place. These bridges were personal. 

The first bridge in my heart was shiny and new. It was built on a sturdy foundation of trust and empowerment, and held strong. Yet, people kept warning me that the bridge was missing key components; you couldn’t tell from looking at it, but it was unsound. It would collapse. Try as I might, I couldn’t find any evidence of this, and continued to enjoy the bridge. Then, one fine day, I was coming back home from a long trip and needed to cross the bridge. As I arrived, it fell apart. The foundation, which I worked so hard on, was hollow inside. The wood was rotten. The bridge collapsed. Worse, when I told others about the bridge, they didn’t believe me. They said the naysayers of the bridge should have done something about the issue, even though, standing amongst the rubble, it was clear there was no fixing a hollow bridge. 

The second bridge was an exceptional one. It was sturdy and faithful, and no matter what you needed, that bridge was there for you. It weathered countless storms and never wavered. Nobody doubted that bridge, but alas, someone took issue with it. I cannot tell you why. Maybe they were jealous of the amazing bridge, and how often it was used. Maybe they were unable to build bridges such as ours, and that was a wound they could not get over. This person attacked the bridge directly, but try as they might, they couldn’t shake the bridge – the foundations were too solid. 

Unable to destroy my bridge, they looked to their own bridges. Their bridges didn’t connect to my side of the river, but to another’s, whom I care deeply about. Well, this dissatisfied human threw stone after stone at that bridge, until one evening, with a major crack that echoed throughout the night, and caused everyone to turn and look, the bridge went down. We ran out to repair it while the stone thrower watched, arms crossed. While we set up scaffolding, they pointed out the aspects of the bridge they never liked. They pointed out all the flaws, all the imperfections of the bridge. They never lifted a finger to fix it. 

When confronted with the question of why they’d throw stones until the bridge fell, this person exclaimed that on the far side of the bridge, the one they didn’t occupy, it was unwelcoming and cold. Therefore the bridge was unneeded. In fact, it was justified to come down. They felt like crossing it was a bad experience. It was our fault it wasn’t welcoming, they claimed. We didn’t do our part. It made no sense. They knocked down our bridge, scorned us while we tried to rebuild, then blamed us for doing it. 

I examined this incident a thousand times and more over the next year. If the bridge led to unwelcoming places, why was that never mentioned? Why destroy the bridge, then blame it on that aspect? Then I realized it was never spoken, because that was a great excuse after the fact. After it was destroyed. It was reasonable, but unfounded. Someone burnt down our bridge, and blamed us for it. 

And the sturdy bridge I mentioned, that was unwavering? My friend who built that bridge kept pointing at the rubble, telling me we should have fixed the unwelcoming problem that we didn’t know about. I kept saying we were hurt by this broken bridge, and kept getting told it was our fault. Suddenly, this great sturdy bridge was being used for something terrible: it was being used as a messenger service from a distant party who hated the bridge. If you pour toxic waste over a bridge enough times, that toxic waste is bound to destroy the foundation. 

The great sturdy bridge was closed due to health concerns. I look across it often, and see my friend looking back at me from the other side. We both want the bridge open. I don’t dare reopen it, until someone realizes that if there’s a problem, it should be discussed. Burning down a bridge was not justified. And blaming us after our bridge was destroyed – rather than blaming the destroyer who failed to communicate – is not how you become worthy of sharing bridges.  

Then there’s the final bridge in my recent experiences. 

This is an old, weird bridge that doesn’t connect well. It’s not built properly, but it’s not mine. It belongs to people very close to me. Under this bridge lives three trolls. Maintaining the bridge is an elder, a sharp and wise person. Unfortunately, the trolls are her creation, and she cherishes them, like she does her shoddy bridge. 

One day, the trolls took the elder and hid her under the bridge. Many who love the elder want to visit, but the trolls refuse, then set fire to the bridge. They damaged it beyond recognition, and still, loved ones worked tirelessly to repair it in an attempt to see their beloved elder again. It was to no avail. The bridge became an impossible challenge to cross, and the trolls wanted their toll to do so. It was a steep one – one of money, yes, but they wanted power more than that. They wanted everyone to kneel when they crossed, and kiss their muddy, stinky boots. 

We don’t cross that bridge anymore. We don’t see our loved one among the trolls. They won’t let us. The trolls then decided to fix the bridge. They changed their minds. Once we attempted to cross, but they lit it afire again. They repaired it, and invited us to cross again, but again, set the bridge ablaze. So we left the bridge and its trolls to rot. Our heart breaks every day we miss our beloved elder, but no heroes have been able to help us. They only shake their heads in shame. 

We drive by the bridge every day. It does not fit within our city, but we cannot tear it down while our elder resides underneath it. The bridge casts a long, icky shadow. 

Today, the trolls added a new polish to their rickety bridge, and invited us across again. Of all the bridges, this one I encourage we keep abandoned. It’s a bad bridge, and only leads to the trolls. 

All of these incidents overlapped in many ways, and all around me, these foundations are collapsing. 

So here I sit, on one side of a river, in small-town Kamloops, looking at a husk of something so monumental, destroyed. There’s nothing to do but move forward. To accept the loss of the bridge, and to know there’ll be nothing else like it – even if we try to build new ones. This particular bridge, like so many others, is gone. 

As an author, this is an important aspect in one’s art. I don’t recommend burning bridges in a literal sense, but severing connections between characters is something we all connect with on a deep level. For an expert examination of this, read “The Golden Compass” by Philip Pullman, or watch “His Dark Materials,” the BBC show based on it. It’s something else. And it speaks to something deep within us. 

As I stare out over the waters, I find myself mourning a bridge I didn’t even like. But. It was a major effort to build and maintain, and it helped countless people over nearly 100 years. I’m now forced, if I want to travel, to find a new route through life. 

To those who keep burning my bridges down: fuck you. 

It turns out this can happen a lot in life, and in exploring this motif, I find myself deeply melancholic. I don’t want to live a life without all the bridges, even the ones I don’t tend to use. I don’t appreciate you taking this away from me. Now, forever, the landscape will be changed, altered. Maybe there’ll be a safer bridge here, or maybe they’ll decide it’s not worth it to replace. 

When I wrote my debut novel, I wanted a character that was desperate to prove himself, to show he was powerful. I made him face that, hero or not, some things in life you simply have no power over. All of us must face these things. We must accept them. We must not linger among the wreckage. We must continue down a new path. 

Today, yet again in my life, someone burned the fucking bridge down on me. I am powerless to stop it. I am powerless to fix it.

Photo: Lawrence Davidson

But I’m introspective enough to reflect upon it, and courageous enough to forge a new path in its wake. I’ll mourn the bridge, and I’ll wish I had the power to stop those who do such things… but I’ll build new bridges instead. 

Old red bridge, thank you for being there. Thank you for giving me fun memories with my wife. For terrifying me when I was a young driver. For connecting my town. For looking dapper. I thought I didn’t like the Old Red Bridge, but now that it’s gone… 

Goodbye, good bridge. You are honored in my memory. You will be missed.