Bridgeville

Bridgeville is up for sale again.

If I had $800,000 and the option of buying either a small house in Cupertino or a city along highway 36, I’d be sorely tempted to take Bridgeville. I have to admit that I liked the town. It holds a special place in my heart for being warm. We’d just come down from Weaverville, on the third day of the ST.N Northern California Adventure, and Highway 36 was nippy. Accounting for wind chill, it couldn’t have been warmer than 20 degrees. I was riding between Bill and Stephanie, and was stopping every 10 miles or so to rip off my gloves and let them bake on the radiator. It didn’t really help. I’d run out of snacks, it was windy, we were thousands of feet above sea level, and I was starting to seriously wonder why on earth I wasn’t at home on my couch.

Then, I rode into Bridgeville.

Bill was pulled over into a turnout just after the town’s namesake bridge. After being in the mountains all day, I found myself at 600 feet above sea level. I could feel my fingers. The sun was shining. Steph rolled over the bridge just as I walked up to photograph it. It’s one of my favorite pictures from the weekend.

Sure, the town needs some fixing up. Sure, it’s miles from nowhere at the base of a mountain road. You’re likely to see more deer than humans while riding around the area. There’s not much to do but visit the redwoods and ride out to the ocean and sit by the creek under the bridge.

If I only had $800,000.