Bridge Too Far

High up in the deeply wooded Credit Valley Trail a few miles from where I'm sitting tapping my keyboard, is this little bridge over a deep ravine that carries water down to the Credit River far below.

At night, local lore has it, passers by have to pay steep tolls to a pair of wicked hobgoblins at each side of the rickety wooden structure. If they refuse, their fate is sealed: they'll plunge into the murky depths where they will become supper for a menagerie of evil and grotesque creatures.

Well, that's the story. Possibly explains why the trail the only place in Georgetown where it's possible to get away from the sound of laughing, fighting, screaming, squawking, screaming kids - the little buggers have been frightened away by the stories all the old folk told them.

One day they'll pass the yarn, suitably embellished, on to their grandkids and a little piece of history will turn its full, creaky circle.

Such is life . . .

PS I'm informed by Jools that trolls live under bridges, not hobgoblins . . . hmm, I thought trolls were bad guys who wrote nasty comments on the Internet . . . . same kind of thing, I suppose, separated only by generations . . .