A tiny moment of history, unmarked except by me (and now, perhaps, by you as well)

See this bridge? It's the bridge I ride across to get to work. Actually, I cross five bridges on my way into town, and this is the fifth and biggest one. It's the one that was torn down last fall, rebuilt over the winter, and dedicated (in the name of a local renowned cheesemaker!) last Friday.

I happened to ride across it just as the crowd was gathering for the dedication. This being an election year, all the important public figures – past, present and future hopefuls – were there, along with several dozen business owners, executive directors, historical figures (including the first guy to get a ticket on the bridge that was being replaced, back in the 1930s), media folks and ordinary citizens like me. I knew or recognized about a third of the people there, which caused me to reflect on my place in this community ... not that I'm by any means an "important person" here, but it felt good to know that the important people know who I am (realizing of course that it's part of their job to pay attention to their constituents and potential supporters). It reminded me that as much as I reprove myself for feeling shy and wanting to hide out, I really do participate and contribute. Which was a gratifying thing to remember.

Anyway, it was a perfect warm blue and gold fall morning, and I am always interested in Occasions and Ceremonies, so I hung around to watch the schmoozing and listen to the speeches. I was standing astride my bike at the edge of the crowd, and as the dedication was wrapping up it occurred to me – a lot of people have already walked and ridden across this bridge today, but if I were to ride across it right now I would be the very first person to cross it after its dedication.

And so I did. I doubt anyone else realized that a monumental event was taking place in the life of that bridge, which may well stand for another hundred years or more (according to its builders). But I'm here to tell you that the first vehicle to cross it after its official naming and dedication was not a fancy government car but a bicycle, and the person piloting that vehicle was not a famous public official but a humble member of the proletariat* of this valley, a working artist who uses the bridge every day.

So yeah! I made my own history. Of course, even after the speeches they still had to finish striping the roadway before the bridge was Officially Open, so the real first person across was someone else, several hours later. Whatever – I still enjoyed my moment.

* Proletariat: The class of industrial workers who lack their own means of production and hence sell their labor to live.

Listening to: Jim White – 10 Miles to Go On a 9 Mile Road