As I was walking this morning, I came to the bridge that spans Peach Creek, and I decided I’d take a couple of photos and share them and this story with you. I’m thinking my old pal, Dan Findley, might have spent some time in Texas.
In my story, Mooooooo, I told y’all about the time I drove down into the dry wash in Arlington, Arizona—doing about 75—and there was a herd of cows in the road. Well, a few years later, while living in Sacramento, California, I was telling the story to Dan.
As he listened intently to my cow-dodging story, his eyes began to widen. He kept nodding his head excitedly and, when I was finished, he shook his head side-to-side slowly and whistled real low. “Wow!” he said.
He leaned in closer to me and said, “So, what happens when the dry washes fill up with water?”
I shrugged. “You can’t get where you want to go.”
Dan kind of gazed off into nowhere for a few seconds, then he grinned.
Leaning toward me again, he said, “I’m gonna move to Arizona and make a fortune!”
I said, “Okay. How you gonna make this fortune?”
He leaned even closer and whispered, “Up here in California, we got this miracle invention. It’s called a bridge.”