Thursday, May 9, 2019

The Ambassador Bridge

From Mary in honour of Arta's 79th Birthday


I don’t get to travel often for work.

When I do, it is always related to the Ambassador Bridge, which is an international bridge connecting Detroit and Windsor.

It carries over 30% of all trade by truck between Canada and the US, which makes it a very important bridge from an economic perspective.

I was there at the end of March.

We lucked out with a beautiful, sunny day and so our site visit to the bridge was lovely.

I had to take my coat off.

Peregrine falcons nest on this bridge.

Can you spot one in the photos?

I only knew to look for them when I heard them screech.

That is an accurate description of the sound they make.

We had time to walk from the bridge (on the Canadian side), along the river to our next meeting.


This gave the me the chance to take a couple of great shots of the bridge and a US Coast Guard ship passing by.

The riverside park and path (all along the river) is called a sculpture park.

Of the 20 sculptures we walked by, this is the one I felt I needed to take a photo of.

The egg is a solid piece of granite/marble.

I admit, I did go and sit on it.


Arta says she just wants to drive over bridges, and then turn around and drive back over the same bridges, and then do it again.

I have this feeling all the time.

Especially when I get to drive over the new bridge over the Kicking Horse River on the way to Golden.


Spectacular engineering.

But I am a nerdy bridge policy bureaucrat.

Mary Johnson

1 comment:

  1. Thanks for letting me know what you do in your work life, Mary. Yes, I love bridges and always wonder about the brains of people who engineer them, wondering how can they think like that. All of those numbers that create stability. I love bridges as well and I fear them. The bridge that was a nightmare for me as a child is the one that goes under the main Centre Street Bridge in Calgary. The top part of the bridge has the lions decorating it and services Crescent Heights and Chinatown. But underneath that bridge is one that goes from one bank of the river to the other. As a child I was so afraid that the lower bridge was going to break when we went over it. I could see the water coursing below, almost close enough to touch. The waves and eddies around the pylons frightened me. I would take a big breath as the car started to go over the river and then hold it on my way across in case the car fell into the water. I could never hold my breath all of the way across, and so I always feared drowning there at some point. That fear is gone now but still I feel an impulse to hold my breath when I go over that bridge.

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