"As we climbed higher, the air got thinner and colder. Every breathe would shock and fill our lungs with pristine, clean air. The greener, lower hills gave way to dry and stark crags on either side of the valley as the truck we travelled in followed the river upstream. The sky seemed to be closer, and couldn't be more blue.
We got around a hill that pushed into the valley, and the opposite slope seemed the closest. The road across the valley we'd come by tomorrow seemed within reach. We spoke about the possibilities of a bridge right there and wondered why it hadn't been thought of before. We noticed the debris from an abandoned construction site close by. We quickly forgot about it as the next bend caught us unaware with a magnificent sight of a range of snow capped mountains."
The story, or one version of it goes, that up in the hills, there was a new bridge being built across a valley. The new bridge would purportedly cut down travel time drastically over the old road that wound its way further up the valley. The engineer in charge of the construction, a young man from the plains, is taken in by the beauty of the place or falls in love with a damsel from a village or is drawn to the words of a wandering sage. He abandons the site and is never heard of. The construction of the bridge slowly grinds to a stop and remains incomplete.
A story like this is what you'd want to hear when you pass a place like that. But there was none.
We got around a hill that pushed into the valley, and the opposite slope seemed the closest. The road across the valley we'd come by tomorrow seemed within reach. We spoke about the possibilities of a bridge right there and wondered why it hadn't been thought of before. We noticed the debris from an abandoned construction site close by. We quickly forgot about it as the next bend caught us unaware with a magnificent sight of a range of snow capped mountains."
The story, or one version of it goes, that up in the hills, there was a new bridge being built across a valley. The new bridge would purportedly cut down travel time drastically over the old road that wound its way further up the valley. The engineer in charge of the construction, a young man from the plains, is taken in by the beauty of the place or falls in love with a damsel from a village or is drawn to the words of a wandering sage. He abandons the site and is never heard of. The construction of the bridge slowly grinds to a stop and remains incomplete.
A story like this is what you'd want to hear when you pass a place like that. But there was none.
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