In so many ways it was a bridge to another world. In 1970s Peterborough, it connected the north end to east city, but not in the way the big, concrete Inverlea bridge did for cars.

This was a rickety old train bridge that shook when you rode your bike on its weathered, wooden surface. The spaces between the boards were wide enough to occasionally grab the tire of your bike. The vibrations were loud and rumbly in a way that made you question the overall stability of the structure.

But it could withstand a train, right? The water rushing below the bridge was fast and white. It would be decades before I learned my grandfather’s teenage brother had drowned in those fast waters below while trying to cool off on a hot summer day. My father was even named after him.

And pray you didn’t find yourself halfway across the bridge when the train came. Was there even room for both boy........

© Peterborough Examiner