A rocking and rolling mass of humanity moved almost in lockstep across the 460-foot Capilano Suspension Bridge. Staying to the right in each direction, there’s just enough room to pass the line of lemmings headed the opposite way. A feeling of drunkenness prevails.

The bridge is exactly twice as long as it is high, but that’s no consolation. If you look down while you’re trying to stay on your feet, you’re going to catch your breath at the pure insanity of it. What the hell do you think you’re doing?

Yet I was there of my own free will. In fact, I had insisted upon going there. I was determined to conquer the fear that had incapacitated me 24 years ago.

And I did.

After surviving the Cliff Walk (see previous post), The Bridge didn’t seem all that difficult. Seriously. I just hung on to the cable handrail for balance and trucked right across like it was no big deal.

Half way over I stopped to take some photos, and have a few taken of me. I had faced my fear, and I had thrived!

Looking around, I could tell who had “done the bridge” before, and who was there for a first time; the look of panic is unmistakable.

Young and old made the pilgrimage together, and I think that the sheer numbers of those coming and going made it easier to navigate. Decades ago, I’d attempted to cross when there was no one else was there, then freaked out when some Japanese teen-agers came galloping onto the bridge (See August 9 post).

This time, I was exhilarated by the experience. I felt like lifting my arms, fists clenched, and doing the Rocky victory dance—triumphant!