For most of one summer, Al and George and I rode our bicycles together. Every weekend we'd mount up and set off, arriving home sometimes the same day, sometimes the next. Together we traveled over almost every inch of paved road between the Holyoke Range and the Vermont border to the north and south, and out to the hill towns on the east and west of the river. We joked about never believing a Bridge Closed sign all that summer. We crawled over and under obstacles and dragged our bikes with us so we could see what was on the other side of all those enticing bridges. One bridge was well and truly out, under construction, and we had to wade across the stream. It was that or go back. Which would be boring.
Our exertions brought us to some really beautiful places. I still remember those rides with pleasure. And where ever we see a Bridge Closed sign, Al and I scope it out, and generally agree we could make it across. The road on the other side always looks enticing.