Hartford Courant: As I stood on the trail and wondered whether or not I should venture forth, I felt like I was a kid again standing on the edge of a freshly frozen pond. Back then, I would stretch one leg out, touching the surface of the ice and gingerly putting my weight on it, listening for that deep, rumbling echo that would determine my next step.
Decades later, I was standing before the newly built Andover covered bridge spanning Route 316, half disbelieving it was really in front of me. I pinched my arm. I rubbed my eyes. I put one foot in front of the other. I told myself I wasn’t going to be like Wile E. Coyote and get halfway across the span, only to discover it was just a mirage and wave goodbye as I plunged into a cloud of dust far below. Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I saw a pig flying by.