This was shaping up into a perfect example of why canoeing so often has a way of turning current love interests into former love interests. But Jody was either far too good a sport or she had an unshakable faith in her favorable standing with her Creator. And then the boat did slip under the bridge. But only for a little way. Trouble is, a low water bridge is a lowly and functional piece of roadwork.
Nobody trowels out the underside as smooth as a baby's behind.
It is rough and rugged concrete, full of little cavities and craters where the river has washed away some of the aggregate. The upsweep on the bow and stern of the canoe kept catching neatly in every available depression with an echoing clang of aluminum. This stopped downstream progress of the boat every few inches and sent a little shower of silty dust down on the unwary passenger. Jody's voice came echoing out from under the bridge. The tone was taunting and still cheerful.