Other than the wind rustling the newly bare trees, the loudest sound in this quiet roadside park is the thump of my motorcycle boots on the well-worn wooden floor of Campbell’s Covered Bridge. I pace the length of the 38-foot historic bridge, pausing to gaze down at the peaceful trickle of Beaverdam Creek below and savor my unexpected solitude.
During the warmer months, the covered bridge near Gowensville, South Carolina, and the county park surrounding it fills with families, tourists and picnickers, making a quiet reflection nearly impossible. Today I gaze back to the empty parking lot, filled only with a lone motorcycle awaiting my return.
My fascination with historic covered bridges began by happenstance. A spontaneous detour prompted by a highway sign led me to Campbell’s Covered Bridge more than a decade ago. Built in 1909, it stands as the last remaining historic covered bridge in South Carolina. It sits just below the Blue Ridge Escarpment, where winter temperatures seem milder, something a winter rider can appreciate.
I began to collect other favorite bridges on my travels: Watson Mill and Eurahee covered bridges in Georgia; the Harrisburg and Elizabethton covered bridges in east Tennessee; the Link Farm and Clover Holler covered bridges near Newport, Virginia. In the years since I first pulled over next to one, I’ve visited nearly every historic covered bridge within 200 miles of my home. All of them are worthy of visiting on your next motorcycle journey.
Near the old foundation of a long-vanished corn mill next to Campbell’s Covered Bridge, I sit by the creekside and enjoy a snack I packed in my tailbag for just such a roadside break. Friends sometimes ask me what’s the fascination with such old bridges, barns or other relics of a century past. I can’t give them a simple answer other than the irrational attraction to items made obsolete by progress. The concrete-and-steel bridge a few hundred yards east handles traffic with much more efficiency and less maintenance, but I doubt anyone will sit and admire it a hundred years from now.
I’m rather snobbish about my covered bridges. They must be old, a hundred years old. I find little connection to modern re-creations, usually placed in upscale communities to add charm to a planned subdivision. These bridges often hide modern engineering methods and materials. My fascination with wooden covered bridges eventually provided me with the ability to spot the difference between the king/queen post, Burr arch or Howe truss bridges. If I spot concrete and steel I-beams, expect a snort of derision.
If I find myself leading a group ride, my companions can expect a detour if there is a covered bridge within 20 miles of our route. Hearing another rider express wonderment and remark how they never knew this was here always justifies my adding extra miles to our trip. Yet I mostly keep my covered bridge visits for solo rides, hoping for days like today when no one else disturbs my visitation.
Then I can take my time strolling across the wooden planks and give the trusses a gentle tug to admire their strength and thank them for holding up a bridge that’s stood long before I was born and hopefully will remain long after I’m gone. No screaming children bounding about the noble structure. No tourists gathering for selfies next to its weathered walls. On a quiet afternoon there’s just a solitary rider admiring the solitary bridge.
For me, it’s never too far — and never the wrong season — to ride to a covered bridge.
Michael E. Gouge, Editor-in-Chief
