Back in the 2000s my nephew and I toured the bogs and kettle ponds of Natick, Mass. The day was breathlessly hot and Matt suggested that we jump off the train bridge over the Charles. It was a short drive away and the two of us walked through the woods to the trestle bridge. The tracks were about twenty feet from the river surface.
"How deep is the water?" I liked the depth to be over my head.
"Plenty deep. I'll go first to show you." Matt was a fearless teenager. He stripped to his shorts and sneakers. Climbing up the river banks was hard going in bare feet. Matt ran off the bridge with a scream. He plunged into the water and re-emerged with a smile.
"Now you."
He was right, even though 50 year old men shouldn't jump off anything higher than a stair.
I leapt into the air and dropped into the river. The water was refreshing, but I was more enthused by the jump.
"You want to try it again?"
"Why not?"
Nothing like jumping off bridges in the summertime.
Especially in your 50s.
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