Running 1:02:37 [3] 6.5 mi (9:38 / mi)
shoes: Wave Nirvana 3
Wednesday as we turned south off the west end of Black Street Bridge we encountered road closed signs. Not knowing the details and having few other options we continued South in the dark through the 19th century industrial canyon of the former Champion Paper facility. The buildings lining both the west and east sides of the street once housed the worlds first and foremost coated paper manufacturer in the world. At one time most of the Great Smoky Mountains was owned and slated for lumbering by a titan form Hamilton. Now the buildings are quiet. The machinery antiquated and idle. Several investors have made scavenging moves to profit from the final days of a once great enterprise.
Steve mentioned he may have read that a business was removing equipment. We jokingly ran down the center of B Street. With no traffic, no people, no nature, it was serene and peaceful. Way ahead in the dark I made out an over-sized forklift drive across the road with a huge bundled load. As we got closer I could see that the load consisted of large pipe; 20 feet long and one and two feet in diameter. I glanced about and realized that the ladder bridge which ran parallel with the street and crossed over supporting steam, process, and electrical piping, was now missing. 18 years ago, during a prior time in my life, my company was involved in assembly portions of this structure which carried power and data betwixt the various areas of the plant. Now it was coming down. I quietly hoped that it was sold to be reused in a new birth somewhere to the ultimate profit and improvement of our economy. I also hoped we did not encounter a red neck obstacle demanding to limit our path back to the center of town.
Perhaps we were lucky that day. We passed by without conflict. And I duly forgot the incident until this morning.
Today, two days later, we crossed over the bridge and saw the road closure signs. Again it was predawn and quite dark. But a quarter mile south we could see a crane sitting in the center of the road. Other heavy trucks were parked to the right and left. Initially I saw no movement. The path to the right was tight. But to the left there was 40 or so feet of open space between the trucks and the building. We swerved left and planted our feet along the rail tracks. Shadows emerged from behind the trucks. Hard hats. Padded jackets. Steel tip boots. A hand went up and toward us like a school crossing guard with no other purpose in life.
Dialog erupted. And although I disagreed with the need, it was obvious the men would not let us pass. And so we double backed with no choices but to return the way came, retracing our steps to and across the bridge. We run measured routes. We keep our times. We record our improvement or lack there of each day we run. But today we would run an unknown distance. Steve and I analyzed the detour and adjusted the return as best we could until we once again were back on familiar ground.
We may have nailed it exactly, but surely it was very close.