The Stevenson Road Covered Bridge
by Alan King
One of the landmarks of the Township that holds a special
place in my memory is the old covered bridge on Stevenson Road. It sits
at the bottom of a long steep hill and crosses Massie’s Creek just yards before
the road forms a T at Jones Road. Now the bridge has been there for
many years and it holds many signs of the kids, young lovers, vandalous teenagers
and so forth that have stopped to look through the chinks in the siding,
carved their names, or more recently decorated the insides with garish swaths
of color from spray paint cans. A preservation group has repaired the
side boards that had fallen loose.
For me, though, the hill before the
bridge was the real attraction. My brother and I, along with a few of
our buddies, would spend summer days riding our bikes all over Xenia and all
over the countryside around town. You must understand that this was
in the late ‘50’s and early 60’s before there was anything like our present
bike trail and before there was quite so much traffic on the country roads.
Our mother would have had a cow if she knew exactly where we wandered off
to, for she was protective and always a little worried when we were gone too
long, but we often rode as far as John Bryan Park from our home near Shawnee
Park.
I had a new Roadmaster bike with a three speed shift
and a speedometer. And I was always trying to see if I could get the
speedometer needle up to the top. I think it pegged out at 45 MPH,
for who in their right mind would go faster than that on a 24 inch bicycle?
Well, one day we rode out past the Hospital and took Kinsey Road to Stevenson.
It was a warm summer day and we had packed food, canteens and stuff for a
picnic at the bridge. It’s uphill most of the way and we stopped a
few times along the way to catch our breath or wade in a creek.
We reached the curves at the top of the long winding
slope above the bridge. We knew that we had nearly a quarter of a mile
to the bridge, and all downhill. We all lined up, glanced at each other
and began to pedal like madmen. We reached 20 MPH in a matter of seconds,
then really poured it on. Our feet couldn’t go any faster by the
time we reached the first curve and the snakelike sign that warned of the
curves ahead. The sign said the speed limit through the curves was
15 MPH and we were already going 20.
We cut across the corners of the next couple of bends
and kept gaining speed. The line of gravel on the centerline threw grit
up on our legs every time we crossed it. As we reached 30 MPH my wheel
began to shake slightly and I could see the mouth of the bridge ahead and
the sharp right curve just before the entrance. The needle edged up to 35,
then 38, 39. We were all doing 40 MPH as we tore into the shade
of the covered bridge. We slammed on our brakes and our tires made
a satisfying scream as we skidded on the hard wooden roadway inside the bridge.
We slid and squealed all the way through and came to a dust enshrouded stop
on the other side of the bridge just yards from the hillside at the dead
end of Stevenson Road.
As I drove through the bridge this morning, I looked
on it as a father and an adult. We never could have seen a random car
coming through the bridge from the other direction. The gravel on the
road could have thrown us into a ditch. That same summer one of our
friends tried the hill on a new 10 speed bike and didn’t make the last curve
before the bridge. He hit the side of the bridge with his face and had
to have his jaw wired shut for a month. None of those things troubled
our young thoughts on that day. The air was warm, the creek made a friendly
gurgle and the shady bridge was the perfect place to stand and talk and waste
a summer day. The thrill of speed and danger filled us with life.
We were the masters of our world.
I am glad that decades later I have survived those crazy
chances I took when I was too young to realize I was taking them. We
should remember as our children want to do things that seem too risky from
our adult perspective that this is what youth is for: testing, exploring,
stretching our vision of what is possible. Survival is the rule, not
the exception. Contrary to the old saying, youth is not wasted on the
young. It is essential that they do a few stupid things, make
some mistakes, and then learn from them. Especially learn from them.
I hope that bridge stays there forever.
Return to Xenia
Twp. Articles