Newport Bridge

It was a beautiful brisk New England spring morning. My cousin, Susan, and I had set out on a new adventure. I had always liked to drive and that day was a beautiful day for driving. The sun shone down on our faces, warming the car delicately. The wind began to pick up as we headed for the coast. Within forty-five minutes we had made it from the Connecticut/Rhode Island border to the Newport Bridge. The wind picked up as we began to drive over the bridge, the waves crashed against the rocks on the shore of Narragansett Bay. We could hear the lapping water and the cry of the seagulls. I could smell the ocean in the misty spray while we crossed the bridge. We soon came to the other side where the Newport Bridge Toll was located; they no longer accepted the bridge tokens which had always marked a trip to the beach while I was growing up. Times had changed, this was more apparent than ever. This changed marked an overwhelming change in mood for me. I suddenly began to feel panicky. I knew this trip was different; it was not all for fun. I had my actions set in my mind, and for fear that I might back away from my itinerary I had brought Susan, who I knew would not let me leave without completing the tasks at hand. I had to calm myself first; I saw the sign for the Ocean Drive and turned quickly. This is where I always felt safe, driving down the coast and losing my thoughts in the vast ocean.