The Quad Cities is a uniquely diverse place -- one populace spread across two states, four cities, multiple villages, dozens of neighborhoods, and a countless number of cultures. Yet despite the many people, places, backgrounds, and life stories that make up our Quad Cities, there's some things we can all agree on.
Iowa is north of Illinois. Whitey's really IS the greatest ice cream on the planet. Paula Sands is a national treasure. The only acceptable color of tractor is green.
And the #1 thing we all surely agree on? We just can't get enough of the I-74 bridge construction project.
Can you believe there was once a time when we had to suffer through uneventful direct commutes to work without a single exciting detour? Imagine the stress of having to drive from Point A to Point B without the respite of a refreshing ten minute traffic jam. Just think how boring life would be without the thrill of zipper merging.
Okay, so maybe the construction sucks and there's no good way to spin it. Maybe my optimism is waning. Maybe I'm still frosty over having to sit there today while a flatbed hauling some impossibly long piece of bridgework had to pull an 18-point turn to get on the downtown ramp. I don't want to say the bridge project is cursed. I can, however, personally attest that it's been cursed AT -- and I'll wash my mouth out with soap in due time, promise.
But the end will come, and it's going to be amazing. As annoying as the detours and traffic backups are, it'll all be worth it. One day in the not too distant future, we'll be able to drive from Iowa to Illinois without fearing for our lives. We'll have bridge lanes wide enough that we won't have to white-knuckle clench our steering wheels every time we pass a semi. And we'll have enough lanes that we won't be guaranteed half-hour delays every time a fender bends.
Until that day, my daily riverside commute from Rock Island to East Moline might sometimes be arduous. But it also affords me a daily view of the construction progress, which is nothing less than amazing. What began as floating platforms have rapidly become epic towers erupting out of the water to hold the framework arch of what will soon be our new bridge. How it was done I haven't a clue. Magic? A genie? A well-trained army of catfish?
Those towers now rise some 225' above river level, jutting into the sky and adorned with a bright red topper that surely holds important construction gear and fancy technological bridge-making wonders. At least I assumed it did. Then my friend Cindy Anderson came along and shattered all my understanding.
Nearly every day, Cindy goes down to the river, takes a picture of whatever strikes her fancy, and posts it to Facebook as her photo of the day. Recently, she took her zoom lens to the red box atop the temporary tower. Sure enough, it's a vital part of the bridge construction process.
It is, in fact, a portable toilet.
Yes, precariously perched atop a 225' testament to mankind's ingenuity and triumph over adversity sits -- a sky potty. Normally I'm above toilet humor. But this time, the toilet humor is above me.
So bad news, anyone who hoped to be the first to, umm, christen the new bridge. Someone's already beat you to it. I had to learn more about this heavenly latrine, so I got ahold of Danielle Alvarez. She's the I-74 Project Manager for the Iowa DOT and knows more about the science of aerial toiletry than anyone really should. So what on Earth is a porta-potty doing waaaay up there? It's simple, really.
"We have men and women constantly working atop that temporary tower," Alvarez explained. "When you gotta go, you gotta go!"
Makes sense. I thought MY commute was bad. Imagine if your commute involved a 225' climb -- only to get to the top and go "uh oh." That's the definition of a bad day. That's why a crane routinely takes the lofty loo to its dizzying heights, where workers move it into place in case they have to make a movement of their own.
How's it stay up there? "Besides being tied down?" responded Alvarez with a smile. "Gravity. It gets heavier throughout the day." Wow.
So what's it like to answer nature's call some 19 stories above the mighty Mississippi?
"It's only scary when you look down," said Alvarez.
Working on that bridge must be a high-pressure job reserved for our most heroic. But does anyone feel the pressure more than the poor crane operator tasked with gingerly bringing THAT bad boy down without, umm, spillage? According to one crew worker, we needn't worry.
"Our crane operator takes crap very seriously. He considers things like wind velocity rocking the porta-potty and making sure no one's in it before it's moved. He's got it down to a science."
I wish I knew anything about construction. I have no idea how a project this massive gets accomplished. Maybe it's a team of highly skilled, death-defying workers. Maybe it IS magic. And maybe sometimes, it's literally just a big load of [expletive]. All I know is I'll be happy when it's done, and I think that's something we can all agree on.
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