5 of Connecticut's Best Bridges

EAST HADDAM SWING BRIDGE

I have a bit of a love-hate thing with bridges. Some bridges, I find terrifying (there's no logic to it, but having skyway or spillway or causeway in the name doesn't help.) Other bridges are a pleasure to cross. And then there are the bridges I'd drive a day out of my way to avoid - I mean seriously, who invented this nightmare - but love watching other people traverse on YouTube.

But even though I usually wish I could magically transport my car to the opposite riverbank using the power of my mind, I can't deny the appeal of a bridge. It's not just that they literally take you to places you'd otherwise need a boat to reach, or that they symbolically represent the connection between sometimes very different places. It's also that they often look striking, lending a place an atmosphere it wouldn't otherwise have, and that they're a built-in alert message to bored drivers: Hey, something new and different might waiting for you right over there, on the other side.

I chose these five Connecticut bridges with some very simple criteria: they had to be attractive to look at - as you're crossing them as well as from below; they had to have some interesting facts, trivia, or history associated with them; and they had to lead to a place (or places) worth visiting in its own right. I could have chosen many other bridges with different points to recommend them, such as walkability or age, so if you have a different favorite, do leave a comment below.

East Haddam Swing Bridge (Connecticut River, East Haddam - Haddam)

It's not often that traffic comes to a dead halt at a seemingly random time of day and no one minds because the cause for the hold-up is so darn charming. It pretty much only happens when a line of fuzzy ducklings are crossing the road or when the East Haddam Swing Bridge is swinging. The truss bridge carrying Route 82 across the Connecticut opened to traffic in 1913. Since then, it has pivoted to allow boats to pass, while trapping motorists either in the quiet beauty of Haddam or in East Haddam's intensely picturesque town center.* According to East Haddam's website, which lists the bridge as an attraction, the "899-foot long bridge is reputed to be the longest of its type in the world." And its timing isn't quite random; it "opens to recreational traffic on the hour and half hour and on-demand for commercial barge traffic."

On the Haddam side, you'll find small villages where the distant past feels like just a little while ago and hidden history everywhere you turn. In East Haddam, there's the Goodspeed Opera House (I recently saw my first Goodspeed production and highly recommend the experience), Nathan Hale Schoolhouse, restaurants, independent shops, historic homes, and quite a lot more.

Mystic River Bascule Bridge (Mystic River, Groton - Stonington)

In a town (which is actually not a town) full of  tourist destinations, you might think a small drawbridge wouldn't earn the status of a beloved attraction. In Mystic, you'd be mistaken. People come from all over to watch the bascule bridge connecting the Groton and Stonington sides of Mystic go up, letting water traffic pass by and creating a waiting line of vehicles and pedestrians, then go down again. This 1920 bridge carried streetcars in its first few years of use; though those are gone, the bridge retains the look of a curiosity from another age.

There's an ice cream shop perfectly situated for bridge-watching, and downtown Mystic both east and west of the river is usually bustling with people shopping for everything from books to accessories or visiting one of a long list of highly rated restaurants. That's all as nice as it sounds, but as in many parts of Connecticut, the best part might just be wandering the waterfront and its historic neighborhoods. (Make sure to get off of Route 1 and see the side streets.) If you're exploring the area near the bridge itself, I strongly recommend leaving your car and walking; other major highlights like Mystic Seaport and Mystic Aquarium, as well as Olde Mistick Village, are slightly further away.

Route 185 Bridge (Farmington River, Simsbury)

The bridge that carries Route 185, aka Hartford Road, across the Farmington River is officially named the Bataan Corregidor Memorial Bridge, but I've never heard anyone call it that. I've never heard anyone call it anything. It's not grand or long or high. It's not ornate or particularly old (it dates from 1947.) Yet as soon as you spot it, you're instantly struck with a sense of calm and an appreciation for the simplicity of the countryside. This is not one of the scary bridges. And Simsbury is not exactly the countryside - it's a large suburb, and Route 185 is the domain of numerous stressed-out commuters. But the town is a perfect example of how rural and suburban can blend so nicely in Hartford County, and this humble green steel bridge seems to tie it all together.

The main (if not the only) reason people normally visit this bridge on purpose is located in the little park across from Nod Road. It's easy to drive over the bridge multiple times and completely miss this attraction, despite it being very, very big. It's the Pinchot Sycamore, and at 23 feet, 7 inches in circumference, it's Connecticut's largest tree. After you see the tree, cross the bridge to Hopmeadow Street to find Simsbury's historic and bustling downtown. Or head to Rosedale Farms and Vineyards, a favorite of photographers looking for that perfect winery shot. And then, of course, there's the Route 185 Bridge's more famous relative, the gorgeous Old Drake Hill Flower Bridge. Simsbury is a great place to walk, and if you're biking, it might be even better.

West Cornwall Covered Bridge (Housatonic River, Cornwall - Sharon)

Perhaps the most picture-ready of Connecticut's covered bridges, and right up there with those in other New England states too, this barn-red wooden covered lattice truss bridge crosses the Housatonic River in Litchfield County. Though this bridge was built in the late 19th century (and modernized in the 1960s and '70s), a series of earlier bridges have connected the small towns of Cornwall and Sharon (West Cornwall is a part of Cornwall) since sometime in the late 1700s. At 15 feet wide, the bridge can only accommodate one car at a time, so drivers on Route 128 (also called the Sharon-Goshen Turnpike) have to take turns. This works out remarkably well, considering how dangerous it seems when you first encounter the system, and adds to the quaintness of the whole experience.

The area surrounding the bridge is simply beautiful (the phrase "unspoiled by time" may pop into your mind as you drive.) On the Cornwall side, you can still see the building once used as the toll house (which I mentioned in my post about the toll house in Plymouth.) It now houses one of a handful of businesses clustered together on these pleasantly curving roads. Drive the other way, towards the New York border, and you'll reach the center of Sharon,* a classic Connecticut small town laid out so its buildings charmingly line up around the green and continue temptingly down little side-streets.

Arrigoni Bridge (Connecticut River, Portland - Middletown)

The delicate, sky-blue Arrigoni Bridge often comes up in rush-hour traffic reports, but when it's not bothering delayed central Connecticut commuters, it's a lovely landmark that can be appreciated from many vantage points. Completed in 1938, this through arch bridge connects a city known for college students and cupcakes to a town that mostly remains off the tourist radar. Its gently curving steel outline seems to float above Route 17 and Route 66 as they cross the water, and at almost 50 feet wide, it manages to evoke the wide-open sort of river crossing you might expect to find in the Midwest rather than spanning the Connecticut River.

Portland, small in population and not-so-small in area, boasts some architectural surprises (two octagon houses in a row!) and looks like a graceful mix of old river city, comfortably blue collar town, and former industrial center. (The main concern was the brownstone quarries, which provided the raw material for landmark buildings in numerous major East Coast cities.) On the other side of the bridge is Middletown, home of Wesleyan University and numerous cultural institutions. For specifics, click to see why I included Middletown in a previous "Top Five" - 5 Underrated Small Connecticut Cities. From the riverfront near Middletown's broad, welcoming Main Street, you can see traffic crossing the Arrigoni Bridge up above. And you'll also see the bridge if you glance up from Route 9 at that strange moment when it morphs unexpectedly from a highway to a local road complete with traffic lights. This arrangement may be changed eventually, because it is ridiculous, but for now, it's a uniquely weird Connecticut driving experience.


*The town centers of both East Haddam and Sharon are high on my list of places to write proper blog posts about in the future!

The Other Corner

The northeast is the "Quiet Corner"; the only corner of Connecticut, as far as I know, that has a name. The southeast corner, where I live, is known for its history and casinos and longstanding ties to the sea, but in travel articles about the state, it’s often ignored. (The Neglected Corner.) The southwest corner, where I grew up, is known mainly for being near New York. (The Hedge Fund Corner, perhaps.) Recently I found myself staring at a map of the northwestern tip of the rectangle and wondering just what, exactly, was up there. I asked my Mom, who still lives in the southwest, but she had no idea either. So we set out in search of the mysteries of what I began to call "the Other Corner."

We drove north from Westport through wooded hills and big box store strip malls and road construction. A tractor supply store appeared and soon enough the suburban sameness was replaced with tiny farms and the Housatonic River began to snake slowly along beside the road. We passed a yellow Cow Crossing sign, shortly followed, comfortingly, by cows.

None of this was new. I’d been to Kent, where the sign announces that you are welcome but you kind of sense that you’re really not, and to preppy Litchfield, where people’s heads swivel around like oscillating fans when an outsider walks into a café. This wasn’t the Corner yet.

A little further north, things began to get odd, in the best possible way. A large stone chimney rose from the ground, surrounded by a circle of grass. It was only a remnant of this region’s industrial past, what’s left of the 1800’s Kent Iron Furnace, but it looked like some sort of mystical ancient monument.

We drove into West Cornwall, which has an old red-painted covered bridge. (You’d think this would be in nearby Cornwall Bridge, but you’d be wrong.) The bridge was dark inside and just wide enough for one vehicle at a time. The town was so perfect and diminutive that we cooed over it as if it was a toy town on a store shelf.

Multiple Cornwalls and numerous Canaans, all pocket-sized and adorable, overlapped in ways incomprehensible to non-locals. In Falls Village, technically another Canaan (don’t ask), the houses were elegant in a way that contemporary buildings never are, as if the town had an ordinance against extras and flourishes. We tried to explore but the gently inclining roads formed triangles which led us back to where we started. It was like they were purposely keeping us from something, vigilantly protecting what was hidden around the next turn.

The Housatonic reappeared on the other side of the road, no longer placid but flowing swiftly. The views became more expansive and the hills less thickly wooded. Now we were really in the corner of the map.

We turned east where Connecticut borders New York and Massachusetts and drove until we arrived at Haystack Mountain State Park. We drove up a one-way road, and up and up, wondering what would happen if someone came down. But no one did. When the road ended we walked, first along a soft path of dead leaves under a canopy of trees, then up an increasingly steep hill, then up stone steps two feet high. After half an hour, we were over 1,700 feet above sea level, staring up at a sturdy stone tower. A staircase curved around the inside of the cylinder; the upper level had a peaked wooden roof and a 360 degree panorama of the Berkshires. We felt thoroughly alone, but for some reason we whispered.

We drove on, intending to complete the Corner by continuing west, and then suddenly we were lost. Deeply, profoundly lost, the kind of lost you can only get in your home state on a clear day with a map on your lap. If it wasn’t all so pretty, so serene and leafy and empty, I would almost have suspected a plot. If I lived in a place like this, in one of the grand yet understated white houses that occasionally interrupted the defensive line of trees beside the road, would I want people to be able to find it?

We had been lost for so long that I couldn’t believe we hadn’t crossed a state line, when suddenly we were found. Or rather, we found something: a whole city (or in this case, a city wrapped in a town) sprang up seemingly out of the earth. Winsted, with its broad main street (widened after the devastating Great Flood of 1955 destroyed the original) looked like an Ohio River town taken apart and transported to New England to be reassembled. We passed a movie theatre, a post office, coffee shops, neat lamp-posts with banners in a row. I stared as if I’d never seen such things in my life.

We abandoned the Corner plan and zigzagged up to Riverton, which appeared to be waiting for a 4th of July parade. Flags waved proudly on both sides of the main street and the smart buildings practically begged to be draped in bunting. Even a disused factory looked distinguished. We entered the adorable white-painted General Store (really a convenience store-slash-small deli), where we looked similar enough to the other people, but heads swiveled and we could not have felt more out of place. The attitude, like the architecture, was vintage Western Connecticut: a subtle but unmistakable dismissal. We accepted their judgment, and started back.

So I’d answered some of my questions about the Other Corner, but now I had more. I wanted to learn what roads I’d been on when I was lost. I wanted to know what gave the stone structures and silent woods and deceptive roads their mysterious feeling. I wanted to figure out what was so good up there that they didn’t want me to find it.