The road running through here was dirt when I was growing up. The county would come through three or four times a year and grade the roads. You could see a car coming for miles during dry weather. It wasn't any fun when it rained though. There is a creek that meanders along beside the road about half a mile north of me, when we get a lot of rain it will get up over the road. Back then; it would wash big sections of the road out.
There was a little one-lane bridge over the creek. It had a metal frame with planks laid down over it. When it was muddy, the mud would come off your tires onto the planks of the bridge, making it very treacherous.
We were coming home from a horse sale late one night. I was maybe eight years old at the time, it had been raining like hell and I was sleepy and grumpy. I wanted to go home! We got to the bridge and started across, about halfway the truck started sliding. We ended up with one of the front tires off the bridge completely. The only thing that kept us from ending up in the creek was the flimsy little guardrail. It bent the hood of the truck a little, scratched the paint, but it saved our bacon. My brother walked about half a mile in the rain to the neighbors, who brought a tractor down and pulled us out.
I think that was probably the most scared I'd ever been in my life up ‘til then.
I miss the dirt roads. I don't miss that bridge.