It was a semi-normal Friday afternoon, as commuters trudged through rush-hour traffic on Interstate 84. Only I, an Idaho Statesman suburbs reporter, was nearly 50 feet above, clinging to a wooden beam.
The beam swayed and tipped my head toward the cars below. I was at the twistiest point of the wood-and-rope bridge, its spiral like a DNA helix turned on its side. To move forward or backward, I’d have to let my weight sink further onto my wrists and risk going completely upside down.
“Are you stuck?” a man’s voice said, more bemused than concerned…