Walking the Bridges

At ten o’clock on Labor Day morning, my friend Pat and I joined about thirty other people outside the Freighthouse in Ypsilanti’s Depot Town for a walking tour of the city’s bridges.  Our host, amateur historian Stefan Szumko, told us the walk was part of Ypsi’s bicentennial celebration, but I hope he repeats the walk, regardless of the year.  Wanting to learn more about the place he lives, Szumko had immersed himself in the area’s historical museums and archives and learned so much that now he wanted to share it.

     From the Freighthouse, we strolled over to the nearby Forest Street bridge.  It’s currently closed for deck repair, so we couldn’t walk on it.  So Szumko told us about the manufactory that used to sit there on the banks of the Huron:  Ypsilanti Underwear.  The company was one of the town’s major employers during the nineteenth century, producing silk, cotton, and woolen undies.  Its biggest claim to fame?  One-piece union suits, which became known as Ypsilantis.  When I looked up the company after the tour, I found that the manufacturing endeavor also gave rise to a fair bit of doggerel, such as:  “If love grows cold, do not despair.  There is always Ypsilanti Underwear.”  Or:  “A sculptor of Nymphs and Bacchantes / Omitted the coats and the panties. / A kind-hearted madam / Who knew that she had ‘em / Supplied them with warm Ypsilantis.”

     Next up was a three-way pedestrian bridge, known as the Tridge, a lovely bit of design, engineering, and construction.  Tridge itself sits under the Cross Street bridge.  Each bridge crosses the Huron River, and the Tridge connects Riverside Park, Frog Island Park, and Depot Town.  During the course of our tour, we enjoyed walking all the options.  

     It was agreeable, as well, to wend our way along the river through the parks.

     At least, it was, while we could stay in the shade.  Monday was a hot day.  A really hot day.  Humid, too.  I’d put ice cubes in my water bottle and dressed for the weather, including a hat and sunglasses.  Best of all, I’d put a washcloth in my backpack.  It was just the ticket for mopping my brow.  And face.  And neck.  After a bit, I didn’t bother returning it to the pack between uses, and just carried it.

     To distract us during our steps in the sun, our guide told us about how Riverside Park had, for some time, been the site of a canal, dug as a mill race for the various mills that used to be in downtown Ypsilanti, including a lumber mill, a flour mill and, if I remember correctly, a paper mill.  Szumko is a former classroom teacher.  He had prepared for this walk not just by steeping himself in information, but with an eye toward shepherding an eager but straggly group of adults, what would be entertaining, and—thank goodness—where the shade was.  He even provided, via QR code, a map of our route.  Furthermore, he seemed to be enjoying himself.  He must have been terrific in the classroom.  His students, no doubt, adored him. 

     Next up were another graceful footbridge out of the park and the Michigan Street bridge, a heavily trafficked bridge built in 1912 and still in good shape.  It was not, however, shaded, so we didn’t linger.  We put our heads down and kept walking for a long block or so of downtown, till we arrived at a historical marker about the Ypsilanti Ann Arbor Interurban.  This service took passengers from one bustling metropolis to the other, via streetcars, which were powered first by steam and later by electricity.  Riding the Ypsi-Ann was very popular.  Cars ran every ninety minutes, and the fare in 1890 was ten cents per trip.  With the advent of automobiles and buses, alas, the interurban stopped running in 1929.

     It was at this point in our tour that our guide directed those of us planning to participate in “the ten-K” to split off from te group.  What the nature of the 10K was, he didn’t specify.  A longer walk?  A race in the heat?  In any case, six people left us, and they didn’t look like runners.  The rest stuck with him till the end of what he’d billed as a 5K walk.

     There were more bridges.  The blurb had promised ten of the city’s fourteen, only since he’d written that copy, our guide had discovered another three or four bridges.  Maybe he’ll choose a different set next time he offers a tour.  Pat and I would be happy to go again, especially if the weather were mild.

8 September 2023