A reflection on connection, design, and the quiet work of maintaining relationships
Prologue: The Ride
The idea for this theory, it began in the rain.
A friend, let’s call him Rayno, and I were cycling one morning, talking about a mutual friend who’s been… difficult. We’ll call him Brice. But before I get into that, let me rewind to where it began — three weeks ago, by the Wolf River.
It was the usual scene. We were by the river, by the bike trail. Three or four vehicles with bike racks. Men in tights, speedster helmets and bikes. All braggadocio and arrogance, one would think. Not these men. They all possess a strange humility, and a certain quietude. This is my second ride with them. On the previous ride, we pushed hard, but we didn’t continuously slipstream each other. We often rode side by side, talking to each other about our lives, our wives, our families.
This ride, there is a new man joining us. “I’m Scott, good to meet you,” I said as I offered a warm handshake.
“I’m Brice, wow I’m super excited to be here. Thank you guys so much for letting me join you. I run every day and bike every day, I hope you all can keep up!” Ok. He’s one of those guys. I look to the other men and see some eyes roll.
Rayno, who invited Brice, takes an opportunity at an aside to tell me, “Brice is a really good guy. You just have to crack the shell. He’s very socially awkward.”
“I get that,” I told him.
Later, on the ride, “Fred, hey Fred, wait up,” shouts Brice as he pulls up next to me. I look around. Fred is actually about 30 yards ahead. He’s always ahead.
“I’m Scott, not Fred,” I told him.
“Oh my gosh oh my gosh I’m so sorry. Just call me Alex,” he says. Now I’m confused.
“Alex? I thought your name was Brice?”
“It is, but I need to make things even, you have to get even with me. I can’t believe I forgot your name! I’m such an idiot!” and he gushes on a bit about how stupid he feels and so on.
These are the pillars upon which our bridge, that thing that connects him to me, will be built.
Later, we stopped at a cafe. Brice can’t stop talking. He is telling us about a trip he took to his homeland.
“Everyone there is so poor. My family is so poor there. I paid for everything. I took everyone out for meals, I paid for it all. I have so much, I am so blessed, so wealthy, I almost don’t know what to do with all my money,” he said.
He is laying down the rebar for the decking, and the substructure pylons aren't even all in play yet.
I began to speak in french to one of our french friends. Brice immediately cuts me off, speaking french very rapidly. I’m not sure what he said. I’m not sure he knows what he said.
“I’m fluent in french and spanish,” he added.
“That’s great, how did you learn it so well?” I asked. He goes into a lengthy monologue about his childhood and the background of his family.
He's putting down the final decking, and it's underwater.
Later, we are riding back. “Fred, hey Fred,” he shouted to me.
“I’m Scott,” I remind him.
What I learned about Brice on this ride is that he tends to speak abruptly, saying really random things. He alternates between harsh negativity, self-adulation, arrogant statements, insecure observations, wealth bragging, wealth shaming, etc. It runs the gamut and feels like he is penetration testing conversational interlocution — trying a variety of methods to see if he can snag your interest in hearing him monologue. My thoughts at first were around neurodivergence. I suspect severe ADD, multiple personality disorder, borderline personality disorder.
and I even suggested loneliness might be part of the problem—that some people simply don’t know how to ask for company. Some people don’t know how to create the negative space that will allow others to fill the void and permit the function of bridge building.
Brice kept calling me by the name of someone else in the group, a guy named Fred. I corrected him several times, but he kept doing it. Getting a name mixed up repeatedly, such as confusing Greg with Craig or Ann with Anna is understandable. These people should just understand that their names are similar and just accept their fate. However, Scott vs Fred? And it happened more than twice on the ride. It was either an expression of neurodivergence, or a manipulation tactic to attempt to relegate me to a social position of irrelevancy.
A couple weeks later, on a subsequent outing, the parking lot for the preserver where we would ride was closed because it was predawn. There is some confusion in the group chat. “Where are we meeting?” I mention the parking lot where I am, I drop a pin, and suggest we park here. I didn’t see any signs prohibiting it. I see a car with two bikes on it and they appear to be my friends (who I really don’t know that well. I flash my lights at them. I had simply seen a car with bikes, assumed it was my friends, and signaled to them with my lights. When the car pulled up, this guy rolls down his window and said to me, “You’re not Red.”
I get confused, “what?” I ask.ed
“You’re not Red,” he said.
“What?”
Finally, “Fred, you aren’t Fred,” he said. This really scrambled my brain because no, I’m not Fred or Red, and, I had developed the impression that this guy was looking for someone named Red. Now I’m in full bore cognitive dissonance.
“Don’t I know you?” I asked. He is that guy, Brice, from the previous ride, but suddenly I have completely forgotten his name. “What is your name?”
“Brice,” he said.
“Ahhh. Right.” You’re that guy.
The span of the bridge stretches, draws thin into the horizon of the distance. The thick cables of the suspension collapse and compress within the confines of a stone arch and then twist in a riot of aeroelastic flutter, undulating like a ribbon with ululations of creaking and snapping concrete as it crashes into the water below.
This is a bit of an aside, but it does speak to how we can evaluate, and make determinations about what kind of bridge builder or owner we are dealing with.
When someone you barely know approaches you and calls you by the wrong name, or simply speaks gibberish, it has a strange, neurological impact on you. Your actual thought process may question if you even know them. The more times you are called by the wrong name, the less you may actually recognize them. In my experience, the more unfamiliar to me he became until I was quite certain I had flagged down some other random bicyclists who were looking for a friend named Red. See the sidebar for an explanation of the actual neurological process.
“Brice,” I said to him.”Maybe you don’t want to live in your mistakes with other people. It’s not helpful or funny to keep reminding someone of how you can’t remember their name,” I said.
Part of my confusion was because I had met him previously, and gotten familiar with him while he was wearing a helmet. It’s like at the dog park — you recognize people by their dog. Bikers recognize each other by their bikes and their helmets.
Later, there was an incident during the ride — actually a couple — with Brice — that led me to some deeper introspection about him. Don’t get me wrong — I genuinely found myself disliking Brice, but my dislike made me savagely curious. The man is a curiosity and I don’t know if it is intentional — if he is aware of his actions and they are some how intended. However, his behavior at times is unhelpful. At one point, we had gotten ahead of the other riders and we stopped and waited. Rayno came riding up.
“Brice broke down, something is going on with his crank.” We rode back and started going to tooltown on his bike. We figured out that he had somehow managed to break his rear hub axle. While we were trying to fix it, he wouldn’t stop talking. Stressing about his investments, “How am I going to pay for this? All my investments are going to shit. I have no money, I can’t afford any expensive bike repairs,” and “I’m going to tear the guys apart that sold me this bike–“
“Brice,” I said. “This isn’t helpful. We need positivity, not negativity here.” Then, once we were done and had decided we couldn’t perform a trailside repair, I asked him, “How much did you pay for this bike? Not because I care, but because I want to give you something you should say to the guy where you bought it.”
The structure is entirely under water.
“Two thousand dollars,” he answered.
“Ok, here is what you say: ‘Two thousand dollars seems like a lot of money to have spent on a bike that breaks my first time out on it.’ Then Shut. The. Fuck Up. Create a negative space. Allow them to breathe life into it. They will solve the problem for you. I guarantee it.”
I was thinking, perhaps Brice lacks, completely, an internal locus of control. He needs that voice in his head that he can pattern against — at least until he develops his own.
We made sure Brice got somewhere where he could call for an Uber, and then continued our ride. Toward the end of the ride, Rayno and I had a chance to have some one-on-one conversation.
“Wow,” I said. “Brice. Interesting guy. He’s just all over the place.”
“Yeah, but listen — I’ve known Brice a long time. He wasn’t always like this. It’s gotten worse.”
I suggested, “Perhaps there has been some recent trauma, like a head injury? Or maybe it is something neurological. Like a tumor. Like that guy you learned about in history — the one who got a pipe shot through his head. Didn’t be become really…un-level-headed?”
He answered, “He’s lost a close family member recently…”
“Or maybe it’s a symptom of loneliness,” I suggest.
“Loneliness?” asks Rayno.
“Yes, loneliness can be profoundly damaging to psychiatric health. At least, that is what my psychiatrist says.”
Just then we crossed a bridge slick with a hundred puddles. Ever slat of the decking made a spash as we rode over them. Rayno comments, “There’s a lot of water on that bridge. I’m surprised it doesn’t dissolve or disintegrate.”
Without missing a beat, I said, “Or it could be a brain tumor, and have nothing to do with the water at all.”
We laughed, but the metaphor stuck in my mind. The bridge. The water. The slow, quiet threat of erosion. Some relationships fail because of what gathers on their surface, and some because of deeper faults we can’t see. Either way, the water is there. The vulnerability is there. And that’s where this theory began. First, we will discuss the four archetypes of bridge owners/builders/users.
Sidebar: Cognitive Dissonance Exploit
Expectation setup: The hippocampus retrieves recent contextual memory: car with bikes here, driving slow, looking at me → my friends. The prefrontal cortex uses that cue to generate an expectation: friend encounter imminent.
The man approaches and speaks unexpected words. The anterior cingulate cortex (ACC) detects conflict between the predicted and actual sensory input. The result? Context mismatch. Cognition is fractured and seeks repair.
Language resolution attempt. Wernicke’s area receives the phrase “You’re not Red.” It fails to resolve semantic coherence and cycles through phonetic alternatives to restore meaning (“Red?” “Fred?”), while at the same time, attempting to resolve a possible false recognition.
Recognition correction – Identify Friend or Foe (IFF). The fusiform face area (FFA) withdraws a prior positive identification based on visual similarity and context.
The brain updates the recognition model: unknown person, not friend. Random bikers hailed by accident?
Neurochemical adjustment.
The locus coeruleus releases norepinephrine to increase attention. Dopamine release supports rapid model updating.
Cortisol output rises slightly in response to amygdala signaling.
Context rebuild and name-retrieval sequence: Prefrontal cortex integrates new data: incorrect recognition event → stranger interaction. Fusiform face area (FFA) re-activates a stable face representation.
Anterior temporal lobe (ATL) / perirhinal cortex activates contextual memory—where I know him from.
ATL → left middle and inferior temporal regions attempt lemma access (semantic → lexical).
Left temporal pole and posterior superior temporal gyrus/sulcus attempt a phonological retrieval of the name.
Recent competitors (“Red / Fred”) occupy the phonological workspace.
Left inferior frontal gyrus (selection control) fails to suppress the active competitor trace.
Result: tip-of-the-tongue state—semantic node active, phonological form unavailable.
Arousal and norepinephrine output remain elevated, prolonging the block. When I ask his name, external cueing re-engages ATL and frontal selection; phonological access restores; name retrieved; cognitive coherence re-established within seconds and the face becomes familiar.
The Four Archetypes
Every relationship requires a bridge—some abstract structure that allows two people to meet across distance, difference, or time. Yet people approach bridge-building differently. Four archetypes capture the tendencies.
1. The Bridge Presenter
Presenters offer the same bridge to everyone. It’s a prefabricated design: strong, familiar, and identical. “This is who I am; take it or leave it.” These bridges are efficient but impersonal. They work best on level ground—and fail on uneven terrain or over troubled waters.
2. The Bridge Builder
Builders roll up their sleeves beside you. They discuss materials, adjust the span, argue over design, and in the end build something unique. These bridges last because they are shared creations, infused with compromise and care.
3. The Bridge Maintainer
Maintainers see structure. They can walk up to any bridge—yours, theirs, or another’s—and instantly sense where tension or rust is forming. They clear drains, tighten bolts, patch quietly. They understand that connection doesn’t survive on intent alone; it requires maintenance.
4. The Bridge Destroyer
Destroyers see bridges and want them gone. Sometimes out of fear, sometimes pain, sometimes habit. They feel safer in isolation, or believe nothing built will last. Their destruction is tragic, yet instructive: they remind us not everyone seeks crossing, and not every bridge deserves rebuilding.
I. Water on the Bridge
A bridge that collects water may still look sound. The surface gleams. The reflections are pretty. But underneath, corrosion begins.
Water on the bridge is what happens when communication stops flowing—when silence replaces speech, when tension pools instead of drains. The danger is subtle: stillness mistaken for calm. Over time, what was once strong becomes slick, then brittle, then unsafe.
All bridges are vulnerable to it. Even the beautiful ones.
II. Ten Bridges of Relationship
1. The Covered Bridge — Shelter in a Storm
Old, sturdy, enclosed. Covered bridges hold the sound of rain and memory. They keep out weather but also hide decay. Comfort and complacency are often neighbors.
2. The Suspension Bridge — Strength in Tension
Suspension bridges survive by balance. Their flexibility, not their stiffness, keeps them standing. Relationships like this sway with change yet endure through trust and counterweight.
3. The Toll Bridge — The Cost of Crossing
Some bridges charge admission. Attention, validation, allegiance—each crossing comes with a fee. The key is discernment: is the toll maintaining the bridge or enriching the collector?
4. The Drawbridge — Boundaries and Defense
Drawbridges protect as much as they isolate. They rise at the hint of danger, fall at the invitation of trust. Mastering one’s drawbridge is the art of timing—when to defend, when to welcome.
5. The Rope Bridge — Fragile but Courageous
Rope bridges demand faith. The boards creak, the wind tugs, and still you cross. Vulnerability and fear coexist here, but that tension is life itself. The wobble means it’s working.
6. The Open-Spandrel Arch Bridge — Angels in the Architecture
The Colorado Street Bridge in Pasadena is an open-spandrel masterpiece: arches within arches, weight lifted by grace. Light and air move freely through its frame, reducing pressure while revealing beauty.
The best relationships mirror this. They distribute weight through proportion and openness, not control. Each curve supports another. There is divinity in that geometry—the “angels in the architecture,” a term in design refers to hidden structures that provide unseen, and perhaps even unnecessary, strength a la over-engineering.
Grace, in this form, isn’t decoration. It’s structural integrity.
7. The Flooded Bridge — Neglect and Forgetting
Some bridges have sunk beneath years of silence. You can still see them when the tide of life recedes—ghost outlines of what once connected two shores. Whether to rebuild or remember becomes the question.
8. The Collapsed Bridge — Lessons in Failure
Collapse feels sudden but rarely is. It begins with unattended cracks, long before the final fall. When a bridge fails, the ruins are a classroom. Don’t curse the storm; study the blueprints.
9. The Hidden Bridge — The Quiet Miracle
Sometimes a crossing appears where you least expect it—a conversation that dissolves years of distance, a kindness that rebuilds faith in humanity. Hidden bridges remind us the world remains secretly interconnected.
10. The Floating Bridge — Impermanence and Grace
Not every bridge is meant to last. Some are seasonal crossings, meant to carry us partway. Their brevity doesn’t cheapen them. Meaning is not measured in permanence but in sincerity.
III. Maintenance: The Work of Staying Connected
Bridge maintenance is unglamorous work: tightening bolts, clearing drains, walking the length after every storm. In relationships, it’s the apology made before resentment sets in, the honest check-in, the willingness to listen.
Neglect is corrosion; perfectionism is paralysis. The real craft lies between them—care without obsession, repair without blame. Bridge Builders and Maintainers understand this rhythm instinctively. Presenters often resist it. Destroyers prove what happens when it stops.
IV. The Circle Closes
Every bridge, no matter how exquisite, is susceptible to the same quiet danger: water on the bridge.
That’s the truth behind all connection. The gleam of pooled water may look harmless, even beautiful, but left alone it will eat the steel from within. The silence mistaken for peace, the calm that hides decay—it’s the same pattern repeated in every human heart.
To love someone is not to promise the bridge will never rust. It is to promise to walk it after the rain, together, to see where the water gathers, to laugh at the puddles, and sometimes to joke, “Maybe it’s not the water at all. Maybe it’s just a brain tumor.”
Because maybe it is. Maybe the problem isn’t the bridge. But the point is that you were both there, crossing anyway.
And that’s what keeps the bridges standing.
Notes & References
- “Angels in the Architecture,” Aisling Shannon Rusk, Angels in the Architecture, blog (2013).
- Design of Bridge Deck Drainage, Federal Highway Administration, HEC-21 (FHWA).
- Bridge Hydraulics: Deck Drainage, South Dakota Drainage Manual, SD DOT.
- Bridge Drainage Systems, NCHRP Synthesis 67, Transportation Research Board.
- The Colorado Street Bridge (1913), National Park Service Historic American Engineering Record.
Closing Reflection
Which bridge are you maintaining right now—and where might the water be pooling unseen?
Consider walking it again, before the next storm.