November 12, 1936 to August 28, 2013.
I’m excited to drive over the eastern span of the “old” Bay Bridge on its last day in service.
I’ve always been partial to the Bay Bridge, a working man’s bridge, the red-headed stepchild of the Bay Area compared to its glamorous twin, for it’s the span that gets me into the great city of San Francisco, about which I like most everything except its baseball team.
