Beyond Wood
As a general contractor, I occasionally landed construction projects that used building materials beyond wood, such as concrete, steel, aluminum, sheet metal, industrial plastics, and corrugated galvanized pipe. Like any construction job, the same common-sense approach to building applies no matter what materials are used. That was my experience in the winter of 1989, in Clifton, Virginia.
By springtime of that year, I had built a two-year reputation as a small-job general contractor, designing and building diverse projects in and around Clifton. One afternoon, Thomas Henderson, the local president of a rural homeowners' association, wanted me to inspect a failing bridge spanning a small creek that provided access to seven homes and properties. The existing bridge had a pair of juxtaposed concrete abutments on opposite banks supporting four steel I-beams with 4x16 oak planks bolted on top. The bridge was designed to carry its own weight and any vehicle that traveled across it. The road leading to and from the bridge was paved with #21A gravel. The creek flowed steadily most of the year, but after heavy rain, it could swell to levels above the oak planks.
No one living in the subdivision knew how old the existing bridge was. George Washington lived not too far away. Perhaps he used the old bridge back in the 1700s. The bridge was intact, but each new flood washed out the soil behind the concrete abutments. Another contributing factor, many homeowners in the subdivision believed, was that moles were burrowing behind the abutments, causing further erosion.
Thomas Henderson suggested replacing the existing bridge with a culvert pipe; he feared the same thing would happen again if we rebuilt it using the existing design. Replacing the bridge with Corrugated Galvanized Pipe (CGP) would be less expensive and faster to implement. With CGP, we would only need to remove the 4x12 planks and the I-Beams and, after a little grading, drop the pipe directly into the creek. Easy peasy. But because the bridge was the only access to the subdivision homes, we needed to open the roadway as soon as possible.
We also needed to determine the CGP pipe diameter—my job. An inadequately sized pipe could wash out in the spring rains. A pipe that was too large would create a hump in the roadway that could ice up in the winter and make crossing the creek difficult. Another factor was weight; like the existing bridge, the pipe needed to support the heaviest vehicle crossing into the subdivision. After extensive study with the pipe company's engineers, we chose two five-foot-diameter corrugated galvanized pipes, placed side by side, at .064 gauge. After finalizing the design, I began preparing the drawings for submission to the building authorities.
After a week of drawing plans and elevations in my Centreville office, I went to Rockville to knock back a few beers and two-step the night away. I arrived before dark, found a seat at the bar, and ordered a beer.
"Is that you?" a voice behind me asked.
"Huh?" I said, turning around, shocked. "Candi?"
"How do you know my name?" she asked, equally shocked.
"You won't believe it," I said.
"Try me."
"Well, weeks ago, maybe months, I saw you here."
"Yes. I remember," she replied.
"You were with someone else—another guy—but I thought we shared a moment when I sat on the other side of you at the bar. This bar. You asked me where I was from, and I asked you the same. 'California,' you said. Then I went to the restroom, but when I returned, you were leaving with your date—I thought he was probably jealous. I watched you and your date head for the door. At the last second, before you walked out, you looked my way, as if you had forgotten to tell me goodbye, or something. Then you left, before I ever got your name. Feeling disappointed, I retook my seat at the bar and ordered another beer. When the bartender returned, he said, 'Her name is Candi. She sometimes comes here on Sunday nights.'"
"So, one of the bartenders told you my name?" she asked.
"Yes, and I came here every Sunday night for a month, hoping to run into you, but you were never here, or I missed you, until tonight, Friday, of all nights. Are you here with someone...that guy?"
"No, he's history. I'm here alone. So, you know my name, but I don't know yours," Candi said.
"Matt's my name. Would you like to dance?"
"I thought you would never ask. Let's go!" she said as she grabbed my hand and pulled me to the dance floor, where we spent the rest of the evening. For reasons unknown, Candi had to leave at midnight, but before she left, she handed me a closed matchbook and kissed me on the cheek.
Saturday morning, I woke up feeling good; a new woman was in my life. I brewed coffee, then reached for the matchbook Candi had given me. On the inside were these words surrounded by a lipstick kiss:
555-1212
Call me!
Candi
The following week, I finished the blueprints for the bridge project and submitted them to the county officials Thursday afternoon. They said that, given the nature of the project—replacing an existing bridge with culvert pipe—several departments would need to study it further and that they would contact Thomas Henderson when they approved the project.
That night, I called Candi.
"Hello?" an unfamiliar woman said.
"Hello, may I speak to Candi?" I said, thinking I may have misdialed.
"Hold on a sec, lemme get her."
While I waited, I heard mixed people talking and a baby crying in the background.
"Hello?"
"Candi?"
"Matt?"
"Yes. Did I catch you at a bad time?"
"No. I just got home from work. I'm glad you called."
"Are you busy tomorrow night?" I asked.
"No, what did you have in mind?"
"I thought that maybe we could go to dinner, then hang out at my place in Centreville afterward."
"Okay, but it's a long drive from Rockville to Centreville. Should I plan to stay the night?"
"I think that would be a good idea."
"I bet you do," she said, snickering. "I have to work tomorrow; how about I drive to Centreville when I get off at 6? I should be there about 7."
"Sounds good. I'll see you tomorrow night."
On Friday, I spent the entire morning cleaning and vacuuming my apartment to prepare for Candi's visit, then went to the store to buy beer and wine for drinks after dinner, plus bacon, eggs, potatoes, and tortillas for Saturday morning breakfast.
When Candi arrived, we went out for Burgers and Beer, then went back to my place to sip on wine and fool around. We had a lot in common. With her growing up in Southern California and me growing up in South Texas, we shared cultural influences from Mexico, mainly the food and beer, but also the people.
The next morning, we shared stories about our lives, made breakfast tacos, and drank coffee until the second pot was empty. Everything was going well, but Candi seemed to grow nervous, as if she needed to say something before returning to Rockville; maybe I was imagining it.
"Do you have roommates in Rockville?" I asked.
"I am living with my brother and his wife and their two children."
That explains the crying baby, I thought.
"Matt...I have something to tell you," Candi said, looking away.
Shit. Here it comes. Let me guess. She's married. No, she has the clap. No, she used to be a man.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I have a daughter," Candi said.
"Well...okay...that's not a big deal; you're not married, right?"
"No, I'm not married."
"Then what is it?"
"My daughter is a newborn; she's only 6 months old."
"Oh wow! What happened?"
"We were never married. The father lives in California. I didn't want him to be a part of her life, so I moved away, but he's been sending me money to help out."
"That's good."
"Maybe. Matt, I hope you don't think I'm a terrible person. I didn't know how to tell you about Carrie. That's her name."
"Do you still have feelings for the father?"
"No. I found out I was pregnant after we broke up."
"Is that when you moved to Maryland?"
"Yes. My brother and sister-in-law offered to take care of me through the pregnancy and until I found a place of my own."
From then on, every moment I spent with Candi, I also spent with Carrie. We were like a new family, with our diapers, strollers, and kid toys. I wasn't sure I was ready for that kind of commitment, but we agreed to take it slow and see what happens. No rush.
For the rest of the summer, into Fall, I worked on several diverse construction contracts, including a 30-foot-long countertop at Bennie Carnes' furniture store, a 500-square-foot deck for a family in Burke, and two new drafting projects that kicked off the design side of my business.
In mid-October, Jeff told me about a Halloween party the Texas State Society organized in downtown Washington, D.C.
"It's a costume party, Matt," Jeff said. "It'll be fun! Bring Candi along!"
"Do you like her, Jeff?"
"Yeah, she's cool. She beats the hell out of Bob's secretary. I'm glad you finally met someone new."
I was happy Jeff approved of Candi, but he didn't know anything about the baby and backstory.
On the evening of November 15th, Thomas Henderson called out of the blue to tell me the county officials had approved the bridge project and we were 'go' to break ground.
The next day, excited about the new job, I ordered three five-foot-diameter, twenty-foot-long pipes and scheduled delivery for two weeks later. That put the delivery date near December 1st. The project deployment date was uncomfortably close to my planned Christmas vacation to Corpus Christi, Texas, on December 19th. If everything went well, I should have been able to fly out of Dulles Airport as planned. But the weather took a severe turn. Before Thanksgiving, we received approximately six inches of snow on top of what had fallen nearly every day for almost two weeks.
I spent Thanksgiving with Candi and her family in their little townhouse just north of Rockville. After turkey and dressing, Candi's brother and I watched the Philadelphia Eagles beat the pants off the Dallas Cowboys (27-0). Spending time with a family added warmth to the holidays, even though it wasn't my own. I spent the night at their house and left early the next day to get back to work.
The pipe arrived on schedule, but the severe cold and a foot of snow would make working conditions torturous, so we decided to wait for the weather to improve. We waited and waited. Yes, conditions changed. They got worse. Temperatures sometimes dropped near zero, with wind chills that were unimaginable.
One snowy weekend, I went to Candi's company's Christmas party in Gaithersburg, Maryland, as her date. Her employer owned a sprawling country mansion decorated inside and out with a million twinkling lights.
"What are your plans for Christmas, Matt?" Candi asked.
"Months ago, before I met you, I purchased a plane ticket to visit my folks in Corpus Christi. I'm supposed to fly out the day after I finish the creek job."
"You won't be here for Christmas?"
"No, but I'll only be gone five days, and will be back for New Year's Eve. We can do Christmas then or before I leave it you want."
"I don't want you to go at all," Candi said, displeased. "Can't you cancel your trip and get a refund for your ticket?"
"I probably could, but I don't want to. I haven't seen my family in a while, and I owe them a visit."
I could sense the cogs turning in Candi's brain—he doesn't love me enough to change his plans for me.
On Sunday, December 17th, I met my partner, Aaron, on the job site to inspect the creek and working conditions. Aaron was a skilled heavy equipment operator and general construction worker. His common-sense approach to problem-solving and die-hard persistence made him an indispensable worker on jobs like this. The creek would soon freeze, making the job grueling, if not impossible, until it thawed sometime in the spring. But water still flowed beneath the icy surface, so we decided to start work the next day. The existing bridge was in questionable condition, or we would have waited for warmer weather.
To prepare for day one, we ordered a load of #57 stone for the corrugated pipe foundation and a few loads of #21A gravel to build up the road over the CGP. We rented a large backhoe to help demolish the wooden bridge and carry the heavy, banded CGP sections from a nearby pasture to the creek bed. We scheduled the backhoe and gravel for delivery early the next day.
Aaron and I exchanged raised eyebrows, wondering whether we were making the right decision and exposing ourselves to severe cold and icy conditions. We decided to buy a 12-pack of beer, head over to Aaron's garage, make a list of the tools we would need, and create the job-day schedule. We drank two beers each and left the remaining full cans on his workbench, thinking the chilly weather would keep them cold.
Afterward, I drove home and got ready for bed. Lying in bed, I got nervous about our work schedule. What if the gravel does not get delivered? What if the forklift doesn't show up? What if we cannot finish the job in time for the homeowners to travel in and out of their subdivision? After about 30 minutes, I drifted off into a deep sleep.
On Monday, December 18th, I woke up at 3 a.m. thinking about the tremendous job I was facing and that I was only about 26 hours away from flying home to Texas for Christmas. If we get lucky, I thought, this job could wrap up early, and I could still make my flight. It was too late to reschedule or receive a refund for my plane ticket.
At 5 a.m., I got out of bed and put on a pot of coffee. It was job day, after all, and it was time to get moving! I looked at the thermometer I had mounted outside my window: 22 degrees—somewhat warmer than at the beginning of the month. I knew I needed to dress for the extreme cold. I drank some coffee and jumped in the shower. I took a hot, steamy one, thinking it would be the last time I would be warm that day. What to wear? I started with a pair of silk Long Johns, which are supposed to be better than standard cotton thermals because you don't sweat under them (so they say). Then I put on thin cotton socks under wool socks, a T-shirt, jeans, a sweatshirt, an insulated flannel shirt, and insulated rubber work boots. I planned to put on another layer of insulated coveralls and a heavy jacket once I got to the job site. I filled my thermos with coffee, grabbed my coveralls and heavy coat, and was on the road before dawn.
On the last curve before the job site, at sunrise, I noticed two piles of gravel. They delivered the #21A and #57. Good, I thought, one less thing to worry about. Aaron was already on site, leaning against his solid black Ford pickup, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette in the crisp morning air. I parked my Toyota truck nearby, rolled out of the driver's seat like a tootsie roll, cocooned in heavy clothing, and began walking toward him.
"Cold enough fer ya?" I asked in an exaggerated country accent.
"Hell no! Bring it on!" he replied with a chuckle.
"You just keep telling yourself that, Bozo," I said, continuing the accent, "It's colder than a well-digger's ass out here, and it ain't likely gonna get better!"
He wore similar clothing. We laughed at each other for being bold enough (or stupid enough) to work in such extreme wintry conditions. We talked about the project, smoked cigarettes, and drank coffee for about fifteen minutes until the backhoe arrived. We unloaded it from the flatbed trailer and went to work.
In the pasture, three 20-foot corrugated galvanized pipes lay waiting for me to convert them into two 30-foot pipes. To do this, I planned to cut one 20-footer in half and band the two 10-foot halves to each of the 20-footers. I needed the 30-foot lengths so the gravel on either side of the 16-foot-wide roadway wouldn't be too steep, leaving the pipe ends open and unobstructed.
All morning and afternoon, it was sunny and calm. It got too warm for my heavy coat, so I worked in my coveralls for a few hours. We felt good working in the snow, and the job was going according to plan.
While I cut one of the pipes in half with a torch, Aaron used the backhoe to remove the oak planks from the bridge and expose the I-beams. He tried to loosen the I-beams with the backhoe's bucket, but could only remove two. The others were cemented to the abutments better than we expected.
I put the banding material on the pipe sections, bolted them down, and then wheeled the torch to the bridge. I cut and removed the third I-beam with the torch, but it took too long; the cold kept solidifying the slag on the cut before it fell to the ground, re-welding the I-beam faster than I could cut it, until we eventually ran out of oxygen and acetylene. I suggested we rent a quickie-saw and a couple of abrasive blades to cut out the I-Beams. We drove Aaron's truck to Fairfax and picked up the saw and blades we needed from a tool rental company. We decided to take a break and eat hamburgers for dinner before returning to the creek. It was 4 p.m., and getting darker and colder by the minute. On the way to the job site, we passed a bank sign with a scrolling message below: No Monthly Service Fees and No Minimum Balance Requirements... 15°F... Merry Christmas! We realized we would be working well into the evening and began to get a little nervous about our schedule.
We returned to the icy creek about sundown, gassed up the two-cycle saw, and started cutting the steel I-Beams. It worked well, and sparks from the metal made a dazzling display against the snow-covered ground and night sky. Thomas and some of the homeowners came out to watch the light show.
"We should charge admission," I said, loud enough for the homeowners to hear.
"Yeah, maybe we could make a little extra beer money!" Aaron added.
Everyone laughed. The homeowners seemed surprised by our good spirits.
After a couple of hours of cutting, we removed the last I-beam and prepared the creek bed for the corrugated galvanized pipe. At this point, except for Thomas, the homeowners decided the inclement wintry weather was too much and retreated to the toasty comfort of their homes.
Rather than remove the concrete abutments, we buried them with the new culvert pipe under a thick layer of compacted fill. We used the backhoe to break up the creek's frozen surface so we could add a layer of #57 stone to the creek bed. We used the #57 gravel as a base for the pipe to make grading the creek bottom easier. Once we prepared the creek bed, we were ready to install the two 30-foot pipe sections. The 30-footers lay in a pasture on the other side of a barbed-wire fence, about 100 feet away. Aaron drove the backhoe across a frozen cattle guard and maneuvered the machine into position in front of the first pipe. We chained the first CGP to the backhoe and added a middle support to keep the sections from coming apart. Aaron lifted the first pipe, but the banding broke. We decided to move the pipe sections one at a time and band them together in the creek—a setback. The 20-foot pipe pieces weighed 1500 pounds each—nothing for the backhoe—but the bulk of the five-foot diameter pipe made them hard to handle. Banding the CGP in the creek meant wading through about 8 inches of freezing water in my rubber boots. Thomas was watching me from above.
"My mother taught me better than this," I said.
"I am sure she did, Matt," Thomas replied with a smile.
We placed the pipe sections in the creek, banded them together, and got them positioned in place around 11 p.m. We could see our long day was coming to a much-welcomed end. Aaron hopped on the backhoe and began filling the space between the pipes with the remaining #57 stone, then added #21A gravel on top of the CGPs while I tried to locate our tools in the deep snow and darkness.
Aaron added just enough gravel to provide pedestrian access across the creek (the minimum goal for the day). Around midnight, the cold was becoming unbearable. "You guys did a hellofa job today," Thomas said. "I am heading inside where it is warm. I suggest you do the same."
"Thanks, Thomas!" I said. "Have a nice evening."
"You too, Matt and Aaron," he said, walking briskly toward his house.
"Well, what do you want to do, Aaron?" I asked.
"For now, I say we get in my truck and warm the hell up," he replied.
"That sounds good to me too."
We got in his truck, fired up the heater, and turned on the radio to discover that the temperature had dropped to 1° at Dulles Airport (that is right, Dulles, the very airport that I should be at in less than 6 hours, to get to the ticket desk, check-in, and take my seat on the 7 a.m. DC10 headed for Dallas).
After we got warm, we couldn't imagine going back into the cold, with at least two more hours of work ahead of us. We were exhausted. We decided to call it a day and return in the morning to finish up. Well, that was it. I had just missed my flight. Candi will be happy.
We packed the tools we could find in the deep snow and drove down the icy roads to Aaron's garage. When we arrived, we remembered the cans of beer we left on Aaron's workbench and decided to have one. The beer had frozen solid. Aaron remedied this by putting the beers in the kitchen sink under scalding hot water while we finished unloading and stowing the tools in his sub-zero garage.
After a while, we checked on the beers; we left them under the hot water too long! They went from too cold to too hot, but they tasted good, maybe even among the tastiest beers I have ever had, especially after a long day in the bone-chilling cold.
At about 2 a.m., I left Aaron's house and turned my truck's heater to full blast to try to break the spell of the blistering winter night. I never told Aaron about my flight to Texas. I was sure he'd be okay finishing the job by himself, but it wasn't his responsibility. It was mine. I needed to see the job through to the end, and I knew it.
The next morning, after I called my mom to let her know I wouldn't be flying in, I met Aaron at the job site at 8 a.m., allowing ourselves a little sleep-in time. The skies were overcast, and light snow was beginning to fall. He started the backhoe and began spreading the remaining stockpile of #21A gravel over the pipes. The pipe manufacturer required a minimum of 18 inches of #21A on top of the GCP to evenly distribute the load from vehicles crossing above. We agreed we didn't have enough gravel to cover the pipe, so we ordered two more truckloads. We finished the job around 3 p.m. and gathered the tools we could not find the night before.
To cap off the project, we shared a couple of beers and smoked cigarettes in the chilly air while we watched the creek flow effortlessly through the new corrugated pipe. It was a magnificent sight. After we finished our beer, Aaron left to meet his father for their annual holiday hunting trip, and I headed down the snowy road back to my apartment in Centreville. On the way, I stopped at a grocery store and bought a big steak to celebrate the grueling end of a successful job.
Once home, I removed my heavy outerwear and had broiled steak, potatoes, and hot apple cider for dinner. I looked around at my depressing apartment—not one Christmas decoration! Since I was spending Christmas in Virginia, I thought to make the most of it. After dinner, I found a string of colored mini-lights in a cardboard box and strung them across the ceiling. As I enjoyed the glow of the lights and the warmth of my living room, I watched snow accumulate on the leafless limbs of oak trees outside my window. Soon, the waning daylight gave way to darkness, and I headed to sleep.
After that day, I knew that no matter how many construction jobs I worked over the years, I would never forget replacing the old bridge in the frozen waters of Castle Creek, Clifton, Virginia, in 1989.