RT08 - Fort Brunsett - Stagbridge
The southernmost of the city's three bridges, Stagbridge is old, but well-maintained, or at least, as well-maintained as anything can be in a state where wind and weather constantly try to destroy asphalt with frost heaving and cracks. Its two lanes are broad enough for rural trucking and industrial traffic, stop lights directing vehicles at either end. The light on the western bank is often malfunctioning, and seldom goes more than a month without some acrobatic hoodlum spray painting faces over the lights.
Cool grey granite glitters subtly from the heavy stone pylons and steel-reinforced framework which support the bridge's gently arching bulk, high enough at its apex for ship traffic to pass beneath. Often decorated by pigeons and their leavings, a number of stone benches have been set up along both sidewalks for tourists and locals alike to rest their feet above the river, and on the northern side, a statue of a portly, yet kindly-looking man is often obscured by whatever garments teenagers have chosen to adorn it with this week.
To the north, the city spreads along the riverbank, the broad green of a park on the west bank competing with the shops and businesses along the east, and far in the distance, the pale gleam and snowy spray of Tamarack Falls against the distance-blurred greens and browns of cliff and forest. To the east, urban becomes suburban quite rapidly, and rural soon after that, the neat rectangles of farmland rolling over hills into the distance. To the south, the river flows onward, cutting a path between banks of varying height toward the far-away air fields.