That was risky. That was exciting. The wooden bridge played with every plank under the wheels of my motorbike (that's why I called it the xylophone bridge). It seemed that one or two of these sticks couldn't stand, and the bike would fall into the river. I know for sure - there were such cases. How many are there at the bottom of the river? Nobody knows. I believe the guys who collect the fees are monitoring the state of this bridge. At least many local residents use it to shorten the path from the north to the central part of the city. With confidence and without rushing.