Signage, signs and portents, and scratches on walls

These are my walking companions yesterday on a trail none of us had walked before. The trail starts on this 1940s-era bridge, built for the highway that, in Newfoundland before it joined Canada, was the equivalent of the Trans-Canada Highway. And much of our path was along that old gravel highway, now mainly an ATV route. We, like most walkers, ignored the injunction against crossing it. Without walking up on the modern highway a few hundred metres away, there was no other way to cross the river.

A week ago, when I took this picture, my wife and I were staying for a few days in a house not a hundred metres from this spot in Gillard's Cove, Twillingate. I assumed these signs were leftovers from the Great Lockdown of four years ago. There is some if not irony then educative truth in having taken this picture combined with that when we got home we found that for the first time we were infected with Covid. Agghhh. (We seem to be getting better now.)

I was stopt at a light with this truck's arse ahead of me. I had to take its picture.

In a stairwell in a public parking garage.

I cannot resist taking a picture of the arse end of commercial vehicles.

I was told that this bridge, a post-WW2 railway bridge across the Rhine River in Cologne, is built sturdily enough to stand the accumulated weight of the tens of thousands of love locks, and that the city has no plans to remove them.