Bridges can be curious things; they can open, and then open yet again, just in case we all missed it was open when we drove over it about 100 times before it was opened the second time.
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Such is the curious case of the Shingle Hill Way bridge, north of Canberra, on a stretch of road which joins the Federal Highway to Gundaroo Road.
It officially can be called a bridge now, it appears, because the amiable Member for Eden Monaro, Kristy McBain, opened it on Wednesday.
Gundaroo locals, of course, find this all rather amusing but were pleased that the five decomposing wombats which had been littered along the new bridge ramparts for the past month had been removed in advance of the Minister for Regional Development, Local Government and Territories' arrival.
No-one wants a smelly second opening, after all.
But to be fair, country bridge openings can be unpredictable.
One day you can be driving along, expecting to have to negotiate the usual low-level crossing, weave around rocks, dodge a bent sign and marvel at the capacity of steel roadside barriers to hold back a mountain of river-borne tree branches when lo and behold, the road straightens suddenly, the potholes miraculously disappear and we're driving on a real, honest-to-goodness bridge.
But perhaps we were all mistaken months ago that it wasn't open at all and it took an MP to reassure us that it was, in fact, open.
For decades after the occasional huge weather event, Shingle Hill Way's former concrete low-level crossing had offered those fun-filled, "shall-we-try-our-luck" motoring moments found while driving in the country.
Locals had chanced their fortune at the crossing for years with mixed success because to turn around and go back was to add about 35 minutes on to a trip to Gundaroo or, alternatively, prolong experiencing the goodness of the Sutton bakery.
And in those chance encounters, there was always a fine judgement call involved.
Even when the flood warning barriers were across the road, the chosen technique was always to edge forward and have a good gander for yourself.
In the country, road barriers are often treated more as "useful advice", than "turn around and go back". And free advice is, as we all know, worth about as much as it costs.
Of course, once a country driver has the vehicle nose-down toward the waters rushing over the river crossing and having a good gander to determine the height of the flow, there's a commitment already made to a certain extent.
And a handy guide was always to examine the road either side of the crossing for wet tyre marks on the bitumen. Tyre marks indicated someone had dived in previously, if you like, and made it out the other side. Pioneers and pathfinders, all of them, bless their Toyota LandCruiser traybacks.
The mighty Yass River at this point can rise to impassable and fall to a gentle flow in less than an hour but over the years many a vehicle - usually non-locals, including several Woolies delivery vans - have been wooed to a wheels-off-the-concrete floaty departure, before coming to a drenched, "gosh my footwells are very full" rest against the opposite steel barrier.
No harm done, just embarrassment.
But no more. That threat has passed, as have all the dead wombats. And in bridging that divide, we can thank Kirsty McBain for ensuring we knew how really open it was after all.
