Crossing that bridge

From some angles, the concrete towers of the mighty Zakim Bridge resemble two palms coming together in prayer. Perhaps, symbolically, they are offering supplication for the Charlestown Bridge, the Zakim's long-suffering old cousin that sits forlornly just to the east.

''The only good thing about this bridge," said William King, 68 -- after maneuvering his low-slung electric wheelchair along the Charlestown Bridge's dilapidated eastern sidewalk, swerving around potholes and discarded chunks of curbing while absorbing vibrations from passing cars as he crossed over daunting see-through metal grates -- ''is looking over at that bridge."

With that, King nodded toward the Zakim, having just completed his regular trek to Mass. General Hospital for emphysema meds, as oxygen streamed through tubes in his nose.

When the $100 million Leonard P. Zakim Bunker Hill Bridge was dedicated to the late activist in 2002, Zakim's Garden State soulmate, Bruce Springsteen, helped baptize it with a live version of his anthemic ''Thunder Road." To find a musical ode appropriate for the Charlestown Bridge, one might have to skew a tune from a different songbook, and dub it, ''Troubled Bridge Over Waters."

According to a Globe review of federal data released last year, 56 of the 358 bridges in Boston are structurally deficient, meaning they have major deterioration that needs monitoring. With an average of 66,000 vehicles crossing it every day, the Charlestown Bridge is one of the more visible of the city's debilitated 16 percent.

Statewide, 12 percent of the bridges have structural deficiencies, a tad better than the 13 percent in 2000, leaving Massachusetts ranked in the middle of the pack nationally.

State officials say they were given a mandate by Governor Mitt Romney three years ago to improve the condition of bridges across the Commonwealth, and spent more than $200 million last year to make it happen -- up from $146 million in 2003.

The officials say they're aiming to reduce the number of structurally ailing bridges to 440 from 502 by 2010. They say they have removed nearly 50 from the list since 2003.

In the meantime, they say that any bridge which remains open is okay to pass over. ''If there's any question that a bridge might pose a safety hazard, it's closed. Period," said Jonathan Carlisle, press secretary for the state's Executive Office of Transportation.

The city says it owns fewer than 20 percent of the bridges within the Hub's borders, with entitites such as the Massachusetts Highway Department and the T controlling the rest.

The city does own the Charlestown Bridge, which is also known as the North Washington Street Bridge -- or, in some quarters, the Rickety Old Bridge That Connects The North End To Charlestown.

It is a bridge that spans the ages. Its origins date back to 1898; it was rebuilt in 1956 and rehabbed in 1992.

With its '50s makeover, the Charlestown Bridge partly fits the profile of maturing baby-boomer bridges which the state knows have not aged gracefully. Over the years, beams and girders of the bridge have suffered from wear and tear, triggering a cycle of rusting, rotting, and costly reinforcing. For repairs in 2002 and 2003, the city says nearly $4 million was spent to fortify the bridge's four outer lanes, with the state and a utility company also kicking in part of the money. To cut time and expense, and expand safety, officials say they decided to close the bridge's two center lanes to traffic. They remain silenced, save the loud orange-and-white barrels announcing their fate.

For, like a motorist who decides to get a new car rather than throw money into the old clunker, the city is planning to rebuild the galumphing Charlestown Bridge.

But before everyone breaks out their LEGO sets, be forewarned: project officials say a new bridge wouldn't be finished until 2012 -- at the earliest. ''It's not like building a bridge in the cornfields of Iowa," said Para Jayasinghe, chief engineer for the city's Department of Public Works.

Though the idea was hatched more than four years ago, the project is still in the early phases of design and engineering.

Still to come: more reviews by state officials, who'll pay a portion; approvals from federal officials, since they are likely to pick up most of the tab; okays on the environmental front; the nod from the Massachusetts Historical Commission, which will want to make sure that even as the aging bridge gets modernized it will retain such historic characteristics as the trademark trusses; plus securing the dollars, now pegged at around $30 million. Keeping the bridge open during reconstruction could also add time and money to the redevelopment.

In the meantime, state officials, who are responsible for inspecting most bridges in the Commonwealth, have put the Charlestown Bridge and others like it on a regular watch list: They say the bridge is inspected -- below water and above ground -- every year, though federal guidelines only require one every two years.

''We would never, ever, have a bridge open that is not safe for pedestrians and vehicles," said Jayasinghe.

As the bridge chugs on, some local cabbies aren't crazy about it. For one thing, it can be a traffic nightmare. One cab driver figures it takes him seven minutes to get from Faneuil Hall to Charlestown's City Square in moderate tie-ups -- but 20 minutes to get back to Quincy Market.

''Terrible," said veteran hack Dave Newcomb, 39.

Also, Newcomb said that on the bridge, where toughs from the North End and Charlestown used to rumble, his cab now has to fight slipping and sliding when the weather is wet.

''I have a fear that, with all the buses and trucks, either my vehicle, or theirs, won't be able to hold their lanes," he said.

During a stretch of 2003, it was the rig riders who held no truck with the structure's viability, saying they were left out of the loop when inspectors reportedly rated the bridge unsafe for vehicles weighing over four tons -- or somewhat heftier than a huge SUV.

''Despite the revised load rating, Boston continued to allow trucks carrying hazardous materials and weighing as much as 50 tons to cross the bridge," said a report issued last month by the US Transportation Department's Office of Inspector General.

State and local officials told the Globe in a 2004 story on the subject that the structure was considered safe.

In its March 21 report, the federal IG cited a 1990s finding by state auditor Joe DeNucci that nearly 40 percent of the bridges in the Commonwealth hadn't been rated to determine a maximum weight limit -- even as highway officials argued at the time that load capacity was not a definitive measure of overall safety.

In response to the federal critique, Carlisle, of the state, said that the Massachusetts bridge program has come a long way since then. ''That study was based on data from 1997," he said. ''That number is now 17 percent. We'd like to get it down to zero and we're striving towards that."

As for the Charlestown Bridge, truckers said through an industry representative that, after repairs, they now presume it to be a safe passageway.

Still, Tim Lawson, 58, said he can't stomach pushing his two legs over the 100-foot stretch of bridge that requires walking over a metal grill beneath which the murky waters of the River Charles restlessly stir.

The metal slats are part of the bridgework that used to spread its wings and open for passing boats below. Now, their presence not only serves as a way for road salt and other surface substances to drip down and corrode the bridge's body, but they can also eat away at a person's soul.

''I start to get butterflies as I approach," said Lawson, the bridge's resident, red-coated panhandler.

Then, he said, he gives himself a pep talk: ''I'm not gonna look down. Everything will be all right."

Lawson said that no matter how many times he crosses the bridge, that sinking feeling never leaves him.

''You don't plan on having it collapse," he said. ''I'm always scared that it is going to collapse -- even though I know it won't."

Sometimes, Lawson said, he'll reward himself for making it from the resurgent North Station area of the the city to the other side of the bridge by purchasing a frappe from one of the fashionable shops now adding spiffiness to Charlestown's City Square.

This bridge, along with its ancestors, has long inspired travelers -- with trepidation. In 1786, upon hearing the news of the wondrous emergence of the Charles River Bridge -- the Charlestown Bridge's progenitor -- budding Boston architect Charles Bulfinch wrote his dad from London:

''I have seen Capt. Cushing, who informs me the Bridge is in great forwardness," according to an account in the book, ''Boston: A Topographical History." ''I hope it will stand till I return, as I should like much to see it, but I am not sure whether I would venture to pass over it."

When the Charles River Bridge was completed that year, according to that same tome, it was hailed as the greatest America had ever seen, a 1,503-foot-long expanse sporting a 30-foot drawbridge, six-foot railed walkways, and 40 classy lamps to shine the night.

Spans like the Charles River Bridge, historians say, changed the nature of the city, linking provincial Boston to a wider realm. Today, Boston's bridges not only serve as conduits for mad-rush commuters, but still act as arching ambassadors to those from outer regions.

The other day, a 26-year-old Londoner named Amanda Lucas unexpectedly found herself standing on the Charlestown Bridge.

As she shadowed a red line in the sidewalk, Lucas was not walking the plank, but merely following the Freedom Trail's color coding that led her from the Copp's Hill Burying Ground in the North End, and over the bridge, toward the Bunker Hill Monument and USS Constitution in Charlestown.

Lucas casually strolled over the bridge's latticework without qualm, stopping to glory in her accomplishment on the concrete section of the overpass. Suddenly, though, she seemed startled. As motor vehicles rumbled by, she said, she could sense the earth tremble beneath her feet.

Yet even more alarming to her, she felt, was the presence of such a steel-creatured crossway in the middle of a much-heralded path through the city's history.

''This is the one tourists are going over," Lucas said in a droll British accent as she clutched a guidebook that was escorting her on her first trip to Boston. ''Not a thing of beauty."

Matt Carroll of the Globe staff contributed to this report.