Bridges to terror

I really hate hates, with a ferocity that may be unparalleled.  The implication of this hatred is the likelihood that I may not be able to appreciate the majesty of suspension bridges draped hundreds of feet above a raging river between two cliffs swaying precariously in the arctic breeze while pack yaks are baring down on you and porters with 80 kilos on their back are nipping at your heals.