The Olympic Peninsula, Part 1

The drive across the eastern portion of Washington state is surprisingly open and flat, with vast, dry grasslands interrupted by small outcrops of rock that create random patterns across the landscape, reminding me of circuits on a motherboard inside a computer. The weather was favorable, and I took advantage of that, as I was making good time.

The gift card that keeps on giving - thanks, Al!!!

Eastern Washington - weird, right?

More cool clouds...

       

This was part of an amazing lake that I had to cross. The giant bridge is out of the picture to my left.

 


As I drove on, the landscape began to change; not because of the effects of millions of years of seismic activity, but instead through the will of man. What would have been more open areas of grassland had been stripped and cultivated for food production, and the undulating hills combined with the near perfect rows of plowed earth, geometric swatches that alternated between greens, browns and golds, made for a beautiful, if not somewhat surreal, scene.

Then came the mountains.

At first just a small band of faded blue-green that took up the entire horizon line in the distance, they began to come into focus as the miles between us diminished. After an hour or so I was in the thick of them, riding through dense collections of pine covered peaks that finally began to look like the Washington state that I knew. When I reached a huge outcrop of rock just past Snoqualmie ski resort (the first place I learned to snowboard well over a decade ago), I pulled over to take some pictures. The massive rock face seemed to be welcoming me, and with less than an hour to go to reach Seattle, I pulled back onto the highway, accepting its call.

The mountain that beckoned. A little different than the last picture, eh?

I had never entered Seattle other than on I-5 by car, so to suddenly find myself dropped into the downtown via Route 90 came as a bit of a shock. It took a moment to orientate myself, but after a moment, all the familiar landmarks came into focus - the Quest Field stadium, the waterfront, first avenue with its collection of storefronts - I knew exactly where I was and where I needed to go to catch the ferry to the Olympic Peninsula, having done it almost twenty years before. My luck was with me; the ferry was leaving in five minutes and I was right on time. This was the first time I was putting the bike on a ferry, and I thought that it would make a nice trial for my experience to Alaska. I got her on with no problems, admiring the view of the city as it faded into the distance.

Her first ride on a ferry...

Me getting artsy on the deck of the ship. Can you say "shadows project", photo students?

By the time I reached the town of Bremerton on the other side of the sound, it was beginning to get late. I called ahead to the hostel in Port Townsend, a small town on the uppermost eastern corner of the peninsula, but even though they had beds available, the front desk would be closing at ten. It was a little past 9. I hustled back on the bike, stopping only to confirm directions from a young guy working the counter of a Spanish-speaking convenience store.

I rolled in right before ten, and, after unpacking and settling up with the man behind the front desk, I made straight for my room. There was only one other person sleeping in the men's dorm that night, an interesting fellow about my age who was taking a writing workshop in the area. We exchanged stories for a while, as he had done some traveling in a few of the areas I plan to visit this coming year, but after being reprimanded by a man sleeping in the next room for being too loud, we called it quits for the night and turned the lights out. Tomorrow, I would be exploring more of the Peninsula, and the excitement of returning to places from my past put a smile on my face as I drifted off to sleep.