Olympic Peninsula, Part 2

My blogging view from the hostel in Port Townsend.

This great tree that overlooks the water close to the hostel.

I decided to take it easy the next day, so instead of pushing forward to the western side of the peninsula, I took a day trip to Hurricane Ridge, a mountain pass that is part of the Olympic National Park. The drive west, about an hour, takes you to Port Angeles, another former (and present, I suppose) seafaring community, and then, with one turn off of the main drag, making my way up the 17 mile road to the ridge, the only stop being the entrance gate to the park. The ride up is inspiring and the views at the top are spectacular, as you get a nearly unfettered look at some of the highest peaks in the Olympic park, and there are several spectacular hikes that take you even further into the mountains.

I had been there for the first time nineteen years ago, when my friend Martin and I decided one summer in college to take advantage of Greyhound Bus's "78 dollars anywhere Greyhound goes" special, taking the bus from Reading, Pennsylvania to Seattle and back for a grand total of 158 dollars each (plus tax, of course). For me, it was the first time I had ever really traveled anywhere beyond a 200 mile radius of my home (I went to Disney World when I was six, but I don't really count that). And for Martin, who had already traveled out west with his family, it was the first time that he was embarking on such an adventure on his own. For two 21 year olds, it was the trip of a lifetime.

The entire visit to the park was a rush of memories streaming back continuously throughout the ride. As I turned on to the access road towards the park, I passed the spot where Martin and I, at that point traveling with a gutsy and brilliant Australian girl we had met on the bus coming out to the peninsula, pitched our tents in the woods for the night. The ride up the mountain pass brought back the memory of being picked up by a young German couple in a rented RV, blasting ABBA's greatest hits on the stereo (which seemed rather dated even in the early 90s). And arriving at the top, the breathtaking view aside, brought back the recollection of a fellow named Jeff, then in his early 30s, in Seattle for business, who ended up giving us a ride in his rented car all the way to the other end of the Peninsula to camp in our country's only temperate rain forest. Time stood still up there, and I felt no distance at all from those events.

It was overcast driving up, but the views were still amazing.

At the top. Need I say more?

Ditto.

Double ditto.

The deer have grown pretty used to human visitors, and graze the fields close to the visitor's center without much fear. The video below shows how gutsy they are.

Was it a coincidence that I was wearing the deer t-shirt my superstar art student Lucy made for me before I left? I think not! Yeah, this one is for you, Lucy-Goosey!!!!

More spectacular cloud cover on the way back down.

I took my time riding back to the hostel, relishing my memories and the time I had been given to recount them. I enjoyed the company of those staying at the hostel that night, swapping travel stories with people who were making their way to destinations in all directions, many of whom were old enough to be my parents. It gave me solace to think that I had many more years of traveling ahead of me, and it would be nice, I thought to myself that night before bed, if I could return here in another twenty years, recounting the memories of this trip with just as much delight.