There are good reasons for city people with no sense of direction to avoid trying to find places like Lilliwaup. The extra three hours that must be allotted for getting lost, for instance… .
I grew up in a city. I live in a city. My idea of long-distance driving is hopping on a freeway with a book-on-CD in the stereo, setting the cruise control, and putting my brain in neutral until I reach my turnoff. The weakness of this strategy became apparent when I set off to visit my friend in Lilliwaup (yes, there really is such a place) along the Hood Canal at the edge of the Olympic Forest. My friend retired to a cool house that has an even cooler deck with a stunning view of the canal and Mt. Rainier. I was really looking forward to a couple of days of relaxing with my friend while admiring the view and envying her (a) retired status (b) cool house with a cooler deck.
If you get off the ferry in Bremerton and successfully exit the city (not a given for some of us), you wind up driving a tiny road three feet from the water and about 20 feet from cabins in varying degrees of habitability. Road junctions look like turnoffs to people's driveways. Missing a junction (as you are likely to do if you are listening to a book-on-CD) means finding yourself in a hamlet you didn't even know existed, far from any road whose name you recognize. It behooves a city person to remember that, though maps are oriented north and south, no such orderliness is imposed on a bunch of peninsulas surrounded by water. And perhaps more importantly, the Hood Canal is not really a canal. It is simply a long, oddly-shaped fjord that just stops at one end. If your destination is northwest, you may have to first go southeast to get there. Which is really sort of a moot point if you don't have a sense of direction and the sky is overcast. Yes, I had a map. No, it didn't help.
I met and entertained lots of friendly locals. Rural folks who drive by landmark and tribal knowledge tend to get a worried look as they try their darndest to help you. You aren't the first city fool they've encountered, and they know your eyes are glazing over. City folks do road names; rural folks do buttes and shipyards--and my favorite: "turn by where the lumber mill used to be." They'd probably be happier to jump in your car and drive you there than to continue pretending the two of you are actually communicating.
I did eventually make it to Lilliwaup--a mere three hours late. My friend broke out a bottle of wine and reassured me that yes, it really is hard to find Lilliwaup if you come on the ferry. "If you come on the ferry?" I cried pitifully, "There's another way?"
She patted me on the back and shook her head. "Why yes," she said, "I-5 south, to 101, to Lilliwaup. We call it 'driving around.' It's how most of the locals do it."
I grew up in a city. I live in a city. My idea of long-distance driving is hopping on a freeway with a book-on-CD in the stereo, setting the cruise control, and putting my brain in neutral until I reach my turnoff. The weakness of this strategy became apparent when I set off to visit my friend in Lilliwaup (yes, there really is such a place) along the Hood Canal at the edge of the Olympic Forest. My friend retired to a cool house that has an even cooler deck with a stunning view of the canal and Mt. Rainier. I was really looking forward to a couple of days of relaxing with my friend while admiring the view and envying her (a) retired status (b) cool house with a cooler deck.
If you get off the ferry in Bremerton and successfully exit the city (not a given for some of us), you wind up driving a tiny road three feet from the water and about 20 feet from cabins in varying degrees of habitability. Road junctions look like turnoffs to people's driveways. Missing a junction (as you are likely to do if you are listening to a book-on-CD) means finding yourself in a hamlet you didn't even know existed, far from any road whose name you recognize. It behooves a city person to remember that, though maps are oriented north and south, no such orderliness is imposed on a bunch of peninsulas surrounded by water. And perhaps more importantly, the Hood Canal is not really a canal. It is simply a long, oddly-shaped fjord that just stops at one end. If your destination is northwest, you may have to first go southeast to get there. Which is really sort of a moot point if you don't have a sense of direction and the sky is overcast. Yes, I had a map. No, it didn't help.
I met and entertained lots of friendly locals. Rural folks who drive by landmark and tribal knowledge tend to get a worried look as they try their darndest to help you. You aren't the first city fool they've encountered, and they know your eyes are glazing over. City folks do road names; rural folks do buttes and shipyards--and my favorite: "turn by where the lumber mill used to be." They'd probably be happier to jump in your car and drive you there than to continue pretending the two of you are actually communicating.
I did eventually make it to Lilliwaup--a mere three hours late. My friend broke out a bottle of wine and reassured me that yes, it really is hard to find Lilliwaup if you come on the ferry. "If you come on the ferry?" I cried pitifully, "There's another way?"
She patted me on the back and shook her head. "Why yes," she said, "I-5 south, to 101, to Lilliwaup. We call it 'driving around.' It's how most of the locals do it."
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2 comments:
Love this post! What an adventure!
after all that, i would have needed more than ONE bottle of wine for two people! lol!
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