OFF THE RECORD: Summer trips offer special ferry tales
Published 3:00 pm Wednesday, August 14, 2002
If there’s one thing I avoid in the summer it’s going to town. Going over town. Going to the mainland. Going to the other side. Going to America.
However you phrase the great escape, Fridays in the summer are simply the worst.
Take last week. Admittedly I was relieved when my longtime Mercedes repairman in Everett called to say that my 22-year-old Benz had been healed. She was being released from the auto hospital, but I had to pick her up.
And as any car owner knows, the biggest dilemma when dropping off a broken car or picking up a fixed one is you can’t drive two vehicles to get the job done.
Normally I would enlist a friend or family member to zip me over to my car’s fix-it shop, conveniently located next to the Silver Lake Costco. But on a prime time Friday? I didn’t entertain the thought, and opted to go on my own.
After phoning Community Transit in Everett, I figured out I could walk on the 2 p.m. ferry and catch the 2:39 bus to downtown Everett. There I could transfer to another bus, arriving at the auto repair shop around 3:34 p.m. It meant nearly an hour of city cruising, but I had plenty of reading to catch up on.
Since I was running late, I bagged Island Transit and drove my son’s old Subaru down to the two o’clock boat. I parked in one of the few vacant slots at Robertson’s Landing (Yes, Brad, I paid in advance!) and headed for the waiting Kitsap.
Things got off to a sour start at the snack bar. As I scoured the shelves for a bag of Rold Gold pretzels, I saw nothing. How could I round out my late lunch of an organically grown banana and bottle of mountain spring water without pretzels?
I ran into longtime ferry worker Larry Gage and asked him if he saw any pretzels. Nope, not a thing. When I mentioned the missing snack item to the concession worker, she said they weren’t putting pretzels on the Mukilteo-Clinton run anymore. But that’s another story.
I settled for fruit and agua and quickly melded into the morning papers. Within minutes I was aboard the “Soccer Special.” Dozens and dozens of soccer kids and their suburban moms descended upon my tranquility, fresh from a week at Fort Casey’s Northwest Soccer Camp.
Since I hadn’t been around pre-pubescent people for some time, I was semi-irritated by their energy. Their boldness! Their noise! I caught myself frowning over my 2.0 readers at a most boisterous group across the way — and then realized I was looking and acting like an old bag. I quickly morphed my frown into a smile. How did I survive that age?
Summer on the island.
As I walked off the ferry, it was total chaos on the other side. Although only 2:15 p.m., every yahoo who has never been welcomed aboard a Washington State Ferry was waiting in line. Frantic folks honked at their passengers who were queued up at Ivar’s. “Mom, the boat’s leaving — get in the car!”
Two tourista vehicles nearly collided as they jockeyed for position on their way to the boat. And a frazzled ferry worker never let up as she conducted the cacophony of cars in front of her.
Summer on the island.
I headed to CT’s bus stop — I wasn’t looking forward to my 60-minute ride. That’s when I realized I could take a cab! Within minutes I was connected to Checker Cab in Mukilteo, who told me the fare to my destination would be around 15 bucks. That figure paled in comparison to what was awaiting me at the auto repair shop.
Ten minutes went by. Fifteen. Finally twenty. No checkered cab. After half an hour, I called them back. “We’ll get there as soon as we can, Sue,” said the dispatcher. “It’s first come, first serve.”
This wasn’t midtown Manhattan. Forty-five minutes later, a yellow cab showed up. I didn’t mention to the Russian accented driver that I had aged a year since my initial call — it wasn’t his fault.
The ride cost me exactly 15 bucks, my old car was like new, and I tooled back to the ferry. It was 4:15 p.m. Much to my surprise, the line stretched all the way to Dairy Queen and up the hill to Boeing. I knew the Coupeville Arts Festival and Geoduck Music Festival were happening this weekend, but this was ridiculous.
Summer on the island.
I ditched my Benz at Rosehill and headed down the hill. Within minutes, the cattle were herded onto the boat ramp, laden with everything from wheeled suitcases and Nordstrom bags to a tricycle and a chainsaw. Noah’s Ark never looked this good.
On board, I didn’t recognize a soul. Shortly after departure, an announcement pierced the silence of the testy travelers: “Ladies and gentlemen, will the owners of a silver SUV Mercedes please return to their vehicle. Your car alarm is going off.”
Summer on the island.
Sue Frause can be reached by e-mail at skfrause@whidbey.com.
