The Emerald City

I’d never been to Seattle before, so, fresh off the ferry from Friday Harbor, though exhausted and in need of an ice-cold beer, I dutifully and determinedly maneuvered by SUV and camper back on to the mainland and south along the Puget Sound toward Seattle. I wasn’t staying in a campground. As you can imagine, there aren’t many in the downtown Seattle area. I’d decided to use a service called ‘Boondockers Welcome’. It’s a collection of fellow RVers who offer their driveway or other suitable location for others to park their RV and use as a home base to explore the surrounding area. I’d found fellow RVers Tom and Karen offering a spot on their side driveway in the gorgeous neighborhood of Bridle Trails adjacent to Bellevue, a short drive from Seattle. I was tickled when they accepted my request. But, as part of his instructions, Tom had warned that I’d need to back my camper in through a wooden gate to get it properly positioned so that I could detach and use my SUV to do my sightseeing.

So imagine my concern that our ferry was a half hour late getting back to Anacortes and my master plan of arriving at Bridle Trails just before sunset was setting with the sun before my very eyes! Visions of backing my camper up through a wooden gate in the dark were filling my imagination with dread. There was still a chance I could make it before sunset, I thought, as I hit my first wave of Seattle area traffic. Soon it was clear I’d be backing up in the dark through a wooden gate. Ah, well, my RV driving education would continue. I certainly was not the newbie I’d started as more than a month before. I’d messaged Tom earlier to let him know when I’d arrive, first according to my plan, but later with updates as Google Maps reported a later and later arrival time. I arrived in the dark as I’d hoped not to. Fortunately, after greeting me and welcoming me to their home, Tom offered to spot me. What a relief since it was his fence I would have damaged had I gone astray. I knew Tom wouldn’t let me.

I got it pretty close to where Tom directed. I inched it even closer. I figured Tom wanted me to improve it further, but, mercifully, he looked at me and said, “Dave, that’s good enough. We have the car parked outside the garage right now. You left us enough room.” What a good guy. We had a brief discussion about Tom’s RV that was further down the driveway from me. I told him some of the places I’d been already. It’s fun to talk shop and adventures with fellow RVers. Tom had run 30 amp power out to his RV and it was split to a second outlet he offered to me! What a relief. I’d fully depleted my batteries back among the tall trees of Deception Pass State Park and Tom’s were almost as tall here in Bridal Trails! Tom bade me a good night and left me to set up and detach my camper. Soon thereafter I was sawing Zs and dreaming of what I might find in Seattle the next days.

I awoke to see Bridle Trails in daylight and was stunned by the tall forested beauty of this neighborhood. This was like Deception Pass State Park but with a neighborhood of houses interspersed throughout the forest! What was with this area? As you probably guessed from the name, this entire area developed to serve the love of horses. Tom shared with me that many of the houses in the neighborhood maintained horse stables! Sure enough, as I was pulling out of Tom’s driveway for the day, I saw an enormous horse trailer parked out in front of one of Tom and Karen’s neighbors. Later, gazing at the map I noticed we were adjacent to Bridle Trails State Park, and I would read the park was crisscrossed by riding trails, established by and for those with a love of horses and riding. I hoped I’d have enough time to investigate further, but I had a pretty packed agenda!

I was off to downtown Seattle and the almost synonymous Pike Place Market! I’d heard so many things about it. I followed my driving directions out of Bellevue. Crossing Lake Washington, you climb a ridge completely covered in what appears from afar to be houses, but upon closer inspection is a panoply of apartment buildings and very big houses as far as the eye can see. Cresting the ridge you come down, steeply, right into the heart of things in Seattle. Let me tell you, I know San Francisco has a reputation for being very hilly and it’s well-deserved. I know from my own experience. But I’m not sure San Francisco’s hilliness has a thing on Seattle. I was shocked at how steep this city is. Does anyone talk about that? I don’t think so.

I passed by the University of Washington, which does nothing to disrupt from the pine-forested, pine needle-carpeted motif here in the Pacific Northwest. Looks like it would be quite the place to go to school. Suddenly, traffic was dense and I was relieved to be directed to an exit that doesn’t have a snaking, serpentine line of red brake lights in the direction I’m going. A sharp left and I’m heading down some of the steepest streets I’ve driven. Maybe not San Francisco Lombard St. steep, you know the one, but steep enough. Soon I realize I’m not going slow enough and my front fascia scrapes the street. Several pedestrians whip their unapproving gaze in my direction. “Tourist,” I know they’re thinking.

I slow it down, just a bit, more so I have enough time to spot the cross-street names before I pass them than necessarily avoiding the cross looks of local pedestrians. There it is! Western Avenue. I take a hard right and I see signs for Pike Place Market. A little further and signs for its dedicated parking structure. I know I’m gonna pay through the nose, but at least I’ll know I’m in the right place. It turns out the parking is for both Pike Place Market and the Piers. It’s all color-coded and there are instructions, you just have to pay attention. I did, for the most part. Red lines lead you to Pike Place Market and green to the Piers. Onto a red elevator and up 4 stories I go and I step out into…

They should rename this place the Pike Place Bazaar. Then they could call it the world’s most bizarre Bazaar. An infinite corridor of sensory explosion as far as you can see to the left or to the right. It’s difficult to decide which way to turn your head. Almost any direction is rewarded save, maybe, directly down. Layer after layer of neon signs decorate the ceiling announcing the arrival of another vendor or restaurant as you walk. Booth after booth of any and every craft you can imagine. Fish mongers selling every type of seafood you might eat, and a few I’ve not heard of, and would not eat, and some still moving of their own accord. I finally found the famous flying fish just as they were wrapping up the show. Florists with endless bouquets of the most vivid colors arranged with artistic aplomb. Artisan butchers pushing their plenty, cured or not, with free samples that leave you wanting more and happily parting with your hard-earned cash to do so. Fruit sellers and green grocers with the freshest, juiciest offerings this side of orchard or farm. Creative genius expressed in leather crafting, jewelry, pottery making, and even woodworking. Sellers of knickknacks that defy categorization. And, of course, t-shirt sellers, hocking some of the more creative graphics and slogans I’ve seen on my trip, most I can’t repeat in this blog. And I mean I can’t repeat because they were either too politically incendiary or too much in bad taste. And by too much in bad taste, yes, I mean tickling your funny bone in a sinfully pleasurable, unrepeatable way.

I walked the bazaar, I mean market, once and then again just to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Then a third time because, although I’d resisted the temptation to go on a buying spree, I rationalized that not buying anything would have been the bigger shame. I can’t share what I bought because most of what I bought were gifts and the recipients, upon reading of my purchases, will know precisely what they’re getting. Or worse, they won’t get what they expect and, well, that would be much worse. But this is the kind of place where you find gifts very suited to a particular person, maybe even yourself. So, let your imagination run wild before you come here, but do come. Buy yourself a reusable Pike Place Market bag artistically designed and produced by one of the market’s vendors. That’s what I did. Put all the gifts you buy in that reusable bag one by one. And with each, let the smile on your face grow.

It was then that I noticed there were other floors below the main market with other, countless vendors. The lower you go, the more eccentric the ware for sale. What they used to call “various and sundry,” I guess. I spent a little time down there and, if you’re a hardcore shopper, you won’t want to miss it. But my hand-crafted Pike Place Market bag was as full of gifts as I was gonna let it get, so I just enjoyed the sights, sounds, and smells before moving on.

I ventured out of Pike Place Market into the surrounding area. I found the gum wall, then wished I hadn’t as I thought of all the DNA samples up there, and how they got there. No buskers out the day I visited. It was a Monday. I can understand but I was still disappointed. There’s nothing like someone performing live music for nothing, just meager tips, in front of strangers. That takes real courage. I was ready to drop some greenbacks in their guitar cases to show my appreciation. Maybe next time.

I wandered in another direction and found a map store, Metzger maps! Now this was my kind of place. Part hard core map store, stacks of geological and topographical maps, and part tourist attraction with a collection of games and globes and 12-year-old and I would envy. I lingered for a while. I enjoyed just being there. The smell was wonderful. I breathed deeply. I spent some money at Metzger’s, I have to admit, but I don’t regret it. Had a nice conversation with the clerk. He asked where I was from and when I said Michigan he couldn’t believe it. I told him about a map store I’d been to in Phoenix. He raised an eyebrow, admitted he hadn’t heard of it, and retreated to, “There aren’t many left.” He wasn’t wrong.

I wandered further and found an espresso shop. This one wasn’t a drive-thru like so many in the Pacific Northwest. I’ve fallen in love with them, those Espresso drive-thrus. They really started in earnest in Montana. Remember those old Fotomat stores they converted to coffee and donut shops back east? Well, out here they build ‘em like that from scratch. And they make the best darn coffee these lips have guided onto these taste buds. I haven’t been to a Starbucks since I’ve been here. There are just too many little, independent, delicious espresso drive-thrus to sample. And the people running them are just a pleasure to talk to in the morning. Some of my best sightseeing advice has come from those who work these drive-thrus. Truly enjoyable conversations as they prepare your Americano, hot, with a splash of cream, usually a triple, but sometimes a quad when I need a real pick-me-up.

Further afar from Pike Place Market I found the best damn cupcake I ever ate at Cupcake Royale. I wasn’t even looking for a cupcake, but with my triple Americano how could I resist? These little babies are a work of art. They have seasonal flavors, too. Get ‘em while they last! They had Apple Crisp in September. Pumkin Pie is around for fall. I went with Red Velvet. How could I not? It was divine. The perfect pairing with my dense, rich, but bitter espresso. If you’re looking for rationalization, did I mention these hills in Seattle? I walked those hills to get to this cupcake.

Next up on my jaunt to downtown Seattle area was a ride on the Seattle Great Wheel! It’s that giant Ferris wheel on the pier that you see so many times in pictures of Seattle. I considered riding to the top of the iconic Seattle needle, but the Wheel was within walking distance. The pier area was nice but they were doing a lot of construction. There’s an aquarium and, I don’t know if they have any Orcas, but I didn’t go in. I didn’t want my Orca quest to be completed that way. I saw Orcas at SeaWorld as a kid. I wanted to see them in the wild, in their natural habitat where they’re the alpha.

I bought my ticket for the wheel and was happy to see there was no line. The sign said every person gets at least three rotations of the wheel. “Only three?” I thought disappointedly. I started counting the rotations for the group that was on the wheel as I waited. Five. “I better get five,” I thought. I got a car or gondola all to myself. The cars are nicely designed. A steel frame and floor gives you a secure sense, but clear Lexan sides leave you a full, direct view some 200 feet down. Some of the cars have a nice table in the middle, but I’m not sure how you could use it since the cars swing substantially every time someone changes their seat, which with me was often, or the operator stops and starts the wheel to let people on or off.

With a whoosh up we went. I admit it was a thrill. Part of it was the beautiful view you get of downtown Seattle below you, concrete, steel, and glass office buildings stacked as if on tiers street by street as the wheel carries you up, up and away from the pier and boardwalk. First, they’re above you where skyscrapers should be, then across from you, then suddenly you’re neck and neck with their lofty heights and looking down at pedestrians who’ve somehow become small as ants. Then look up and down the coast, or across the Puget Sound to the west. You can’t resist changing seats to change your view, then your car is swinging again. Woah, hold on! Wait, we stopped at the top! Is something wrong? Visions of a rescue operation detailed on the nightly news flash through my head for a moment. But, no. The operator was just letting more passengers on down at pier level. I think that’s the scariest part, when you’re at the top and the wheel stops. Yep, that’s the scariest.

As an engineer, I couldn’t help analyzing the structure of the wheel. I didn’t see any rust or leaking or cracks or any other obvious defects. I bet it’s a challenge to maintain right here next to all this salt water. Mr. Ferris would be proud. If you don’t know the story of the invention of the Ferris wheel for the 1893 World’s Fair in Chicago, it’s a great story. You should read about it. I won’t tell it here. And for the record, the Great Wheel operator gave us 6 trips around that wheel! Boy, I was happy.

Before departing the downtown area, I couldn’t help going in search of an Italian sandwich shop my brother, John, told me about. Salumi. And I found it just in time. I got there just before they closed. When it was my turn, I told them I’d come all the way from Michigan for one of their famous sandwiches. This got ‘em laughing heartily. I told the guy who took my order I couldn’t decide, all the sandwiches on the menu looked so good. “Since I walked in here just before you close,” I said, “Why don’t you choose for me.” He didn’t hesitate. They got to work making me an uncured sopressata sandwich with their homemade mozzarella and a relish I’m still contemplating all on a homemade ciabatta roll. As the guy who made my sandwich was wrapping it up for me, I shook my head and told him, “I can’t tell you how good that sandwich looks to me.” He laughed and replied, “Doesn’t it? Ya know, the whole time I was making your sandwich I was thinking the same thing and that I just might need to make myself one of these!” I hope he did. The sandwich was outstanding.

Fully satiated, I got in my car and began the trek back to Bridle Trails and my camper at Tom and Karen’s house. I spent the next day visiting a couple of epic museums in the Seattle area. I’ll save that for another blog post for those who might be interested. After I hooked up my camper and got everything ready to go, I walked over to Tom and Karen’s front door and knocked to say goodbye. They both answered and we had a delightful conversation about my too-short visit to Seattle and my desire to return, especially to see Bridle Trails State Park, which I’d missed. They welcomed me back. I thanked them for being such generous hosts and for the stunning location and scenery their home offers. At the risk of them getting overwhelmed with stay requests, I would highly encourage my fellow RVers to reach out to Tom and Karen through the Harvest Host app and take advantage of this hidden gem for RVing in the Seattle area. Thank you so much, Tom and Karen!