A Friday Morning and Afternoon in Port Townsend: The Little Ferry That Couldn't or Didn't Want To

Dolly-girl and me decided to give Stumptown the pass for the weekend and headed north to see a coupla pals-o-ours who used to live in South Carolina and Florida and now are settled in on the south end of an island up north. We tossed our valises in a rented roadster and headed out. I've been out of town talking to people who needed talking with about some cases I've been working, so I decided a night on another town with Dolly-girl on my arm would do the trick. Port Townsend, here we come.


We checked into the Palace Hotel which turns out to be one of those new-fangled old places. In this particular case, the Palace turns out to have been a place where a passing sailor may have gone to make a port call, follow? Me and Dolly-girl checked into the corner room on the second floor and you could tell it wasn't just any corner room. "Well, shiver my timber, I think we'er in the Madam's quarters." That got me a shot through the wave and a "Don't get any ideas, Jack!" I didn't.


The weather was windy and wild, but we got to looking around the next day. Port Townsend seems like a place that might have been a place where trouble found a home in the summertime. Dolly-girl read in a broadsheet that there were 2 shopping districts so that the Ladies of the Day didn't have to rub elbows with the Ladies of the Night, if you get my drift. Down near the Palace, there's still painting on buildings telling you what might have been.


Turns out there's a fort nearby. Seems like it's raison d'etre was keeping an eye on the Straits of Juan de Fuca which is Portuguese for the "Straits of Juan de Fuca." I guess they closed the fort down after they'd spent about 100 years looking for people invading through the straits and never saw any. But, the fort had a museum and the museum had some pretty cool stuff about back around the time I was riding in a baby buggy.




They had an exhibit about Civil Defense back in the days when tempers were hot but the war was cold. I remember seeing boxes of Survival Crackers stacked up in my school. I always wondered if there was anything in those boxes, and sure enough, there was. Of course, looking at it made me wonder what there would have been to survive for. I'm thinking there wasn't no smoked salmon in those packs. Dolly-girl found a role model--the person who would have passed out the crackers.




There were Geiger Counters too. You could use them to tell when it was safe to come out of the Fallout Shelter to what wasn't left on the face of the earth after the big ones went off. Looking back 50 years it seems like sort of flawed thinking, if you ask me.







We'd booked a ride on the 2:15 ferry over to the island. When we showed up, the chiquita selling tickets told us to "Keep your receipt in case the ferry don't go," and pointed to the sign. It was blowing up a storm, and sure enough, come time to get on board, they gave us the heave-ho and directions on how to get to the place where we could catch another ferry to another ferry to the island we were going to. We did that and finally ended up driving past "The Little Ferry That Couldn't" on our way to our island get-away.

But all's well that ends well as somebody told me once. We got there, safe and sound, and set our brake at as pretty a spot on an island in a sound that you could find.

A Sunday Afternoon and Evening: Traveling to Our Nation's Capital

I traveled to Washington, DC today to attend a series of meetings to let people in our "Washington Office" --the WO--know what we in the PNW are doing about H2O. I, of course, used GovTrip to make my reservations which means that it took me about the same amount of time to arrange the trip as it did to make it...

I ended up on United Airlines, flying through Chicago, my least favorite connection. My brother, who traveled A LOT, used to say he'd "rather go to hell than O'Hare..." It wasn't bad today, not the least because I had miles that were going to "expire" on United (can miles really expire?) and I was able to use them to upgrade to first class from Portland.



I stepped off the plane in what was, according to the cabin crew, Chicago. I checked and confirmed it at the first we-sell-everything-for-two-prices store. Yep, Chicago.








The Field Museum, famous for displaying the bones of fictional animals called "dinosaurs"--Sarah wouldn't believe they exist because they sort of didn't get any coverage in The Bible, which would seem to be a major oversight considering Noah had to have a bunch of them on the Ark and all...Anyhoo, they have a replica of some real dino bones right there where kids and adults alike can marvel at the size of those fictional creatures.




This one is called what it says to the left there. They note that it's a plant eater, I suspect to keep small children and Tea Party supporters from panicking and worrying about being consumed by a replica of the bones of a fictional, never-mentioned-in-The-Bible, creature. However, having picked up a bit of the sleuthing habit from my friend Jack D'Mestiere, I couldn't help but notice that a few of the plants nearby looked as though the leaves had been nibbled. ..







I continued to check out ORD, as Chicago O'Hare International Airport is known. There were some fun paintings on benches. And, they had the usual Foreign Exchange booth--what usury that is. Click on the picture to take a gander at the rates. I wonder who uses those things anymore since you can stick your cash card in a machine at your destination--at least most destinations they support--and get cash exchanged for a lot less than here. They'll be gone in a few years, I bet. Or banks will be gone...



Although I didn't have to, I went down in the passage way between the B and C concourses as they have a pretty cool neon light exhibit down there. It's been there for a long time now--more than a dozen years--and it still plays the old United Airlines theme song. But, it's still pretty cool if you like neon, which I do. It's called "The Sky's the Limit" and it's by Michael Hayden.

I went back to the gate to see my least favorite airport name posted. What is it with Reagan anyway? I've been thinking about that during this whole health care "debate" where the naysayers claim we can't afford this and that the program must pay for itself or be repealed, as it will surely end life as we know it. Well, they may be right there, we may actually have health coverage for everyone, including the children they claim to love. However, you don't hear any Republicans demanding the repeal of the Reagan and Bush tax cuts, which we clearly cannot afford. Ronald Reagan convinced people in this country that they could have whatever they wanted and not have to pay for it, and we've been paying for it ever since. By the way, Sarah Palin's kids? Indian Health Service--government-employed physicians and free. Put that in your tea pot, wrap a cozy around it, and toss it in Prince William Sound. Crabby? You bet. I was number 21 on the list for an upgrade to First Class. I flew sardine class from Chicago to DC.




I got off the plane in DC--I checked to make sure it was DC--and all was forgotten as President and Mrs. Obama were waiting outside security to greet me. And the 10 billion other people pouring into town to see the cherry blossoms.

They are a stunning couple, so friendly and outgoing, and thin too! No waddling for them!

A Tuesday Morning in Seatac Airport: Waddling Towards Fatness...er, Fitness

I’m headed to Alaska. Thanks to arguably the worst travel arranging program ever created--GovTrip--I have 3 hours to kill before my flight to Fairbanks. Three hours. There’s a flight at least every hour from Portland to Seattle, so there really isn’t any reason to have more than a 1 hour layover, unless you happen to have to use GovTrip to book your travel. Guaranteed to find you the least convenient connection at a premium price. Brought to you by a defense contractor. Who buys anything from a defense contractor if you have a choice? Expedia? Sidestep? No way.


Three hours to kill. Years ago, a boss of mine, Ralph, taught me that you can get some pretty good exercise in an airport. Ralph had had a heart valve replacement—they stuck a pig valve in there (Ralph always called it porcine instead of pig, but we always thought he looked a little pink around the snout after the operation…) Anyway, he used to park his bag at the gate in Pittsburgh and hoof it around the airport at a good pace. It was before the days of BlackBerrys and cell phones, so he used the layovers to get his daily waddle in. It was also before the days of nutso security so you could just leave your bag at the gate.


I have always remembered that, and I try to do it myself when I have time. Like when GovTrip--have I mentioned GovTrip--gives me 3 hours in Seattle. So today I took off on what I call the Program Manager’s Pack Test. The “Pack Test” is given to wildland firefighters to make sure they are in reasonable shape at the beginning of the fire season. You have to walk 3 miles carrying a 45 pound pack in 45 minutes. The Program Manager’s Pack Test is to waddle to every gate in concourses A, B, C, and D at Seatac in 30 minutes or less, carrying my 15 pound briefcase, and do it without experiencing chest pains.


Airports are set up to encourage waddling towards fatness, not fitness. There’s someplace to eat at every turn. If you are more than 50 feet from someplace to eat, there’s a sign telling you which way to go to get something to eat, drink, or buy. Often there are concentrations of places to gain weight called “Food Courts”.






Food courts contribute to making every airport in the nation smell the same. Oh sure, every once in a while a place like the BBQ joint in the Memphis airport contributes a little something different, but not often. Pretty much they smell like fast-food-burger-pizza-Chinese-sushi-friedfish-coffee-icecream-pretzel-bagel-booze-beer. The all look the same too except for the city name on the t-shirts.





I waddled from C2L where my flight from Portland arrived, 2 hours before I needed to arrive, thanks to GovTrip--have I mentioned GovTrip?--down to the main thoroughfare and turned left, which I believe is north, and headed for the end of the D concourse, passing on an optional trip to N gates, but that takes a train ride. I watched a lot of people watching TV and eating. You can’t escape the cacophony of “TV News” in airports now. Of course, it’s not a real news program, like the Daily Show, but Fox News with their Fair and Balanced coverage of how ObamaCare is the height of Socialism-with-a-capital-S and how it will destroy not only the country, but the rest of the FREE WORLD, defined as countries that don’t have universal health care…wait, I think that rules out any other members of the FREE WORLD…and it will cause EVERY SINGLE DEMOCRAT to lose in the fall, most likely to some illiterate wearing a string mop on his or her head who belongs to the Tea Party and had absolutely no idea what’s in the new health care plan. "Keep your damned government hands off my Medicare!" I'm pretty sure the Alaska flag was at half-staff over this.




I waddle back to Fat City—the food court—and then head for the B and A gates. I do pass some nice artwork along the way, like this mosaic of a western red-cedar on a pillar. Seatac has the requisite art installations which almost no one looks at while they are headed for food. There are no signs to point travelers to the art.









I waddle past VirginAmerica, a version of the famous Virgin Atlantic. Interesting concept for an airline--focus on new customers and forget about repeat business. At least I’m assuming you can only be a Virgin flyer once…








I continue to waddle, past the Africa Lounge which features ceiling fans and some tiger-striped decorative accents. I check out the menu--yep, it screams “Africa” to me…Click on it to make it large enough to read.















Finally, I make it back to the C gates, passing ice cream, cocktails, more bagels and baked goods, three or four coffee joints, and some pizza. I look at my watch. Thirty-one minutes. Technically, I’ve failed the Program Manager’s Pack Test. Damn, it was stopping for all the pictures. I guess I’ll just have to try again. I’m pretty sure GovTrip--have I mentioned GovTrip?--has built that into my trip home.

Morning in the Seattle Airport: Waddling Towards Fatness…er Fitness

I’m headed to Alaska. Thanks to arguably the worst travel arranging program ever created--GovTrip--I have 3 hours to kill before my flight to Fairbanks. Three hours. There’s a flight at least every hour from Portland to Seattle, so there really isn’t any reason to have more than a 1 hour layover, unless you happen to have to use GovTrip to book your travel. Guaranteed to find you the least convenient connection at a premium price. Brought to you by a defense contractor. Who buys anything from a defense contractor if you have a choice? Expedia? Sidestep? No way.


Three hours to kill. Years ago, a boss of mine, Ralph, taught me that you can get some pretty good exercise in an airport. Ralph had had a heart valve replacement—they stuck a pig valve in there (Ralph always called it porcine instead of pig, but we always thought he looked a little pink around the snout after the operation…) Anyway, he used to park his bag at the gate in Pittsburgh and hoof it around the airport at a good pace. It was before the days of BlackBerrys and cell phones, so he used the layovers to get his daily waddle in. It was also before the days of nutso security so you could just leave your bag at the gate.


I have always remembered that, and I try to do it myself when I have time. Like when GovTrip--have I mentioned GovTrip--gives me 3 hours in Seattle. So today I took off on what I call the Program Manager’s Pack Test. The “Pack Test” is given to wildland firefighters to make sure they are in reasonable shape at the beginning of the fire season. You have to walk 3 miles carrying a 45 pound pack in 45 minutes. The Program Manager’s Pack Test is to waddle to every gate in concourses A, B, C, and D at Seatac in 30 minutes or less, carrying my 15 pound briefcase, and do it without experiencing chest pains.


Airports are set up to encourage waddling towards fatness, not fitness. There’s someplace to eat at every turn. If you are more than 50 feet from someplace to eat, there’s a sign telling you which way to go to get something to eat, drink, or buy. Often there are concentrations of places to gain weight called “Food Courts”. These contribute to making every airport in the nation smell the same. Oh sure, every once in a while a place like the BBQ joint in the Memphis airport contributes a little something different, but not often. Pretty much they smell like fast-food-burger-pizza-Chinese-sushi-friedfish-coffee-icecream-pretzel-bagel-booze-beer. The all look the same too except for the city name on the t-shirts.







I waddled from C2L where my flight from Portland arrived, 2 hours before I needed to arrive, thanks to GovTrip--have I mentioned GovTrip?--down to the main thoroughfare and turned left, which I believe is north, and headed for the end of the D concourse, passing on an optional trip to N gates, but that takes a train ride. I watched a lot of people watching TV and eating. You can’t escape the cacophony of “TV News” in airports now. Of course, it’s not a real news program, like the Daily Show, but Fox News with their Fair and Balanced coverage of how ObamaCare is the height of Socialism-with-a-capital-S and how it will destroy not only the country, but the rest of the FREE WORLD, defined as countries that don’t have universal health care…wait, I think that rules out any other members of the FREE WORLD…and it will cause EVERY SINGLE DEMOCRAT to lose in the fall, most likely to some illiterate wearing a string mop on his or her head who belongs to the Tea Party and had absolutely no idea what’s in the new healthcare plan. "Keep your damned government hands off my Medicare!" I'm pretty sure the Alaska flag was at half-staff over this.




I waddle back to Fat City—the food court—and then head for the B and A gates. I do pass some nice artwork along the way, like this mosaic of a western red-cedar on a pillar. Seatac has the requisite art installations which almost no one looks at while they are headed for food. There are no signs to point travelers to the art.









I waddle past VirginAmerica, a version of the famous Virgin Atlantic. Interesting concept for an airline--focus on new customers and forget about repeat business. At least I’m assuming you can only be a Virgin flyer once…








I continue to waddle, past the Africa Lounge which features ceiling fans and some tiger-striped decorative accents. I check out the menu--yep, it screams “Africa” to me…Click on it to make it large enough to read.













Finally, I make it back to the C gates, passing ice cream, cocktails, more bagels and baked goods, three or four coffee joints, and some pizza. I look at my watch. Thirty-one minutes. Technically, I’ve failed the Program Manager’s Pack Test. Damn, it was stopping for all the pictures. I guess I’ll just have to try again. I’m pretty sure GovTrip--have I mentioned GovTrip?--has built that into my trip home.