I’m not a numbers guy. I was terrible at math in high school. Even worse in college. I don’t count things like steps or reps. Never understood common metrics like calories or blood pressure. Never balanced my checkbook (when that was a thing).
So, when people ask me how many ferry trips I’ve taken, I tell them thousands which is close enough. For twenty years I’ve gone from Edmonds to Kingston and back again. I often get the look of pain, and I understand where it comes from. For many, taking the ferry means long lines and broken-down boats and expensive food and obnoxious tourists.
But I’ve experienced very little of that. I enjoy taking the ferry.
Every morning, I get to meet with my Little Boston co-workers at the tribe and gossip and drink coffee and laugh and drink more coffee. And on the way home, I nap. I’ve been commuting with Joe for decades (we’ve managed to find work at the same place over the years), and we’ve got it all down to a science.
I’ve seen it all on the ferry route. Killer whales. Porpoises. Near misses (the ferry is moving a lot faster than you think). Rescues. Beautiful sunsets and spectacular dawns.
