Last night on the way home from Vancouver, we made it through the US border and came to an unexpected choice. Continue down I-5 toward home, or head west toward the signs that say "Ferries?" At the last minute Oren chose To The Ferries and we veered right off the highway.
Turns out that the ferry terminal (to where? O pulled out the map while I drove ahead) is only 34 miles from the interstate but over an hour's drive. It seemed like a good idea as we passed the first town, then the second, then a cafe in the middle of what seemed like nowhere... and then, admitting that we had no idea when the ferries left, where they went, how much they cost, or whether there would be space for us, the idea of turning around and driving 5 hours home started to seem better and better. But the rain kept stopping for minutes at a time which I think encouraged us, and we arrived at the Keystone Ferry Terminal (not on our Rand McNally map of Washington state) at 7:25 pm, exactly 5 minutes before the ferry was slotted to cast off, and with space for exactly three cars without reservations, of which we were one. And a mere $13 for us and the trusty Civic to cross the spit! (I'm still not sure which body of water we crossed.)
A half hour later we landed in Port Townsend, WA (which in retrospect is probably like saying we landed in Newport, RI or some other well known vacation destination) but all we were hoping for was at least one motel and maybe a pizza place that served any kind of slices without animal on top. Instead we found ourselves on an adorable little Main Street that ran along the water, with "HOTELS" (big fancy, old-fashioned and vaguely Western lettering across the windows) and pizza joints, bead stores, antique shops, etc lining the road.
Oren hopped out and jumped through puddles into the first hotel to ask about prices for a last minute room. I watched through the rainy windshield as the woman behind the desk gestured with both arms - which Oren repeated - then she switched directions and pointed again. I saw her pull out a paper and point to the cover. More gesturing. Smiles, nods, laughs. Ten minutes later Oren came back out and jumped into the car. The hotel was too expensive for us, but we had happened to land in Port Townsend the night before the Annual Kinetic Sculpture Festival. But of course! The next day we walked around until noon, which was the Official Start of the Kinetic Skulpture Kickoff. (The thai place we ate at later that afternoon promised $1 off any meal with a 'k' in its name.) Promptly at noon, dozens of human-powered sculptures of various sizes headed down Main Street, preceded by a drum band and one of the Kinetic Kops on a reclining bicycle.
The Saturday component of the Festival had three parts. One) Parade down Main Street.
Two) Pedal up the hill on one of the not-so-main streets. One at a time, on a visual (arms waving) cue from the Kinetic Kop, start down the hill, gaining as much speed as possible or as you feel is safe. On the next cue from the Kop (a huge cut-out, silver hand with SKOP! written on both sides), put on your brakes and hope they work. The audience will clap if they do - and you'll run over the Kop if they don't.
Three) Run your craft down a marina entrance into the water. Watch the crowd hold their collective breath if your sculpture doesn't look particularly float-worthy. Paddle/pedal around in some kind of circle, or alternatively, pedal as hard as you can but don't go anywhere, and let the kayakers come push you back in toward shore.
All in all, it was a brilliant way to spend a damp Saturday.
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