To drive for the joy of driving.

Of riding.

Of feeling tires on asphalt.

Driving through Olympic National Park. Drawing is from Port Angeles campground at the base of the mountains.

Rolling. Rolling.


A sea of trees rising and falling.

Sunlight appearing. Disappearing.

Light and color dance in and out of shadow.


The hum of the road.

The joy of the moment.

The satisfaction of miles behind.

The anticipation of adventure ahead.


Astoria – Forks – Beaver – Cape Flattery

Sol Duc – Lake Crescent – Port Angeles


No music this year.

No Nirvana or Pearl Jam or Alice.

Instead, the rhythmic

Leaving Olympic National Park, driving along its eastern edge along the Hood Canal opposite Kitsap Peninsula

meditative hum of

tires on pavement.

Bait and Tackle.

Guns and Ammo.



Discarded boats wedged between tree stumps.

Hulls fed upon like carrion

dissolving under the weight of the sun

with no water to coax them back to life.

Around and around.

Mile after mile

we follow the shape of the shore

and trace memories in our minds.