We got up today, cleaned out the Tacoma AirBnb, and headed out toward Port Angeles. The drive over there wasn’t too eventful, but traffic was rather annoying. All that melted away with the majesty of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge and rejoining US Highway 101, almost exactly four years after we first turned up that road. Last time we drove this highway, in many ways, we were different people. And that was so many cars ago, too!
We had lunch at the H20 Bistro in downtown, where we had lunch on our final big drive day of the first trip. That took longer than it was supposed to, but we finished up lunch with “just enough” time to make the run up to the Hurricane Ridge Visitor Center in Olympic National Park, hoping to recreate our first epic photo.
That would have been great, except we were smited by the automotive gods for our nostalgia quest. We rolled into a big traffic jam on the park service road headed up around the entrance pay station. And before we could really figure out what we wanted to do about that, I looked back and realized that George’s car was smoking. Not subtly. I radioed him about that and he jumped to the Tracker’s defense with:
Well, Evan’s car is smoking, too! He should also stop.
Which, alarmingly, was also true. So all three of us stopped on the side of the road a mile or so out from the entrance fee station. As the parade of cars marched on by us, a handful of them rolled down their windows to offer “helpful” advice.
Somehow, both the Volvo and the Tracker started smoking at the same time, but from different places. Both smelled like standard motor oil smoking. George noted that the area that was smoking in his engine bay had been wet before, so he decided that this was just old oil burning off. After all, it wasn’t dripping. Evan’s appears to be a bit more complicated because there was an active oil drip likely from this turbo fan down onto his cat. Also the back of the Volvo and the front of the Celica are covered in a fine mist of oil dropplets, and I was directly behind him all morning…
Given yesterday’s cooling system surgery on the Celica, I was a bit petrified that I’d join the other two in heart-sinking mechanical failures, but today was the Celica’s least smelly day yet! Apparently, our fix has resolved its tendency to smell like burning coolant after being driven!
But I still did a thorough lookaround to be sure. Annoyingly, I think I spilled a bit of fresh coolant either in the cab, on my shoes, or in on my jacket because all day I kept catching whiffs of coolant that scared me, but I never found a source. It wasn’t a burned coolant odor, it was a more “medium rare coolant” aroma. Hopefully that’ll just dry out and finish dissipating by tomorrow. Hell, I’m just glad that the coolant reservoir level was steady. That really does point to major improvement.
Given the delay, the increasing traffic, how soon the ferry was due to leave, and notable concern from the owners of the Volvo and the Tracker that we should take the rest of the afternoon easier, we headed back down the mountain to board the ferry. Also there was really heavy cloud-cover along the ridge line, so I am telling myself that we wouldn’t have been able to see anything anyway. We did get one family photo at a turn out on the way back down, but it was a bit lackluster.
After knocking around Port Angeles one last time, we lined up to board the ferry.
The boat ride over to Victoria was great fun! My grandparents used to take me on a ferry line in Texas and I always think back to those trips on the rare occasion I find myself on another ferry line.
This ferry is run by Black Ball Ferry Line, a private company, now that BCFerries no longer runs a Port Angeles line. It appears to be a single vessel, the M.V. Coho, which first went into service in 1959. It boasts capacity for 1,000 people and about 115 vehicles. It is 341 feet long with a 72′ beam and an average sea speed of 15 knots. That didn’t seem like much until we were under way, rocking back and forth in the wind, plowing through the Salish Sea. They packed the cars in super tight but we ended up together, packed into the bow. We spent most of the trip exploring the ship.
Between boarding with smoking cars and a gentleman on the forward observation deck singing his own rendition of Woodie Guthrie’s This Land is Your Land, except “This Coast is Your Coast” — with nautical themes and subtle calls for environmental stewardship laced into the lyrics — I feel the trip has really started.
On the Canada side, Passport Control got interesting. Thankfully, we ended up in the same lane on the way out and George went first. He’s good with new people. Sitting behind him, I felt like his conversation went rather long. Then it was my turn. It started with “where’s home” and “how long will you be in Canada” and then…
So tell me the story.
Canadian Passport Control.
Oh good. How much had George explained?
Well, we’re three friends from college. We’re on a roadtrip to Anchorage, Alaska. I started in Austin, they met up with me in Seattle. We’ll be in Canada for about 8 days before crossing back into the States at Beaver Creek.
Taylor. Not sure how a story this nuts will play with Border Patrol.
He then asked what will become of the cars, if we’re driving them back or “is it a throwaway car?” What offensive language! I intend to sell it…
Apparently, by the the time he got to talking to Evan, he’d loosened up a bit. After a few Canadian adult beverages last night, Evan admitted that Border Patrol asked him which car he thought would make it. And he answered the Celica!! I am delighted and also intimidated because now it’s Canadian public record and I must succeed.
Victoria is a delightful little town. I want to come back here for a week sometime. For being such a hot tourism destination so close to the US, it felt very international with a lot of European elements. It’s a strange mix — European city layout, fashions, and walk/bike-ability, but big cars and lots of parking. Also everyone here is gorgeous.
Also, Google Navigator (which I’m proud to say, I have used for less than twenty minutes total since leaving Austin!) now gives directions using meters and my cash has a portrait of the Queen looking at me like I owe her something.
We hit up The Livet for a late dinner before we came back to our gigantic suite at the “hotel / brewery / gastropub / cocktails bar / liquor store” we’re staying at called the Swans Inn. Of course, we had to check out the brewery on the way in. It’s not a late night for us, because we run the entirety of Vancouver Island tomorrow!
