Full Circle

By all reasonable logic, you’d think we’d had our fill of the Olympic Peninsula by now. Truth be told, even we figured we’d be out of Washington within days of reclaiming our freedom—finally untethered from schedules, deadlines, and the tyranny of “must be here by this time.” But when faced with the prospect of driving back into the greater Seattle area—yes, even just to pass through—we didn’t hesitate. We spun on our heels and headed deeper into the Olympics. The bonus? We could line up a few packages to be delivered to Forks, WA, where we’d swing by later.

Rather than endure the standard route—a congested highway crawling through one city after another—we veered off onto a small country road, the kind you only find by accident or on a treasure map. Neither of us had ever taken it, but it shaved miles off the trip to the southwest corner of the forests hugging Olympic National Park, and that was reason enough.

The drive was a haul—miles and miles until we neared the native village of Queets. From there, we turned onto yet another lonely country road, then finally bumped along a gravel track that felt like it might just shake the fillings out of our teeth. Our reward? A peaceful little campground (1) tucked beside a river, far from civilization, where we stayed just one night, lulled to sleep by the water’s soft rush.

The next morning, our plan had been to keep following the dirt road for miles into the unknown. But the coastline called, and we answered. We steered toward a Washington State Park (2) perched right on the edge of the Pacific, booking two nights before we’d be saying goodbye to the ocean for months.

Yes, it was crowded. Yes, the low hum of generators buzzed through the evenings. But Kerri needed one last salty fix of sea air, and I wasn’t about to argue. On our second night, we invited a solo-traveling neighbor over for a drink, and ended up trading stories well into the evening, the kind of easy conversation that feels like you’ve known someone for years.

Aside from that and the ocean itself, the park didn’t have much going for it—flat campsites, elbow-to-elbow RVs, the usual. But one evening, the clouds parted just enough to give us a single sunset… and it was worth every minute.

Looking out over this coastline from shore feels so different now versus the many times I’ve done it in the past. In late September of 2022, Meriwether exited the moody Juan de Fuca Strait just north of here (the first time it didn’t try to kill us) via Neah Bay and made the Big Left Turn to start our ocean journey down to Baja. Meriwether was out there about 80 nautical miles from this view, heading south. A little over a year and a half later, we ventured *much* further out there into that big blue. It has dramatically changed the way I view it from shore. I used to look out into this coastline and see a vast horizon of mystery — I felt wonder at how big and unknowable and untouchable what was out there was. Now I look out and feel like I know her. Obviously not completely — can you know anyone completely, especially someone with these great depths? But we have an understanding now that I never expected we’d have, and it’s fully changed my experience of even being on solid ground near her. – Kerri

With gas running more than a dollar cheaper at the reservation station, it was the perfect excuse to swing back into Queets and top off the tanks. As luck would have it, the place also had showers—fantastic showers—and for a price that didn’t make you wince. We didn’t even hesitate.

With all our packages finally ready, we pointed the van up the highway to Forks. There, we collected the lot, knocked out the laundry, grabbed a few groceries, and treated ourselves to a restaurant meal. Forks was the perfect size for a supply run—small enough to be easy, big enough to have what we needed. The next city up the road was Port Angeles, but that was far too big and busy for our taste.

Pulling into the grocery store parking lot, something caught my eye—a van that looked so much like Marcel it could have been his long-lost twin. Naturally, I parked right beside it and waited, curious to see the owner’s reaction when they returned. Sure enough, out came a friendly young woman with a faint French accent, surprised to find her van doubled. She was new to life on the road—just a couple of weeks into her first trip in a 1994 Ford E350 Sportsmobile. Hers wasn’t 4WD, but it still had the original Sportsmobile interior in great shape, and it was a beauty. We stood there swapping stories, trading tips, and before parting ways, exchanged contact information—just in case our paths crossed again down the road.

That afternoon, we wound our way up and around the northwest corner of the mountains, hunting for a spot to settle in for a few nights. It wasn’t easy—every promising turn seemed to come up short—but eventually we found one (3) with just enough open sky to keep both the solar panels and Starlink happy. The location itself wasn’t anything to write home about, but it would do. We stayed two nights anyway, using the time to rest, knock out a couple small projects on the van, and just take it easy. The gravel road saw a steady trickle of traffic, and a few hikers wandered through. On our last night, a tent camper rolled in to share the space. Not exactly solitude, but still a step up from the elbow-to-elbow atmosphere of a state park.

When we finally moved on, the plan was to head east of Port Angeles and explore some dirt roads that, according to the map, should offer a view of the Strait of Juan de Fuca. But the universe had other ideas. The first entrance was gated, with a sign cheerfully pointing us toward another entrance—which was also gated. We chased a few more possibilities, only to strike out again and again.

At last, we found one that worked… sort of. The road climbed steeply to a large microwave tower at the top of a hill, but partway down we spotted a short dirt spur (4) ending in a flat, level pad. It looked like it had been waiting just for us. We took the hint and stayed a couple of nights more.

Slowing down and lingering in each spot had its charms, but I could feel the itch building. I’d had my fill of the Pacific Northwest and its endless dirt roads. I was ready—desperate, even—for something new. Anywhere else.

It was around this time that I got a call about the Onan generator still mounted under the van—the bulky, heavy beast I was desperate to ditch. A guy in Seattle was ready to take it off our hands, so we set a date to drive there and finally sell the thing. Just like that, we were back on a schedule—traveling by appointment again. With a few days to kill before the meetup, we took the chance to re-re-revisit Port Townsend, because, well, we always do. As a bonus, we splurged on a spa day at Soak on the Sound, turning it into a bit of a tradition since our long winter stay back in 2020. There was dining, cocktails, catching up with friends, and plenty of sightseeing at places we’d visited a dozen times before. All in all, a relaxing two-night pit stop.

With two more days before the generator handoff, we killed time at a local Harvest Host farm, then headed to Bainbridge Island to visit John and Kate—our longtime sailing friends from the area. John, a pilot with a knack for surprise flyovers, has twice snapped aerial shots of us on the water, so catching up felt like reconnecting with family. It had been years since our last visit, and the stories flowed freely.

Then came the call I didn’t expect: the buyer backed out. No Seattle trip after all—nice, but also a pain, because that bulky generator was still dead weight hanging off the back of Marcel. Half-joking, I said to Kerri, “Maybe we should just haul it back to my family’s place.” She actually agreed it was the best plan. So, just two weeks after leaving, we were heading back—a full circle. By now, we’d been in Washington a full month and made zero forward progress. It didn’t sit right with either of us. But on the bright side, I got one more visit with Mom, and finally stashed that 120-plus pounds of dead weight in the tool shed for future selling or fixing.

We thought we’d be further away than this, 20-ish days after we left Tim’s family in Puyallup. But as we slowly made our way around the Olympic Peninsula, jumping between WA DNR land, National Forest, National Park, State Park, street parking, moochdocking and Harvest Hosts, we found ourselves right back where we started… in Puyallup at Tim’s family’s place.

See, Marcel has this heavy built-in generator hanging off the rear. Back in the day, he came with an interesting setup for AC. The house AC was actually integrated with the cab AC. We’d want to keep the generator if it meant we could get the AC working again, but it was beyond repair. So the generator’s not only useless to us but adding way too much weight to an already heavy rear. Just as we were finally about to move on from Pacific WA, we got a bite from a buyer in Seattle who was very serious about buying. So we stalled a few more days and headed back south again to meet up when he was back in town. But the day before, he called and said he was finally able to find specs on the old thing, and it was ONE INCH too big to fit in his rig. So, being so close to where we started, we did the natural thing, and went back to family to unload it into their storage shed to make it their problem for now. Now our goal is to get to either the Canadian Rockies or MT/WY (still haven’t full decided). – Kerri