June 5th, 2006
Back during my undergraduate studies, I had a friend who would sometimes call a particular way of getting someplace the stupid route. The Stupid Route usually involved some twisted and entirely indirect way of getting somewhere. Just as important as the method was the motive: the stupid route was not the mere result of getting lost -- though sometimes it was. Rather, it involved some level of premeditation. In other words, the route was chosen, or ad-libed in actuality, so as to maximize diversion and, as a side benefit, chance discovery. As you may be able to tell, dear reader, efficiency and common-sense are not characteristic features of the Stupid Route.
I have taken a great number of walks in Seattle. Although I walk everyday to get places, most notably to campus, I like to take walks elsewhere. Sometimes, I take the bus to get to places where I want to walk. In my time here, though, I have taken only 3 walks which I would consider truly Stupid Walks. And it was only last night, on the third and heretofore most stupid, that I remembered the Stupid Route and decided to extend the definition to Stupid Walks -- for I had plenty of time to think about this.
Previous Stupid Walks
For me, my stupid walks have been the result of callous planning, sheer ignorance, or both. When I first arrived in the autumn of Aught-Two, I was scheduled to look at an apartment on the backside of Capitol Hill. I wanted to walk from campus so that I could get a better feel for the area. Looking at a map, I saw that the distance between campus and my appointment was the same as the distance between campus and the place where I was staying. Thus I alloted myself a half-hour for the journey and set off through Montlake and up 23rd Ave. Of course, at some point I would become aware of the tremendous hill, a climb that doubled my travel time. That was Stupid Walk Number 1.
Stupid Walk Number Two happened a month or two later when I left a show at the Showbox and it was too late to catch a bus back to the U District. My old nemesis, the old Route 7 (good riddance that it no longer exists in that configuration), stopped at Aloha Street. So I had to walk the rest of the way. Fortunately, most of it was downhill this time. Still... kinda dumb.
In the course of writing this, I have realized that I have actually taken four stupid walks. Having already created the map designating last night's walk as Number 3, my list will have to be non-chronological. To wit: Stupid Walk Number Four occurred after Bumbershoot 2003. I decided to walk from Seattle Center to my haus. It wasn't too taxing since it was mostly flat but its stupidity was enhanced when I let several buses pass me by on Eastlake. At that point, my pride kept me walking.
Stupid Walk Number 3
A project in the Polish community with which I am involved took me to Fortress West Seattle. As my car is in dire need of an oil change and I have not performed one yet, I relied on the bus for my trans-Duwamish journey. I did not want to argue with my host or fellow compatriots who wanted to offer me a ride; it is useless to argue with Polish hospitality, especially when it is mixed with Polish common sense. Therefore, I lied to them and said I was meeting friends down at Alki Beach. In reality, I just wanted to walk to the water taxi. Unfortunately, I was not able to double-check whether the water taxi ran late. I vaguely recalled from last year that it did. What I found out after the mile-and-a-half-or-so walk was that it did run late -- but only on Friday evenings.
Fortunately for me, I had prepared myself for the eventuality that I would have to hike over Harbor Island. And fortunately for the stupidity of this plan, I had not reflected on the magnitude of such a walk for too long. Any sane person would have quickly dismissed this criminally insane idea. In a car, the drive from Alki Beach, around Alki Point, and across the West Seattle Bridge takes about 10-15 minutes. Of course, driving distorts perceptions of distance, especially in Seattle where, despite the traffic, cross-town travel is pretty speedy. I defy anyone who thinks Seattle a small city to take some inter-neighborhood walks and re-evaluate their thoughts.
A short time before rounding Alki Point -- where Alki Ave SW magically evolves into Harbor Ave SW -- I hear Polish voices behind me. They come from three men in their 20s who are conversing and walking intently. One of them wears the requisite, three-quarters-length leather jacket. My uncle, the one with the leather and fur store in Chicago, would be proud. This is the first time I had randomly heard the Polish language spoken out in public in Seattle. For a moment, I think about greeting them in Polish as they overtake me; however, I am not particularly in a mood for conversation. I remember the words of one of my thesis interviewees, Pani Wysoka, who said she does not seek out and befriend people based solely on their Polish background.
I have always been intrigued by the somewhat secluded section of Harbor Ave between the Bridge and somewhere south of Alki Point. It is tree-lined and there is a high berm on the water side that one cannot see over. Trees line the median as well as the sides; coupled with the grassy berm, it is very green here, even after dark. The trees are the same young age and, unfortunately, are a monoculture. I hope we don't get any maple diseases anytime soon. Apparently there is some sort of park and public shoreline tucked in over the berm. I have put this on my list of new places to check out.
It is also at this point that I begin to realize how exceptionally dumb this whole idea is. Before this leg of the walk is through, I stop at the curiously-located 7-Eleven to fortify myself with an ice cream novelty and a Pepsi, quick fuel for the journey still to come.
Aside from being beautifully industrial and utilitarian, the leg over Harbor Island was pretty uneventful. I have always loved the portion of Spokane Street under the Bridge far better than the Bridge itself. Not that I wish the Bridge weren't there; it certainly has its place and it makes this lower part the intriguing place that it is. This is my preferred driving route to Fortress West Seattle. The walk was quiet and gave me the chance to take in the industrial charm, for example, of hidden visual treasures like the Chelan Cafe, the secret cloud-making factory, and Firestation 36.
It also afforded me the opportunity to examine the visually fragile architecture of the West Seattle Bridge. The structure consists of pre-cast concrete sections at its highest point; here, the sections look fairly stout. But as in all architecture the eye is deceived, for these pre-cast sections are mostly hollow. The remainder consists of longitudinal steel beams. Taken in from a distance, the roadway itself undulates gently and vertically on its way from SODO to West Seattle. From several angles, above and below, it looks like a thin ribbon on tall sticks. Due to clearance concerns for vessels on the Duwamish, the road is high up in the air. The entirety of the bridge, then, is supported by tall, concrete posts. All of these posts are vertical, though, and nothing looks to be giving the Bridge lateral stability. It seems that north-south oriented earthquake waves would cause the bridge to undulate side to side along its entire length.
In these times of heightened security, I was quite surprised at the chinks in the armor, as it were, on the edge of the Port. For example, at one point I saw a tall chain-link fence meeting a taller fence with barbed wire atop. At the junction there was a foot-long gap.
At about the halfway point of this second leg, I crested the SW Spokane Street bridge. This handsome structure, built of sveltely-cast concrete, consists of two leaves which, rather than raising, swing laterally to allow ships to pass. At the top I ponder the poor, contaminated Duwamish Waterway for a few minutes and then examined the ingeniously low-tech method the bridge tenders use to change its navigation lights.
At the SODO end of Spokane Street, the area begins to get sketchy. I generally never have a problem with late night walks; I "clear my baffles" frequently and stay aware of my surroundings. This night makes me realize that neither heavily populated nor deserted areas at night are most sketchy. Rather, it is the intermediately populated areas. People who are out late, myself included, do weird and sometimes suspicious things. When there are more people present, though, weirdness is diluted by the mundane people doing their mundane things. However, when a very small number of people are out and about, they are certainly up to no good. And I have to pee... so I do the proper thing and pee in a semi-secluded spot by an offramp. Completing leg 2 of 3, I turn onto East Marginal Way S and see a man sitting in a car near an entrance to some Port property. He flips through a magazine and we make eye contact on two occasions. I don't know whether he's an undercover security guard or murderer-in-waiting or just a pervert.
In any case, I have no desire to stay on East Marginal Way. I am still in the intermediately-populated sketchy area. Make no mistake, I love this part of town and I frequently take late-night drives through here. However, my explorations take place in the safe bubble of my trusty mechanical steed. On foot, though, I am vulnerable to the occasional unknown automobile and the rampant remote-controlled locomotives running roughshod all over the place! I make my way over to 1st Ave South where a greater number of cars, relatively speaking, whiz by. I am out of the sketchy area, I am out of the slutty seaside resort of Alki, I am back in gritty, civilized Seattle.
I had once walked from the complex housing Sears and the Universal headquarters of Starbucks up to downtown. I remember thinking back then that that was far. P'shaw. I like 1st Ave S. Like 4th Ave S, it is big-city wide and big-city industrial. I feel, though, that its somewhat up-and-coming -- like it has the potential to become Chicago's Clybourn Corridor. The "loftization" and development occurring up near the stadiums is slowly marching southward. Some of the old warehouses are now office lofts with nicely-refinished exposed wooden beams. This sort of adaptive reuse makes me happy. Across from one of these buildings is a very contemporary Starbucks. It gives a nod to the area with its brick-clad veneer. Well done.
The Pepsi has really kicked in and I need to pee again. Fortunately, I stumble upon a small, but gorgeous, neon sign that simple states "Bar", with "Hooverville" painted on it though not illuminated. At first I think it is a relic but as I near I hear music. It is open! I walk past two hipsters sitting at the bar and three lite hipsters sitting in a booth and take care of my need. I feel bad about peeing and running, but if I sit down now, I won't want to continue walking. I make a mental note to check this place out in the future.
At any point on 1st Ave, I could have hopped a bus seeing as several have passed me already. However, at this point, a stupid sense of pride and accomplishment overrule my common sense. "I walked here from Alki," I could have boasted at the bar and I probably would have gotten a free drink.
On 1st Ave, just north of the on-ramp to the Viaduct, is one of my favorite ghost signs. It is the one for Duncan Boots and Saddles. Although it is more vivid than faded, it is a ghost nonetheless; the business no longer exists on-premises. Illuminated by the amber glow of street lamps, it sat there quietly in the relative still of the night, looking somewhat cheerful and positively charming.
I finally arrive at 3rd and Union to catch a 73 up to the U District. I have walked Northeast, Southeast, South, East, and North tonight. It's good to finally relax my feet. When I get off at the headwaters of the Ave, my last few blocks are an ironic westward walk to my house. Stupid Walk Number 3 has been completed.
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photographs
photo item number 00-Stupid_Walk_No_3.jpg