Biking Seattle

Above the Ravine

One of my favorite things about riding around Seattle is the multitudes of little side spots where you can transport yourself, if only for a moment, out of the urban landscape and into a different place altogether. Sometimes these are simply tiny inspirations for daydreams, like stumbling across a set of stairs which wind up into the overgrowth and out of sight. Sometimes it’s walking into a stand of trees and suddenly leaving the cement behind. And sometimes it’s heading to a park and finding the green blotch on the map hides the area’s true nature.

A sunny spring day is the perfect time to head out and look for these moments of inspiration. After more than a year in Seattle I hadn’t set foot in Ravenna Park, despite it being only a few miles away. All I knew of the park was the green salamander it draws on the city map just above the University District, so it seemed like a perfect destination for a quick jaunt.

The park isn’t particularly large, just a few blocks wide and sweeping a slow curving diagonal through the streets, forcing the traffic to move around it. Once you come across the park, the reason for the odd shape becomes clear – the park can’t be properly represented on a street map, since its defining characteristic is depth.

The park is largely a ravine that drops impressively below street level, pulling you away from the surface of Seattle quite literally, even without the ragged woods providing a curtain along the boundary of the park. It didn’t seem like the paths dropping down to the valley floor would play nicely with my road tires, but a wide graveled path along the edge worked well enough and provided a stark enough teaser of what might be found below, as the right side of the path edged behind well-made yards, while the left side dropped off into a small wilderness.

Midway through the park, a bridge spanning the ravine gives a glimpse of just how far away the center of the park recedes from the edges. It’s hardly a blip on the map from the edge to the center, but in order to move from one to the other you need to enter at the end and wind down. In the middle at the bridge, there’s no way to get from one level to the other, leaving the joggers running by in an entirely different world. One day I’ll be back to move along the floor, but this time I was left observing from above before moving across the bridge and wandering back to Seattle through the winding streets cut off from most by the contours of the park. And there, not in the park and yet still outside of the city, spring’s wildflowers were waiting in the tall grass, enjoying the sun as much as the people moving and flitting about the park’s paths.

Wildflowers

Sculpture Garden

As I’ve settled into Seattle, I’ve continued to use my bike as a primary mode of transportation to commute and go from one point to another, but as I’ve also settled into a daily routine I haven’t done nearly as much exploring of the city as I should this summer. A few weeks ago I decided to slightly rectify that, getting out on a trail I hadn’t used to get to a destination I hadn’t yet seen.

My wife and I decided to set out for the Olympic Sculpture Park, which not only was a Seattle sight to cross off the list, but has the added benefit of being free. To get there we combined the Ship Canal Trail – one of my favorite short segments of trail I found in my early forays near our apartment – with the Terminal 91 Bike Path and Elliot Bay Trail along the Interbay and waterfront.

Myrtle Edwards Park

The two trails work well, as both fit a mix of water-side and industrial scenery in relatively short (and flat) stretches. The transition between the two requires a bit of on-road navigation, but even the short stretch of uphill marked as steep on the Seattle bike map is quickly over without too much exertion.

The Terminal 91 path at the north end takes you through the middle of a train yard. We checked out the graffiti and various railcars parked to the side as we headed south; the trail is well-maintained although there were a few narrow squeeze points where groups moving in opposite directions had to slow or stop to let each pass.

It continues past the nearby cruise ship terminal (and while I have no real interest in cruising, I can’t help but stop and marvel anytime I’m up close to one of those things – damn, they’re big) and along a fishing pier before turning into the Elliot Bay trail though a pair of waterfront parks (although in reality it seems like one long stretch of parkland).

In the middle of the sun-drenched summer it’s easy to forget the gloom of cloudy winter days, and you could almost take clear views of the mountain ranges on either side of the city for granted. The combination of city, water and mountains, though, is one of Seattle’s great strengths, and the trail provides. The rails are still there on one side of the grassy strip, but to the other side lies the blue waters of Elliott Bay with the Olympic peaks in the background.

Vivarium

The trail meets the city streets right at the base of the sculpture park, which rises above the park and over the artery of Elliott Avenue. It isn’t overly large – from the upper walkway it feels like you can see the entire grounds – but it takes advantage of its topography and a few stands of trees to create tiny pockets for discovery sprinkled throughout, along with the larger works sitting out in the open spaces. We roamed through, found a map and picked out the pieces we’d missed on first pass.

Lunch at nearby Pike Place fueled our return along Westlake back to Fremont, a satisfying day out in Seattle accomplished.

Gasworks Park

The sun has been out in Seattle, and so last weekend I hopped on the bike and headed down the hill to Gasworks Park.

Gasworks is one of the more interesting public spaces in Seattle – a lush green lawnscape surrounding the rusting industrial hulk of a decommissioned gasworks plant.

Sunny day in Gasworks

The relics and shadows of a city’s industrial past always give a silent siren call to me; for some reason the abandonment elevates the interest level.

There’s something about urban decay which allows you to feel an almost intimate connection with the spaces. The lifelessness of machinery sitting bereft of purpose provides a canvas for unconscious stories. A city is meant to be lived in, and items left behind, no longer contributing to the life of the city, can be all the more interesting for it.

Gasworks Park brings this decay, normally found in derelict warehouse districts or on the edge of industrial yards, into a vibrant center of public space. It’s this contrast which allows a rusting hunk of metal to add unexpected beauty to the greenery surrounding it.

The tangled metal piping of the gasworks stands in the middle of the park. The bulk of it is surrounded by a fence, discouraging the climbing and exploration (and trouble, certainly) the structure would otherwise bring. But there are some outlying parts of the plant which are accessible, standing right in the middle of the grass field.

On this day, most of the park’s inhabitants ignored the rust-covered metal to soak in the sun. A group of friends had set up shop behind a pavilion in an area with picnic tables I didn’t know existed before. There we ate, drank and played bocce, soaking in the sunlight and the humanity which had the same thought as us on how to spend the day.

Seattle skyline from Gasworks

There are only so many ways to write about not riding my bike, and far fewer ways to do it that people would actually want to read, but that’s the theme so far this winter.

Part of the problem is my inability to deal with a known bug in my brain’s calculation process. If I ride four times one week, then once the next week, then don’t ride at all, then go out two days, my brain doesn’t think, “I didn’t get out much this month – was lucky to get a ride in each week.” No, the part of my brain which makes these calculations instead feeds me this line: “I’m riding about four times a week. Good work.”

A corollary here is my inclination to weigh the benefits of riding regularly (better fitness, lower weight) and completely discount the effect not getting out might have. This was driven home on a short commuting run last week. After riding to and from campus a couple times a week and adding other rides once or twice a week, I wasn’t exactly sprinting up the hills, but the tamer rises and drops had become a forgotten fact of life. A month or so off the bike, though, left me panting at any incline, even one I’d have counted as “flat” a short time before.

Identifying these issues is far easier than combating the problems. Working from home with classes one day a week makes it easy to pass on riding in the cold and wet, and it doesn’t take long to get out of the habit entirely, staying in even when the sun is out. Facing this blog and seeing the lack of posts might be the best motivation I’ll have – I need to pick up the pace here as well as on my bike. It’s time to give myself something to write about again.

It’s been a long time since I hopped on my bike and went anywhere. Nearly a month, in fact, a period of time which is far too long, but which is not without excuses – I left town over Christmas, a break in classes meant I had fewer reasons to venture out – but mostly the cold, wet and darkness of winter made it easier to drive, or stay close to home (or not go outside at all).

Carkeek path

So when I saw a bit of late afternoon sunshine last week, I made a resolution to venture forth – briefly – for a short afternoon ride, and to head out in a new direction.

Cities have their own gravitational pull, geographically and culturally. From my apartment, Seattle generally pulls south (towards downtown) or east (toward the University). There’s a natural inclination to start out in those directions, not only because it means beginning with a downhill, but because those are the directions where most destinations lay. Even when starting a ride without a destination in mind, or when deciding where, exactly, to go, the unconscious inclination is to start there, in the directions to which I’ve become accustomed.

There’s nothing wrong with letting this impulse guide me most of the time – even starting on a familiar path, there are still wide variations and paths I have not yet seen. But it also makes sense to recognize the routine, and actively decide to go elsewhere, to ride toward the neglected compass points.

So when I headed outside in the thin late-afternoon sunlight, I decided to head north, a way I’d rarely ventured even in a car. For a destination (it’s generally easier for me to choose a spot on the map to head toward, rather than attempting a random route) I settled for a block of green on the map I hadn’t yet seen, Carkeek Park.


The day was chilly, but dry, with clear views across the Sound to the Olympic Mountains, views so impressive I had to stop a number of times when the vista opened on a cross street. When I reached the park, I parked the bike and started down a walking trail to see what I would find with the fading light I had left.

Very quickly, the trail dropped into the trees, a sliver of nature secluded from the surrounding streets. Above, there were still glimpses of houses through the bare branches – I’m sure in summer the full greenery would block even that reminder of the city from the path.

Even though the pavement was dry on my ride, once in the park a fine coat of moisture sat on all surfaces, and in places the trail turned to mud and standing water. The trees seemed to funnel and capture moisture, giving it even more of a feeling of being a separate landscape from the city. The path descended steeply down until it reached the bottom of a ravine, where it joined a wider trail which ran alongside a creek. As I was running low on light, I left the rest of the park for another day.

I rode back, stealing a few more glances of the mountains before sunset, slightly reenergized and resolved to carve out more time for riding and exploration, even in the shortened days.

I started this blog to see if it was actually possible to get around Seattle by bike as a very casual cyclist. After two months of casually biking around Seattle, I can absolutely say the answer is … maybe.

The weather hasn’t been as much of an issue as I would have guessed. The hills, on the other hand, are both better and worse than I initially feared. Continue reading…

Where to go?

There was a discussion in one of my classes recently about web design, and one of the most basic principles went something like this: “Don’t make your users feel stupid.”

I feel like this piece of advice should be adhered to well beyond the confines of web design. Really, in pretty much any instance where you’re trying to impart information to people, you generally want to do so without making them try to figure out what’s being said, avoid confusion and basically not make them feel stupid. So on my ride home from that class, I had to finally stop and take a picture of the strangest “helpful” road marking for bikes I’ve seen in Seattle. Continue reading…

In many ways, I know my Seattle biking experience doesn’t really speak to most other people’s biking experience.

My personal geography patterns cover a small area of Seattle, mostly north of the ship canal. I live in north Fremont and most of my trips are between there and the University of Washington for my graduate program. I don’t think this is a unique footprint, but it covers a pretty insignificant portion of the city limits, much less the greater metropolitan area.

Even in my small space I deal with hills, the challenges of sharing roadways with traffic, a few dedicated bike trails and the difficulties of Seattle’s weather. Most of these are, I think, universal in this city to varying degrees. But it misses a lot of other common experiences – I almost never travel in or between the densely populated areas of Capitol Hill and downtown, which numbers alone suggest must be a common trip and probably requires dealing with steeper grades than I am faced with.

So to break out of my well-worn path, at least slightly, and because the whole point of this exercise is to find out if a bike is a realistic primary mode of transportation, I decided to take a ride downtown, a trip I’d made only by bus or car so far. To choose a destination, I figured ‘What’s more Seattle than heading to Pike Place Market?’ The answer is probably anywhere,  I know, but I hadn’t been since moving here, and I think I have to at least go once before starting to roll my eyes at the very mention of the market and complaining about how it’s only for tourists. (At least I assume that’s how long-time residents react. I moved here from D.C., and that’s basically our reaction to anything anywhere near the Mall.) Continue reading…

I’m well aware that it rains in Seattle, although so far my time in this city has been mostly dry. Even on rainy days, the sky has politely stopped dropping precipitation when I venture outside.

Until last week, when I had to get to class and the rain was definitely coming down. With actual drops, even, instead of simply misting. So I decided to see how I’d fare on the bike. I still don’t have much in the way of rain gear (not just for biking – I don’t have much rain gear for simply being outside in wet weather) but I made do. My laptop went into a plastic zip-lock in my backpack for the ride, a dry shirt was wrapped up and off I went.

As soon as I started, I understood why adding after-market fenders is a cottage industry for the bike shops in town. My fender-less bike threw up water ahead and behind me, although my backpack didn’t seem to have a problem taking the brunt of the spray.

Once again, I arrived at 45th Street right as a bus pulled up. And again, I wrestled with my desire to simply hop on (understandable, I feel, as it was raining) before decided to stick with the bike. On one hand, this was a wise choice, as I handily beat the bus to the U District. On the other, I did end up getting fairly soaked.

Not completely soaked – my non-rain coat handled the rain better than expected, and even though it was wet on the outside, it didn’t seep through and my lower top layers stayed dry. And my new gore-tex shoes worked even better than expected, keeping my feet dry despite the constant spray from the tires.

But wearing jeans isn’t really the best option for wet weather, and even on a short ride of a couple miles they were completely soaked through. On the plus side, the brisk day of around 50 degrees wasn’t so cold to be a major issue, but it was cold enough to still be slightly uncomfortable.

To be fair, this outfit would have left me fairly wet even if I was walking – the bike only accelerated the process. But it did reinforce a few things I’d already guessed:

1. Biking in the rain is certainly doable, if you understand there is water involved and you’ll likely get slightly wet.
2. I need to figure out a proper rain outfit, so I don’t spend an entire Seattle winter in wet jeans.

So far, all the photos I’d taken while biking were with my iPhone. Perfectly serviceable, but I realized I hadn’t taken any pictures of the Ship Canal Trail on my last trek, and it made a good excuse to bring along my slightly better camera to try and capture some nice fall shots.

The South Ship Canal Trail, under the Fremont Bridge

The start of the trail under the Fremont Bridge (well, start for me – I suppose a decent number of people think of it as the end of the trail) is exactly the kind of otherwise-hidden spot I wouldn’t see without heading out on a bike. As I don’t live next to it, I would have been unlikely to walk to the trail, and driving above on the Fremont Bridge you hardly know this quiet spot exists down below.

The trail starts by passing under the bridge, then pops out the other side in a different world. Despite the traffic above on Fremont Bridge, the fallen leaves, grassy bank of the ship canal and ring of trees create a pocket of quiet and near-solitude,except for a few bikers and joggers going by.

Further along, the character of the trail changes, turning more industrial as it approaches the Ballard Bridge. The bucolic scene of leaves and grass moves to a paved-over experience, leading through the back entrance of parking lots for waterfront businesses. The short trail provides a quick transition between the postcard-friendly sights and the everyday commerce of Seattle.

After a slow ride west stopping for photos, I made a quicker trip back east. As I reached the Fremont Bridge, I decided to continue along the water instead of turning north and heading for home. I haven’t ridden much south of the ship canal, and my knowledge of Seattle geography is still iffy, so it didn’t really dawn on me that I was tracing my way south along the west side of Lake Union, riding along an access road lined with parking stretching the entire way, until the line of buildings between my path and the lake stopped, opening up into a small park space giving a vista across.

I pulled out my small tripod and managed to get a few shots of the evening lights around the lake before my camera battery gave out, and I headed home. I hadn’t intended on taking the detour south when I headed out, but it gave me another reminder of how relatively small the city is.

Evening light on south Lake Union