IT’S 9:45 AM ON A WEDNESDAY… I’ve been thinking this over all night and I’d been on the fence all the way up to departure. Can you actually take public transportation all the way to the ocean? Was this really a good idea? Bad idea? What could possibly go wrong? Right? Worst case scenario, I’m either catching a bus back or sleeping on the street. Could be worse, I suppose. After all, sleeping on the ground is kind of the culmination of the evening either way, I tried to assure myself.
While camping season is effectively over in my world by the time this thing hits print, a post-deadline trip to the beach to stare at a campfire and swim in the ocean is one of my favorite pastimes. By the time I’d finally wrapped up deadline, paid the bills and checked my bank account, I was looking at $54.12. Not ideal. With the car I drive and a tank already on empty, fuel alone for the trip there and back would be close to double that. But in the post-deadline delirium, a crazy idea came to the surface…
I’d actually had this thought in the back of my mind for quite sometime. As a fan of public transportation, I’d wondered hypothetically: would it be possible to catch a bus from the Bremerton ferry dock and travel all the way to the ocean on a $2 fare using transfers from bus-to-bus? It’s roughly a 300-mile-round-trip depending on your exact destination. That’s gotta be at least $72 cheaper than taking a vehicle that gets something like 18-miles-to-the-gallon.
Perhaps this was the perfect opportunity, I thought. I didn’t have to be back for another day or two. And if it works, that would leave $52.12 leftover for supplies and contingency plans. Having thought halfway through the idea and scanning a preliminary hypothetical route to follow, I decided to go for it. That morning, like an idiot or out of confidence, not exactly sure which, I pull $20 cash from the ATM and promptly spent almost half of it on beer for breakfast, with the excuse that I needed exact change for the bus…
And maybe something to steady the nerves. I’d been filled with anxiety all morning. Was this a good idea? Bad idea? What could possibly go wrong? Right? It’s bound to be an adventure. If all goes well, the google says I should be to my final destination at the ocean just over nine hours from now. It’s 10:15 a.m., I’m at the Bremerton ferry dock with two dollars in my hand, something like $12 in my pocket and just over $20 in my bank account. I’ve got a backpack with a tent strapped on and two blankets looped through either arm hoop on the pack. Bus No. 217 to the Silverdale Transfer Center arrives. That’s my first leg. I re-run the itinerary in my mind. Then transfer to Poulsbo, right? Then to Kingston? Right? There’s a connection there to the Olympic Peninsula, I think.
Did I get that right?
Have I got my timing right?
One missed connection any where along on the way and I am screwed. My mind is spinning out of control while the bus empties out its few passengers. The driver is on his way out the door right as I am silently losing my shit… “Uh… Can I get a transfer?” I blurt out, awkwardly. I haven’t even gotten on the bus yet. Typically you’d ask for a transfer after you’ve boarded and paid or reached your transfer destination.. The driver responds in a helpful tone, “Well, that depends on where you’re going?”
“I’m trying to get to the ocean,” I say, doing my best to sound like a normal human.
This perplexes the driver a bit.
I’m sure he hears all number of strange situations from passengers every day, but I don’t think he’s heard that one often. “Hmm… which ocean?” he asks. I laugh nervously. ‘The Pacific, obviously,’ I say in my head. Realizing he’s probably asking which part of the ocean, I relay my route idea. Poulsbo was the magic word. No problem, he says, this bus goes all the way to Poulsbo and he’ll give me a transfer slip when we get there.
Here goes nothing…
We arrive in Poulsbo at 11:15 a.m. A second check of the itinerary shows that I, in fact, did not have my timing right to catch a transfer from Kingston across the Hood Canal Bridge. Next best option there is an affiliate of Greyhound with a fare of more than $20 to get to Port Angeles. Yikes. But, it looks like the Number 7 to Port Townsend is a better bet. I can get from there to Sequim onto PA and Forks, then down the coast. No sweat. The Port Townsend bus should be here in an hour. I check back in with the driver, ask for my transfer and tell him the change in plans. He’s not sure the Jefferson County bus will take a Kitsap bus transfer. Luckily, I’ve still got $12 cash. The Number 7 pulls into the station. I don’t see any passengers getting off the bus and neither is the driver. She’s sitting there with the door shut. Checking the time, and knowing if I miss any connections I’m screwed, I walk up to the bus and knock. The driver is annoyed. ‘Are you going to Port Townsend?’ I ask. She looks at me with that look that says, ‘can’t you read the sign?’ She’s on break, leaving in a half hour, ‘now, leave me alone,’ her eyes say. One more question. ‘Can I use this Kitsap Transit transfer?’
“No,” she says bluntly… “But we don’t have a fare.” Score! My frugal (read: broke) self celebrates with a cup of gas station coffee.
ZERO-FARE TRANSIT
Jefferson Transit, along with many other counties in the state, stopped collecting fares during the covid pandemic for public health reasons in March 2020. Most Jefferson routes remained fare free for the next few years until the agency resumed fare collection with the addition of the then-new Kingston Express route in 2022. In 2024, Jefferson became a fully fare-free system when it stopped collecting fares on all its routes. Now, even the Kingston Express is fare free.
More than a dozen transit agencies in Washington are either operating free of fares or considering it, currently leaning on government and grant funding. Mason county’s Transit Authority has been operating without fares since 1992 when voters approved an increase in sales tax to fund the system.
My train of thought is interrupted as the bus travels the back roads through Port Ludlow when the driver asks the two passengers onboard if we are going all the way into Port Townsend. I need to catch the Number 8 bus to Sequim at Four Corners in a couple of hours, I respond. It looks like it will be a three-hour wait. I was hoping there might be some kind of shuttle between the transfer station and downtown, but it sounds like I’d either be too early or too late.
I’ll just kill time at Four Corners, I suppose.
“You know there’s only a gas station there,” the other rider, the one going all the way into Port Townsend, tells me. “Look up ‘Haines Place’ and when the next bus back is from there,” he adds. “There’s a little taproom there at Port Townsend Brewing. I don’t think they’re open until two, but it might be noon…” I know the place. I used to know a bartender there once. I wonder if they still work there. If the taproom is not open til 2 p.m., that’s gonna be pushing it, but maybe I could call in a favor and sneak in before the doors open, I’m thinking optimistic. Sounds better than sitting outside of a gas station for three hours. Probably a bad idea. I can’t miss that bus. If I’m not in Forks before 6:45 p.m., I will have missed my last chance for the ocean and I will be stuck very far from home. The buses run fewer and further between the further out you get, and that’s where this whole thing gets really hairy, I’m thinking to myself. “Look up when the connection you need leaves from Port Hadlock,” the other passenger is still keen to help me out. “There’s a tavern there called The Valley Tavern.” I know the place. Big fan of the Valley and its ‘World Famous Cheeseburgers.” It’s the kind of place where you can throw your peanut shells on the ground, drink cold beer and eat burgers. Cash only if I remember correctly. But if the bus is fare-free from here on out, I’ve still got something like $12 cash left. Wait a minute, brain… is this a trap? Good idea? Bad idea? What could possibly go wrong? Right? Three hours sitting outside of a corner store or a detour for a cold beer and a cheeseburger?
GO MARINERS
We arrive in Port Hadlock at 1 p.m. Against my better judgment on the advice of a stranger, I decide to deviate from the itinerary and get off the bus. I take a seat at the end of the bar, near the retro vertical floating bubble pull tab dispenser. The bar is half-filled with retired afternoon regulars and a couple tables of groups that look like they are on a lunch break from work.
The Mariners game has just started on the television. The M’s are down 1-0 in the top of the first.
I order a world-famous burger and a cold beer. I excitedly tell the bartender my ridiculous plan to get from Bremerton to the ocean using only public transportation. “Well, good luck with that,” she replies sarcastically and gets back to work. One of the ladies from the group by the window is walking by my seat when she sees my ridiculous luggage sitting next to me. “Are you a hiker?” she asks. I don’t really have the gear to be a hiker. I’m an amateur, at best, probably more like an unprepared camper. I’ve been mistaken for a hiker, a transient and a homeless person at this point. I don’t tell her that. I tell her about the ridiculous plan instead.
“Oh, that’ll be easy,” this lady seemingly provides the first bit of encouragement for this plan yet.
I’m not sure if she’s joking. She’s serious. She said she did a trip like that some years ago. She worked at Jefferson Transit as a dispatcher for more than a decade. She thinks it’s probably one of the best systems in the nation. And now, Clallam County Transit, the next bus system I will have to catch in Sequim is fare-free as well, she adds, aside from the Strait Shot to the Bainbridge ferry and the seasonal Hurricane Ridge shuttle. Last year, Clallam initiated a one-year fare-free trial period, joining the more than a dozen transit stations across Washington offering free public transportation.
In 2022, the state legislature allocated near $200 million dollars for transit operations statewide in a 16-year transportation plan, paving the way for zero fare rides for kids under 18 across the state. Those counties which implemented 18-and-under free fare also qualified to apply additional grant funding which was one of the funding mechanisms Clallam used for its zero-fare trial in 2024. Last fall, the Clallam Transit board approved a measure to continue the program. Zero-fare public transit has become a more prominent idea for agencies throughout the state and nation since 2020, with consideration of public health, environmental and equitable concerns and budget percentages that come from the fare box. After suspending fare collection during covid, some counties never started again once they realized what a small portion of their budget was actually coming through the fare box compared to taxes, grants and government funding…
Look at that… home run! Mariners are up 2-1, one out in the bottom of the third. Crap. It’s 2:10 p.m., I’ve got a catch the bus across the street at 2:26. I want to be there early. It’s always good to give yourself a window with public transportation in case the bus is a few minutes early or a few minutes late. I’ve got to go. If I miss a single transfer, I’m screwed. I get to the bus stop at 2:15, standing in front of the grocery store with a small gathering of weirdos. Two older ladies are under the shelter. A guy wearing a graphic tee shirt with a clown face on it and cowboy boots with his jeans tucked into them is pacing around… It’s 2:24 now. He asks me if I think a bus is coming soon. “The 6A, I think,” I tell him, not sharing that I’m not from here and I have no idea. That’s all he needs to know. He lights a sniped cigarette and commences pacing the sidewalk while we all wait for the bus in the afternoon sun. Now, it’s after 2:26. A bus shows up. But it’s the wrong number. This is bus Number 1. “Four Corners?” I ask the driver if he’s going to the transfer station I need to get to. “Nope, already been there,” he says. “This here’s going to Brinnon.”
“But there is a 6 coming?” the guy in the clown shirt has snuck up behind me.
“Oh, yeah, sure…” the driver responds, closing the door, looking the rear view mirror before he pulls the bus back onto the road.
I start to panic. There’s gotta be a Number 6. The itinerary said to be here by 2:26. I pull out the google machine and reload the trip. And all the time sensors have changed. Now it’s showing a 14, 15 or 16 hour trip for every public transportation option I could possibly take. Or an $80+ uber to Four Corners. No, no, no! Not good. I freak out on the inside. We’re all freaking out. Even the ladies inside the shelter are nervous. One of them pulls a paper schedule and reads it frantically. Google says my next best public transportation option for the route is not until 4:30 a.m. Ahhh! What could possibly go wrong? Right? Just as my head starts to spin while the guy-in-the-clown shirt continues pacing and the old ladies stand up, getting restless… the Number 6 pulls into the stop to a collective sigh of relief.
We arrive at the Four Corners transfer station outside Port Townsend at 2:59 p.m. I’m on the Number 8 to Sequim at 3:30 p.m. and the Mariners are up 7-3 midway through the seventh. The transfer is on time in Sequim. My anxiety ramps up as we hit after-work traffic outside of Port Angeles, running late. But the driver kindly holds my next transfer to Forks.
We’re crossing the Elwha at 5:20 p.m. and the Mariners win 9-3! After blissfully staring out the window on the scenic ride around Lake Crescent and another five minutes of sheer terror while waiting for the final transfer out of Forks, finally, I arrive at the Kalaloch Campground at 7:45 p.m., just in time to catch the sunset, set up the tent and ponder the potential of zero-fare public transit and what happens to the world when the Tree Of Life falls into the ocean. // BILL MAN
