I believe I've ridden the ferry from Bainbridge Island over 1,000 times. Day in and day out, I embark and disembark 10 times per week, 10 hours of commute time. This gentle steel beast has glided through choppy, white-capped water, through a Sound as smooth as steel. It's been jostled by gales, bumped over waves. It's the place where I rediscovered my love for writing, and a place where I've devoured books and beer. Instead of viewing the ferry as part of an annoying commute, I viewed it as a place where I could relax both before and after work.
I will only ride the ferry another 10 times. This week will be my last few trips on the Wenatchee, or the Puyallup. It's been so long that I recognize people now - families with kids, a woman who wears the same boots and coat every day, men in neon biking gear. My fellow ferry commuters are like family, and I'll miss them. I'll miss the mirrored grays and blues of sky and sea.
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