I get lost a lot. Once I got lost on a straight stretch of road with no cross streets. True story. I get lost so frequently that I’ve decided it’s a weird kind of gift. A knack. I have a knack for getting lost.
I got lost on Sunday. This was the perfect occasion to get lost. I was on vacation, I had no place to be, no connection to make, no ferry to catch, and I was on an island, which, theoretically at least, meant that I couldn’t get too lost.
So, I had planned to go to Oak Harbor and spend money at their enticingly-named “harbor-side shops.” Who can resist harbor-side shops? I can’t. The roads at the harbor-side, however, were torn up. One of those big signs with the lit-up letters proclaimed, “Businesses Open! Sidewalks Open! Plenty of parking! Ask a flagger for help!” It sounded a little desperate. I turned right instead and went down to the Windjammer Park and walked along the boardwalk. I debated trying to go back and find a way to those seductive shops, but gave it up.
Heading back, I missed a right turn. At least, I think that’s what I did. I still don’t really know. Soon I was driving on a road that looked kind of like the one I’d come in on, except none of the businesses looked the same. Then the road curved left and took me across the lowlands with a left-to-right view of Puget Sound—blue ocean, blue sky, white clouds and islands as far I could see in either direction. There was a spit of land beyond the pastureland, lined with houses. They didn’t look like new expensive homes; they looked weathered.
I knew I hadn’t been here before. I drove a while longer and found Whidbey Island Park. George Vancouver named the island for Joseph Whidbey, who had led a small boat expedition and found Deception Pass. After all, it wasn’t Whidbey’s fault that the pass was evil and deceitful and stomped on Vancouver’s dreams.
The road veered right, so I knew I was heading back toward the town of Oak Harbor. Now houses started appearing on either side of me. They were single family dwellings that had a certain sameness to them. Ahead of me I could see a very tall tower with at least a dozen satellite dishes sprouting from it. Somehow, I didn’t think it was Dish Network. The tower was surrounded by a tall chainlink fence hung with signs warning me that this was a government installation and there was to be no trespassing.
Have I mentioned that there is a strong military presence in this part of Washington? Naval, mostly, which shouldn’t come as a surprise. There is a Naval Air Support base in Oak Harbor. I think I was driving along the western edge of it.
After that, though, I passed a sign that said Town Limits. Hurray! Back in Oak Harbor. . . somewhere. Since I have the X chromosome, I have a secret weapon when I’m lost; I can ask for directions. Before I did that though, I made about three U-turns. Then I made a right turn, heading south, back into town. There were no familiar landmarks, like the Kasteel, a baroque restaurant/banquet center I had passed on my way in. (Kasteel may be Dutch for castle, but it sounds like a science-fiction alloy you’d make space ships out of.) There was a strip mall on my right, with a used book and comic store. It had to be fate. My only fear was that it would be staffed by sneering seventeen year olds who had never left Oak Harbor, or just wanted to mock the lost tourist, and I thought I could probably survive that.
The shop was a big barnlike space, with eight-foot high selves carving out U-shaped alcoves along the walls, filled with books. There were lots of fantasy and science fiction, lots of thrillers and mystery, lots of romance, and some non-fiction, mostly historical, some (not much) political. These looked like true used books, books that had been read. The register and counter were to my right and down the center of the store ran a line of shorter shelves and tables. At the back the owner had DVDs and maybe even some VHS, I’m not sure. On the center shelves were some new books, even some hard-covers. Serendipitously, the shop had the first six Harry Dresden novels in paperback. I had agreed to review the early Dresden books for fanlit, and I need to re-read them. Here they were! I scooped up two. While I was browsing, the person behind the counter was helping a trio of people looking for a comic book series called, they thought, “Witches.” The counter person wasn’t able to help them, although she did find Witch Hunters. She explained the system for the comic books, which were boxes on the tables behind the new books. There was a numbering scheme and a catalog and it was clear that if she had the book, she could tell you which box it was in, in about two seconds.
I also found quilted book covers, a completely frivolous thing you find at craft fairs; I bought one with lighthouses on it for Faith and one with roosters for Sharon. When I got up to the counter I was surprised to see that the counter helper was probably five years older than me, with nicely coiffed gray hair and severely plucked eyebrows. She picked up the Butcher books and said, “I hated that the show went off the air! What was Syfy thinking?” (A whole post could be devoted to that question.) I agreed. She said she thought the actor who played Dresden captured the role perfectly.
Then I asked her how to get back to the Highway 20 spur.
Her eyes widened. She tried to stifle her laugh, but couldn’t quite. “Okay,” she said. “Go left out of the parking lot. There’s a light about half a block up . . .”
“Oh, no,” I said. “I came that way.”
“Anyway, turn right, and there you are.”
I had done that, just before I’d ended up here. Turning off that road to come back into town had been my third U-turn.
I picked up my purchases, thanked her, and got back on the road.