By Bob Francis (map looking due north of Port Townsendby Google Earth)
I moved, he moved. I stopped, he stopped, and his motorcycle fell over. Move, move, stop, stop, splat!
I jumped out of the van and helped lift the heavy bike back up. He gimped over to the side and off the street, sat down on the grass, more shocked than injured. I made sure he was OK, we traded insurance information and that was that. I went home and called my insurance agent.
A few days later an insurance adjuster called and asked if he could record a statement. I said sure. After a while he asked what direction I was heading when the accident occurred. I wasn’t sure. That’s the way it is in this town. I mean, the whole town’s at the end of the road.
We live on the tip of a peninsula hanging off another peninsula, perched on a coastal plain tucked between mountains and an inland sea, dwarfed by geography, isolated, disoriented by surroundings defiant of plumb bobs, survey lines and compass rose orientation. Everywhere you turn, a land of corners.
So, how in the hell am I supposed to know what direction I was going? The only thing I could think of was that I was at the corner of Walker and Washington heading towards Mt Rainier. And that seems like it ought to be east.
Although, Rainier, on a clear day … I think it’s really closer to south.[/et_pb_text][/et_pb_column][/et_pb_row][/et_pb_section]