I’ve taken over 6,000 ferry rides since moving to Vashon Island. Most of these were uneventful passages to work and back. But everyone once in a while, say 1% off the time, or 60 sailings, I’ve been the very first car on the ferry.

Being the first car on the ferry has some unique benefits. Unless an ambulance or police car has priority loading, the first car loads into the first spot of the center lane, perched out on the bow of the boat. The view from this vantage point is unencumbered and fantastic. On summer days, you can roll down the windows and open the sunroof and take in the glory of sun and sea. In winter, you feel the rollers and spray even with the windows up. No reason to go up on deck when you have such a wonderful ringside seat. I almost always put down my book or laptop on these journeys and soak in the raw beauty of the waves usually lost on me back in the bowels of the car deck on other sailings.

But being the first car on the ferry also has its downsides. Earning this spot means you missed the sailing of the previous boat by just one car. You were the lonely vehicle left on the loading dock while all the cars in front of you sailed off, the ferry worker dolefully shaking his head as the traffic divider bar slowly descends, dooming your fate. You’l wait about an hour stewing on this before you get to enjoy your prime viewing position.

In the probability analysis all commuters calculate every morning and night, wondering when is the last possible minute you can leave and still get on the ferry, being this first car is tangible proof that you blew it. That pause over a last sip of coffee in the morning, that last small talk at the elevator at day’s end, the missed traffic light, all these you think about as you wait.

New York commuters rushing to their trains have a distinct advantage. All they have to consider is travel time and a fixed departure. With ferries, you have to also estimate the volume of other commuters, dump trucks, tourists, and delivery vans that fill up the ferry sometimes well before the sailing time. If only it were so easy to plan on time alone.

This is why ferry commuters usually have a diversion with them: a book, a journal, a musical instrument to while away the time. I’ve filled many journal pages with private thoughts over the years during these unplanned delays.

After over twenty years of ferry commuting, I now see this as just another part of life. Normal. Simply driving straight to work with no waiting, no surge of the sea as you make the crossing, no unplanned hour of waiting to read or think, or maybe write… without that, my life would feel diminished. Incomplete. So, I’ll keep this up, practicing my daily probability analysis, and while I’m sure I’ll be frustrated, I’ll deep down relish my perch on the bow of the ferry when I find myself there once again.