Let's say you were driving on the I-5 in Washington state, about an hour north of Seattle. You could take the SR-20 west about twenty miles, then the 20 spur towards Anacortes. Continuing on past this charming town, you might book passage on the San Juan Islands ferry. Stay on the ferry past Lopez Island and past Shaw Island, and you'll arrive at Orcas Island. Enjoy driving around beautiful Orcas Island on its hilly two-lane roads until you come upon the tiny hamlet of Olga.

Now, what's that in the lot over to the right? Looks like a Volvo 210 that's seen better days. And parts of many other old Volvos... Oh, and how about this Jensen-built P1800 over here by the curb? Stop the car! Holler "Hello the house! Anyone home?"

If you were to follow these steps precisely, you might find yourself having a conversation with an extremely personable man named John, who's happy to talk about his Volvos. That's not a 210, it's a 445 (see the split windshield?), which John intends to restore. There's a second body shell in the yard, and the two can be welded into one sound unit. Over here, there's a 444 parts car, which John trucked down from Hope, British Columbia. Indeed, the whole property is John's private Volvo recycling center.

Suppose you were here on a road trip from southern California, like we were. You might comment on the serendipity of having come 1500 miles to a pretty remote place to find yourself looking at, and talking about, old Volvos. "Heck," John would tell you, "This is nothing much. You could drive up any number of dirt roads on this island and find guys that have much more stuff than I do. Seems like about every third car you see is an old Volvo."

John would be exaggerating -- it's more like every seventh or eighth car. Not shiny, restored cars, for the most part, just old Volvos still giving good service after thirty or forty years in the rain -- PVs, Amazons and 140s of all sorts -- cars that look as natural in the northern Puget Sound setting as trees and streams.

We had this conversation with John halfway through our third annual camping trip to the Northwest. Our mode of transport on these trips is not a Volvo at all, but a somewhat battered avocado-colored VW Westphalia bus, since tenting on the ground in the region's famously wet climate is not my idea of a good time. We love the Puget Sound area -- the rain, the green, the flowers, the running water and the friendly people; all things southern California could use more of.

Back home, 240s, 700s and 850s abound, but the older cars are almost rare. At that, one is more likely to see 1800s than Amazons, which is (I suppose) in keeping with Californians' "sporty" self-image. One would think that our benign climate would favor preservation of the other models as well -- I can only suppose that they were never that popular down here to begin with, or that people just let them go as "not trendy enough."

After a time, we concluded our chat with John and continued with our exploration of Orcas Island. A drive up Mount Constitution and a short walk to the summit later, we took in a 360-degree panorama of the entire Sound. This is the highest place on Orcas, and, weather permitting, it affords views of Mount Ranier behind Seattle, Mount Baker behind Bellingham, and Mount Olympus on the Olympic peninsula. Clouds permitted views of only the lower parts of these peaks on the day we visited, but we could see well into Canada to the north and Vancouver Island to the west. Spectacular stuff.

I'd guess we saw at least five or six different Amazons (or older cars) every day of the trip as we continued north to the city of Vancouver, B.C. (which is on the mainland, not on Vancouver Island at all) for several days of touring, museums and shopping. Back home, a sunny day is a sunny day -- here, a sunny morning tells you nothing about the afternoon's weather. We get a good soaking walking back in the rain from the Vancouver Museum over the Burrard bridge to where we left the bus in Gastown, as the original settlement here was known.

The following day, it was back down to the USA, over the Deception Pass bridge onto windy Whidbey Island, and by ferry (the Illahee, built in 1927) over to the Kitsap peninsula. A brief detour off the highway put us in the old town of Poulsbo, the "historic" district of which is built entirely in a half-timbered Scandinavian style with signs in Norwegian! We ended that day in picturesque Gig Harbor, across the Tacoma Narrows (and the "Galloping Gertie" bridge) from the city of Tacoma.

Morning saw us through Portland (no, we didn't stop to visit ipd...) and into the mountains of Oregon, racing the logging trucks, and being passed handily in the process by a bright red 122S (anyone care to claim it?). Leaving the Interstate at Grant's Pass, we head for the coast on US 199. Now, we had been on this road before, but I looked at it in a new perspective, remembering Brook Townes's rapturous account (in the VSA Western States Magazine) of his traverse of this very stretch in his 1800E. The road is perfectly suited to sporty driving in a fast Volvo: smooth pavement, sweeping curves, reasonable grades and fast straight corridors through arches of trees, broken here and there by small towns in which to cool down motors and brakes. I didn't attempt any great speed in our VW bus, but I could just about fantasize it as we went. Highly recommended! Greeting us at the eastern end was a sharp white Amazon with whitewall tires parked at the store at Hiouchi (anyone care to claim this one?).

US 199 intersects US 101 just south of the California/Oregon border at Jedediah Smith state park, the northernmost coastal stand of redwoods. This is one of our favorite places on the planet -- you owe it to yourself to visit (for you "Star Wars" fans, this place served for filming the forest chase sequence in "Return of the Jedi."). Our bus looks a lot less goofy against these colors than it does in the tan-and-beige South.

Onward past Crescent City, the 101 alternates between breezy tidal flats and hilly stands of redwoods before climbing into the coastal mountains and the "Avenue of the Giants," complete with trees big enough to drive through and a great number of roadside establishments selling decorative (?) stumps carved with chainsaws into just about anything you might wish on the "person who has everything." We have a habit of thinking of the 101 as the eight-lane main highway into Hollywood -- seven hundred miles north, it is mostly two-lane, scenic and a fun drive.

Continuing home after stopping for the night in Petaluma, we bypass San Francisco via the I-580 back to the I-5 and make some time. The 101 south of S.F. is fine driving, but we've done it too many times lately and the I-5 is faster, even given the Grapevine hill.

After nearly two weeks living in the bus, our little house by the beach looks pretty good to us. Our three cats are so happy to see us, they don't even bother to feign indifference. The Santa Ana winds have attempted to transform the two Volvos in our driveway into sand dunes. I don't think we saw a single Volvo older than a 140 since the white 122S by Jedediah Smith two evenings before.

Back to reality. We must be home.