The Lopez Finger

Born to hand jive, baby

By Patrick O’Toole · Wednesday, July 21, 2010

“One finger, usually the index finger, means ‘Welcome to the island.’ Two fingers, like a peace sign, is for acquaintances,” he said as he looked out over the serene waters of Doe Bay before casually adding, “And three fingers… three fingers is for friends only. I’ve lived on Lopez for 15 years, and that’s how the Lopez wave works.”

I generally believe naked people, but the merchant marine in the “clothing optional” hot tub at Doe Bay reeked of shenanigans. I had been bicycling around the islands with my brother and a few friends for the better part of a week, and the only hand signal that we had received on the islands was the traditional single finger, making it hard to believe any of the islanders would be friendly enough to welcome one more person to the chaos that is summer in Island County.

The San Juans are legendary for their beauty, and there is no better way to experience this legendary beauty then to tour the islands on a bicycle. Everybody knows this, and everybody and their mom has done it. In fact, while waiting for the ferry in Friday Harbor, I overheard one mother say to her teenage boy, “When I was young and fancy-free I biked around these islands with nothing but a sleeping bag and a sense of adventure… and that’s how you were conceived, Charlie.”

But regardless of how many people have pedaled around these islands and conceived children, there is still very little infrastructure in place to accommodate everybody and their mom. So, when July hits these peaceful hamlets they fill with mayhem. Thus, the quiet island roads transform into constipated corridors crammed with motorists and cyclists and exasperated locals who are often just trying to get to work on time.

In the midst of this menagerie, as we were attempting to leave Orcas Island, my brother Juan (coincidence) had a heated exchange with a motorist regarding spatial considerations that went something like this (I’ve taken the liberty of omitting swear words): “_____ you, Buddy. Go _____ off in the ______ ____ ____ with my buffalo nickel!”  “I’ve _____ _____ _____ _____ ______ with monkeys _____ _____ _____ _____ _____ on a mustache like that!” Juan said, causing us all to chuckle.

After this awkward spat, we were all relieved to be departing from Orcas—especially before the mustached motorist had a chance to return with his buffalo nickel.
Our next stop was Lopez, and though none of us believed what the merchant marine had told us, as we pedaled past the magenta-skinned madrone trees alongside the ferry landing on Lopez Island, the hand jive began.

It started with a group of girls in the back of a flatbed Ford. Single fingers. Then a long stream of cars passed us. Again, single fingers. It was charming and contagious and, soon, we started to return the finger. Over the course of the next three days we fingered as many people as we could. Singles. Doubles. It was wonderful. And then, just before leaving, a big, greasy pickup drove by slowly—it was the merchant marine—and he gave us our first triple finger.