The Vashon Island Bicycle Tree: What Really Happened to the Red Bike

The Vashon Island Bicycle Tree: What Really Happened to the Red Bike

Nature has a funny way of reclaiming what we leave behind. You've probably seen the photo. It’s a grainy, slightly eerie image of a child’s red bicycle suspended several feet in the air, swallowed by the trunk of a towering Douglas fir. It looks like a glitch in the matrix or a piece of surrealist art left to rot in the woods. But the Vashon Island bicycle tree isn't a hoax. It is a real place, or at least, the remains of it are.

It’s tucked away in the woods of Vashon Island, a ferry ride from Seattle. People call it a mystery. They call it a miracle. Honestly? It's mostly just a story about a kid who didn't like his bike very much.

The Boy Behind the Vashon Island Bicycle Tree

For decades, the local lore was wild. Some people claimed a young man went off to war in 1914 and leaned his bike against a sapling, never to return. Others whispered about a ghost child. The truth is much more suburban and, frankly, a lot more relatable.

In the mid-1950s, a boy named Don Puz lived on the island. His family had lost their home to a fire, and the local community—being the kind of tight-knit place Vashon is—donated items to help them get back on their feet. Among those items was a bicycle. It wasn't a cool bike. It was a heavy, clunky thing with hard rubber tires and skinny handlebars. Don hated it.

One day in 1954, Don and his friends were playing in the swampy woods near what is now Vashon Highway. He got tired of hauling the heavy frame through the mud. He left it there. He just walked away. He didn't think twice about it until decades later when his sister told him about a local "landmark" people were starting to visit.

How a Tree Eats Metal

Trees don't actually "lift" objects. That is a common misconception that drives arborists crazy. If you nail a sign to a tree at five feet, twenty years later, that sign will still be at five feet. Trees grow from the top (apical meristems) and they grow outward in girth.

✨ Don't miss: Hotel Gigi San Diego: Why This New Gaslamp Spot Is Actually Different

So, how did the Vashon Island bicycle tree end up with the bike five feet off the ground?

It didn't climb. The tree grew around it. The bicycle was likely leaned against a young Douglas fir or perhaps tossed into a fork in the branches. As the tree widened, it simply enveloped the steel. The pressure of the wood's secondary growth—the vascular cambium—pushed and pulled at the frame. Over sixty years, the tree's trunk expanded, and the bike became a permanent part of the wood's anatomy. It’s a process called inosculation, though usually, that refers to two trees growing together. Here, it’s just biological persistence vs. mid-century steel.

The Decline of a Legend

If you go looking for the bike today, you might be disappointed. Nature is slow, but humans are fast—and often destructive.

For years, the bike was remarkably intact. You could see the handlebars, the frame, and the wheels sticking out like some steampunk growth. But as the Vashon Island bicycle tree gained internet fame in the early 2000s (thanks to blogs and early social media), the souvenir hunters arrived.

People started stripping parts.
A pedal went missing.
Then the handlebars were bent.
Someone eventually stole the wheels.

🔗 Read more: Wingate by Wyndham Columbia: What Most People Get Wrong

The Vashon Island community tried to save it. Locals replaced missing parts with vintage-accurate scrap, but it wasn't the same. By the late 2010s, the tree itself began to show signs of significant stress. Douglas firs aren't meant to have several pounds of oxidizing iron in their gut. The bike is now mostly just fragments of rusted metal protruding from a scarred, gnarled trunk. It’s more of a "bicycle-shaped lump" than a bicycle these days.

Why This Spot Still Matters

Vashon isn't just about the tree. It’s about the vibe. The island feels like a time capsule. When you step off the ferry at north end, you’re hitting a place where people value the weird.

  • The Island Ecology: The woods surrounding the bicycle tree are part of a delicate ecosystem. It’s damp. It’s mossy. It’s quintessential Pacific Northwest.
  • The Folklore Factor: Even though Don Puz came forward, the "War Legend" persists. Humans love a tragedy more than they love a story about a kid who preferred walking.
  • The Berkeley Connection: Berkeley Breathed, the famous cartoonist behind Bloom County, actually wrote a children’s book inspired by this very tree called Red Ranger Came Home. He set it in 1939 and gave it a much more magical spin.

Visiting the Vashon Island bicycle tree today is a lesson in the ephemeral nature of "roadside attractions." Most things we find on the internet are polished and permanent. This isn't. It’s decaying. It’s being eaten by a tree. It’s being picked apart by people who want a piece of the story.

Finding the Tree (If You Must)

If you're going to make the trek, don't expect a gift shop or a giant neon sign. It’s located in the woods behind the Vashon Island Fire & Rescue station, near the intersection of Vashon Highway SW and SW 204th St.

There is a small trail. It’s often muddy. You’ll walk past ferns and second-growth forest. Honestly, the walk is better than the destination at this point. When you find it, you’ll see the "Keep Vashon Weird" spirit in full effect—sometimes people leave little trinkets or notes.

💡 You might also like: Finding Your Way: The Sky Harbor Airport Map Terminal 3 Breakdown

Tips for a Respectful Visit

  1. Don't Touch the Metal: The tree is struggling. Adding more weight or pulling on the frame accelerates the rot.
  2. Stay on the Path: The soil around the roots is compacted from thousands of feet. Give the tree some breathing room.
  3. Check the Ferry Schedule: Seriously. The King County Ferry District and Washington State Ferries are the only way on or off. If you miss the last boat, you're sleeping in your car.
  4. Visit the Heritage Museum: If you want the real history, the Vashon-Maury Island Heritage Museum has actual archives about the Puz family and the tree’s evolution.

The Reality of Vashon’s Weirdness

The Vashon Island bicycle tree isn't an isolated incident of nature being weird on the island. The whole place is a sanctuary for the odd. You’ll find "unincorporated" lifestyle choices everywhere. From the local strawberry festival to the small farms that sell eggs on the honor system, the bike is just a symbol of what happens when you let things be.

Don Puz, the "owner" of the bike, passed away a few years ago. He always seemed amused that his discarded junk became a global sensation. He didn't want the bike back. He didn't want the fame. He just thought it was funny that a tree did what he couldn't—it finally got rid of that heavy, red eyesore.

Actionable Steps for Your Trip

To make the most of a visit to the Vashon Island bicycle tree, follow this loose itinerary to ensure you see the "real" island rather than just a rusted stump:

  • Catch the Point Defiance Ferry: Most people come from Fauntleroy (West Seattle), but the Tacoma side (Point Defiance) is often less crowded and offers a more scenic approach to the south end of the island.
  • Pack for the Swamp: The area near the tree is technically a wetland. If you wear sneakers, they will get ruined. Wear boots.
  • Stop at Vashon Island Coffeeie: Grab a cup of "Vashon Island Coffee Roasterie" brew. The building itself is historic and fits the mood of the trip.
  • Manage Expectations: Understand that you are looking at a dying landmark. It is a site for reflection on time and change, not a high-speed tourist attraction.
  • Document Sustainably: Take photos, but don't use drones in the dense canopy. The noise disturbs the local bird population, including the bald eagles that frequent the island's coastline.

The bicycle tree is a reminder that the things we discard don't always disappear. Sometimes, they just get integrated into something larger, stranger, and much more permanent than we ever intended. Be mindful of the traces you leave behind; a tree might just decide to keep them forever.