It’s early August, the sky is wide-open blue, and I’m in the middle of Lake Union on a kayak. To my left is the narrow canal of water that runs alongside Fremont. To my right, the vista of water that heads toward the Montlake Bridge. Straight ahead, the mounded hills of Gasworks Park, with kites flying high above. And directly behind me, the skyline of Seattle, with Mt. Rainier towering above it all.

Who could not love this?

When I’m kayaking on Lake Union, I’m in love with this city. There aren’t many moments where I think, “I’m in Seattle.” Oh, maybe when I’m strolling through the Market in early April, and bunches of pastel tulips tied with rubber bands drip in green buckets. Or maybe when I’m sitting on the first-base side of Safeco, and the roof slowly opens to reveal the Sound beyond it, the haunting tug of the train whistle going by. But for the most part, I just live here. Happy. Awake. Amazed most of the time. But there aren’t many times when I have a little New-York-type moment, and think, “I may just live in the greatest city in the world.”

But when I’m in a kayak on Lake Union, sighing with happiness, all the stress leaving my shoulders, I have one of those moments, over and over.

There’s nothing like kayaking. I float on the water, part of it, not above it, not commanding it. Dip my paddle into the clear green water and I’m already moving forward. It’s a great workout, but I never think about that when I’m doing it. I’m just playing.

I first learned to kayak in Alaska, in a secluded bay outside of Sitka. Seemingly everyone in Alaska owns a kayak. It may be a law. And when the salmon leap up before your boat, twist in the air, and do belly flops a foot in front of you, it’s hard to not fall in love with kayaking.

But I’m not really interested in fancy kayaking. Scary kayaking. Ocean kayaking. Right now, the lake is just my speed. Most days, the water is calm and stretches forward forever. Float planes buzz overhead and land seemingly mere feet away from my Necky boat. The duck tour boats blat their incessant commentary on the city. I always feel sorry for the tourists forced to blow on their duck calls. Little kids are learning to sail in their first flat boats. It’s summer.

If you go toward Ballard, you can float underneath Aurora, listening to the cars thunder across it. Marvel at modern engineering that can hold thousands of pounds of cars on slender threads just above your head. If you’re lucky, the horn will sound on the Fremont Bridge and you can watch the two halves of the bridge slowly separate and stand up in air. The next time you’re in your car, waiting for the bridge to go down, you won’t feel so impatient.

And here’s the best part. All of this can be yours for $12 an hour.

At the Northwest Outdoor Center, on Westlake, anyone can rent a kayak. For an hour. For all day. You know the building. It’s just north of the monstrosity, China Harbor, in a brown building with yellow piping, and a big clock tower. Go down the steps and sign up. Everyone there is friendly, a bit slower and calmer than anyone else in the city. (Perhaps because they go out in the kayaks throughout the day. When I leave the water, I feel floaty, the only time I’d use the word mellow.) The young men who heave the kayaks into the water speak in few syllables and smile at you kindly. Ten minutes after arriving, you’re on the water. City life feels miles away.

I’ll let you in on a little secret. It’s the best deal in town. If you like kayaking, and you think you might go more often than a few days in August, buy a year-long pass. They’re only $200 a year (less than $20 a month, and certainly cheaper than any lousy gym in town). Once you’ve paid, you can walk in any day, every day, and say, “Hey, I want a kayak.”

And then you can feel like you live in Seattle any day of the week.