SEATTLE _ Tim Lincecum's last known address is tucked behind a partial fence, just off a sloped dead-end street near the shores of Lake Washington.
Getting to the front door of the barn-red building requires crossing a short bridge. It feels like walking the plank.
This is where I rang the doorbell over the course of a few days last week. It's been said that nearly a third of Bigfoot sightings come from the Pacific Northwest, so this was my best bet at finding the elusive, mythical, shaggy creature known as The Freak.
No such luck. Lincecum, the Giants' two-time Cy Young Award winner, never answered the door, and neither did anyone else. Whenever I pressed the doorbell, the lone stirring came from annoyed dogs.
My editor dispatched me to Seattle because people miss the living daylights out of Timothy LeRoy Lincecum. This has been the first Major League season without him since 2007, when the tiny kid with the big fastball first set AT&T Park ablaze.
"It was a little guy taking on the world," recalled broadcaster Duane Kuiper. "Everybody likes that."
Over the course of nine Giants seasons and three World Series victories, The Freak entranced, enthralled, delighted and sometimes maddened.
Lincecum was the best pitcher in the league for a stretch and then, almost inexplicably, one of the worst. Either way, he put on a show that made him one of the most popular and fascinating players in San Francisco history.
His absence feels particularly acute this season, with a team devoid of both wins and personality.
Where have you gone, Tim Lincecum? The Giants turn their last-place eyes to you.
"The vibe around the Giants was different because of Timmy," pitching coach Dave Righetti told me shortly before my trip. "You're talking about every walk of life _ kids, women, little girls, little boys, grown men. They just wanted to watch this guy."
It wasn't just that Lincecum threw in the upper-90s or that that he led the National League in strikeouts three consecutive times. It was that he did so with a bat boy's physique and a skateboarder's cool.
Lincecum's starts were holidays. He could turn a Tuesday night in August into a happening. People wished each other a happy Timmy Day.
"It was a happy fit because he was San Francisco. He is San Francisco. Quirky. Eccentric. Marches to his own beat," Giants CEO Larry Baer said. "When it was Timmy Day, it wasn't just that he was good. It was like a lot of the fans felt their son was pitching. 'Here's our kid going out there.' He was embraced in that way _ your son's Little League game. You really felt invested, emotionally, in his performance."
Now, the pitcher you couldn't take your eyes off is nowhere to be seen. Lincecum last appeared in a game on Aug 5, 2016, for the Los Angeles Angels. Pitching in his hometown of Seattle that day, Lincecum's fading fastball got knocked around for six runs in 31/3 innings, sending his final ERA to 9.16.
He hasn't retired yet, but when he does Baer is poised to bring him to San Francisco in some kind of official capacity. "There's definitely a place in the Giants world for Linecum," he said. "I mean, that goes without saying."
Until then? Lincecum is believed to be back here inhabiting the shores of Lake Washington, although no one with the Giants could say for sure. Someone thought maybe he was in Arizona. When the team tried to invite him to throw out the first pitch before a playoff game against the Chicago Cubs last year, Lincecum was in Hawaii.
Wherever he is now, he's keeping a low profile. The Freak is now The Ghost.
Lincecum's agent, Rick Thurman, told the Bay Area News Group in August that Lincecum is keeping in shape and hopes to pitch again. But Thurman did not respond to voicemails, texts or emails in search of additional details for this story. Lincecum's father, Chris, who was once a frequent and chatty radio guest, did not respond to texts.
Lincecum is not on social media. The last missive from his confirmed (but never verified) Twitter account came in 2012, when the four-time All-Star tweeted about a "food coma" after a trip to Benihana's.
A handful of Giants employees who specialize in media relations or alumni events say Lincecum is the rare ex-player they can't keep tabs on. A current Giants player said he sent The Freak a text on his 33rd birthday on June 15. Weeks later, he still hadn't heard back.
Even Lincecum's last public sighting came with an air of myth. Fans spotted him among the San Francisco crowd protesting for women's rights in the wake of Donald Trump's inauguration in January _ and they posted photos on social media to back it up.
But Lincecum did not return a text message seeking confirmation and Thurman, his agent, said he wasn't sure it was actually him.
