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.