I do small, informal group rides with a handful of friends. A few years ago, someone who runs marathons joined the group. He'd always be the first one up hills, and, if we let him, he'd drag us up more altitude than we needed to climb. Worse, he'd stop and wait at a flat point, but take up again before anyone else caught up ... so Mike would rest on the way up, and disappear with the goal post before you had a chance to. My life as a climber got started out of necessity, not love.
But hills have always given me a sense of accomplishment, and the reward on the other side. Once I got a really nice bike that handles beautifully, I started to enjoy the hairpin corners I used to be slightly nervous in. I'll go miles out of my way to fly down some corners, but, of course, you have to pay the piper, and the price is some climbing.
My coup de grace is the scenery. There are very few things I love as much as mountains. From the article I read, here is the road to Artist Point, in the North Cascades:
