I managed to get three of my C&V bikes up to Hurricane Ridge today. If you're not familiar with the most famous cycling destination on the North Olympic Peninsula in western Warshington State, it's sort of like our own local version of climbing Mt Ventoux, with a no-***** full mile of net altitude gain in about 20 miles, if you start at sea level, downtown. Much food and water was consumed on the way up.

No, I didn't ride it three times myself; I brought along a couple friends. From l - r, my cousin Field, my cousin Mark, and me, the chubby little guy. (In this crowd, 6'0" and 190lb is a chubby little guy). Note the back tires of our rides are starting at exactly sea level. Taking the picture is Kathy, who escorted my Centurion Pro Tour 15 up the hill in fine style. To be honest, she kicked our asses the whole way.


Here's Kathy goofing at the top. Holy Jeebus, check out those legs. I mean really.


Here's the whole vintage steel gang, chillaxing while the riders tank up on post-ride fish 'n' chips from the ski lodge cafe. Decent view up there at 5,300 ft, with the weather changing every 4 minutes or so; ergo the name, "Hurricane Ridge."


On the way back down, there was some speedy descending, as you might imagine.


And a view from 3000 ft or so, looking NE over the lovely Sequim valley and Dungeness Spit (Try the local crab! It's delicious! And expensive!)


Here's a shot of one of the tunnels everyone is required to talk about when they talk about this ride. Yes, there are three tunnels, and you have to go through them, OK? Use the elevated sidewalk on the right if you're concerned about getting hit by a car in the dark. Otherwise, put on a nice bright blinky taillight, and ride in the road. That's all there is to it.


Here's the hardware; Cousin Mark rode the '84 Peugeot Vagabond (which I got from fellow C&Ver Mparker326)


Kathy rode the '84 Centurion Pro Tour 15 (which I got from fellow C&Ver Wildwood)


I rode the '72 Lambert frankenbike I've had for 32 years, and have recently been messing around with, including a mostly successful yet incomplete spray-bomb and an assortment of 70's - 80's -90's Japanese bits. That little hill squarely in the background is where I learned to snow ski when I was a kid. Hurricane Ridge has a tiny, perennially struggling ski lift operation which opens every weekend in the winter, weather and road conditions permitting.


OH, and of course, no pictures of cousin Field the top, because he was trying to push his ungodly heavy giant sized Giant MTB up that crazy hill; and said 'sayonara' at the halfway point and rode home. I had offered him my very large '87 Tempo (at least 12 pounds lighter than his tank; and geared for spinning) but he's all "No, I'll be fine."

Heh.