Stage 2: May 26, 2019

I arise at 5:30am and go for a walk. Fifty yards towards the main lodge from our bank of rooms I stroll to the lakeshore. Before me is majesty. Nature creating a backdrop scene of mountains reflected into still water and a ribbon of cloud to complete a great painter’s masterpiece. I laugh as I think of something Bob Ross might say. He taught painting on PBS years ago in his very calm relaxed style but for any viewer what he really conveyed was a sense of peace we all need through the doing of something we love, something that connects us to our reason for bring and contributing to this world. What night Bob Ross say sitting here on this beach - “how about that, there’s a happy tree over here, and a cool cloud over there; yes my friends, you can do anything you want, be free, there are no mistakes, only happy little accidents...”

The view is indeed calming and spiritual. To say thank you to be able to enjoy the purity of nature’s balance. The lake and this lodge would be a fine place go sit and write a novel.

The Norsemen gather after 8:00am. Chores necessary to be done. Disorganization with the details of morning preparations. I find that my bike front has flatted again overnight. The tube is changed once again, likely a “pinch flat” where the tube is kinked inside the tire while initially lasted. Sherpa helps me to change it again. We depart and spin towards Port Angeles and stop for brunch at Granny’s Cafe. Standard fare. Continue onward and then I flat up the road again just 12miles into the day. I am worried now - perhaps a rim or spoke problem. Peter and I place my bike on the car’s roof and head for a bike shop about 10mi down the road in Port Angeles, the Bike Garage. The others will meet us there. Sherpa needs his transmission fixed as well. Tom and sister, Donna, operate a small shop full of gear and a work area. Tom kindly asks a series of questions to help diagnose and gets to work. Punch flat, he shies me. Nothing more serious. I bring along a new tube and tire as we notice a small crack in the tire as well. Sherpa arrives and Tom fixes his bike as well. Spotty needs a new helmet since his rear plastic piece that cinches to the sidewalls of his helmet has broken in transit on the plane. He selects one. We purchase more CO2 cartridges as well for back-up. I turn to my bike and begin to roll it out of the shop and the front tire has flatted again! Goodness gracious. Day 2 and I am frustrated by not having my bike working properly. Tom studies again and must admit that he caused a pinch flat himself. I am worried there is truly something more going on but he sets a new tube in place and we head out.

We begin the climb a mere block from sea level in town. Race Rd climbs steadily and we turn on Hurricane Ridge Rd. The grade increases steadily for a persistent climb. I designed our journey and realized the need to irritate our legs for the toughness needed to overcome long days in the saddle, to suffer in the legs a bit to reach higher altitudes and grand vistas, to realize anything is possible with persistence and will.


Sherpa and Breezer move ahead and I chart a steady uphill course with Spotty. He is working hard. Pushing his pedal strokes. I encourage and give him some Bob Ross-like positive imagery. We climb to the gated entrance to the National Park. Hundreds of cats are lined to enter on this beautiful Memorial Day holiday weekend. Mile 5 now into the eighteen mile climb. Spotty has had enough and I congratulate him on his accomplishment. He is getting stronger with each day. Peter is waiting for us and informs me if the other’s progress towards the apex. Another thirteen miles awaits. Spotty relaxes in the van.

I am sending a chase. I refuel with a peanut butter and honey sandwich and cool water. Turn to the road and dial up Epic North on my iPhone’s Spotify App. Norsemen. I think of Vikings, explorers, conquerors. The rhythm energized me as I accelerate uphill and pace fiercely. I eventually settle into a steady tempo with the road. “Take what the road gives you...” Balance. Posture. Set the mind to know no pain, only rapture with the elements as the mountain shoes her colors - wildflowers, mountain goats, snow capped neighbors, near vertical valleys decorated with waterfalls, the simple and complete beauty of pine cones and happy trees.

The time passes. A climbing pace of 6-8mph steadily brings me near the summit. Peter and Spotty locate Breezer a mile from the apex. Spotty rejoins is now for the finish as we gut the last mile to the apex and find Sherpa admiring the view.

We are at Hurricane Ridge. We”be climbed over 5000 feet. Staring at us is the Olympic Mountain range drizzled with ice and snow and vastness. I was at this spot (by car drive) nearly ten years ago and likely never would have imagined having the opportunity to bike climb this road to its summit. How life brings you to where you need to be?

We wait for a break in the traffic. An 18 mile downhill spin needs proper respect. Sherpa and I take-off and start to corner the switchbacks in the road. Steady cadence, then accelerate. We are moving faster than the cars and pass them, others kind to pull off for us. Breezer and Spotty not far behind. The joy in speed and wind and yes, an element of real danger yet tempered by years of practice and confidence. Over forty miles per hour in the saddle. Just a number no different from one’s age in life. Youth should not relinquish to age so quickly.

We meet at the bottom. Nearly nearly four hours of climbing erased by a mere twenty minutes going downhill. Hard work rewarded with an injection of adrenaline and happiness for what was accomplished. The dividends find themselves through assisting with other challenges in one’s life. Adversity as a source for spiritual advancement.

The Norsemen head east now. We spin along a busy stretch of Tt101 and turn left onto Old Olympic Highway. Back to countryside. Farms. Mulch and manure aromas. Lavender farms. Cows. Early evening more gentle light. 

And then a road sign partially obstructed by a tree. I stop and focus my eyes fine sure it says what I think it does: Soaring Hawk Ln. indeed! Right here in Agnew, WA. A country road in a most pleasant and fertile valley brings me happiness. My nickname is ‘Soaring Hawk.’ The coincidences in life lead me to believe that there really aren’t any. The truth lies elsewhere in a grander connectivity if we only choose to accept and ask ‘Why?’ later. Maybe the ‘Why?’ doesn’t even matter to fully comprehend.

I am with Spotty. We turn left on Kitchen Dick Rd and spin past farms and a glorious home beside a resting pond. The road veers right and becomes Lotzgessel Rd; left onto Cays Rd and then right onto Marine Dr as we enter Dungeness. Couples enjoying the sunset from the expanse overlooking Dungeness Bay. We turn left onto Cline Spit Rd and the road ends at a small stretch of beach. The sun and clouds are giving a grand drive-in show to a handful of lovers. Dungeness Spit is in front of us. It is a natural extension of land into the Strait of Juan de Fuca thereby creating this wildlife sanctuary bay. A bald eagle darts and is chased by other birds. Seagulls squawk. Ducks cruise. The colors transform the water and sky into happy magical accidents.



Spotty is in a playful mood. He throws a stone into the ocean and takes o photographic burst in his iPhone. The images are creative like works of glass art. A ballet of moving yet frozen-in-time water splashes and individual droplets. Quite artistic photography.

Sun enters ocean. Darkness now. We ate hungry. Our eighty miles of riding are done for the day. We venture into the town of Sequim. The one restaurant still open at this late hour has closed its kitchen. We continue to the 7Bears Casino on the way and devour a few pizzas and rehydrate.


Peter finishes the drive into Port Townsend as we digest our dinner and our second day. Norsemen bonding and ready for yet more adventure. I check us in to the Tides Inn and we head to bed. There’s a ferry to catch early in the morning to Whidbey Island. I can hardly wait to return.