PUSSYCAT RIDGE

If you’re superstitious, you don’t talk about something good while it’s in progress.  The bench keeps mum as long as a pitcher is throwing a no-hitter for fear you’ll jinx it.  That’s what we’ve been doing with the weather.  Our biggest apprehension before starting out on this trip was the uncertain weather in the Pacific Northwest in September and October.  So far, we’ve been incredibly lucky, with only a few really wet days, and a lot of very nice ones.  We again got lucky with our trip to the ominously named Hurricane Ridge.  (So why am I talking about it now?  Simple.  This is written after the fact, and it’s pouring.)

After Port Townsend (see, A Tale of Two Cities), we headed west on our circumnavigation of the Olympic Peninsula.  This is a semi-nostalgic tour, as we first (and last) were up in this area in September of 1977.  We were taking our first extended vacation (3 weeks) in the tenth year of our marriage.  Loni was six months pregnant with John, so was a real trouper to go on a camping vacation in our VW bus.  We mostly went north on 101 from L.A., then did the Peninsula clockwise from the south, hitting the Hoh rain forest and using Port Angeles as our jumping-off point for the real destination of that trip, Canada.  We took the ferry from Port Angeles over to Victoria, then another ferry to Vancouver, drove up to Jasper, then down the Icefields Parkway to Banff, over to Waterton Peace Park, Glacier National Park, then home.  That was a trip we’ll never forget.  Our first “RV” excursion, although our bus wasn’t a camper model.  I rigged it out with a homemade cabinet to store stuff, and two cots that were precariously rigged over the folded rear seat.  It worked, but was difficult/hilarious for Loni to maneuver her, um, bulk into and out of the cot.  Things are MUCH nicer now in Albatross.  But I digress.

As befits its name, Hurricane Ridge is home to some pretty fierce winds.  Not this day.  We camped in an earnest, but forgettable little RV park just east of Port Angeles, offloaded the scoot, and set off for the 5,000 foot climb to the Ridge.  The weather was perfect with the air dead calm.  It did get cold as we climbed, but not a bother.  The road is another scooter delight, all curves and twists and light traffic, although what was coming down as we went up seemed to be traveling at perilous speeds, and using more than their entitlement of pavement.  We arrived safe and sound.

Loni set to chasing the local wildlife,

before we took in the beautiful views.  That’s the Carrie Glacier fronting Mt. Olympus. 

From the other side of the hill, you can look down on the town of Port Angeles in the foreground, and across the Straits of Juan de Fuca to Victoria on the far shore. 

Can’t quite make out the Empress Hotel, but I had a sudden pang for afternoon high tea.  Unfortunately, I must have left our passports home.  We have searched the rig high and low, but alas.  No day trip to Canada.

We met a couple of gals wandering on the paths and exchanged “take our picture” with them.  Beats hauling a tripod around.

Back at the rig, I went online, realized it was time for the weekly Hearts game that I play online with three of my old fraternity brothers.  I checked into the Yahoo site that hosts the games and saw they were down one person and using the robot for the fourth.  A quick call to tell them to “let me in,” and I proceeded to get clobbered with my usual losing performance. 

Life on the road.  Nothing changes but the location.