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Mt. Tamalpais Marin County, California by Moe |
Mt. Tamalpais When I first moved to California from the flat lands of the Midwest, I reffered to anything bigger than a building as a mountain. I was soon told that they were just hills and that the closest mountain to San Francisco is Mt. Tamalpais (Tamel-pious). It has many claims to fame with its wealthy residents, but it is also where Gary Fisher and friends retrofitted their bikes for more rugged terrain and ignited the sport and industry of mountain biking. I recently took my GT 4000 up the 2400+ ft. elevation. I made the mistake of going with my friend who is an experienced rider, and he talked me into riding from North Beach in San Francisco to the base of Mt. Tam in Mill Valley. A "ride to the ride" as he called it. It's a great ride over the majestic Golden Gate Bridge down into Sausalito and along the north bay wetlands into Mill Valley. Many people do that ride and turn around to take the ferry back to the city. We were just getting started. As we rode, my friend shared stories of when he raced mountain bikes a few years ago. That's when it started to sink in; I was going at a tougher pace than I had pictured when I was sitting on my couch thinking about the ride. In fact, most junior high gym teachers would relish the thought of a sinewy guy riding a heavy, full-suspension mountain bike a little too far away from home just to face a steep climb up a mountain. After riding for forty five minutes or so, we stop at the Depot Cafe for a quick jolt of caffeine to keep us moving. The worst part of the ride is soon to occur when we start to climb and a pasty brown, coffee tasting saliva forms in my mouth. I will suck most of the water out of my Platypus bag trying to get rid of it. We ride up the old railroad grade which is a wide trail of rocks, dry brown dirt and the occasional hiker. It keeps climbing up the southern face with numerous switchbacks and a short trip along a road that leads to some fabulous residential compounds. About halfway up, I've sworn off the full-suspension bikes as it moves like a brutally heavy tank that laughs at my spaghetti legs. "Slow and steady," I say to my riding partner on one of his many rest stops to allow me to catch up. My voice surprises me with its confidence, clarity and crispness as my legs moan with pain and exhaustion. It's part of the sport and the reward is just around the bend. I stop very briefly to take a few pictures; there's a little crack with water coming out of it splashing on bared rocks. It has a nice sound. My body tells me to end the torture fast and my legs are about to turn into frozen stiff bananas so I don't want to stop the "slow and steady" for too long. I pedal on, looking up at the peak when I can, and the slope continues. Slow and steady. I try to keep at least two gears that I can always downshift to. Just in case it really gets steep. I've now sucked the Platypus bag dry and I'm really hungry. We sinewy guys run out of food energy fast and once its gone, we're out of luck. I was nearing that point and eventually made a stop for some sustenance. As I fall back into the pattern of pedal, pedal, pedal and my thighs remind me that they are pissed off, I think of the woman I had dated a few months ago who was a big fan of mountain biking. At one point early on, we were in a bar and she sticks out her leg stiff and says, "feel my thigh." Not a bad idea, I think, and I rubbed her thigh. It was a mass of solid muscle that put my waist to shame. That's what is driving me. I turn a bend to find a few people hanging out on picnic tables in front of a rustic inn. My bike racing friend is walking around smiling and he says, "we're here." I stopped pedaling with shock and proceeded to fall to the right and tip over. What a grand entrance to the top. We split a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and talked about having a party at the top to play with the horseshoes that were set up a few feet from us. Keep your eyes open on the evite for that party. After a dose of sunshine and a fresh round of water, we start the descent. My legs are happy with that idea, and I remember why a full suspension bike is so much fun. It's like driving a Cadillac. It's slow and heavy going uphill, but its a high speed plush couch on the way down. Yee-haa! |
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