Spirits of Mount Tamalpais

Ah, Saturday. A day for relaxing and getting a few things done around the house, catching up on sleep, maybe taking a trip to the beach on a nice, warm day.

If that was your day, I hope you enjoyed it! For me and my peeps, it was another day to ride, a planned 90-mile tour of Marin County, with a nice trip up to the top of Mt. Tamalpais (affectionately known as "Mt. Tam" to the locals) thrown into the mix. Maybe you've heard of Mt. Tam? I'm told it's the place they invented Mountain Biking. Fortunately for us, they've put in roads since those olden days when you had to dodge Grizzly Bears while single-tracking your fixed-gear rattletrap!

Mt. Tamalpais, viewed from the start line.

Of course, nothing is perfect. Mother Nature thought we needed a new challenge. This is nothing new for the Death Ride team, we've dealt with her moodiness before. She's the temperamental one that just a month ago was delivering heaping spoonfuls of cold, wind-driven rain to keep us entertained. For this ride, she flipped the dial to "slow bake", giving us all a day that constantly toyed with the 90 degree mark. Riding up hills in the heat, it didn't take long before we were encrusted in a shimmering layer of dried sweat, our speculations turning to whether deer liked their salt licks better if there was a chase involved.

"Watch out for the mountain," one rider joked with me. "Watch out?" I asked, heart skipping a beat, "There aren't any bears up there anymore, are there?"

"Mt. Tam requires a sacrifice," was the laughing response.

The strange joke was soon forgotten as I drank in a heavy dose of scenery soup. We climbed from Kentfield around the north side of Mt. Tam, past Alpine Dam, riding over the "Seven Sisters", a series of really big rollers on one shoulder of Mt.Tam. From those heights, the Pacific spanned the western horizon, with Stinson Beach in postcard-perfect form. Towards the top, our view changed and with the clear day we could see the San Francisco skyline, the bridges, and southern Marin laid at our feet like a quilt. We rested at the top of Mt. Tam, refilled our dry water bottles and began the collective descent towards Stinson Beach, en route to Pt. Reyes.

I could spend thousands of words waxing loquacious, but I'll just post a few photos instead. They speak for themselves, click to enlarge!

Grinding it out going up...

...and bringing it back down. Whee!

Alpine Lake

San Francisco & southern Marin view

Stinson Beach from Mt. Tam.

Of course, it couldn't all be amazing beauty. That would be too easy.

I should've known, with all the Grizzly Bears long chased off by park rangers with their iGrizzlySpray apps that a new force would take up guardianship of the peak, demanding its sacrifice of all who dared climb it. And what better sacrifice than a Mt. Tam virgin such as myself? That prickling feeling as I turned to descend, the hairs that rose on my neck, the sinking feeling in my gut..."No," I thought, pushing it out of my mind, "don't be stupid. It's just nerves."

No Grizzly Bears attacked this rider.

We sped down out of the parking lot into the first turn and began to climb a sharp rise, the pack of us furiously shifting down. I shifted with the rest, focused on the bike, the tough hill, pushing away the "nerves", the imaginary growling of some metallic beast, a roar and clank that shifted from imagination to reality like a striking claw. In a moment of gut-wrenching horror, I realized I couldn't spin. My feet were frozen helplessly in mid-cycle. The chain wasn't just off, it was locked, wedged firmly between gear and spokes, resisting all my strength. For a brief moment I hung suspended in time. One heartbeat became a second, a third. From somewhere distant I heard an explosive expletive that shattered the sacred silence, my own voice calling out as the clock started running again with no time for thought, down, down, rolling into the ditch, bike still tethered to my feet.

This picture belongs in a cycling magazine.

From behind, another rider coming up hard on my tail dodged only to crash as well. Two riders down. I was helped to my feet as we counted the cost. For my part, I had rolled well with the fall. A lifetime of semi-unskilled skiing has prepared me for rolling falls, even with heavy equipment attached to my feet. The other rider had landed hard, bleeding freely from one knee, but claimed to be okay. My bike, however, did not escape as easily. Most of the impact was taken on the derailleur, the fancy bit that hangs out in back and allows one to shift gears. It took two teammates to violently pry the wedged chain free of where it was stuck. With some healthy teamwork my bike was returned to "operational" shape, giving me about four gears left I could use. It would have to be enough to get me to Pt. Reyes, to the bike shop there, where hopefully a talented mechanical surgeon awaited.

Blood had been spilt. A bike wounded. Would it be enough to appease the mountain?

"Mike" works here. Stop by and say "Hi!".
Be careful, he doesn't like talking about his TV career.

The descent down Tam was fun, but I was running very cautiously, as I still feared another attack and knew I couldn't really trust my gears. Every shift was a calculated risk. We gingerly cruised to the bottom and then made our way in a paceline up the coast to Pt. Reyes Station, a scenic little town known for its bakery and as the last tourist watering hole before the northern Marin beaches. I discovered one other hidden secret that day, "Black Mountain Cycles".

The real secret lay within. I had hoped for a talented mechanical surgeon. Instead, I got a miracle worker! When MacGyver retired from a long career of thwarting crime, he looked about for something less stressful to occupy his time. Little did I know, he had changed his name to "Mike" and went to work in Pt. Reyes Station, repairing bikes for Black Mountain Cycles.

I snuck this picture of "Mike" in mid-surgery.
Don't ask him to sign your bike. Trust me on this one.

"Mike" was amazing. He took my bike and forged a new screw for the derailleur hanger, took the derailleur apart and replaced this little circle piece with another part he salvaged off a '96 mountain bike, banged that piece into shape like some latter-day blacksmith, then replaced the terminally bent chain. By the time he was done, the bike was running better than when I'd started the day! His parting, taciturn words to me were, "You might wanna find real parts somewhere."

I don't know, "Mike". Even in hiding, you haven't lost your TV touch!

Surprise SAG! Tasty Brain Freeze Pops! Mmmm Ow Mmmm.

While the bike was being repaired, two of my teammates had stayed behind so I wouldn't have to ride the rest of the route alone. That was a huge help to me - their support kept me going. Together we rode out into the sizzling heat, riding our way up the coast to Marshall, where we climbed the Marshall Wall. That's a locally famous little climb, known for its difficulty. Strangely, I didn't find it to be all that onerous, except for the heat. Maybe all this riding has been having a strengthening effect after all. Or maybe it was just that I was overjoyed to have gears again, gears in which I actually *could* climb a hill!

Top of the Marshall Wall.

Regardless of reason, at the top we all got a surprise, an unexpected SAG visit! This, on our unsupported ride. Our SAG was a divine angel, handing out frozen treats and giving us a reason to stop, stretch, and take in the beauty of the moment. All of the day's travails were gone in an instant, in the cold rush of sugar and brain freeze that hurt so very good.

Look, Ma! I'm not dead yet!

We had crossed the halfway mark and all the day's significant challenges. The SAG had stopped us, reuniting many of the riders. The rest of the day was spent in good spirits, riding through rolling hills we'd seen just a week ago. We passed bucolic fields of cows, the cheese factory and other familiar sights until we rolled at last, tired, and quite firmly ahead of the trailing pack of salt-crazed deer to end where we began, staring up to the towering summit of Mt. Tam.

I'm proud to be a small part of this amazing group of people. It was a ride I will never forget, both for its sacrifice and for those who helped me, riding side by side until we crossed the finish. We survived the heat, the hills, and the tribulations.  Another ride down, one week closer to the Death Ride.

I'm beginning to think we might just pull it off.