Wheelsucker Diaries: Mt. Tamalpais 3

In Part III the author describes: climbing, descending, scenic beauty, personal medical attention, a slug, and seven naughty sisters...

Part III begins with the friendly, upwardly-pointing line at (roughly) mile 24.

Upward, Ever Upward

The climbing was a steady, serpentine pitch. No switchbacks spiked the rise along this leg. I settled into a rhythm and started upward.

People live here? Cool! (Except for that earthquake/mudslide thing...)

Houses perched along the roadside on vertiginous slopes, seeming held in place by matchstick piers. Instantly I groked the property loss caused by mudslides. Those views come with a price.

I passed two vultures, sentinels of the slope as I struggled to maintain a rhythm. The rise wasn't the problem; it was the camera and my hand.

Vultures with Liverpudlian accents mocked my ascent...

I kept trying to take photos to document my adventure, but I couldn't keep a steady grip on the bike with my right hand. Between the pain and the liquid stickiness, I was a mess.

Climbing is about will and focus. I had the will; my focus was compromised. My concentration was scattered. I was all over the place, and I was struggling.

Yet, the scene surrounding me was beautiful. To my right (roughly North) was Mt. Diablo. It rose from across the valley with emerald elegance. Seeing it inspired me to soldier on.

Mount Diablo (no relation to Marco Etcheverry...) broods in the distance.

Soon enough I passed the lonely golf course. Just after, a roadsign for the Mt. Tamalpais watershed beckoned. I had reached the inner edge, marking the heart of my adventure. For the next ~30 miles I would be embraced by the wild of the Mt. Tam parks.

Entering...wonderland!

They Don't Grow 'em Like That at Home

I'm no botanist, but I could tell that the flora around me was nothing like the hills of Maryland. The groundcover sprawled about, gnarled and grabby, while pines aspired to ever-greater heights. Like sentinels, the trees soared above, even as the road rose.

Trees that pierce the sky and scented ground cover are your companions for the climb.

I passed a few mountain bikers on the ascent. Despite my wound and lack of rhythm, I easily overtook them. My Granny was bigger than their granny. So were my thighs, for that matter.

My Granny beats your granny!

I crested a peak, apparently above the treeline. Deep within the valley before me a lake mirrored the sky. She was well below me, and as the road curved to the right, I caught a glimpse of the road's winding path. It was going to be a long descent, from alpine to treeline, with several 180° switchbacks through the redwoods.

Cool.

Way down yonder in the valley below...Alpine Lake!

The route to the lake was marvelously downhill, from above the treeline
through switchbacks among the redwoods.

Mindful of my guardian angel, I kept my speed at or below 30 mph. My hand was still giving me a lot of trouble, and I was not willing to risk a wipeout. Even so, I passed several riders along the descent and on the brief uphills that led to the lake. My legs felt strong, even though my mind was unsettled.

I would race along that distant road at a controlled 32 mph.
On my bike I would have felt comfortable above 40.

Anticipation mounted as I approached the water.
It was quiet...exactly what I was looking for.

I descended to lake level and approached the dam. The water was unnervingly still. Its mirror surface seemed impervious to wind or current. It was a photograph made real.

Trees were mirrored in the lake surface.
Tiny ripples marked the breeze. Lovely.

A number of riders were stopped along the dam's walkway. Clearly it is a rendezvous point for groups who separated on the ascents and descents.

There be cyclists...

Rest & Recovery (Paging Dr. Whitney)

I nearly crashed while crossing the dam.

To the left, there was little difference between the road and the water surface.

I didn't expect a seven-story drop to my right. I don't like heights, and this was a shocker! Out West, everything is bigger; this was hardly the dam at Lake Elkhorn.

Water to the left of them...

...abyss to the right!

The cascading waters were soothing, however, and I decided that this was a good time and place to stop, eat a little, and re-bandage my bloody stump.

I went down a flight of log steps to the water's edge and had a seat. From my perch I was a full fifteen feet below the road, nestled in a corner. From that perspective I had the place all to myself. It was spectacular.

It was a view so good...

...I photographed it twice!

I cleaned up my hand and re-bandaged it, using a wrap I used to use when crack climbing. (Stop snickering there in the back! "Rock climbing using cracks", your naughty-minded sass.)

The CLAW!

It was tight, reinforced, and I wrapped a curve into my finger to help me with my grip. Nice work, if I don't day so myself...

It was just after 1000. With a snack in my belly, a functioning hand, and a recovered heart rate, I saddled up for the next leg of my journey. According to the map, I had some 1,300 feet of rise before the peak of Mt. Tam. I was ready.

I was back in the saddle at 10:04--32 miles gone, nearly 40 to come,
and the the serious climbing was about to begin.

With high spirits I set off and was soon swallowed by the redwoods. Here the pitch varied from steady to steep. A lot of switchbacks greeted me, and precipitous drop-offs hazarded me.

Pretty. Quiet. Steady. Upward. I hope there are no bears here...

My hand was holding firm, and I was finding my rhythm. This was the climbing I had dreamed about, and I was experiencing it to the fullest. For miles, I climbed, and I enjoyed the beauty all around me. Natural springs trickled and flowed, and the trees whispered and murmured with the breezes.

Just after a particularly steep switchback, an enormous (6+ inch!) slug was crossing the road (Why'd the slug cross the road?...). Were we racing, it probably would have won.

At some point I realized this giant slug was probably
moving faster than me...

Sisterly Love?
I felt good, so I committed to my original plan. I took the right off of the Fairfax-Bolinas road and headed up Ridgeline Road to the peak. I soon emerged from the thickets and encountered the Seven Sisters: a number of small pitches that sawtoothed up the mountain. Each has her own character; all are deceivingly difficult for a first-timer.

Seven sisters, my arse. Stuck in my head is a word that rhymes with "rich".

I had a rabbit in front of me. That helped with my motivation. What didn't help was that every time I took a photo he got further and further ahead. There's no escaping it; taking photos compromises performance!