Tamarancho Double Dip

The hills, ridges and canyons that sprawl beyond the north slopes of Mount Tamalpais in Marin County are steep, covered with mixed forests of redwood, oak and madrone, topped with grassy meadows and chaparral, and draped with trails and fire roads.

It’s mountain bike paradise, but not all of the trails are open to bikes. For the particular pleasure of not risking a fine for poaching (and for a nominal $5-per-day use fee), the devotee brings their wheels to Camp Tamarancho in Fairfax, which is owned by the local Boy Scout troop, and features extensive, legal, world-class singletrack.

The regular loop is a bit less than 10 miles, depending on how you extend it — there are numerous points of departure where the Tamarancho trail system links up beyond its borders with regional open-space districts, county fire roads and suchlike, all of which open up new dimensions of MTB grandeur — but this time around I wanted to do a double-dip … that is, ride the main loop twice.

It was way harder than I expected.

Though it’s not that much for some riders, I’ve been thrilled to find myself doing 25–30 mile rides fairly routinely for the past few years, sometimes more. These are mainly long fire-road grinds in the Marin Headlands with some little bits of singletrack sprinkled along the way. There are also some nice, long asphalt rides one can take out to Tennessee Valley in the Headlands, or Mt. Tam, both accessed by the Sausalito bike path. These all involve big climbs, but again, it’s mostly time in the saddle, getting into a rhythm, falling into your zen, and pushing, pushing, pushing. The sights along the way are magical pleasures — wildflowers, long slopes, luscious chaparral, big views and wind in your face at the crest of each climb and the plunge down the other side. And one feels great after ticking off another epic. One revels in testing and extending one’s endurance, developing personal techniques for managing and building these long climbs, and understanding how much room there is still to grow.

Tamarancho is something else entirely. It’s a different kind of exertion and a different kind of fitness. It’s not a long climb on a relatively flat, 2D surface. It’s all singletrack — all of it, and rough blue trails at that, with some black diamonds as well. It’s 3D terrain, full of rocks and tangly roots and drops and switchbacks and ruts. It’s rollercoaster up-and-down, with sudden climbs and pushes. It’s a whole-body experience; I pull in my belly like I was in Pilates or yoga class, to tighten the core. I’m using my arms, my shoulders, to manhandle the front end up over big root and rock structures coming around a tight switchback. Then I’m sweeping across a long traverse and down into a new switchback system, hinging deeply at the hips and throwing my weight back, like I’m in child’s pose over two wheels, to stay low, hands light on the bars, and maintain stability over the gnarl. (You don’t want to lean on the bars at the wrong time, it’s a good way to tuck the front wheel and go down hard.) And I’m bringing the whole system of body position, training and technique into play when pushing down against the bike’s shocks and carrying the bike up over an obstacle on the rebound.

Two laps at Tamarancho is about three hours of this. There are sections where I had to put my foot down, off the pedal, a quick but awkward dab against the ground to get over some slippery-ass shit; and rooty drops that I used to clear in big leaps that this weekend I modestly rolled, both wheels on the ground at all times. Where did my skillz go? One is always battling against entropy …

I’m still challenged by the steep, banked turns of Endor, the Tamarancho flow trail. I just don’t have the physics of riding a serious flow trail like this quite sorted. Pushing into the berms, and pumping down against the dips to gain momentum, then “unweighting” the front end as you rush up the other side to float up in the air over the crest and down into the next trail segment … I just have no idea.

And despite all the yoga, chair-poses and squats, my thighs threaten mutiny, quivering against a deepening ache as I hinge at the hips and stay low over the bike amidst the full rush of the plunge down the flow. Fie! This is something I really want to understand more intuitively, and train for more effectively. I don’t know how people do that stuff.

This was my first turn at Tamarancho on my new Santa Cruz XC bike, a shorter-travel (less shock absorption) ride that’s also slightly less slack (the front wheel doesn’t angle out as far) than my old Marin trail bike, which is now unrideable after repeated bolt failure in the rear-shock linkage. So there’s a lot of getting-to-know-you going on with me and the new ride. But there are also real, immediate pleasures — such as the big 29-inch wheels, which roll blithely over most obstacles. One also revels in the XC geometry: This thing just leaps forward and is one of the most aggressive uphillers I’ve ever ridden. It wants to go.

Could be that’s why I set a couple personal-best records, and also why I successfully rode up one of the gnarliest, most technical climbs in the park on both laps, after years of barely making it up the approach. Either I’m getting better, or the bike is just making it easier. A bit of both, I reckon, but the bike is a game changer. Whatever the case, I did stop hard both times at the giant fucking rock just around the dogleg at the end of the approach. The amount of focused strength, technique and discipline required to surmount that rock seems boggling, though I’ve seen it done. Just not by me. I’ll take the little wins if not the whole champion’s fruit basket.

It was also neat to ride the little constructed skills course right adjacent to the Endor entrance … little log runs and narrow boardwalk courses. I did two very nice little runs on the easiest parts of that both times around Tamarancho yesterday. There’s much more challenging stuff in that skills course, but it felt great to manage the baseline.

I’ve been riding Tamarancho since 2018 and it’s always challenging, every time. And each segment of the park is always a welcome return. Even if the rock garden along the exposed crest of Serpentine trail is boggling — big babyheads, piles of polished boulders, janky rockfalls in twisty, uneven staircases and ramps, and at least one nasty yellowjacket hive — the views of Mt Tam from the north are beyond sublime. The cool, sun-dappled traverse through the redwood canyon as you approach Endor is a dream. Throughout the park the air is full of the sharp tang and loamy mellow of leaf and soil. Cool ocean breezes slip over the hilltops as you crest a ridge. There is birdsong everywhere, and different birds depending on the time of day, just as the sun angles through the trees differently as it travels across the sky from morning to late afternoon.

It was hot. I went through two electrolyte tabs and several liters of water, and fueled myself with dried figs, a banana, a choice peach, and salty mixed nuts. Still, didn’t quite bonk, but the threat of it loomed. And it’ll get way hotter up there as the summer progresses.

Lots of poison oak trailside in some sections, but I think I evaded most of it and applied the Tecnu once I got home to potentially exposed areas. No obvious tick interactions. Paranoia in both regards pays off.

A yellow-vested trail steward I met at the end of the second lap reminded me that I did need a day pass, and that this helps Acces4Bikes, the Marin County MTB-advocacy group, maintain the Tamarancho trail system. They should set up a little self-pay system at the trailhead like they have at China Camp, but I’m going to get an annual pass for a measly $60, even though I don’t get up there much. It’s just worth supporting them.

The staging area for these rides is always Split Rock Tap & Wheel, a well-positioned Fairfax bike shop and cafe on Sir Francis Drake Blvd, with a big parking lot a bit less than two miles from the trailhead. In my rush to get out the door, I forgot my damn helmet. A helmet is mandatory, especially on this sort of ride. When I dragged my pathetic ass into the shop to see what cheapo lid I could score, the nice person at the counter went into the back, and came back with a loaner. I also forgot my sunblock, and bought a stick at the counter. Due to after-ride plans in the city, I skipped the beer and snack at the end of the ride this time, but sitting on Split Rock’s patio with a Tall Frostie after a rockin’ ripper up the slopes of Fairfax, intimately engaging with the natural beauty of this magical part of Planet Earth … it is one of life’s great pleasures.

Ride ever on.