Installment #6 in Monolisticle's Ongoing Campaign Against the "Internet of Endless Listicles."
I knew I was in trouble when I reached the entrance to the Camp Tamarancho Trail and I was already exhausted.
No exaggeration. I had only just reached the trailhead entrance and had not even begun the 14-mile long trail yet and I was already prepared to call it a day.
Let me explain. To get to the trailhead, which is near the top of the mountain, you actually have to bike to the top of the mountain. There is no car parking at the top. You have to park in the town of Fairfax and ride up. And up.
Whether intentional or not, this brilliantly weeds out the weak and keeps the trail uncrowded (I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe I was one of the weak they were hoping to weed out).
Oh, the humility.
“Camp Tamarancho Trail offers everything you hope and dream a mountain bike trail could offer. Climbs. Jumps. Cool bridges. A "Flow" section. Diverse terrain (redwoods, live oaks, grassy slopes, boulders, etc). And an abundance of the previously-mentioned views.”
If you’re one of those people who believe that any mountain bike trail worth its dirt should offer the legitimate risk of a heart attack, serious bodily injury, and/or a search-and-rescue attempt, this is the trail for you. Because the Camp Tamarancho generously (and brutally) offers all three.
It also boasts dangerously distracting views, which contribute to both the physical risk as well as the reward. There are breathtaking vistas almost the entire ride.
As I was standing at the trailhead entrance already sweating profusely, trying to decide whether to continue on and actually bike the trail rather than just biking to the trail, a rider came off the path. We struck up a conversation.
He (let’s call him Fred) said that the first time he attempted the trail, he only made it about 200 yards into it and quit. He just turned around and left.
“Really?” I said, now even more intimidated and unsure whether or not to proceed. Sizing him up, Fred looked like he was in decent shape. “Sounds pretty brutal.”
“Yeah,” said Fred. “It is. But now I can do the entire loop in 55 minutes.”
“Nice,” I said, not sure how impressed I should be. But I figured finishing the trail at all was impressive in itself, regardless of the time it took.
“But you should get a bike like this,” Fred said, gesturing at his brand new light blue Ibis (a color I would later learn was actually called “bug zapper blue” and cost over $4,000.
I, on the other hand, was not riding an Ibis. Fred apparently did not deem my ride worthy of the trail I was about to attempt. The competitive (and indignant) side of me immediately kicked in. Forget this guy and his $4,000 bike. I’m going to obliterate his 55 minutes and I’m going to obliterate it riding my $300 bike.
Politely parting ways with Fred, I set the timer on my watch and attacked the trail, zig-zagging my way further up the mountain. It was steep, hence the necessity of the zig zag trail. By the time the trail actually began to level out, my quads were fried. And the "leveling out" part was only a temporary tease that quickly turned back into another continuous climb.
So how long did it take me on my $300 Schwinn to complete the Camp Tamarancho Trail?
2 hours.
That’s right. 2 entire hours. More than double Fred's 55 minutes.
Oh, the humility. I ate more than my share of humble pie that day. In fact, I consumed seconds and thirds of it.
But before you start thinking I’m a lightweight, you need to know that I’m a pretty decent athlete. And still the Tamarancho kicked my butt. Royally.
No less than 15, maybe 20 times during the ride, I had to dismount my bike and walk through particularly tricky (and treacherous) sections. Why? Because the margin for error on a particular piece of trail was that miniscule. If I were to accidentally misjudge a turn, or if my wheel caught in a rut between rocks, it wasn’t merely a matter of falling off the bike onto the ground. It was a drop off a cliff onto boulders 50 feet below.
Adding to my lovely jaunt through the Camp Tamarancho, the temperature quickly jumped from the high 70s into the low 90s as it entered mid-afternoon. I drank all the water I brought with me, plus at least another 2 gallons at the one water station that actually had water). More than one rider passing me on the trail asked me if was okay and did I have enough water (thank you, friendly riders, whoever you were).
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Not that the Camp Tamarancho is entirely without its pleasures. The Endor flow section (Star Wars fans will get the reference) through a redwood forest made all the pain I’d experienced leading up to that point more than worth it. Some claim it’s the best section of trail in the entire Bay Area. And if you want to skip the hard part and get right to the Endor section, there is actually a way to enter this section of trail so as to bypass all the other punishing stuff (hey, no judgment from me).
Actually, Camp Tamarancho offers everything you hope and dream a mountain bike trail could offer: Climbs. Turns. Jumps. A "Flow" section. Cool bridges. Diverse terrain (redwoods, live oaks, grassy slopes, boulders, etc). Cute furry critters scurrying about. And an abundance of the previously-mentioned views.
The fact that Camp Tam Trail is located right next to downtown Fairfax is a pretty cool bonus as well. You can visit the Mountain Bike Hall of Fame Museum prior to your ride. Nice people. Very helpful. They even offered to let me park my Jeep in their lot. You can also buy a trail day pass there (required to bike the trail). You can tour the museum. Buy some cool stickers for your vehicle (and, if you’re so inclined, there's a donation box to support the museum).
Personally when I'm planning a late morning ride, I like to pack a lunch in my backpack and end the ride with a meal—while enjoying the scenery I had previously ignored for the sake of survival. I keep lunch in a small Yeti cooler lunch bag (@yeti), which is big enough for a sandwich and side, and doesn’t take up too much room in my backpack. Plus it's foldable to adjust to various capacities and tough as hell like everything else Yeti makes.
And to aide in your post-ride recovery, Fairfax has a world-class ice cream shop in town called Fairfax Scoop (cash only). But if you prefer other forms of recovery (read: beer) there are also a couple of great bars. Even a biker bar—a bicycle biker bar.
And the health food store mecca Good Earth is just down the road. I recommend grabbing a bowl of miso soup with seaweed, if they have it. It’s surprisingly satiating after a ride. Or a slice of pizza. Or chicken salad. Or pretty much anything they make. It's all good. The store is an organic pioneer (organic before organic was cool), the quality of meat and produce is as good as it gets, and the prepared food is outstanding (not the cardboard-bland prepared foods you find at many organic stores). I wrote more about Good Earth here.
For those of you who would rather stick to a less search-and-rescue-worthy-but-equally-beautiful trail in Marin, I recommend China Camp. It has great views as well as diverse terrain. And as an intermediate skill-level course, it’s plenty challenging enough for a good workout. China Camp even has remnants of the Chinese shrimp-fishing camp you can check out before you hit the trail. Note: Please keep an eye out for hikers, as you would on any trail. It can get busy during peak hours.
Finally, I’ll leave you with a bit of hard-earned advice from having hiked or biked pretty much every legitimate trail in all of Marin County:
· Bring a back pack. Fill it with things you might need if you happen to get lost or stranded overnight. Or if, let's say, your bike breaks. This seems like overkill, but it’s not. Trust me.
· Include lots of water. Even if the World Wide Webernet claims that a particular trail has a water station, assume it doesn’t. Or that it’s empty. Again, something I learned the hard way. Think of the extra weight on your back as a challenge. You’ll get used to it.
· Toss in layers of clothing, including a hat and gloves, in case the temperature drops. Marin is a land of micro-climates. It can be 80 degrees on one side of a mountain and 40 degrees on the other. And windy. The temperature can easily drop or jump 30-50 degrees. Keep in mind the three Ws: wicking layer, warm layer, and wind layer. Pack all three.
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· Make sure your phone is fully-charged. I once had my battery go out on me while hiking a trail I’d taken an Uber to (I know that sounds super lame, but I was trying to squeeze in a quick hike after work before it got dark), and I couldn’t call an Uber ride to get home. I was in the middle of nowhere and it was well after dark when I made it back to the trailhead. I had to wait an hour in the cold for a car to drive by and pray that they'd give me a ride back into town. He did.
· Approach any new trail with extra caution, especially on the first attempt. And if you encounter a section of trail that looks dangerous (like a 50-foot drop-off just inches from the path, as I experienced more than once), calculate the margin of error before attempting. And make sure to factor in your ego.
· Speaking of ego, there is no shame in dismounting and walking your bike through a tricky section (okay, maybe there’s a little shame, but significantly less shame than the shame of an accident that results in a full-body cast and having to rely on someone else to wipe your hind-side for the next two months).
All that said, biking Camp Tam is an amazing experience. And I highly recommend it. It's a truly legendary trail in the truly legendary birthplace of the sport.
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*The MTB Project is a good crowd-sourced mountain bike guide which I use to gather information about trails wherever I go.
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