The Mustelidae Paradox

I have, for OVER 30 YEARS NOW, had a somewhat conflicted relationship with The Sea Otter Classic. Once known as “the celebration of cycling”, now run under the banner of Lifetime Events, the Sea Otter shovels an incredible amount of bicycleness into a four-day window. Races, from downhill to road stage races, pack in competitors by the thousands. The venue at Laguna Seca Raceway hosts a similarly massive swell of industry exhibitors, and has become, following the whimper-not-a-bang fade of Interbike a few years ago, the defacto trade show and springtime debutante ball of the US cycling industry. Somewhere around 70,000 humans filter in and out of the event between Thursday and Sunday. Much like the cute and cuddly mammal the event is named after, what’s not to love?

Well, first, let’s talk about that animal. Can we talk about that animal? I mean, this is a bit like talking about Bill Cosby. It is not likely to end well. Sea otters, see, might appear to be cute, but they sure ain’t cuddly. They are psychotic assholes; the living, breathing epitome of how nature can encompass both beauty and depravity in the same furry, totally unlovable bundle. Sea otters are violent little monsters that have zero friends in the animal kingdom, and are on record attacking almost everything from seagulls to crocodiles. A bad tempered aquatic relative of weasels and stoats and ferrets, but bigger, meaner, with a penchant for interspecies murder and rape. They are cute from a distance. Up close, even when viewed within the dispassionate context that “nature can be cruel”, sea otters rank up there as extra shitty and mean.

(I really hope my mom doesn’t read this. She watched this film from 1969 called “Ring Of Bright Water”, that was about a guy who fell in love with a river otter he got from a pet store in London, but it trashed his apartment so he moved to Scotland with it, and they frolicked wonderfully doing all that cute nature stuff until that tragic bit near the end, and she has been absolutely gaga for sea otters ever since. So, now, if she comes to visit, we’ll go out to the coast, sit on a cliff, and watch as Sea Otters gorge themselves on shellfish, attack seagulls, and murder baby seals. She thinks sea otters are the most beautiful animals on the planet next to grey whales. I cannot bring myself to tell her what horrible little monsters they are. Maybe river otters are the mellow relatives of the “let’s burn this trailer park to the fucking ground” sea otters. Either way, sorry mom.)

We could call it the Pacific Sea Nettle Classic, for example, and conveniently sidestep some of the darker implications of being aligned with one of nature’s most unapologetic violent offenders. Naming a four day festival of Everything Bike after a jellyfish takes some of the sizzle out of things, admittedly, but it IS a stinging jellyfish, which makes it kinda badass. Right? Or, in a nod to the time of year that the event occurs, as well as in deference to true local badass, maybe the event could be renamed the Toxicodendron Diversilobum Classic. Anyone who has the misfortune of lawn darting off-trail while pinning it on any of the singletrack sections of the XC race course will bring home a painful, itching, oozing, brilliantly red reminder of the unofficial state flower’s wrath as a memento. That soft green foliage resting in the dappled spring sunlight filtering through the oak leaves sure does look beautiful, doesn’t it? Sort of like a sea otter. Best viewed from a distance.

Ah well, it’s not my job to worry about the name. And, since I wasn’t consulted when they changed the name of Laguna Seca Raceway to “Weathertech Raceway Laguna Seca” a few years ago, I don’t expect that I’ll be getting called in to help with this one. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out some of the obvious complications with the name. We can move on now, and so as not to cause any undue confusion, will stick with the given name, implications be damned. The Sea Otter Classic is turning 31 this year. Holy shit, that’s a long run.

In order to fully age myself, in 1991 I was writing a column about racing for an awesome little publication called California Bicyclist. The column was called “Knob-O-Rama,” and was a look ahead at upcoming race events in and around Northern California. The Sea Otter debuted that year, and I received word from Rick Sutton about it, along with the extensive list of races that would be happening over the weekend, even back then. Instead of getting on board with the celebratory aspect, I took umbrage at the decision to call a first year event a “classic.”

The next year, when they introduced inline skating events, I think I wrote something snarky along the lines of wondering when we might expect to see dwarf tossing make an appearance. With a long overdue apology to vertically challenged people, it’s fair to say I was somewhat less careful with my words back then. Sorry about that, compact stuntpeople of the world. In spite of my jaundiced worldview, the Sea Otter grew by leaps and bounds, and owned the moniker “classic” in just a few short years. It’s a classic, for sure. But it is a weird one.

There’s a downhill race that’s not very steep, which has been won by riders using a single crown fork. Short of Canberra in 2009, this may be the only DH race on the planet where single crown forks are a factor.

There’s a dual slalom. This beautiful dinosaur is one of the highlights of the weekend, pulling in a raucous crowd who huddle together for warmth as the fog begins to roll in right as the event hits its Saturday night climax. Dual slalom racing had a brief and brilliant run in the 90s, then got swallowed up by 4X racing, because more is always better, apparently, before 4X racing collapsed in on itself a decade or more ago. The dual slalom at the Sea Otter has been anchored on the same hillside since 1991, in roughly the same shape, and has been completely indifferent to the fate of dual slalom elsewhere. Long may you run, Sea Otter dual slalom!

There’s an XC race that looks kinda basic on paper. A couple laps of a 16-ish mile course that mixes a traditional blend of fire roads and singletrack, snakes through a landscape that is green and festooned with wildflowers (bear in mind that for about 10 months of the year, these hills are somewhere between brown and grey and the trail consistency is blue-groove hardpack with a light sprinkling of sand. The timing of peak wildflowers with the Sea Otter is a cunning trick). The course profile looks non-threatening, no killer protracted alpine climbs, no terrifying gravity chasms. But that benign landscape has a habit of absorbing all your wattage without you realizing it until sometime on the second lap, when suddenly everything feels like uphill in quicksand into a headwind, and at that point the seemingly benign XC race becomes a death march for some. Fair warning.

There’s a short track XC race, which is possibly the best way ever to throw up in front of your friends.

There’s an Enduro. I’m not really sure how they pull that off, but there ya go. Expect it to be “pedally.”

There’s all those road events. RoadstageraceCircuitraceCritGrandfondo. You want to race your e-bike? Bring it. Cyclocross? In springtime? Sure! You want to compete in unicycle trials? Maybe.

Finally, last but by no means least, there’s that massive stewing crush of humanity zombie walking through an expo that has grown over the years into A Legitimate Thing. Sea Otter is a key product launch time now, and this event alone can be blamed for the cycle of calendar advancement that makes product managers and marketing stooges weep with frustration. It may be April of 2022, but this week, someone, many someones, will be showing off their 2023 something or other. 70,000 people will be there, looking for stickers and autographs and swag, shambling between a gastric devil’s dare of food vendors and a midway that circles the entire infield of the legendary raceway. Will there be something awesome new to see? Absolutely. Will there be free stickers? Damn straight. Will there be sunburn? Yes. Will there be windburn? That too. Will there be bone chilling fog rolling in even though you are already sunburned and wind chafed? Bet on it. Will there be sideways rain? Maybe. Will the bouncy castle blow away again? Not if they anchor it down properly this time.

Amidst the shuffling crowds you’ll have the chance to bump shoulders with the legends of the sport, get your socks autographed by them, watch in jaw agape amazement while Danny MacAskill casually blows your mind and rearranges the goalposts for what you think is possible on a bike, while you concurrently try to decide whether to apply more sunblock or brave the gyros at the dodgy looking trailer in the food court.

And there, in that teeming, seething mass of people, you’ll see it. The heart, the soul, the questionable synthetic fur wrapped zeitgeist of the Sea Otter Classic. A human sized mustelidae, or more specifically, an actual human trapped in the purgatory of a sea otter costume for god knows how many hours at a time, parading through the expo; waving, high-fiving, posing for photos. People let this monster touch their children!

Maybe it’s best to remain ignorant to the darker connotations inherent when we anthropomorphize animals, and go on singing songs like “baby shark” without really thinking too much about teeth and blood. Instead, pose for the photo, shake the furry caricature’s hand, lean in close and whisper instead, “Buddy, what does it smell like in there?”

The Sea Otter CLASSIC. Welcome back, you beautiful freak.