2018 Sea Otter Classic

[Mark Ingwersen]

There's nothing quite like a large scale event to make you feel small. The Sea Otter Classic hardly needs introduction in the world of cycling and this year I was going to actually, finally be a part of one of the world's premier cycling events. A mere spectator last year, I already knew to expect not only a massive turn out compared to anything else around here but a more diverse level of competition that went beyond the list of familiar names on the local Strava leader boards and race results. Greg, Paul and I got in a partial pre-ride of the XC course the first day of Sea Otter having barely enough time to cram in the 2.5 hour ride before attempting to beat traffic back home. Greg and I headed back down Saturday night in hopes of getting at least some rest before our early 8am start.

Sunday brought the typical thick, low hanging coastal fog to the Monterey Bay and as we drove up South Boundary Rd the view against the rising sun was blinding. The temperature stayed in the 40's making clothing selection interesting: once we decided to leave the truck for warm-up there'd be no time to return excess layers before race start. Dehydration and leg cramps on my mind, I chose to wear my Camelbak for the near 30 mile course. I used my small pack which really doesn't get in the way much, but I find it easier to get into a racing mood when I ride without the extra equipment. My Trek Top Fuel 9.8 was still on the Maxxis Ardent 2.2's from the last CCCX race. I'd planned to air up to a firmer 28-30psi but, in the morning's hectic... didn't check pressure at all. Probably 24; still haven't checked (so much for professionalism).

Greg and I did some warm up runs along with countless others up and down the racetrack I used to drive my old BMW 2002 on 15 years ago. Getting up to turn 6 is easier and clearly far quicker in a well tuned car, but I must say the view, smells and overall experience was more encompassing on a bicycle, especially on this cool, hazy morning.

At 7:58 I rolled up to the start line with my group ready to go already. I took a spot on the left, second row from the front. Dave stopped by to wish me luck and remind me to have fun. Amazing how a few positive words help! The 8am start came as punctual as a German train and despite 29 miles to go, riders shot off in a sprint.

Uh oh.

Not yet ready for this level of output, I settled mid pack as we rounded the first turn. I focused on steady breathing and cranked a little harder than I'd wanted so I would keep with the group. The first climb up the track and then off onto the dirt I felt like I was breathing at 5000 feet elevation; not good. I fought to stay with the string of riders that was stretching thin along the fire road up to the first descent. I was one of the last 8 riders or so as we pointed knobbies down Lookout Ridge. Keeping in mind that we were on loose gravel and dirt that seemed like ball bearings under my tires, we careened down at speeds I rarely see on the road. My Garmin clocked me at 45mph as my eyes watered. Once at the bottom where the course turned right onto pavement, I tucked in behind Joshua Walker in his black speedsuit (we're mountain biking, right?) and drafted him. My plan was to conserve as much energy as possible so I didn't bother to make any passes unless they were easy. The sharp left into the sandy singletrack uphill had me working hard to stay with the others. I recovered a little as we exited the dizzying switchbacks through the shrubbery and once again drafted Joshua and another rider along the gravel roads. From here it was a mix of wider trails and singletrack, dirt and sand, ruts and smooth ground for quite a while.

After another shallow climb that slowed everyone we jogged a right on foot up the sandy slope to a sand stone ridgeline that offered beautiful vistas. Despite the effort and sweat, I was finally beginning to enjoy the race. My thoughts drifted to the upcoming ride down " the beach". Riding down a dune only a few feet wide and lined with dense shrubs could be trouble. Lucky for me, as I reached to top I had no rider directly in front nor behind me. Immediate pressure off, I slammed my seat dropper, threw my weight back and let go of the brakes. Greg's suggestion to "stay left" ringing in my head, I made a somewhat twitchy but surprisingly clean pass to the bottom. "YES! Now I just need to keep my legs from cramping and I'm good to go", I thought. We still had a long way ahead, but my spirits were up.

The 15-18 crowd caught us near the feed zone and their energy was cause for much passing. I just hoped one of my competitors wouldn't use this as a sneak by. This long haired fella on a green bike went by in a frenzy of skill; yup, that'd be Tinker. He should wear a green cape to go with that super human speed. My plan was to conserve, but the constant stream of riders around me had me pushing my limits. My heart rate was high and I found no opportunities to recover until we finished the final singletrack section before the grind back up to Laguna Seca's backside. I set into a rather slow but steady pace and managed to gain back some much needed strength as I neared the top of the dreaded Grind. Just up ahead I saw two riders from my group. A few clicks on the XO lever, "klank, klank!" and I was out of the saddle sprinting past them over the crest towards the Hurl Hill DH. Full speed down that I almost blew the hard right at the bottom just after making another pass. My legs were tired but the end was not far off. Speedsuit guy, who dropped me miles ago, had finally run out of steam and I slowly closed in on him over the undulating trail. It was painful cranking up the steep last pitch before we crested the course and onto the tarmac of the raceway's turn 6. So far my plan was still working and I was inches from his rear wheel, drafting him once again. Gears spun out, I tucked in close until we got to the final right before the finish line. I sling-shotted out and slammed the pedals hard, never letting off.

It was a stupendous feeling whisking across the finish line, despite all this personal glory being instantly and completely submerged by the sheer numbers of others doing the same thing: amateur racing. While I may not have podiumed or even placed in the top 10, there was still the prize of accomplishment- oh yeah, and celebrating with recovery beer and friends before the long drive home. I'll take that over a medal any day.