The 'otter' half
Not just the dudes are deserving of attention at annual bicycle brodeo

A few weeks ago, I attended the Sea Otter Classic on California’s Central Coast, an annual bike race that pits cycling pros against each other. And while I was there in an official work capacity, I was also there on an anthropological excursion. 

The fabled four-day event took place in John Steinbeck’s romanticized town of Monterey, where it has taken place every year since 1991. The Sea Otter is held at and around a motor raceway. But on this particular weekend, instead of cars racing around the track, about 10,000 bicycle racers took to the singletrack on the sandy hills surrounding it.

In the middle of the action was my team and I. We were stationed under a tent alongside 525 other bicycle-related vendors, surrounded by 74,000 swarming fans, all corralled in a large dusty lot, which also happened to be the bro epicenter. 

Dudes were everywhere. Pit Viper dudes blowing horns, ripping through the venue on loud motorized contraptions, dudes with high socks and Hawaiian shirts, and dudes popping more wheelies than prom night. 

I had to rub my eyes a few times to find the ladies. 

They were there though, walking and riding their bikes around the venue, and, more importantly, racing bikes. 

The elites and professional women showed up to the start lines looking ready to crush the 67-mile course in the humid California heat. At the start of the main event, The Fuego XL, local champ Sarah Sturm was laser-focused – staring straight ahead as folks cheered from the sideline, looking as if she was there to rule the world. 

Four hours after the (proverbial) gun went off, I made my way to the finish line to check out the scene. The announcer was loud with anticipation, keeping us up to date on the leading men, and the crowd roared as the men’s winner rolled in. I waited patiently to hear any news of the women’s field and of Sturm, but after about a dozen men rolled in, there still wasn’t much mention, and the excitement waned. 

I came back a little later to the announcer giving interviews of the men’s top finishers, and the spectators had begun to trickle away. I stayed for a front-row seat of the potential women’s winner, or even an ETA, but the announcer only had an educated guess. 

As the elite women eventually blasted through, cheers came from outside the fence. But it was a noticeable difference, with fewer people – a fact I wanted to ignore but couldn’t. 

Later that afternoon, sunburned and a bit burnt out, my coworker and I walked over to the Pro Dual Slalom race and happened to catch two other Durango-grown badasses, Ainsley Haggart and Fiona Dougherty, both of whom have raced all their lives. They bombed down the hill along with the other lady pros; hair blowing in the wind, crushing lap after lap. 

Cheers went off for them, but when the men went, spectators went wild. They hit the chained fence, rang bells, one guy even had a chain(less) saw that he revved for the entirety of a lap. It was bros supporting their bros, and I can’t blame them; they’re all friends with each other or whatever. But it just made me want to yell louder for the ladies. 

So I did. 

I can’t say that is how the whole weekend went down – I didn’t attend most of them – but I wasn’t surprised at what I personally witnessed. I don’t think anyone was surprised that the crowds were bigger at the elite men’s finish line – maybe it’s just because they finished first.

No one was probably surprised that when the guys took off down the gravity course, there were bells and chainsaws roaring for hype effect. I don’t think anyone was surprised that when the ladies ripped through or got to the finish line, there weren’t bells, a chainsaw or roaring screams, but I wished there was. I wished that people could have seen the winner of The Fuego XL, Sofia Gomez Villafane, or the winner of the Dual Slalom, Jill Kintner, roll through the finish line and crush those berms. I bet they would have been surprised at what they were seeing, and if they were there, they’d have known what they were missing. 

Sea Otter isn’t a one-off when it comes to women’s race coverage, nor – as my limited experience is concerned – the worst at making sure that more eyes are on the ladies. It was just what I already knew but saw unfold in person. 

I saw the very male-dominated industry as a 74,000-person sample size, and it didn’t particularly make me mad, or even break my heart much, because I already knew. And hopefully this will be the last time I have to beat this dead horse that we’re tired of hearing and talking about, and tired of getting mad about it or reading about other people who are mad about it, so here it is:

If you are at a race, go watch the women. If you are at any sports event, go watch the women. And the non-binary categories, or any of the underrepresented but equally badass humans working really hard at what you and I can’t do. Watch them rip through the finish lines, push through the uphills and crush down the berms, and cheer them on. Loudly. Bring your blow horns, chainless chainsaws and Viper Pit obnoxiousness, and hoot’n’holler the heck out of the Sofias and the Jills. Or the Ainsleys and Fionas. Come to the races and watch the faces of the Sarahs as they focus ahead to block out the outside world, and then watch as they dig deep inside themselves to push their bodies up 7,800 feet of elevation over 67 miles. Be there for when they sprint down to the finish line, arms overhead, sweaty and teary-eyed. Congratulate them as they hug their friends, and then listen to them as they tell you how hard they went, how good they feel and how much they love what they do and who they do it with.

Look them up online, post about them online, read about them and trust that when it comes down to it, they deserve better from you, me, the entire industry. Then go to their next race, or the next game, and cheer them on even louder. They’ll probably hear you and appreciate it, even if they are busy staying focused and digging deep inside themselves to crush hard at the extraordinary things they do. And I promise that if you witness this, you will not be disappointed.