The East Championship in Richmond is without a doubt the greatest urban XTERRA of all-time and on June 20th, for the 12th straight year, yet another collection of  adventurous souls will take on the challenge and discover this amazing city in a very unique way. Local racer/writer Courtney Page has been part of XTERRA in Richmond since the beginning and wrote this classic describing her experience several years ago. It remains one of the best course reviews ever written, and here it is for all to enjoy (updated for relevance).

Twelve years have passed since Hawaiian haoles Chris Day and Dave Nicholas arrived in Richmond, Virginia to scout out the southern woods, rivers and railroads in order to find the perfect off-road treachery we now call XTERRA.

Thanks to them, come June 20th you’ll be back, wading through the James River on the uneven rocky river bottom under the C&O train trestle in downtown Richmond, trying awkwardly to get upstream from the 300 racers relieving themselves in the starting area.

It’s not a pretty sport-although the starting line usually looks like a Vogue magazine cover of sinewy, muscled models with 0 percent body fat. This is my first piece of advice: Don’t judge a book by its cover at the XTERRA East Championship. Good looks won’t help you when flying headfirst over your handlebars into the biggest briar patch you’ve even seen.

Something like a Marine Corp-boot-camp obstacle course, much of the 1,000-meter swim involves avoiding rebar, tree limbs, sharp rocks, river reeds, wild elbows, and spastic legs. And the river’s unpredictable due to the currents and the ever-changing water level. Course designers swear, “The swim has its own terrain. It goes up, and it goes down; it is definitely not a flat swim.” In fact, it barely qualifies as a swim at all. Some years the river is so low you find yourself scraping along the bottom while other years the early summer floods have you crafting your epitaph while you struggle to avoid the fall line 100 yds to your left. Halfway through the swim you exit the water and stumble 500-feet on a banana-peel-lined muddy bank, only to jump back in the river and crawl again-this time upstream. At the end you run up a boat ramp cemented with sharp unidentified objects and proceed 450-yards across rocks back to the transition area. Twenty minutes have passed, and you’ve barely yet begun.

It has been said that the transitions are the place where people’s personalities come out. Everything can be told about a person by the way they lay it out on a towel. Perhaps true, but you’ll have little time to contemplate other people’s stuff when what you need is a compass and a map to even find your own bike. When you do it’s like spotting an old friend on the subway platform in New York City at rush hour. Frenzy ensues. Shoe, shirt, helmet, glasses, hydration pack, socks, food, suntan lotion, Mountain Dew, GU, gloves-you might as well take out an ad in The Richmond Times Dispatch: YARD SALE-10:30am, Tredagar Iron Works.

I’ve heard that in Nepal a single Sherpa, with no oxygen, can carry an entire Everest tour’s provisions all the way to the top of the mountain. Remember that as you carry your bike over Wizard of Oz roots, rocks, mud, water, concrete bridges, drop-offs, logs, steps, and even down hills. Although there are plenty of washed-in-the-blood (literally) mountain bike pros who don’t even unclick their step-in pedals during the 18-mile course, the majority of racers will have to dismount at least once.

The Family Circus cartoonist couldn’t draw a map of the bike course. Its two loops of adventure take you from the footbridge with a view —to the top of Belle Isle for a bike traffic jam—to the wooden tar-smelling crossing bridge— to the concrete barrel singletrack— to the gravel fire road —to more singletrack through the woods to the little hell island— to a backside mudpuddle —-to a spiral staircase to the sky —-to the Buttermilk Trail, part one,— to funky fun-house stairs to impossible hill —-to a river rat tunnel —-to impossible cement balance-beam bridge —-to forest hill lung-buster—–to stone path hiccup stairs—- to crazy moss-backed rock crossing—- to super-technical singletrack trails —-to uphill fire trail—- to more super-technical singletrack—to Buttermilk, part two—- to yet another spiral staircase – and then you cross the river where more madness ensues.

 It’s a little known fact, but there are no mirrors allowed in the transition area. At this point in the race if you got a glimpse of yourself, you’d hang it up and go home. Mud, blood, bruises, helmet head, and black ink tar from your race number-it’s all on your face. You’re beginning to wonder if this is the hottest day of your life. Ben Johnson owner of 3Sport triathlon store recalls, “It is the hottest I’ve ever been to this day. No shade. No relief from the Virginia humidity. No nothing. I grabbed a bag of ice and put it under my hat. It boiled on my head.”

So there you are, 10K away from sipping lemonade in a lawn chair by the river. You won’t see any cheerleaders in white skirts or marching bands playing in your honor, but you’ll get a burst of crowd-induced energy as you leave the transition and think, “The next time I’m here, I’ll be done.”

You’ll soon discover that the run course is modeled after Harrison Ford’s escape in The Fugitive-minus only the waterfall jump. Decide prior to starting what your religious beliefs are because if you have any doubts, you’ll begin to debate the existence of a higher being before you reach the half-mile mark. By the time you’ve reached the end of the baking, shade-less floodwall, you’ll meet whatever you believe in at the base of the railroad-tie stair climb.

 I like to imagine the pre-race prep crew from Hawaii clearing the course with no prior knowledge of Virginia and its indigenous snake population. At Reedy Creek Rock Garden, you’ll appreciate being a number in the pack, making your way across the James, jumping from rock to rock. A good mantra that’s worked for me is “Go away, snakes!” repeated in a loud, authoritative voice. (I understand snakes don’t like loud noises.)

 Once across the river, back on Belle Isle, you and your water-logged shoes will begin to smell the hay in the barn. All that’s passed in the hours before will be lost in a fog of delirium, and you’ll find yourself digging deep when you round the corner to the finish.

As you come across the line, a professional photographer will snap a shot of you in all your raw, dirty, beat-up beauty. A long line of people will give you high fives, and your friends will offer full body hugs despite your current state of hygiene. You’ll down a bottle of some of the best-tasting water of your life and “talk story” about your adventures with the other racers.

Not long after you finish your mud and blood performance XTERRA will continue on its way—the crew from Team Unlimited (the guys that put the race on) will pack up their 18 wheeler and go out in search of other virgin territory rough enough to challenge and test every evil kanivil daring enough to try.

For more visit XTERRA Planet

Source: Trey Garman