Category: XCAT

I didn’t plan to fall for it. I went for “just one race” in Dubai. Then I found myself back at a stop in Italy that same summer. You know what? I still hear the engines when I close my eyes. If you want a no-frills schedule ticker, my go-to bookmark is the unofficial fan dashboard over at x-cat.racing.

Before I dive into the nitty-gritty, if you want to see where the series is heading next (or relive the last photo-finish), the official hub is XCAT Racing.

For an even deeper, photo-packed retelling of that inaugural Dubai weekend, you can flip through my full diary.

So, what is it like up close?

Picture a sleek catamaran, all carbon and attitude. About 30 feet long. Two seats. One driver. One throttleman. Twin outboards on the back. At full tilt, they skim like dragonflies. The hull barely kisses the water.

From the breakwater at Mina Seyahi, the start felt like a punch. Horn. Spray. That first turn? Chaos and control mixed into one tight knot. I could feel the rumble in my chest. Not a roar like big V8s—more of a sharp, high wail from those Mercury Racing outboards. It’s loud, but not harsh. Odd, right? I thought so too.

The pits: sweat, salt, and carbon dust

I spent a full morning in the wet pits. Cranes lifted boats from slings as calm as folding laundry. The smell was part fuel, part resin, part sea. I watched a crew swap a prop like they were changing shoes. Quick hand signals. A little tape over a seam. One guy checked trim angles with a tiny level like it was a science fair.

A team manager talked through the “Long Lap” on the radio. “Not now. Wait for clean water.” It’s a rule that adds a twist. Take a longer loop once or twice, and you pick when. It sounds small, but it can flip a race. I saw it decide one, right in front of me.

I didn’t ride in a race boat (no open seats for that), but I did hop on a marshal RIB for practice laps. We chased the pack at what felt like 60 knots. My cheeks shook. My GoPro caught nothing but spray and a scream-laugh I didn’t know I had.

Real moments that stuck

• Dubai, late afternoon heat: I bought karak tea, then watched “Dubai Police” and “Abu Dhabi” dice down the back straight. One slipped wide. The other held the line and kept it tidy. Clean pass. The crowd clapped like a wave.
• Stresa on Lake Maggiore: Flat water, mirror-like. The cats ran straight as arrows. A storm rolled in after race one. Quick gusts. Flags snapped hard. The second session got delayed, and I found shade by a gelato stand. Not a bad timeout.
• Fujairah (years back): Whitecaps and chop. One boat pulled early with a steering gremlin. Safety crews were sharp. Fast response, no drama. That eased my nerves.

If you’re curious how a wind-whipped freshwater venue compares, dive into my windy, splashy weekend in Sheboygan—the Midwest breeze adds a whole different flavor.

Speed with a brain

Here’s the thing. XCAT isn’t only raw speed. It’s setup and rhythm. Everyone runs the same spec power, so the edge comes from props, balance, and trim. The throttleman keeps the boat dancing. Nose up. Nose down. Tap, hold, tap. On the straight, I clocked 120 mph on a team board. But the art lives in the turns. That’s where brave meets smooth. For deeper technical breakdowns—think prop pitch charts and trim-tab telemetry—the league’s own resource page lives at xcatracing.com, and it’s a rabbit hole worth falling into.

Stuff I loved

• Access: You can actually see the boats in the pits. Crews will chat if they’re not in a rush.
• The start: Electric. That rolling run to green gave me goosebumps both times.
• Safety vibe: Full canopies, rescue RIBs, and trained marshals. It felt tight and smart.
• Family-friendly: Kids on shoulders. Big eyes. Free flags. It had that festival buzz.
• Price: Not wild. I paid less than a big concert and got a whole day.

Stuff that bugged me a bit

• Heat and glare: Shade is gold. Bring a hat, sunscreen, and a light buff.
• Noise: I like it. My ears didn’t. Wear plugs. Trust me.
• Delays: Weather and course resets happen. Some long gaps between races.
• Scoring confusion: The “Long Lap” can be hard to track from the wall. I wish the big board showed it live.

Desert spectators know that heat struggle all too well—when I watched boats blaze across Lake Havasu, the sun felt like a spotlight following every lap.

Little gear notes from my bag

I wore foam earplugs under light headphones. Brought a 1-liter bottle, sunscreen stick, and a cheap rain shell for spray. My old Garmin watch survived the salt air, but my phone? It hated it. Keep a dry bag.

Personal highlight

A crew member let me sit in a boat on the trailer. Canopy open. Belts across my lap. The seat hugged my ribs. The wheel felt small and tight, like a kart. I stared at the trim switches and thought, How on earth do they do this at full speed in chop? Then I climbed out with shaky legs and a big grin.

Should you go?

If you like speed, water, and a bit of grit, yes. If you want quiet comfort, maybe not. But I’ll say this—standing by the sea, with spray on your face and boats sliding by like arrows, feels special. It’s sport, but it’s also a little art.

Quick tips for a smooth day

• Get there early for pit walks and crane action.
• Bring earplugs, water, and a hat with a strap.
• Check the schedule the night before; it can shift.
• Pick a spot near a turn buoy. That’s where the moves happen.

My verdict

XCAT powerboat racing gave me speed, access, and real heart. Sure, it’s hot and loud. Sure, the plan can change. But when that pack hits the first turn and the spray blows back over the wall, you feel it. I’d go again tomorrow. And I’d still bring extra earplugs.

If you’re pondering other ways to get your aquatic adrenaline fix, my candid rundown of five kinds of boat racing might steer you toward your next splashy adventure.

Sometimes that post-race buzz follows fans off the dock and into their social lives; if you’re curious how the same no-strings thrill translates to dating, skim this frank UberHorny review where you’ll find a breakdown of features, costs, and safety pointers before you dive in.

After a scorching afternoon track-side, a lot of crews chase recovery with a solid stretch or a tension-melting massage; if your travel calendar swings you through Long Island during the U.S. leg, a quick scroll of Rubmaps in Lindenhurst can pinpoint reputable spas and flag the duds—its crowd-sourced intel helps visitors score a genuine deep-tissue fix without wasting time or cash on a tourist trap.

I’m Kayla, and I went to an XCAT Racing weekend on the beach in the UAE. I thought I knew boats. I didn’t. These cats don’t just run; they almost float on air. The water shook. My chest did too. And yes, I grinned like a kid with a new kite. I’ve written a longer blow-by-blow race diary—The Day I Felt Boats Fly—over on the XCAT site if you want every lap detail.

You know what? I still hear the engines when I think about it. Honestly, my heart’s still buzzing just like it was in this full trip report from another XCAT stop.

If you’re looking to dive deeper into the sport itself, for authoritative information on XCAT Racing, you can refer to the official UIM XCAT Powerboating World Championship website. For the latest news and updates on XCAT Racing events, the official XCAT Racing website provides comprehensive coverage.

Why I Went

I’m a motorsport nerd. I watch F1, MotoGP, and the wild stuff on water—Class 1, F1H2O, and now XCAT. A friend said, “Stand by Turn 1. Trust me.” So I packed sunscreen, a hat, and ear plugs. I also brought a little patience. Wind on the coast loves to mess with race plans.
If you’re eyeing a future stop, the official XCAT Racing site posts the full calendar and entry details. If riverside racing is more your scene, I’ve also chronicled a day by the Thames in Windsor.

What It’s Like Trackside

Picture a bright beach morning. Flags snapping. Kids with earmuffs. A long line of sleek black, white, and neon boats on trailers. Twin Mercury Racing outboards hanging off each one like muscle. The beach vibe reminded me of the laid-back but no-less-intense Key West powerboat races I covered earlier.

A marshal waved me toward the fence. I could see the course buoys set tight, like a street circuit on water. XCATs need to corner sharp. They don’t glide; they bite, then explode out.

When the start rolled, the fleet came in a wall. The sound hit first, high and mean. Then spray. I got a mist right on my face. Salt, fuel, and sunscreen—great combo.

How It Works (Real Simple)

• The boats are catamarans. Two skinny hulls with a tunnel in the middle.
• Each boat runs two big outboards. Think 400 hp each. Yes, eight hundred total.
• The course is near shore, with short straights and tight turns.
• Starts are rolling, so they’re already moving fast when they cross.
• Miss a buoy? You’ll do a penalty lap. Annoying, but fair.

The cool part is how close you are. It’s not far-off like some offshore stuff. You can see the drivers brace and the boats “porpoise” as they trim. And when a cat hooks up just right, it looks like it’s skating on glass.

Little Moments That Stuck

• A Dubai Police boat and a green-and-white Abu Dhabi boat traded the lead for two laps. I swear they were inches apart. One tucked tighter at the buoy, the other blasted past on the straight. Classic chess on water.
• A yellow flag came out when a boat spun after clipping a wake. No big crash, just a sharp 180 and a spray bloom like a firework. The safety RIBs moved fast, then peeled off.
• The atmosphere had shades of the San Diego bayfront showdown I attended earlier in the season.
• In the pits, a mechanic bled a fuel line into a jar. Calm hands, no drama. I leaned in and got a nod like, “Yeah, it’s under control.” I love that quiet craft.
• A little boy next to me wore giant blue ear muffs and kept count. “That’s lap 8,” he said. He was right. He was right every time.

I also got a short ride on a support RIB between sessions—media wristband stuff. Not the race boat, of course. But skipping across the chop at speed changed how I saw the race. Those waves the fans shrug at? They’re not small when you’re out there.

What I Loved

• The raw speed. These cats plane fast and stay flat. It’s like they argue with gravity and win.
• The access. You can see the boats up close on stands. Crews don’t hide. If you’re polite, they’ll answer a quick question.
• The mix of people. Families, die-hard fans, folks in beach flip-flops who just wandered over and got hooked.
• The commentary. English and Arabic on the PA where I stood. Clear, not fluff. It helped me follow penalty laps and flags.

Heading to the race solo doesn’t mean you have to watch the spray alone; line up potential company in advance on planculfacile.com where you can quickly connect with locals or fellow travelers eager for a high-octane hangout, making it easier to share the thrills trackside and maybe even keep the fun rolling after the final checkered flag.

What Bugged Me (A Little)

• Schedule drift. Wind picked up, and they pushed one session back. Safety first, yes. But I stared at the horizon for an hour.
• Sun burn risk. Shade was scarce by the main fence. Bring a hat and reapply. I didn’t. I paid.
• Food lines. I waited fifteen minutes for a cold sandwich. It tasted like a cold sandwich.
• Live timing. On my phone, it lagged. The PA said one thing; my screen said another. Pick one and trust it—go with the PA.

Small stuff, really. But it’s fair to flag it.

Tips If You Go

• Get there early for the pit walk. You’ll see hulls out of the water and the prop notes taped to the rig carts.
• Bring ear protection. The pitch is sharp. Kids need muffs, not just fingers in ears.
• Stand near a turn. That’s where the story is. Exits show who’s got grip and guts.
• Pack water, hat, and a light scarf. The wind flips from nice to “sand in your teeth” fast.
• Grab a seat pad or a small stool. Your back will thank you during delays.
• If you’re a desert dweller, you can get a similar high-octane fix at the loud, bright Lake Havasu race weekend.

A full day on your feet—especially if you tack on a long flight or road trip afterward—can leave muscles knotted tighter than a pit-lane torque wrench; if your route home swings you through Delaware, the detailed spa guide at rubmaps Dover will point you toward well-reviewed massage spots so you can melt away the tension without wasting time or cash on a gamble.

Who Will Love It

• Gearheads who like setup talk—prop angles, weight balance, trim tabs.
• Photographers. You’ll get spray walls and sun glint frames all day.
• Families with older kids. It’s loud and exciting; it’s also easy to bail to the water if they get restless.

Not a great fit for folks who hate noise or heat. Fair call.

A Quick Compare

If you’ve seen Class 1, those boats feel bigger and deeper in tone. XCATs are lighter on their feet. Snappier. It’s closer to Moto3 than MotoGP—more twitch, more swarm. F1H2O? That’s single-seaters on lakes and rivers. XCAT owns the beach vibe and keeps the action tight to shore.

Money Talk

My entry was free at the beach zone. Food was normal event pricing. Merch was the only splurge. I bought a cap and got it signed by a driver who’d just finished P3. He laughed when my marker wouldn’t start. We shook it like maracas. It worked.

Safety, Because It Matters

Marshals were sharp. RIBs launched quick on every yellow. Helmets, HANS, rescue divers—the whole setup looked pro. I felt safe on the fan side even when the breeze shifted and spray kissed the barrier.

Final Take

XCAT Racing gave me a day I’ll keep. It’s not perfect—weather rules, and schedules wobble. But when the fleet barrels toward that first buoy, it grabs you. You feel the craft. You feel the nerve. You feel the water fight back.

Would I go again? In a heartbeat. I’d bring a better hat, a full bottle, and a small chair. I’d stand by Turn 1 and wait for that first surge.

Score: 4

I spent a full week with an XCAT catamaran rigged with twin Mercury Racing outboards. I ran right seat first, then moved to throttle. I still feel it in my forearms. And in my cheeks—because I couldn’t stop grinning. Was it fast? Yes. Scary? A little. Worth it? Oh yeah.

Adrenaline junkies like me tend to chase every angle of a rush—including the quick, candid “snaps” that freeze those raw, heart-pounding moments in time. If you get a kick out of unfiltered, first-person footage that captures real people living right on the edge, swing by Snap Amateur for a vault of no-frills, NSFW clips that show how authentic amateur perspectives can make any thrill feel even more immediate and relatable.

If you want a second set of fingerprints on a similar adventure, take a spin through this detailed account of a Mercury Racing XCAT hands-on, white-knuckle week that echoes everything I felt.

The boat and setup I ran

Our hull was a 32-foot carbon cat. Twin Mercury Racing 400s on the transom. CNC cleaver props. Digital throttle and shift at my right hand. Simrad screen dead center. Lifeline jacket, Stilo helmet, radio check, good to go. Simple as it sounds, but not simple at all.

We marked the trim with a Sharpie line on the switches. One click up for clean water. Two clicks if the chop stacked. Any more and the bow wanted to kite. Ask me how I learned that. (Gently.)

For a deep dive into factory rigging tips, the XCAT Racing site offers a goldmine of setup diagrams and tuning notes.

First start, first lap

Cold start in the morning felt calm. The motors barked, then settled into a smooth hum. A tiny supercharger whine under the cowls, like a kettle just short of boil. We idled out, watched water pressure and temp. Everything green.

I rolled into the throttle past the breakwater. The cat leaped and the world shrank. 40. 60. 80. The hull lifted, the props bit, and the noise turned into a thick roar that lived in my chest. On our best straight, with two on board and light fuel, we saw 104 mph on GPS. Not a guess. I stared at the number, then looked up, and promised myself to stop staring at the number. Need a baseline? The factory performance test of a much heavier Formula 400 SSC running four 400Rs still clocks 71.5 mph and hammer-to-30 in just 11.45 seconds, which tells you how stout these motors really are. That sensation of watching the world blur is exactly what another pilot captured in “The Day I Felt Boats Fly,” and it’s worth a read before your own first blast.

How it handles when you push it

Here’s the thing: the speed is wild, but the control is the magic. At 70 in light chop, the boat skims and skips like a flat rock, but the wheel stays steady. Small inputs matter. Breathe on it. Over-correct and you’ll porpoise; ease off and it settles. The hull talks through the seat—tiny taps, a thud here, a soft slide there.

Tight turns around the marks? You can hold 60–70 if you time the trim right. If you chop throttle mid-turn, the bow will slap and remind you who’s boss. Ask my co-driver, Mark. He said, “Feather, don’t slam.” He was right. I hate saying he was right.

Real moments that stuck with me

• On day two, the starboard motor tossed a warning. Not heat—just a voltage dip. We found a loose ground at the battery switch, cleaned it, and the code cleared. Quick fix, but a good lesson: wiggle-test your connections.
• We caught a floating plastic bag on the port pickup during a hot lap. Temps crept up fast. We idled, popped the cowl, cleared the mess, and went back out. Keep a boat hook handy. It’s not just for docks.
• We tried a different prop set late afternoon—two inches more pitch. It dropped peak rpm a touch and smoothed the midrange. Top speed didn’t change much in that heat, but the punch out of the marks felt cleaner.
• I had one “that was dumb” moment: I thumbed two extra clicks of trim chasing a rooster tail. The bow started to fly. I eased out, waited a beat, and it came back down. Respect the water, and mark your trim like it’s your last pencil.

Noise, heat, and the human stuff

It’s loud. Not rude, but loud. With the helmets on, it’s music. Without them, it’s a bit much. The motors don’t love long idle lines in summer heat, so we planned short pauses. Run a lap, cool a lap. You know what? That rhythm helped me drive better too.

Fuel? We burned about 65 gallons in 45 minutes of hot laps. It didn’t shock me. Speed has a price, and it’s paid at the pump. Premium only. No shortcuts.

What I loved

• The throttle feel. Crisp. No lag. You breathe on it and the boat answers.
• The way it tracks. At speed, it feels locked in, not twitchy.
• Start-up and daily checks were simple. Fluids, props, latches, done.
• Mercury’s data readouts were clear. I didn’t guess. I knew.

What bugged me (but didn’t ruin it)

• It’s loud and thirsty. That’s the deal.
• The trim switches are small for gloved hands. I’d swap to bigger rockers.
• Heat soak after a hard set can make the next start feel a bit grumpy. Give it a minute.
• Everything costs more because race parts are race parts.

Who this fits

If you’ve run fast cats before, and you want pro-level pace with real support, this is your candy store. If you’re brand new to go-fast, start smaller. Work up. This rig doesn’t forgive sloppy hands, and it shouldn’t.

Tips I wish someone told me

• Mark your trim sweet spots. One line for flat water. One for chop.
• Bring spare fuses, a clean rag, and tape for cowling latches. Sounds boring. Saves your day.
• Check the props for dings after every session. Even tiny nicks change the feel.
• Watch the wind lanes on the water. The boat will feel them before you see them.
• Hydrate. You’ll forget until your forearms cramp mid-heat.

After a day of laying into the throttles, my shoulders felt like concrete and my grip muscles begged for mercy. If you finish your own session with knots you could tune a guitar on, take the hint and line up a proper rub-down through Rubmaps Largo—the listings and insider reviews there make it easy to pinpoint legit spots for deep-tissue work so you’re loose enough to grab the sticks again tomorrow without wincing.

Quick Q&A people asked me on the dock

• Top speed? I saw 104 mph on our best pass. Your water, your props, your air—your number.
• Hard to drive? It’s not “hard,” but it’s exact. It wants your full brain.
• Rough water? It can handle chop, but it’s a race cat. Pick your lines, use your trim, and you’ll be fine.

My take, plain and simple

The Mercury Racing XCAT setup turned a normal week into a story I’ll tell for years. It’s fast, but it’s also smart and steady when you treat it right. It bit me once, taught me twice, and then gave me the most fun I’ve had on water since my first clean holeshot as a kid.

Would I run it again next weekend? In a heartbeat. I’d bring more fuel, a bigger smile, and maybe—maybe—listen to Mark the first time. For a different perspective that’ll get your pulse going, check out how another newcomer walked away saying their heart was still buzzing after an XCAT outing.

I’m Kayla, and yes—I actually strapped in. I sat in the second seat of an XCAT, on a hot race weekend by the Dubai Marina breakwater. My hands shook. Then I grinned so hard my cheeks hurt. Both things can be true.

So… what’s XCAT?

It’s fast offshore boat racing. The boats are catamarans (two skinny hulls) with twin outboards on the back—often the screaming-blue Mercury units I’d drooled over during my own hands-on, white-knuckle week with the factory’s race team. If you’d like to nerd out on how those ROS powerplants were purpose-built for the class, dive into this detailed rundown on Boat Mag International. Two people sit inside: a driver and a throttleman. One steers. One works the power and the trim. It’s a team dance. Quick calls. Quick hands.
If you want the full scoop on the series, upcoming races, and driver bios, skim through the official XCAT Racing website before you dive down any YouTube rabbit holes. There’s also a slick independent hub at x-cat.racing that pulls live timings, rule updates, and behind-the-scenes tidbits if you crave even more data.
(I later unpacked every emotion from that ride in an extended diary you can read here.)

I’d watched clips online before. You know what? Video doesn’t show the hit of the water on your ribs or how the boat lifts, sticks, and slides all in one breath.

Getting set: small cockpit, big feeling

The crew slid a liner into the helmet for me. Full-face. Tight chin strap. I wore a Lifeline-style jacket with a crotch strap. Not cute, but you want it snug.

They clicked the canopy shut over us. Two latches. The world went dim and loud at the same time. I could smell fuel, a little salt, and the rubber of my gloves. My ponytail touched the seat, and now it smelled like the bay for the rest of the day.

We talked through an intercom. I had one job: keep my shoulders back against the belts and don’t touch the throttles. Easy, right?

The first hit of speed

We rolled out to the course. Chop was light—maybe knee-high. The driver eased in, then the throttleman fed power. The bow rose, then trimmed flat. The hulls started to sing. There’s a pitch to it—almost a whistle. In that instant you finally understand why another writer once said they “felt boats fly”—because they really do.

On the short straight, the dash flashed 86. Not km. Knots. My eyes went big. The boat didn’t feel wild, though. It felt busy and alive, like a dog ready to run again.

We carved Turn 2 near the breakwater. My left shoulder pressed hard into the belts. Spray needled my cheek. The driver breathed “steady, steady,” and I realized he was mostly talking to the boat.

Little scares, big trust

We skipped off a wake from a safety RIB and landed a touch sideways. Not a full hop, just a slap. My stomach did a tiny flip. The throttleman rolled back, trimmed, then we were back on line. It felt like hitting a pothole at speed. Your brain yells, your body says okay.

On lap three, we slid wide by a buoy and caught green water over the deck. A cold splash shot across my visor. I flinched. Then I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Fear and joy share a wall sometimes.

After, I found a small bruise on my right shoulder from the belts. It faded in two days. Worth it. If you end up with similar post-race knots and happen to be near Florida’s Space Coast, consider booking a deep-tissue session through RubMaps’ Titusville listings to sift honest reviews and zero in on parlors that know how to soothe motorsport-made aches.

The show from the shore

I watched the next heat from the pier. Families lined the rail. Little kids wore foam ear muffs. A man sold karak tea from a cooler. I sipped mine and timed the starts. Five red lights. Engines barked up. When they went out, the boats jumped like cats off a couch.

One team missed a buoy and had to re-round. Cost them two spots. You could hear the crowd moan. Funny how fast strangers become “your” team for the day.

Things I liked (a lot)

• Real teamwork: driver and throttleman talk nonstop, but short. “Trim two. Hold. Now.” It’s like hearing a good pit crew. The power of stripped-down, high-impact phrases isn’t limited to motorsport chatter; you’ll see the same magic in clever digital flirting over at Sexting Examples where you can browse ready-made messages and tips to level up your own text-game confidence.
• Speed with grip: in chop, the hulls slice. It’s fast, but it’s not chaos.
• Safety culture: belts, HANS-style collar, fire system. The crew checks everything twice. Then once more.
• Close racing: turns stack up like a street course. You can see passes happen right in front of you.

Things that bugged me (a little)

• It’s loud. Bring earplugs and keep them in. Even under a helmet, your head hums.
• The cockpit is tight. If you’re broad in the shoulders, you’ll notice.
• Heat build-up: on a sunny day, you sweat fast under the canopy.
• Sea spray on the visor can smear. They gave me a tear-off. Use it. I used two.

Who should go?

• If you love motorsports but want water drama, this hits.
• If you get seasick, sit near the start line on shore and pick a calm day.
• Kids can enjoy it from the pier. Bring snacks, hats, and ear protection.

Small tips from my day

• Sunscreen behind your ears. Trust me. The wind finds skin you forget.
• Hydrate early. I chugged two small waters before my session and felt fine.
• Watch from two spots if you can: near the start for the launches, and near a turn for passes.
• After the session, loosen your jaw. I didn’t realize I was clenching until my cheeks hurt.

A quick nerd note (plain words, promise)

Trim changes the angle of the motors. Up helps speed on the straight. Down helps the bow bite in turns. You’ll feel the boat lift when they bump trim up. You’ll feel it settle when they drop it. Simple idea, big impact.

Final say: should you try it?

Yes—if you like speed and water and a little risk with a lot of care. It looks scary. It is. But it’s also controlled, and the teams are pros. My day felt like riding a fast elevator that thinks it’s a knife. Strange line, I know. But that’s how it felt.

I’d give the whole experience a 4.5 out of 5. The noise and heat shave a half point. The rush, the teamwork, the water light? That’s the rest of the score.

I went home tired, salty, and happy. My hair smelled like fuel. My phone had shaky videos. And my heart—still buzzing a little—kept saying, when can I go again?