Isle of Man TT 2018
Discussion
I am only a very occasional visitor to these parts as I don't ride a motorcycle (boo! hiss!). I am, though, something of a motor racing fan and try to get to a few 'bike meetings each year. In 2018, I achieved a lifelong ambition by attending the Isle of Man TT - one of the events which has been near the top of my bucket list for many years. As is my custom with trips to foreign events, road trips and the like, I have written a bit of a blog about it, punctuated with a few photos. It's quite lengthy but might be of interest to some of you.
It’s rare that a race meeting kicks off with a 4.30am kebab but as we thread our way through Liverpool during the early hours of Sunday morning among the late-night revellers, it’s hard not to wonder what on earth is going on. Our three vehicle convoy is bound for the docks and a date with an unpleasantly timed ferry to Douglas on the Isle of Man. I think I’d rather still be awake and chomping a kebab; only coffee and bacon can save me now.
Our party comprises two motorcycles and one heavily laden Porsche 911 Turbo. Ahead of us lies – with luck – a smooth ferry sailing followed by nine days of hedonistic speed freakery.
We are soon disgorged onto the quayside at Douglas. Apparently a couple of the motorcyclists departing the boat have managed to drop their bikes on the exit ramp. The trip does not bode well for them.
The scene greeting us at Douglas is mild bedlam. The last time I witnessed such two-wheeled madness was the MotoGP at Mugello – and this adds a layer of music festival inebriation into the mix. The sound of sports bikes fill the air – as it does for the entire trip – but they are punctuated by thumping enduros, most of them employing the back wheel only. Meanwhile a couple of chaps are desperately trying to make it uphill on a pair of old machines which, while undeniably splendid, are apparently unable to travel more than 100 metres at a time without requiring mechanical assistance.
A cyclist, obviously in drink and heavily laden, meanders into my path. He drops his can of Carling to the ground and bends over to pick it up, the momentum of his rucksack almost throwing him over. With tin retrieved, he continues on his way, with no care for the traffic jam which has built up behind him.
Almost before we know it, we find ourselves at the Quarterbridge pub. Two awkward siamesed roundabouts negotiated and we’re on the Mountain course – the very spot we’ve been watching on the telly. It feels surreal and the temptation to gun it like Dunlop is strong. A vast campsite opens up to the right and soon we’re at Braddan Bridge – an obvious landmark thanks to the tree sprouting from the mini roundabout. All the kerbs are decorated with white stripes…the reality hits: we’re at the bloody TT!
Sadly, we were unable to get the outbound ferry we really wanted so we have missed the first day of racing action and we’ve landed on the island on Mad Sunday. We decide to do the sensible thing: unpack and get straight back out to do some shopping meaning we’re prepared for the next few days. It looks like there is just one proper supermarket in Douglas – and by extension probably on the whole of the island. Mercifully there are still a few items available in Tesco so we stock up and head back to our AirBnB house for food and mooted rest.
In spite of having had only three hours’ sleep, none of our little party can resist the urge to get out and explore the place, and especially to clock a lap of the Mountain Course. Mad Sunday is perhaps not quite so mad as it was at its maddest. These days, the Snaefell Mountain Road, the A18, is open only to one-way traffic for the whole of TT fortnight; this measure having been taken in response to the number of aspiring Mike Hailwoods hurling themselves into oncoming vehicles.
That said, the course is still pretty congested and we never really build much of a rhythm. There is some chance to stretch the Porsche’s legs but not much. I rarely have the space to overtake dawdlers in the derestricted sections and I find myself being crowded by packs of bikes in the limited sections. We arrive at Ramsey to find the A18 shut due to a road traffic incident so must proceed around the coast road. Frustrating, but that’s the pattern of the week.
Although our speeds are not high, it certainly offers some context to the endeavours of the event’s heroes. This is a fearsome challenge. There is no respite anywhere on the track – even the straights of Cronk Y Voddy and Sulby are over in the blink of an eye and neither is flat. Everywhere along the course you are constrained by something: kerbs; verges; street furniture; stone walls…
It’s somewhat sobering to imagine traversing any of the course at 130mph+, let alone averaging that kind of speed. I’d often wondered, watching the TV coverage whether the riders are showboating a little over Ballaugh Bridge as they launch four feet into the air. Not a bit of it: The crown of the bridge is an extreme peak and even 20mph feels too fast in a car. The final couple of miles leading into Ramsey at the north of the island feature the kind of scarred, bumpy Tarmac that makes it uncomfortable in the car and, according to my motorcycling mates, perilous on two wheels.
Even without covering the ten miles of the mighty Mountain, we’ve found an overwhelming respect for the competitors. The challenge is absolute and there can be no room for hesitation or self-doubt. That is only confirmed as we trundle along the pit straight at 30 miles per hour, pause at the traffic lights and stare down Bray Hill. What it must feel like to crest that brow and career downhill, throttle pinned at 170mph, I daren’t even imagine. These riders are a special breed.
Monday is race day and we’ve decided to ease ourselves in gently and play it safe with our spectating spot and opt for the famous Railway Inn at Union Mills. Spectating at the TT is rather like stage rallying for short track regulars like us: spread-out and a bit daunting. As most spectating areas are free – or carry only a nominal charge – and the course itself is so vast, it’s hard to know where to start. Even worse, you don’t have a clue where to park, nor whether you will find perfect, unobstructed viewing, or a frustrating gaze through the back of someone’s head. It all feels a bit of a lottery and rather disorientating.
The front row of the elevated terrace at the Railway is fully occupied when we arrive but we’re in good time and slot into row two where we are able to snare half a picnic bench. Our view of the track is relatively short but that’s a common theme at the TT. And these guys are travelling so quickly that you’re always experiencing the race in snapshots anyway. Our choice of venue is corroborated when motorcycling legend Steve Parrish joins us on the terrace to enjoy the action.
As the crowds build, so too does that tension. The Railway is steeped in motorcycle lore and the walls are generously decorated in photos of racing on the island. Multiple taps serve local beers, all named in tribute to the TT. And it’s cheap too – £3.50 per pint is a bargain compared to virtually every drinking establishment on mainland Britain. Praise be!
Opening Monday’s proceedings is Supersport Race One. The formbook suggests Dean Harrison and Michael Dunlop are the riders to beat – and so it transpires. Aided by the live race commentary on a portable FM radio, we are able to follow the action closely. And, much like a WRC event, you know the leader is approaching by the sound of the following helicopter before the howl of revs from the 650cc machines.
They are in sight for barely a couple of seconds but there is drama aplenty. They hurtle downhill from our right, tight as they dare on the kerb outside the pub before cranking the machines over to the left. That takes them over the Union Mills bridge, which crosses the old railway line. The bridge barely registers in a car but a motorcycle at full lean doing 100mph is off the ground. Every competitor lifts the front wheel and most the rear for good measure. It’s almost impossible to believe what we are seeing. They wail into the distance, noise reverberating off the petrol station, church, Spar and houses. Real road racing.
The bikes in isolation are spectacular but there’s a race on. Dunlop is ferociously committed and bullies his stead around the course, getting more air over the bridge than his rivals. Dean Harrison, meanwhile, has been flying all week and had set a new absolute circuit record during Saturday’s Superbike race – the first 134mph lap of the island. Harrison, though, doesn’t have an answer to Dunlop on the smaller machines and slows at the end to allow Dunlop to win on the road, as well as on time. This very nearly backfires for the Yorkshireman, though, as Peter Hickman closes to within six tenths of a second at the flag.
It’s a pretty breathless start to the week and the action is tense – a ten second winning margin for Dunlop sounding greater than it felt. For context, that’s 2.5 seconds per lap over a 37.7 mile course. The margins this year are so tight among the top three that each of the riders is pushing to new heights. Lap records fall in every category across the week.
It is only after the race that we learn of the fatal accident which has befallen rider Adam Lyons at Casey’s. With Dan Kneen having perished only a few days earlier, it’s a stark reminder of the perils of road racing. We love it because it’s the ultimate challenge but the stakes are high. Virtually every conversation you have with those who don’t follow the sport will feature an inevitable remark about the terrifying death rate. Sadly, it has always been so on the roads and the competitors walk willingly into the coliseum as gladiators.
Lyons’ death is a shock but the track activity doesn’t relent and the sidecars take to the course for a practice lap. Limited to 650cc they may be, but their speed and the incongruity of brave passengers hunched on the deck will never cease to be alien to us mortals. The revs flare as they traverse the bridge and wriggle their way out towards Crosby.
The Superstock race is hotly anticipated – and with good reason. You could barely squeeze a fag paper between Harrison, Hickman and Dunlop in practice, with all three producing lap times previously unheard of for a stocker. Behind them, James Hillier, Michael Rutter, Conor Cummins and David Johnson are legitimate dark horses.
In fact, the whole fortnight has a feeling of a new world order on the island. Guy Martin has retired without a TT win to his name, John McGuiness is present but not racing, Bruce Anstey is undergoing treatment for cancer and Ian Hutchinson is racing but still recovering from horrific leg injuries in the previous year’s event. Hutchinson would doubtless be at the front exchanging punches with the new generation but he hobbles to the ‘bike with a crutch for support. That he is racing – and pretty quickly – is testimony to the extraordinary mental strength of this rare breed.
The Superstock race opens with a clanger from Hickman who overshoots the left at Braddan Bridge and finds himself the wrong side of the roundabout. He remains calm but crosses the line eight seconds down on Harrison at the end of lap one, the Kawsaki star riding like a man possessed. The level of commitment from the top trio is staggering; the bikes are wobbling and pitching, front wheels hanging in the air, with the rear tyres snaking under braking and carving wide arcs out of the corners. There is a sense of something very special from three riders dining at the top table.
It’s Hickman, though, who is able to squeeze the most out of lap two, turning in the first 134mph lap of a Superstock to snatch the lead as they pull into the pits. Even that moment at Braddan Bridge can’t stop him. After 34 flat-out minutes and 75 miles, three seconds covers the top three. This is nail-biting stuff.
The pit stops spread things out slightly – but only between first and third as Harrison drops back to a sizeable (by the standards of this race) five seconds behind his BSB rival. Dunlop, though, has benefitted from a cracking stop and crosses the line three tenths down on Hickman. The atmosphere at the Railway Inn tightens. Hicky’s first victory or Dunlop’s 19th? 17 minutes will never pass so slowly.
They flash past us a minute or so later – first Dunlop then Hickman; both visibly faster than anyone else bar Harrison with Dunlop leant way over in his customary style, bending the machine to his will. We chase the action all the way on the Manx Radio commentary, listening for the split times. It sounds like Hickman has made a break for it as they cross the Mountain, historically the section of the course where he really excels. His final lap is a scarcely believable 134.403mph – just a fraction off Harrison’s outright lap record from Saturday’s Superbike race. It’s only as he crosses the line to secure his first TT win that we remember to breathe.
These top three riders are pushing their bikes to new extremes, chasing the outer edge of the envelope. Forget the 130mph club – unless you can deliver 133mph on a flying lap in race conditions then you won’t be troubling the podium. The spectacle of seeing the bikes being pushed that hard in the face of such peril is as mesmerising as it is addictive.
Track activity closes for the day with a practice session for the electrically-powered bikes taking part in the TT Zero race. It’s a small field but the characteristic scream of race-tuned internal combustion engines is replaced with the high-pitched whistle of electric motors as the protagonists flash incongruously over the Union Mills bridge. It was a brave move by the event to embrace electric racing technology during its relative infancy. The field remains small but the machines are ultra impressive.
Day three features no racing activity on the Mountain Course but there’s little shortage of things to do. After a leisurely morning – well, this is our summer holiday, after all – we convoy up to Ramsey for the sprint along the prom. This is a storied event and competitive, although anyone can enter. It’s a simple ‘run what ya brung’ straight line sprint along the seafront. The activity is free to watch and has attracted a sizeable crowd, which gently bakes in the unremitting sun.
The sprint delivers every conceivable kind of motorcycle in action. Long-wheelbase purpose-built drag racing specials with extended swing arms juxtapose with supermotos and homebrew trikes. Plenty of riders are competing on their road bikes and it’s not hard to identify the best of them from the execution of their gear changes. There’s no hiding from mistakes when you’re the only guy on track. These pilots are super-brave though and a couple of the most extreme drag bikes lift their front wheels, with the throttles twisted wide open.
The sprint is informal, with a family-friendly atmosphere and plenty of folk pottering around with ice creams. The paddock is completely open and various stalls sell merchandise and comestibles. It’s the kind of event you could watch all day or just for ten minutes; a nice break from the intensity of the TT races.
The day is wrapped up with a trip to Douglas – a 45 minute walk from our digs in Strang. The Red Arrows are performing their annual display over the bay and the seafront is packed with spectators. They blast into view over our heads before thrilling the crowd with customary brilliance. No matter how many times you see them, I would defy anyone to lose interest in the spectacle of fast jets performing synchronised acrobatic manoeuvres. It’s the perfect way to celebrate the 100th anniversary year of the RAF.
As soon as the Red Arrows have departed we dash into the Gaiety Theatre for a date with Steve Parrish. The celebrated motorcyclist, truck racer, broadcaster and hell-raiser is performing a live show as part of his M.A.D. Tour (My Adolescent Dad). Usually run as a double act with his daughter, this one is performed with his wife asking probing questions to tease out the best stories from a life well lived.
He runs through his (very successful) career on two wheels, his switch to trucks – at which he was for a time the best in the world – and his friendship with the late Barry Sheene. His pulls no punches when describing his ex-wife and offers a flavour of life away from the track including the legendary Macau brothel incident and the Imartra toilet block incineration. The only pity for us is that he isn’t performing his usual microphone duties on ITV4’s TT coverage – the old team having been jettisoned in an unfortunate move by the producers. Hopefully he’ll be back soon. The evening closes with a sale and signing session of his new book, a copy of which promises to make for excellent aeroplane reading on my next holiday.
The theatre itself is part of a wider complex which includes the huge Bushy’s TT village at the adjacent Villa Marina. The place is jumping every evening and we duck in for a couple of pints and some food. A variety of stalls is serving really good grub even at 11pm and though the live music isn’t totally to our taste, it’s the adoptive centre of party activities over the week.
Day four has been earmarked for our first trip up onto The Mountain and we’ve allocated Bungalow as our preferred spectating spot. This entails a bit of a hike so we elect to leave early to bag a parking spot and a pitch with clear views of the track.
Being mindful of the mass of enthusiasts anxious to traverse the island in search of their chosen spot, and imminent road closure, we leave relatively early but still find the course well-populated with bicycles, motorcycles and cars. There’s a brilliantly surreal moment as we blat flat-chat along rows of spectators hanging their legs over the walls on Cronk Y Voddy. The road is unshackled from restriction here and hammering through the gears with the punters mere feet away gives the briefest, vaguest insight into the riders’ view as they spear onwards unto the breach. It’s a proper ‘pinch yourself’ moment.
We turn off the course between Ballaugh and Sulby onto the A14, bisecting the island and the TT course. This is narrow farmland territory, redolent of tight Lakeland passes in Cumbria. Luckily we see no other vehicles but it’s hardly a road on which to push, especially when it opens out and sheep criss cross the route at will.
While breathing in through a couple of tight cattle grids, the road starts to look familiar. It transpires that the A14 has been used as a stage on the Manx Rally and this section is the one featured in the legendary Ari Vatanen on-board when he rescues his Opel Manta from certain disaster after clipping a stone wall at terrific speed. The moment even causes ice-cool co-driver Terry Harryman to utter the immortal line, “oh, dear God” before continuing with his pace notes.
https://youtu.be/l19F2YPVey0
It will surprise nobody that, in spite of bone dry Tarmac and the outrageous potency of the 911, I traverse the A14 rather more slowly than the great Finn.
Having awkwardly tackled two fiendish first gear hairpins and dodged the indigenous livestock, we pop out within sight of the Mountain Course. The A14 abuts the track just between the railway tracks and the pedestrian bridge: perfect. In fact, such is our anxiety over claiming a good spot; we’re unfashionably early and find ourselves twiddling our thumbs for a couple of hours. Still, with some good reading matter and Manx Radio to entertain us, the time passes quickly as the crowds gather and the tension builds in anticipation of another fine day’s racing.
It’s worth noting that the skies are resolutely blue, without the hint of a cloud to stifle the sunshine. The views up here are spectacular but this elevated part of the island is notorious for mist and cloud. From our perch on the outfield banking, we have an uninterrupted view of the peak of Snaefell, with the distinctive electric trains plodding up and down to the summit.
Meanwhile, scores of spectators emerge from trains running from Laxey as the normal service is augmented to cope with the race day crowd. What a way to watch a motor race.
The track action is busy and kicks off with Supersport Race Two. After the ferocious, record-breaking pace during Monday’s supersport race – and the fierce battle between Dean Harrison and Michael Dunlop – much is expected. In the end, Harrison dominates from the front, the Yorkshireman building a near ten second lead by the time the riders pit at the end of lap two.
Dunlop has no answer for Harrison’s sheer pace and is 15 seconds in arrears at the end of the race, slipping from second to fifth after a 30 second penalty is applied for breaching the pitlane speed limit. A bitter pill to swallow but doubtless the pace deficit will have hurt more than the punishment.
Behind the leading duo, Peter Hickman takes a close third on the road on the Trooper Triumph, belying the weight penalty his tall frame applies on the smaller bikes. The balance of the top ten is a veritable who’s who of road racing heroes with the moustachied Josh Brookes, James Hillier and Conor Cummins all starring. Ian Hutchinson braves it out for 11th position, hobbling to his Padgetts Honda with the aid of a walking stick.
After Monday’s titanic action, the second supersport race perhaps lacks a little dramatic tension. It doesn’t, though, lack visual and aural drama. Our spot affords us one of the finest views in motor racing. The riders appear from our right – way into the distance, perhaps a mile away. The course clings to the mountain and, even on a 650cc supersport ‘bike, they are carrying tremendous speed through Veranda before appearing in front of us. The top guys are dropping a couple of gears and lowering their left knees to the Tarmac, hugging the grass verge before smoothly standing the bikes back up to cross the railway tracks.
The motorcycles appear unfussed by the tracks, squatting down under full acceleration, barely a feather ruffled. The supersport runners are then wide open, heads down, under the pedestrian bridge and up the long, rising straight run to Brandywell. The 650cc engines are screaming up the hill and the aural assault is particularly satisfying from down near the trackside with the pipes facing you. You hear the crackle of throttles closing long after you see the riders jink right and then left out of sight for another odyssey across the top of the world’s motor remarkable and scenic race track.
In my experience, only the Rechberg hillclimb in the Styrian mountains can touch this for sheer visual impact and drama. Two miles of rolling, storied mountain pass traversed at autobahn speeds and completely unneutered. The challenge is absolute.
The day’s next track action is the TT Zero. There remains some controversy over whether the Zero should count as a true TT win but what is irrefutable is the amazing progress of the bikes during the category’s short history. Mugen has historically dominated and that remains the case in 2018 but the combination of Michael Rutter and Lee Johnston promises a tight intra-team battle.
Sadly this fight fails to crystalise as Johnston limps into our sight and parks the silent bike in the opposite lay-by. Ironically, the failure isn’t a high tech electrical component but a simple case of a chain jumping off its sprocket. Johnston fixes it at the roadside and continues apace, leaving a reasonably dominant victory to the veteran Rutter who posts a remarkable 121mph lap as he goes.
While these machines are still very early in the development of the electric motorcycle, their pace is awesome. They punch so hard out of Bungalow, visibly much faster than the internal combustion powered bikes which precede them. There is a long way to go before they’re capable of achieving superbike times but don’t bet against it happening within the next ten years. It’s also hugely encouraging to see Daley Mathison take second on the University of Nottingham bike. From a crude trackside assessment, this looks the most powerful runner of all and offers hope that the team can threaten the Mugen hegemony in the near future.
With the opening two races run, we clamber over the pedestrian bridge to watch from the circuit infield for the rest of the day. While some hardy souls have climbed the vast ridge behind us in search of a truly panoramic view, we opt for a short two minute stroll.
This affords us a totally different visual, with the riders much closer and appearing stage left. Without the previous long-range view up to Veranda we rely on the sound of incoming motorcycles and the TV chopper to warn us of their impending appearance.
The Lightweight TT is a motorcycling legend and now runs for thumping 600cc twins, generally dominated on pace by the Italian Paton brand and numerically by Kawasaki. The acknowledged master of the class, Ivan Lintin, leads from the front and looks set to break the Dunlop / Harrison / Hickman domination of the weekend. Sadly his race is cut short by a mechanical failure while leading by nine seconds on lap two and it’s left to Michael Dunlop to once more show his class with another TT win – his 18th overall and his first Lightweight crown.
Dunlop didn’t have things all his own way though and a slow pitstop meant he trailed Derek McGee into the penultimate lap. McGee, Lintin and Dunlop all dropped under the previous lap record of James Hillier, with Dunlop leaving it at 122.75mph. Another race, another lap record shattered and consigned to the history books.
The day closes with short practice sessions for the sidecar and Senior fields. The sidecars are hugely entertaining from this spot. As they turn hard left through Bungalow, to an outfit, they are lifting the inside wheel – in spite of the passenger’s strenuous efforts to keep it nailed to the surface. It’s such a treat to study they close-to and the bravery required to cross the A18 at over 150mph is beyond all rational comprehension.
Closing out the day’s proceedings is a single, fast lap for the Senior. This offers a great insight into the difficulty of riding a superbike over public roads. Where the supersport runners could pin open their throttles with impunity out of Bungalow, suddenly the same racers are having to handle their machines bucking and pitching from the sheer firepower of the big engines. It looks like a rough ride but the commitment of the top guys is immediately apparent, even if the quickest laps are off the absolute pace at ‘just’ 132mph. It’s a terrifying window into a world where few dare to tread.
With the track activity over until Friday, we take the opportunity to pay our respects at the Joey Dunlop memorial. A statue of the man and his machine, in prime position, surveys the land which became synonymous with him – as he did with it. Road racing is so raw, so feral that the riders’ mortality is never far from one’s mind. This gives us the opportunity to pause and reflect on the tragic passing of Dan Kneen and Adam Lyons earlier the meeting, while praying for safe passage for all racers during Friday’s sidecar and Senior curtain-closers.
Our location also finally permits an opportunity to drive the mountain, albeit missing the section from Ramsey to Bungalow. Most spectators drift away as there’s a lengthy delay before the police reopen the road but we have nothing to hurry home for and we’ve been longing to experience the A18, having now twice failed to traverse it due to accidents closing the road.
When we are finally ‘unleashed’, we find ourselves jumping immediately into the flat-out, uphill and unerringly straight run to Brandywell. With the local constabulary on guard at Bungalow, I’m faced with the bizarre invitation to gun a 480bhp car through the gears in plain sight. It’s impossible to resist and soon I’ve run out of revs in fourth and find myself changing into fifth, right foot still pinned. I’m neither a brave nor ambitious driver so back off and brake hard for Brandywell, having no clue whether the road turns right or left out of my sight and even less clue how severely it does so.
I am immediately thankful for my timid nature as Brandywell is slow by the standards of this road and bears hard left with only a sheer drop to the right-hand side. Now, though, things open up, allowing us (for my Fireblade-riding pal is in my slipstream and grinning demonically in his helmet) to build momentum and maintain it. With no oncoming traffic to worry about, we use the extremities of both verges to smooth out the flowing corners and to overtake slower traffic. Running out to the white line on the right-hand side feels very naughty at first but soon becomes second nature and the challenge is to comfortably carry speed, allowing those big turbos to punch up to really serious speeds on the straights.
I don’t totally trust the front end on the car into the really quick stuff and it’s only after the event that I learn of a broken spring which goes some way to explaining the erosion of my confidence turning into the really high speed stuff. Of course by the standards of the TT, we are merely cruising. Our terminal speed barely nudges the average of the top riders across here which brings it sharply home just how vast is the gulf between enthusiastic road motoring (aboard both car and motorcycle) and true road racing. One’s respect for the racers grows exponentially with every day on the island.
Thursday is a fallow day on the track so we enjoy a leisurely morning and potter into Noble’s Park in the afternoon. This is the epicentre of the TT with the paddock, shops, bars and concession stands directly behind the pitlane and podium on Glencrutchery Road. Selecting the appropriate merchandise is not the matter of a moment and the stands do brisk trade – much like the Indy 500, a TT t-shirt (try saying that in a hurry) is a crucial part of the event.
The paddock is one of two halves: the minority of pro teams with big trailers and expansive public-facing workshop areas; and the clubman end where weekend warriors spread tarpaulin on the grass and wield the spanners under rudimentary awnings.
The top professional teams also compete in British Superbike so the set-ups reflect that but our visits to the paddock never seem to coincide with much activity from the riders. In terms of star-spotting, we stumble up Dean Harrison, Lee Johnston and pundit Steve Plater but otherwise the most notable celebrity sighting is DJ and team owner Carl Cox. The house legend performs a low-key set at Conor Cummins’ newly-opened coffee shop in Ramsey over the week.
Certainly the paddock is as informal as one might wish for, given the professionalism of the big teams. It never ceases to surprise me quite how far the teams strip down the bikes in the open. Engine heads are removed and naked frames sit like skeletal aliens, denuded of their bodywork and mechanicals. Not possessing a well-trained eye for motorcycle engineering, I’m sure to be missing the greatest nuances of the machinery but it’s still a pleasure.
It’s incredibly moving to find ourselves outside the Tyco BMW transporter, where Dan Kneen’s superbike sits unridden and well-wishers have laid flowers in tribute.
Following a circuitous path, we wander from Noble’s Park to Onchan where the sublime skill of the motorcycle riders juxtaposes abruptly with the ridiculous antics of the banger racing world. We arrive just in time for the commencement of racing which is a pity as we discover that no alcohol is sold on site but it can be drunk if carried-in. Having gently lubricated ourselves ahead of an entertaining evening, this is something of a disappointment – worth considering in the future.
This is our first experience of banger racing and it’s hilariously entertaining. Also competing are F2 stockcars, Ministox and hot rods, though the show is stolen completely by the curtain-closing chain race. This frankly ludicrous form of racing involves two moribund cars being chained together in tandem in competition with similar outfits. While the other categories over the evening are fun, the chain race is incomparably entertaining with blown motors, blown tyres, crashes, smashes and massive smiles around the spectator banks. As family-friendly evening fun, it’s untouchable and definitely won’t be our last banger race.
Friday is the big one: the Senior TT – the biggest prize in road racing. Idle bar chat in the Railway has led us to try a spot to the north of the island where the speeds are among the highest anywhere on the lap. We want to experience that breath-taking rush from the bikes skimming our ankles as they pass. A wise local has suggested we try the Cronk Y Voddy straight, advising us to seek out the kink part-way along for the ultimate buzz.
This means another dash to find parking and a prime view, and more mildly frustrating running around the island with packs of enduros and sports bikes swarming impatiently. Still, the opportunity to once again gun it through the derestricted zones past the spectators remains incongruous but thrilling.
We locate a farm offering cheap parking right where our sage suggested and the incumbent farmer is charging £5 for the day and has invited a friend along with a concessions trailer so we can easily purloin a morning coffee. It’s not yet congested but the best viewing appears already to have been annexed. We wander further along the course – we are on the outfield – and clamber delicately over a barbed wire fence into a small orchard. The precise ownership of this chunk of real estate isn’t clear but the path over to the trackside appears well-trodden so we hope for the best. We’re greeted by a clear view of the course – the riders approaching from our right over a crest before continuing away to our left down a gently undulating straight. A handy tree enables us to secure our portable radio and provides useful anchorage for hanging right out over the macadam. Bloody hell – this is TT experience you see in all the videos.
This unusual proactivity means we are extremely early so we find ourselves basking in the glorious Manx weather, catching up on our caffeine intake, reading and – most remarkably – feeling like we are actually on holiday. So many times you watch the TT coverage and the protagonists are frustrated by rain or mist; once again we laze under clear blue skies and warm sunshine.
The opening competitive action is the second sidecar race of the week. This is of particular interest to our travelling partner Chris, for whom sidecar racing – particularly on the roads – is an absolute obsession.
The Birchall brothers are a shoo-in of course and their form in race one on Saturday is ominous. They appear first and the sound of the outfit is shocking in its savagery; little 600cc screamers, these units are operating right on the limit in hauling a couple of lads along Cronk Y Voddy at 150mph. The outfit gives a shimmy as it floats over the crest, howling towards us, gently drifting out towards the grass verge below our feet. While tiny by car standards, compared to a motorcycle, a sidecar outfit displaces a significant volume of air and Chris’s cap is blown clear from his head, exposing his shiny dome. He is reduced to stupefied laughter; blown away by the visceral thrill of watching his heroes at close quarters.
The chasing pack emerges from our right at regular intervals. They all scream but none with quite the same defiance and anger as the Birchall brothers’ IEG Racing Honda. The anticipation as they approach each lap and the subsequent assault on the senses remains an absolute highlight of the event.
In the end, there is little dramatic tension in the result. While John Holden and Lee Cain lose on average only seven seconds per lap to the ballistic brothers, the Birchalls continue their domination of the island. Along the way they set a new sidecar lap record at an astounding 119.250mph; their race average is 118.281mph over 113 flat-out miles.
It’s an amazing privilege to watch all the outfits up close. As they appear into our sight, the passengers are hunched over to the right to help offer some stability over the brow. Then it’s an exercise in ducking down under the canopy as quickly and efficiently as possible for maximum top-end down the succeeding straight. Dave Molyneux and Daniel Sayle are using an experimental low-drag outfit which requires Sayle to adopt a Superman pose, flat on his front, legs out behind him. It’s innovative but the results aren’t flowing for Molyneux – sidecar racing’s most successful ever exponent on the Isle of Man.
Although the crowd is hardly large on our chosen verge, there’s a palpable tension in the air ahead of the Senior TT. Hickman, Harrison and Dunlop have been on scintillating form all fortnight and lap records have fallen in every category. Everyone wants to see a safe, fast race – and hopefully a new outright lap record. At six laps, it’s a long, gruelling contest; the final duration would be one hour and 43 minutes, undertaken at an average of over 130mph including pitstops. It’s worth pausing to reflect on the numbers to appreciate quite how otherworldly this event is.
Before the race kicks off, we are treated to a demo lap from John McGuiness. One of the island’s favourite sons, he still isn’t yet race-fit after injury but treats the crowds to a 122mph lap aboard the Norton he had been slated to ride in the Senior.
He bursts over the brow, a reflective blur, front wheel high in the air, bassy engine note straining at high revs. Right on the ultimate pace this exhibition lap may not be but McPint is clearly still operating in rarified air. It leaves the tantalising question of whether he has the last couple of mph in his pocket to challenge Hickman, Harrison and Dunlop should he return in 2019.
First to emerge is local hero Conor Cummins, carrying the number one. You hear him long before he appears into sight, the revs on his Padgetts Honda subtly rising as he ascends the gentle undulations on Cronk Y Voddy. He’s upon us before we realise. The kink is taken at around 170mph on a superbike and Cummins seems to shapeshift: one moment he’s cranked over at the brow, the next we feel the air rushing over our faces as he wails off down the straight, revs still rising hard and fast. Expletives flow, we laugh spontaneously. This is like nothing else we’ve seen or felt before.
Still recovering from the adrenaline spike of Cummins’ outrageous pass, the rest of the field pours through. Notable, though, is Harrison. He is visibly faster than the riders immediately preceding him. Head down, front wheel dangling in the air over one hundred metres after the brow, he is a man on a mission. Equally shocking is Michael Dunlop. The Irishman looks wild; he uses far more of the road than any other rider, both wheels right in the dirt at our feet. More expletives, more laughter. This is legalised insanity.
That sense of disbelief doesn’t wear off for the next two hours. Each pass causes more sharp intakes of breath – even the ‘slowest’ riders are travelling at ludicrous speed, the kink shrugged off with a 200m wheelie. It’s a tiny snapshot of a lap travelled on the ragged edge.
In spite of his awesome commitment, Dunlop cannot seem to match Hickman and Harrison. In fact, it seems anomalous that Dunlop never sets a lap in the 134mph bracket all week, while the others stride into hitherto-unknown territory.
The British Superbike regulars are at it right from the off, though Harrison leads right into the final lap. On lap six, after 90 minutes of crazy speed, the pair trading blows corner-by-corner, Deano leads at Ballaugh Bridge by 5.7 seconds. He has passed us a few minutes earlier, as composed as always. By this stage, Hickman is gently but inexorably reeling him in. He blares down Cronk Y Voddy with even greater conviction, the crowds cheering for both riders as they traverse the traffic which is inevitable over such a long contest.
Manx Radio helps us track the gap. Hickman has been attacking the Mountain vigorously all fortnight and it’s here that he truly makes his move. He arrives at Bungalow 0.8 seconds ahead, having circumnavigated Snaefell faster than any rider in history. Harrison crosses the line to record a new outright lap record, tantalisingly close to the magical 135mph barrier: 134.918mph.
The duo are separated by 40 seconds on the road by virtue of their start times so we can only chase the split times on Manx Radio. The tension is unbearable. Hickman’s final couple of miles are blighted by traffic but it doesn’t stop the Lincolnshire man extending his lead fractionally – he crosses the line two seconds to the good with a truly amazing new outright lap record of 135.452mph.
Roars rise from the spectator banks, even over the noise of the other competitors completing their final laps. Hickman’s BMW has averaged 131.700mph with Harrison at 131.656mph. This has been an absolutely titanic struggle, with both men pushing the other to ever greater heights. Their nearest competitor is Conor Cummins who is the greater part of two minutes in arrears, offering some context to the phenomenal pace at the front.
It’s easy to lapse into hyperbole after a close motor race but everyone on the island knows they’ve just witnessed a very special moment. The Senior TT is once again the fastest road race in the world, having stolen back its crown from the Ulster GP. And it leaves the tantalising prospect of this duo continuing their battles into 2019 and beyond. But can anyone else get near them? Have they lifted the bar to a height that nobody else can reach?
Race week on the island closes with the traditional annual fireworks display in Ramsey harbour. We stand on the front and enjoy a beer, soaking up the atmosphere and able to reflect on a week of motor racing which has delivered tragedy mixed with remarkable achievement and some amazing racing.
It is said that the TT captures your heart – and that you are never quite the same again after a trip to the world’s most storied motorcycle race meeting. I suspect there is an element of truth in that. Uniquely, this is an event which takes over not just a district or a village, or even a city, but instead an entire island. The whole place is overwhelmed by a series of races which retains a level of danger which seems completely at odds with the rest of the world – even the motor sporting world.
The local community embraces and facilitates this celebration of liberty and the pursuit of absolute speed – the ultimate thrill. The circuit is unlike any other to host racing in the 21st century. To offer some perspective on its speed and challenge: Hickman’s winning speed in the Senior TT is over 20mph faster than he achieved on his way to second place in BSB around Thruxton, the fastest short course in the UK. There is nothing else like it in motor racing and it should be a vital entry on every race fan’s bucket list, even if their interest in motorcycles is only vague.
While the action on the Mountain course is over for the year (at least so far as the TT is concerned), there is a little treat in store on Saturday. The Post-TT Road Races take place over the Billown circuit to the south of the island. This layout hosts the annual Southern 100, a prestigious road racing event in its own right.
The Post-TT Road Races offer a condensed programme of practice and racing rolled into a single day around a challenging four mile course. The circuit itself is roughly square, with a massed start taking place along the A5 on the outskirts of Castletown. Each side of the square is pretty quick, with chicanes to catch out the unwary – including the legendary Joey’s Gate, so called because the legendary Joey Dunlop once found himself charging unexpectedly through an open gate and into a farmer’s field.
We arrive in time to see a few laps of practice from Cross Four Ways at the northernmost point of the circuit before the roads open once again. We complete a quick lap to orientate ourselves before selecting a viewing spot at Malew Churchyard. The parking is, quite remarkably, free and we are given a programme gratis by a friendly marshal. Having brought our own picnic, aside from a hot drink bought from the enterprising church wardens, this is a free day at the races. Liberty Media – are you listening?
The racing kicks off in late afternoon and we establish a neat spot hanging over the wall of the church graveyard. This represents something of a first during my 30 years of watching motorsport; never before have I spectated in a burial ground. Still, the church itself seems comfortable with our presence and we have a great view so we roll with it.
Only a few names are familiar from TT week but the evening’s racing kicks off with a cracking battle between McAdoo team mates James Cowton and Adam McLean in the opening stanza. McLean stalks his rival relentlessly before diving ahead under braking approaching the church. He wins by a scant two tenths. Sadly Cowton would be killed at the Southern 100 later in the year, just a few hundred metres from where we are stood. The highs and lows of motorcycle road racing laid bare once more.
Mercifully the Post-TT Road Races would pass uneventfully. The racing is less stellar than we experienced during the TT itself but the thrill of the riders dive bombing us as we hang over the ancient church walls is addictive. They apex just past our noses before flicking the motorcycles over to the left to exit the complex in a carefully-metered blare of unsilenced fury. The bravest are virtually skimming their helmets on the wall at the left-hand apex, bringing to mind the lunacy of Macau.
Because ferries are so congested around race week we have a couple of days left to explore the island. As this is a holiday and we are British we try to ensure a basic level of inebriation every evening, alternating between the Railway at Union Mills and Douglas, a brisk 45 minute walk from our lodgings. That gives us the luxury of a slow start but we decide to spend Sunday exploring the southern end of the island.
We start at a horse sanctuary where donkeys make mournful noises, even when they are blissfully happy, and I try hard to avoid being menaced – the default result of any interaction I seem to have with our equine chums.
Having escaped with neither kicks nor bites, we venture on to Murrays Motorcycle Museum. This is a proper British museum: small, personal and loaded with ephemera. There are dozens of racing motorcycles with a history on the island including multiple Manx GP winners. Not being an expert, I struggle to reconcile the significance of each one but the passionate is evident.
It’s rare that a race meeting kicks off with a 4.30am kebab but as we thread our way through Liverpool during the early hours of Sunday morning among the late-night revellers, it’s hard not to wonder what on earth is going on. Our three vehicle convoy is bound for the docks and a date with an unpleasantly timed ferry to Douglas on the Isle of Man. I think I’d rather still be awake and chomping a kebab; only coffee and bacon can save me now.
Our party comprises two motorcycles and one heavily laden Porsche 911 Turbo. Ahead of us lies – with luck – a smooth ferry sailing followed by nine days of hedonistic speed freakery.
We are soon disgorged onto the quayside at Douglas. Apparently a couple of the motorcyclists departing the boat have managed to drop their bikes on the exit ramp. The trip does not bode well for them.
The scene greeting us at Douglas is mild bedlam. The last time I witnessed such two-wheeled madness was the MotoGP at Mugello – and this adds a layer of music festival inebriation into the mix. The sound of sports bikes fill the air – as it does for the entire trip – but they are punctuated by thumping enduros, most of them employing the back wheel only. Meanwhile a couple of chaps are desperately trying to make it uphill on a pair of old machines which, while undeniably splendid, are apparently unable to travel more than 100 metres at a time without requiring mechanical assistance.
A cyclist, obviously in drink and heavily laden, meanders into my path. He drops his can of Carling to the ground and bends over to pick it up, the momentum of his rucksack almost throwing him over. With tin retrieved, he continues on his way, with no care for the traffic jam which has built up behind him.
Almost before we know it, we find ourselves at the Quarterbridge pub. Two awkward siamesed roundabouts negotiated and we’re on the Mountain course – the very spot we’ve been watching on the telly. It feels surreal and the temptation to gun it like Dunlop is strong. A vast campsite opens up to the right and soon we’re at Braddan Bridge – an obvious landmark thanks to the tree sprouting from the mini roundabout. All the kerbs are decorated with white stripes…the reality hits: we’re at the bloody TT!
Sadly, we were unable to get the outbound ferry we really wanted so we have missed the first day of racing action and we’ve landed on the island on Mad Sunday. We decide to do the sensible thing: unpack and get straight back out to do some shopping meaning we’re prepared for the next few days. It looks like there is just one proper supermarket in Douglas – and by extension probably on the whole of the island. Mercifully there are still a few items available in Tesco so we stock up and head back to our AirBnB house for food and mooted rest.
In spite of having had only three hours’ sleep, none of our little party can resist the urge to get out and explore the place, and especially to clock a lap of the Mountain Course. Mad Sunday is perhaps not quite so mad as it was at its maddest. These days, the Snaefell Mountain Road, the A18, is open only to one-way traffic for the whole of TT fortnight; this measure having been taken in response to the number of aspiring Mike Hailwoods hurling themselves into oncoming vehicles.
That said, the course is still pretty congested and we never really build much of a rhythm. There is some chance to stretch the Porsche’s legs but not much. I rarely have the space to overtake dawdlers in the derestricted sections and I find myself being crowded by packs of bikes in the limited sections. We arrive at Ramsey to find the A18 shut due to a road traffic incident so must proceed around the coast road. Frustrating, but that’s the pattern of the week.
Although our speeds are not high, it certainly offers some context to the endeavours of the event’s heroes. This is a fearsome challenge. There is no respite anywhere on the track – even the straights of Cronk Y Voddy and Sulby are over in the blink of an eye and neither is flat. Everywhere along the course you are constrained by something: kerbs; verges; street furniture; stone walls…
It’s somewhat sobering to imagine traversing any of the course at 130mph+, let alone averaging that kind of speed. I’d often wondered, watching the TV coverage whether the riders are showboating a little over Ballaugh Bridge as they launch four feet into the air. Not a bit of it: The crown of the bridge is an extreme peak and even 20mph feels too fast in a car. The final couple of miles leading into Ramsey at the north of the island feature the kind of scarred, bumpy Tarmac that makes it uncomfortable in the car and, according to my motorcycling mates, perilous on two wheels.
Even without covering the ten miles of the mighty Mountain, we’ve found an overwhelming respect for the competitors. The challenge is absolute and there can be no room for hesitation or self-doubt. That is only confirmed as we trundle along the pit straight at 30 miles per hour, pause at the traffic lights and stare down Bray Hill. What it must feel like to crest that brow and career downhill, throttle pinned at 170mph, I daren’t even imagine. These riders are a special breed.
Monday is race day and we’ve decided to ease ourselves in gently and play it safe with our spectating spot and opt for the famous Railway Inn at Union Mills. Spectating at the TT is rather like stage rallying for short track regulars like us: spread-out and a bit daunting. As most spectating areas are free – or carry only a nominal charge – and the course itself is so vast, it’s hard to know where to start. Even worse, you don’t have a clue where to park, nor whether you will find perfect, unobstructed viewing, or a frustrating gaze through the back of someone’s head. It all feels a bit of a lottery and rather disorientating.
The front row of the elevated terrace at the Railway is fully occupied when we arrive but we’re in good time and slot into row two where we are able to snare half a picnic bench. Our view of the track is relatively short but that’s a common theme at the TT. And these guys are travelling so quickly that you’re always experiencing the race in snapshots anyway. Our choice of venue is corroborated when motorcycling legend Steve Parrish joins us on the terrace to enjoy the action.
As the crowds build, so too does that tension. The Railway is steeped in motorcycle lore and the walls are generously decorated in photos of racing on the island. Multiple taps serve local beers, all named in tribute to the TT. And it’s cheap too – £3.50 per pint is a bargain compared to virtually every drinking establishment on mainland Britain. Praise be!
Opening Monday’s proceedings is Supersport Race One. The formbook suggests Dean Harrison and Michael Dunlop are the riders to beat – and so it transpires. Aided by the live race commentary on a portable FM radio, we are able to follow the action closely. And, much like a WRC event, you know the leader is approaching by the sound of the following helicopter before the howl of revs from the 650cc machines.
They are in sight for barely a couple of seconds but there is drama aplenty. They hurtle downhill from our right, tight as they dare on the kerb outside the pub before cranking the machines over to the left. That takes them over the Union Mills bridge, which crosses the old railway line. The bridge barely registers in a car but a motorcycle at full lean doing 100mph is off the ground. Every competitor lifts the front wheel and most the rear for good measure. It’s almost impossible to believe what we are seeing. They wail into the distance, noise reverberating off the petrol station, church, Spar and houses. Real road racing.
The bikes in isolation are spectacular but there’s a race on. Dunlop is ferociously committed and bullies his stead around the course, getting more air over the bridge than his rivals. Dean Harrison, meanwhile, has been flying all week and had set a new absolute circuit record during Saturday’s Superbike race – the first 134mph lap of the island. Harrison, though, doesn’t have an answer to Dunlop on the smaller machines and slows at the end to allow Dunlop to win on the road, as well as on time. This very nearly backfires for the Yorkshireman, though, as Peter Hickman closes to within six tenths of a second at the flag.
It’s a pretty breathless start to the week and the action is tense – a ten second winning margin for Dunlop sounding greater than it felt. For context, that’s 2.5 seconds per lap over a 37.7 mile course. The margins this year are so tight among the top three that each of the riders is pushing to new heights. Lap records fall in every category across the week.
It is only after the race that we learn of the fatal accident which has befallen rider Adam Lyons at Casey’s. With Dan Kneen having perished only a few days earlier, it’s a stark reminder of the perils of road racing. We love it because it’s the ultimate challenge but the stakes are high. Virtually every conversation you have with those who don’t follow the sport will feature an inevitable remark about the terrifying death rate. Sadly, it has always been so on the roads and the competitors walk willingly into the coliseum as gladiators.
Lyons’ death is a shock but the track activity doesn’t relent and the sidecars take to the course for a practice lap. Limited to 650cc they may be, but their speed and the incongruity of brave passengers hunched on the deck will never cease to be alien to us mortals. The revs flare as they traverse the bridge and wriggle their way out towards Crosby.
The Superstock race is hotly anticipated – and with good reason. You could barely squeeze a fag paper between Harrison, Hickman and Dunlop in practice, with all three producing lap times previously unheard of for a stocker. Behind them, James Hillier, Michael Rutter, Conor Cummins and David Johnson are legitimate dark horses.
In fact, the whole fortnight has a feeling of a new world order on the island. Guy Martin has retired without a TT win to his name, John McGuiness is present but not racing, Bruce Anstey is undergoing treatment for cancer and Ian Hutchinson is racing but still recovering from horrific leg injuries in the previous year’s event. Hutchinson would doubtless be at the front exchanging punches with the new generation but he hobbles to the ‘bike with a crutch for support. That he is racing – and pretty quickly – is testimony to the extraordinary mental strength of this rare breed.
The Superstock race opens with a clanger from Hickman who overshoots the left at Braddan Bridge and finds himself the wrong side of the roundabout. He remains calm but crosses the line eight seconds down on Harrison at the end of lap one, the Kawsaki star riding like a man possessed. The level of commitment from the top trio is staggering; the bikes are wobbling and pitching, front wheels hanging in the air, with the rear tyres snaking under braking and carving wide arcs out of the corners. There is a sense of something very special from three riders dining at the top table.
It’s Hickman, though, who is able to squeeze the most out of lap two, turning in the first 134mph lap of a Superstock to snatch the lead as they pull into the pits. Even that moment at Braddan Bridge can’t stop him. After 34 flat-out minutes and 75 miles, three seconds covers the top three. This is nail-biting stuff.
The pit stops spread things out slightly – but only between first and third as Harrison drops back to a sizeable (by the standards of this race) five seconds behind his BSB rival. Dunlop, though, has benefitted from a cracking stop and crosses the line three tenths down on Hickman. The atmosphere at the Railway Inn tightens. Hicky’s first victory or Dunlop’s 19th? 17 minutes will never pass so slowly.
They flash past us a minute or so later – first Dunlop then Hickman; both visibly faster than anyone else bar Harrison with Dunlop leant way over in his customary style, bending the machine to his will. We chase the action all the way on the Manx Radio commentary, listening for the split times. It sounds like Hickman has made a break for it as they cross the Mountain, historically the section of the course where he really excels. His final lap is a scarcely believable 134.403mph – just a fraction off Harrison’s outright lap record from Saturday’s Superbike race. It’s only as he crosses the line to secure his first TT win that we remember to breathe.
These top three riders are pushing their bikes to new extremes, chasing the outer edge of the envelope. Forget the 130mph club – unless you can deliver 133mph on a flying lap in race conditions then you won’t be troubling the podium. The spectacle of seeing the bikes being pushed that hard in the face of such peril is as mesmerising as it is addictive.
Track activity closes for the day with a practice session for the electrically-powered bikes taking part in the TT Zero race. It’s a small field but the characteristic scream of race-tuned internal combustion engines is replaced with the high-pitched whistle of electric motors as the protagonists flash incongruously over the Union Mills bridge. It was a brave move by the event to embrace electric racing technology during its relative infancy. The field remains small but the machines are ultra impressive.
Day three features no racing activity on the Mountain Course but there’s little shortage of things to do. After a leisurely morning – well, this is our summer holiday, after all – we convoy up to Ramsey for the sprint along the prom. This is a storied event and competitive, although anyone can enter. It’s a simple ‘run what ya brung’ straight line sprint along the seafront. The activity is free to watch and has attracted a sizeable crowd, which gently bakes in the unremitting sun.
The sprint delivers every conceivable kind of motorcycle in action. Long-wheelbase purpose-built drag racing specials with extended swing arms juxtapose with supermotos and homebrew trikes. Plenty of riders are competing on their road bikes and it’s not hard to identify the best of them from the execution of their gear changes. There’s no hiding from mistakes when you’re the only guy on track. These pilots are super-brave though and a couple of the most extreme drag bikes lift their front wheels, with the throttles twisted wide open.
The sprint is informal, with a family-friendly atmosphere and plenty of folk pottering around with ice creams. The paddock is completely open and various stalls sell merchandise and comestibles. It’s the kind of event you could watch all day or just for ten minutes; a nice break from the intensity of the TT races.
The day is wrapped up with a trip to Douglas – a 45 minute walk from our digs in Strang. The Red Arrows are performing their annual display over the bay and the seafront is packed with spectators. They blast into view over our heads before thrilling the crowd with customary brilliance. No matter how many times you see them, I would defy anyone to lose interest in the spectacle of fast jets performing synchronised acrobatic manoeuvres. It’s the perfect way to celebrate the 100th anniversary year of the RAF.
As soon as the Red Arrows have departed we dash into the Gaiety Theatre for a date with Steve Parrish. The celebrated motorcyclist, truck racer, broadcaster and hell-raiser is performing a live show as part of his M.A.D. Tour (My Adolescent Dad). Usually run as a double act with his daughter, this one is performed with his wife asking probing questions to tease out the best stories from a life well lived.
He runs through his (very successful) career on two wheels, his switch to trucks – at which he was for a time the best in the world – and his friendship with the late Barry Sheene. His pulls no punches when describing his ex-wife and offers a flavour of life away from the track including the legendary Macau brothel incident and the Imartra toilet block incineration. The only pity for us is that he isn’t performing his usual microphone duties on ITV4’s TT coverage – the old team having been jettisoned in an unfortunate move by the producers. Hopefully he’ll be back soon. The evening closes with a sale and signing session of his new book, a copy of which promises to make for excellent aeroplane reading on my next holiday.
The theatre itself is part of a wider complex which includes the huge Bushy’s TT village at the adjacent Villa Marina. The place is jumping every evening and we duck in for a couple of pints and some food. A variety of stalls is serving really good grub even at 11pm and though the live music isn’t totally to our taste, it’s the adoptive centre of party activities over the week.
Day four has been earmarked for our first trip up onto The Mountain and we’ve allocated Bungalow as our preferred spectating spot. This entails a bit of a hike so we elect to leave early to bag a parking spot and a pitch with clear views of the track.
Being mindful of the mass of enthusiasts anxious to traverse the island in search of their chosen spot, and imminent road closure, we leave relatively early but still find the course well-populated with bicycles, motorcycles and cars. There’s a brilliantly surreal moment as we blat flat-chat along rows of spectators hanging their legs over the walls on Cronk Y Voddy. The road is unshackled from restriction here and hammering through the gears with the punters mere feet away gives the briefest, vaguest insight into the riders’ view as they spear onwards unto the breach. It’s a proper ‘pinch yourself’ moment.
We turn off the course between Ballaugh and Sulby onto the A14, bisecting the island and the TT course. This is narrow farmland territory, redolent of tight Lakeland passes in Cumbria. Luckily we see no other vehicles but it’s hardly a road on which to push, especially when it opens out and sheep criss cross the route at will.
While breathing in through a couple of tight cattle grids, the road starts to look familiar. It transpires that the A14 has been used as a stage on the Manx Rally and this section is the one featured in the legendary Ari Vatanen on-board when he rescues his Opel Manta from certain disaster after clipping a stone wall at terrific speed. The moment even causes ice-cool co-driver Terry Harryman to utter the immortal line, “oh, dear God” before continuing with his pace notes.
https://youtu.be/l19F2YPVey0
It will surprise nobody that, in spite of bone dry Tarmac and the outrageous potency of the 911, I traverse the A14 rather more slowly than the great Finn.
Having awkwardly tackled two fiendish first gear hairpins and dodged the indigenous livestock, we pop out within sight of the Mountain Course. The A14 abuts the track just between the railway tracks and the pedestrian bridge: perfect. In fact, such is our anxiety over claiming a good spot; we’re unfashionably early and find ourselves twiddling our thumbs for a couple of hours. Still, with some good reading matter and Manx Radio to entertain us, the time passes quickly as the crowds gather and the tension builds in anticipation of another fine day’s racing.
It’s worth noting that the skies are resolutely blue, without the hint of a cloud to stifle the sunshine. The views up here are spectacular but this elevated part of the island is notorious for mist and cloud. From our perch on the outfield banking, we have an uninterrupted view of the peak of Snaefell, with the distinctive electric trains plodding up and down to the summit.
Meanwhile, scores of spectators emerge from trains running from Laxey as the normal service is augmented to cope with the race day crowd. What a way to watch a motor race.
The track action is busy and kicks off with Supersport Race Two. After the ferocious, record-breaking pace during Monday’s supersport race – and the fierce battle between Dean Harrison and Michael Dunlop – much is expected. In the end, Harrison dominates from the front, the Yorkshireman building a near ten second lead by the time the riders pit at the end of lap two.
Dunlop has no answer for Harrison’s sheer pace and is 15 seconds in arrears at the end of the race, slipping from second to fifth after a 30 second penalty is applied for breaching the pitlane speed limit. A bitter pill to swallow but doubtless the pace deficit will have hurt more than the punishment.
Behind the leading duo, Peter Hickman takes a close third on the road on the Trooper Triumph, belying the weight penalty his tall frame applies on the smaller bikes. The balance of the top ten is a veritable who’s who of road racing heroes with the moustachied Josh Brookes, James Hillier and Conor Cummins all starring. Ian Hutchinson braves it out for 11th position, hobbling to his Padgetts Honda with the aid of a walking stick.
After Monday’s titanic action, the second supersport race perhaps lacks a little dramatic tension. It doesn’t, though, lack visual and aural drama. Our spot affords us one of the finest views in motor racing. The riders appear from our right – way into the distance, perhaps a mile away. The course clings to the mountain and, even on a 650cc supersport ‘bike, they are carrying tremendous speed through Veranda before appearing in front of us. The top guys are dropping a couple of gears and lowering their left knees to the Tarmac, hugging the grass verge before smoothly standing the bikes back up to cross the railway tracks.
The motorcycles appear unfussed by the tracks, squatting down under full acceleration, barely a feather ruffled. The supersport runners are then wide open, heads down, under the pedestrian bridge and up the long, rising straight run to Brandywell. The 650cc engines are screaming up the hill and the aural assault is particularly satisfying from down near the trackside with the pipes facing you. You hear the crackle of throttles closing long after you see the riders jink right and then left out of sight for another odyssey across the top of the world’s motor remarkable and scenic race track.
In my experience, only the Rechberg hillclimb in the Styrian mountains can touch this for sheer visual impact and drama. Two miles of rolling, storied mountain pass traversed at autobahn speeds and completely unneutered. The challenge is absolute.
The day’s next track action is the TT Zero. There remains some controversy over whether the Zero should count as a true TT win but what is irrefutable is the amazing progress of the bikes during the category’s short history. Mugen has historically dominated and that remains the case in 2018 but the combination of Michael Rutter and Lee Johnston promises a tight intra-team battle.
Sadly this fight fails to crystalise as Johnston limps into our sight and parks the silent bike in the opposite lay-by. Ironically, the failure isn’t a high tech electrical component but a simple case of a chain jumping off its sprocket. Johnston fixes it at the roadside and continues apace, leaving a reasonably dominant victory to the veteran Rutter who posts a remarkable 121mph lap as he goes.
While these machines are still very early in the development of the electric motorcycle, their pace is awesome. They punch so hard out of Bungalow, visibly much faster than the internal combustion powered bikes which precede them. There is a long way to go before they’re capable of achieving superbike times but don’t bet against it happening within the next ten years. It’s also hugely encouraging to see Daley Mathison take second on the University of Nottingham bike. From a crude trackside assessment, this looks the most powerful runner of all and offers hope that the team can threaten the Mugen hegemony in the near future.
With the opening two races run, we clamber over the pedestrian bridge to watch from the circuit infield for the rest of the day. While some hardy souls have climbed the vast ridge behind us in search of a truly panoramic view, we opt for a short two minute stroll.
This affords us a totally different visual, with the riders much closer and appearing stage left. Without the previous long-range view up to Veranda we rely on the sound of incoming motorcycles and the TV chopper to warn us of their impending appearance.
The Lightweight TT is a motorcycling legend and now runs for thumping 600cc twins, generally dominated on pace by the Italian Paton brand and numerically by Kawasaki. The acknowledged master of the class, Ivan Lintin, leads from the front and looks set to break the Dunlop / Harrison / Hickman domination of the weekend. Sadly his race is cut short by a mechanical failure while leading by nine seconds on lap two and it’s left to Michael Dunlop to once more show his class with another TT win – his 18th overall and his first Lightweight crown.
Dunlop didn’t have things all his own way though and a slow pitstop meant he trailed Derek McGee into the penultimate lap. McGee, Lintin and Dunlop all dropped under the previous lap record of James Hillier, with Dunlop leaving it at 122.75mph. Another race, another lap record shattered and consigned to the history books.
The day closes with short practice sessions for the sidecar and Senior fields. The sidecars are hugely entertaining from this spot. As they turn hard left through Bungalow, to an outfit, they are lifting the inside wheel – in spite of the passenger’s strenuous efforts to keep it nailed to the surface. It’s such a treat to study they close-to and the bravery required to cross the A18 at over 150mph is beyond all rational comprehension.
Closing out the day’s proceedings is a single, fast lap for the Senior. This offers a great insight into the difficulty of riding a superbike over public roads. Where the supersport runners could pin open their throttles with impunity out of Bungalow, suddenly the same racers are having to handle their machines bucking and pitching from the sheer firepower of the big engines. It looks like a rough ride but the commitment of the top guys is immediately apparent, even if the quickest laps are off the absolute pace at ‘just’ 132mph. It’s a terrifying window into a world where few dare to tread.
With the track activity over until Friday, we take the opportunity to pay our respects at the Joey Dunlop memorial. A statue of the man and his machine, in prime position, surveys the land which became synonymous with him – as he did with it. Road racing is so raw, so feral that the riders’ mortality is never far from one’s mind. This gives us the opportunity to pause and reflect on the tragic passing of Dan Kneen and Adam Lyons earlier the meeting, while praying for safe passage for all racers during Friday’s sidecar and Senior curtain-closers.
Our location also finally permits an opportunity to drive the mountain, albeit missing the section from Ramsey to Bungalow. Most spectators drift away as there’s a lengthy delay before the police reopen the road but we have nothing to hurry home for and we’ve been longing to experience the A18, having now twice failed to traverse it due to accidents closing the road.
When we are finally ‘unleashed’, we find ourselves jumping immediately into the flat-out, uphill and unerringly straight run to Brandywell. With the local constabulary on guard at Bungalow, I’m faced with the bizarre invitation to gun a 480bhp car through the gears in plain sight. It’s impossible to resist and soon I’ve run out of revs in fourth and find myself changing into fifth, right foot still pinned. I’m neither a brave nor ambitious driver so back off and brake hard for Brandywell, having no clue whether the road turns right or left out of my sight and even less clue how severely it does so.
I am immediately thankful for my timid nature as Brandywell is slow by the standards of this road and bears hard left with only a sheer drop to the right-hand side. Now, though, things open up, allowing us (for my Fireblade-riding pal is in my slipstream and grinning demonically in his helmet) to build momentum and maintain it. With no oncoming traffic to worry about, we use the extremities of both verges to smooth out the flowing corners and to overtake slower traffic. Running out to the white line on the right-hand side feels very naughty at first but soon becomes second nature and the challenge is to comfortably carry speed, allowing those big turbos to punch up to really serious speeds on the straights.
I don’t totally trust the front end on the car into the really quick stuff and it’s only after the event that I learn of a broken spring which goes some way to explaining the erosion of my confidence turning into the really high speed stuff. Of course by the standards of the TT, we are merely cruising. Our terminal speed barely nudges the average of the top riders across here which brings it sharply home just how vast is the gulf between enthusiastic road motoring (aboard both car and motorcycle) and true road racing. One’s respect for the racers grows exponentially with every day on the island.
Thursday is a fallow day on the track so we enjoy a leisurely morning and potter into Noble’s Park in the afternoon. This is the epicentre of the TT with the paddock, shops, bars and concession stands directly behind the pitlane and podium on Glencrutchery Road. Selecting the appropriate merchandise is not the matter of a moment and the stands do brisk trade – much like the Indy 500, a TT t-shirt (try saying that in a hurry) is a crucial part of the event.
The paddock is one of two halves: the minority of pro teams with big trailers and expansive public-facing workshop areas; and the clubman end where weekend warriors spread tarpaulin on the grass and wield the spanners under rudimentary awnings.
The top professional teams also compete in British Superbike so the set-ups reflect that but our visits to the paddock never seem to coincide with much activity from the riders. In terms of star-spotting, we stumble up Dean Harrison, Lee Johnston and pundit Steve Plater but otherwise the most notable celebrity sighting is DJ and team owner Carl Cox. The house legend performs a low-key set at Conor Cummins’ newly-opened coffee shop in Ramsey over the week.
Certainly the paddock is as informal as one might wish for, given the professionalism of the big teams. It never ceases to surprise me quite how far the teams strip down the bikes in the open. Engine heads are removed and naked frames sit like skeletal aliens, denuded of their bodywork and mechanicals. Not possessing a well-trained eye for motorcycle engineering, I’m sure to be missing the greatest nuances of the machinery but it’s still a pleasure.
It’s incredibly moving to find ourselves outside the Tyco BMW transporter, where Dan Kneen’s superbike sits unridden and well-wishers have laid flowers in tribute.
Following a circuitous path, we wander from Noble’s Park to Onchan where the sublime skill of the motorcycle riders juxtaposes abruptly with the ridiculous antics of the banger racing world. We arrive just in time for the commencement of racing which is a pity as we discover that no alcohol is sold on site but it can be drunk if carried-in. Having gently lubricated ourselves ahead of an entertaining evening, this is something of a disappointment – worth considering in the future.
This is our first experience of banger racing and it’s hilariously entertaining. Also competing are F2 stockcars, Ministox and hot rods, though the show is stolen completely by the curtain-closing chain race. This frankly ludicrous form of racing involves two moribund cars being chained together in tandem in competition with similar outfits. While the other categories over the evening are fun, the chain race is incomparably entertaining with blown motors, blown tyres, crashes, smashes and massive smiles around the spectator banks. As family-friendly evening fun, it’s untouchable and definitely won’t be our last banger race.
Friday is the big one: the Senior TT – the biggest prize in road racing. Idle bar chat in the Railway has led us to try a spot to the north of the island where the speeds are among the highest anywhere on the lap. We want to experience that breath-taking rush from the bikes skimming our ankles as they pass. A wise local has suggested we try the Cronk Y Voddy straight, advising us to seek out the kink part-way along for the ultimate buzz.
This means another dash to find parking and a prime view, and more mildly frustrating running around the island with packs of enduros and sports bikes swarming impatiently. Still, the opportunity to once again gun it through the derestricted zones past the spectators remains incongruous but thrilling.
We locate a farm offering cheap parking right where our sage suggested and the incumbent farmer is charging £5 for the day and has invited a friend along with a concessions trailer so we can easily purloin a morning coffee. It’s not yet congested but the best viewing appears already to have been annexed. We wander further along the course – we are on the outfield – and clamber delicately over a barbed wire fence into a small orchard. The precise ownership of this chunk of real estate isn’t clear but the path over to the trackside appears well-trodden so we hope for the best. We’re greeted by a clear view of the course – the riders approaching from our right over a crest before continuing away to our left down a gently undulating straight. A handy tree enables us to secure our portable radio and provides useful anchorage for hanging right out over the macadam. Bloody hell – this is TT experience you see in all the videos.
This unusual proactivity means we are extremely early so we find ourselves basking in the glorious Manx weather, catching up on our caffeine intake, reading and – most remarkably – feeling like we are actually on holiday. So many times you watch the TT coverage and the protagonists are frustrated by rain or mist; once again we laze under clear blue skies and warm sunshine.
The opening competitive action is the second sidecar race of the week. This is of particular interest to our travelling partner Chris, for whom sidecar racing – particularly on the roads – is an absolute obsession.
The Birchall brothers are a shoo-in of course and their form in race one on Saturday is ominous. They appear first and the sound of the outfit is shocking in its savagery; little 600cc screamers, these units are operating right on the limit in hauling a couple of lads along Cronk Y Voddy at 150mph. The outfit gives a shimmy as it floats over the crest, howling towards us, gently drifting out towards the grass verge below our feet. While tiny by car standards, compared to a motorcycle, a sidecar outfit displaces a significant volume of air and Chris’s cap is blown clear from his head, exposing his shiny dome. He is reduced to stupefied laughter; blown away by the visceral thrill of watching his heroes at close quarters.
The chasing pack emerges from our right at regular intervals. They all scream but none with quite the same defiance and anger as the Birchall brothers’ IEG Racing Honda. The anticipation as they approach each lap and the subsequent assault on the senses remains an absolute highlight of the event.
In the end, there is little dramatic tension in the result. While John Holden and Lee Cain lose on average only seven seconds per lap to the ballistic brothers, the Birchalls continue their domination of the island. Along the way they set a new sidecar lap record at an astounding 119.250mph; their race average is 118.281mph over 113 flat-out miles.
It’s an amazing privilege to watch all the outfits up close. As they appear into our sight, the passengers are hunched over to the right to help offer some stability over the brow. Then it’s an exercise in ducking down under the canopy as quickly and efficiently as possible for maximum top-end down the succeeding straight. Dave Molyneux and Daniel Sayle are using an experimental low-drag outfit which requires Sayle to adopt a Superman pose, flat on his front, legs out behind him. It’s innovative but the results aren’t flowing for Molyneux – sidecar racing’s most successful ever exponent on the Isle of Man.
Although the crowd is hardly large on our chosen verge, there’s a palpable tension in the air ahead of the Senior TT. Hickman, Harrison and Dunlop have been on scintillating form all fortnight and lap records have fallen in every category. Everyone wants to see a safe, fast race – and hopefully a new outright lap record. At six laps, it’s a long, gruelling contest; the final duration would be one hour and 43 minutes, undertaken at an average of over 130mph including pitstops. It’s worth pausing to reflect on the numbers to appreciate quite how otherworldly this event is.
Before the race kicks off, we are treated to a demo lap from John McGuiness. One of the island’s favourite sons, he still isn’t yet race-fit after injury but treats the crowds to a 122mph lap aboard the Norton he had been slated to ride in the Senior.
He bursts over the brow, a reflective blur, front wheel high in the air, bassy engine note straining at high revs. Right on the ultimate pace this exhibition lap may not be but McPint is clearly still operating in rarified air. It leaves the tantalising question of whether he has the last couple of mph in his pocket to challenge Hickman, Harrison and Dunlop should he return in 2019.
First to emerge is local hero Conor Cummins, carrying the number one. You hear him long before he appears into sight, the revs on his Padgetts Honda subtly rising as he ascends the gentle undulations on Cronk Y Voddy. He’s upon us before we realise. The kink is taken at around 170mph on a superbike and Cummins seems to shapeshift: one moment he’s cranked over at the brow, the next we feel the air rushing over our faces as he wails off down the straight, revs still rising hard and fast. Expletives flow, we laugh spontaneously. This is like nothing else we’ve seen or felt before.
Still recovering from the adrenaline spike of Cummins’ outrageous pass, the rest of the field pours through. Notable, though, is Harrison. He is visibly faster than the riders immediately preceding him. Head down, front wheel dangling in the air over one hundred metres after the brow, he is a man on a mission. Equally shocking is Michael Dunlop. The Irishman looks wild; he uses far more of the road than any other rider, both wheels right in the dirt at our feet. More expletives, more laughter. This is legalised insanity.
That sense of disbelief doesn’t wear off for the next two hours. Each pass causes more sharp intakes of breath – even the ‘slowest’ riders are travelling at ludicrous speed, the kink shrugged off with a 200m wheelie. It’s a tiny snapshot of a lap travelled on the ragged edge.
In spite of his awesome commitment, Dunlop cannot seem to match Hickman and Harrison. In fact, it seems anomalous that Dunlop never sets a lap in the 134mph bracket all week, while the others stride into hitherto-unknown territory.
The British Superbike regulars are at it right from the off, though Harrison leads right into the final lap. On lap six, after 90 minutes of crazy speed, the pair trading blows corner-by-corner, Deano leads at Ballaugh Bridge by 5.7 seconds. He has passed us a few minutes earlier, as composed as always. By this stage, Hickman is gently but inexorably reeling him in. He blares down Cronk Y Voddy with even greater conviction, the crowds cheering for both riders as they traverse the traffic which is inevitable over such a long contest.
Manx Radio helps us track the gap. Hickman has been attacking the Mountain vigorously all fortnight and it’s here that he truly makes his move. He arrives at Bungalow 0.8 seconds ahead, having circumnavigated Snaefell faster than any rider in history. Harrison crosses the line to record a new outright lap record, tantalisingly close to the magical 135mph barrier: 134.918mph.
The duo are separated by 40 seconds on the road by virtue of their start times so we can only chase the split times on Manx Radio. The tension is unbearable. Hickman’s final couple of miles are blighted by traffic but it doesn’t stop the Lincolnshire man extending his lead fractionally – he crosses the line two seconds to the good with a truly amazing new outright lap record of 135.452mph.
Roars rise from the spectator banks, even over the noise of the other competitors completing their final laps. Hickman’s BMW has averaged 131.700mph with Harrison at 131.656mph. This has been an absolutely titanic struggle, with both men pushing the other to ever greater heights. Their nearest competitor is Conor Cummins who is the greater part of two minutes in arrears, offering some context to the phenomenal pace at the front.
It’s easy to lapse into hyperbole after a close motor race but everyone on the island knows they’ve just witnessed a very special moment. The Senior TT is once again the fastest road race in the world, having stolen back its crown from the Ulster GP. And it leaves the tantalising prospect of this duo continuing their battles into 2019 and beyond. But can anyone else get near them? Have they lifted the bar to a height that nobody else can reach?
Race week on the island closes with the traditional annual fireworks display in Ramsey harbour. We stand on the front and enjoy a beer, soaking up the atmosphere and able to reflect on a week of motor racing which has delivered tragedy mixed with remarkable achievement and some amazing racing.
It is said that the TT captures your heart – and that you are never quite the same again after a trip to the world’s most storied motorcycle race meeting. I suspect there is an element of truth in that. Uniquely, this is an event which takes over not just a district or a village, or even a city, but instead an entire island. The whole place is overwhelmed by a series of races which retains a level of danger which seems completely at odds with the rest of the world – even the motor sporting world.
The local community embraces and facilitates this celebration of liberty and the pursuit of absolute speed – the ultimate thrill. The circuit is unlike any other to host racing in the 21st century. To offer some perspective on its speed and challenge: Hickman’s winning speed in the Senior TT is over 20mph faster than he achieved on his way to second place in BSB around Thruxton, the fastest short course in the UK. There is nothing else like it in motor racing and it should be a vital entry on every race fan’s bucket list, even if their interest in motorcycles is only vague.
While the action on the Mountain course is over for the year (at least so far as the TT is concerned), there is a little treat in store on Saturday. The Post-TT Road Races take place over the Billown circuit to the south of the island. This layout hosts the annual Southern 100, a prestigious road racing event in its own right.
The Post-TT Road Races offer a condensed programme of practice and racing rolled into a single day around a challenging four mile course. The circuit itself is roughly square, with a massed start taking place along the A5 on the outskirts of Castletown. Each side of the square is pretty quick, with chicanes to catch out the unwary – including the legendary Joey’s Gate, so called because the legendary Joey Dunlop once found himself charging unexpectedly through an open gate and into a farmer’s field.
We arrive in time to see a few laps of practice from Cross Four Ways at the northernmost point of the circuit before the roads open once again. We complete a quick lap to orientate ourselves before selecting a viewing spot at Malew Churchyard. The parking is, quite remarkably, free and we are given a programme gratis by a friendly marshal. Having brought our own picnic, aside from a hot drink bought from the enterprising church wardens, this is a free day at the races. Liberty Media – are you listening?
The racing kicks off in late afternoon and we establish a neat spot hanging over the wall of the church graveyard. This represents something of a first during my 30 years of watching motorsport; never before have I spectated in a burial ground. Still, the church itself seems comfortable with our presence and we have a great view so we roll with it.
Only a few names are familiar from TT week but the evening’s racing kicks off with a cracking battle between McAdoo team mates James Cowton and Adam McLean in the opening stanza. McLean stalks his rival relentlessly before diving ahead under braking approaching the church. He wins by a scant two tenths. Sadly Cowton would be killed at the Southern 100 later in the year, just a few hundred metres from where we are stood. The highs and lows of motorcycle road racing laid bare once more.
Mercifully the Post-TT Road Races would pass uneventfully. The racing is less stellar than we experienced during the TT itself but the thrill of the riders dive bombing us as we hang over the ancient church walls is addictive. They apex just past our noses before flicking the motorcycles over to the left to exit the complex in a carefully-metered blare of unsilenced fury. The bravest are virtually skimming their helmets on the wall at the left-hand apex, bringing to mind the lunacy of Macau.
Because ferries are so congested around race week we have a couple of days left to explore the island. As this is a holiday and we are British we try to ensure a basic level of inebriation every evening, alternating between the Railway at Union Mills and Douglas, a brisk 45 minute walk from our lodgings. That gives us the luxury of a slow start but we decide to spend Sunday exploring the southern end of the island.
We start at a horse sanctuary where donkeys make mournful noises, even when they are blissfully happy, and I try hard to avoid being menaced – the default result of any interaction I seem to have with our equine chums.
Having escaped with neither kicks nor bites, we venture on to Murrays Motorcycle Museum. This is a proper British museum: small, personal and loaded with ephemera. There are dozens of racing motorcycles with a history on the island including multiple Manx GP winners. Not being an expert, I struggle to reconcile the significance of each one but the passionate is evident.
Wow, what a really great post...
Ive long been in mental dispute with myself over the TT, but have, over the last few years, actually gotten past the "annual road racer cull" image it presents.
To the point I actually want to to visit myself. Posts like yours add to the curiouslty as well.
And then I see how much the ferry costs for a car !!!!
Ive long been in mental dispute with myself over the TT, but have, over the last few years, actually gotten past the "annual road racer cull" image it presents.
To the point I actually want to to visit myself. Posts like yours add to the curiouslty as well.
And then I see how much the ferry costs for a car !!!!
For some reason it cut off the last few paragraphs...weird.
The museum sits very close to Fairy Bridge, where we attempt to stop but are thwarted by the navigational ineptitude of the group leader in the silver Porsche. We’ll have to try and meet the fairies next time.
Our ultimate destination on this part of the island is Castletown, home of Rushen Castle. This is a deeply historic castle and it offers a fascinating reveal of the governance of the Isle of Man and its place in British history. Castletown is the administrative centre of the island, with Rushen Castle the monarchic home of the King of Mann. This title was given up during the 16th century when the incumbent decided he would sooner be “a great lord than a petty king’, since when the reigning British monarch has assumed the title King of Mann, while the Stanley family assumed the title of Lord of Mann until overthrown by parliamentarians during the civil war.
It’s a window into a period of history and a part of the world about which I know little and we thoroughly enjoy exploring the castle. The views out across the sea and the small, ancient town are fantastic – well worth an afternoon out.
We return north via a lap of the Billown circuit, and are delighted to find the speed limits have lifted so we are able to drive at a reasonable pace. We continue north over derestricted roads, enjoying the opportunity to stretch our machinery legally. We branch off to Peel, though struggle to navigate our way to a rest point on the fly and decide to explore further on wheels.
There’s a cracking road out of Peel and back towards the TT course, emerging near Kirk Michael. It’s bumpy and twisty, and probably the only place on the island where I can put some distance between the 911 and Chris’s mental Fireblade, the scarred Tarmac causing him to lift from his seat on a regular basis. Strangely, though the road isn’t fast, I enjoy this drive as much as any all week. We find no traffic and the Porsche can really be hustled. It’s not agile like a Lotus but you learn to use the mass to your advantage, gaining confidence and lunging down each straight in on a wave of boosted torque. There’s little chance for a rest and, though I rarely breach 70mph, I’m buzzing by the time we hit the main road again.
We continue to follow the TT course and finally – a week into our trip – get a clear run at the Mountain course, closed for one more day to two-way traffic. It’s quieter on the roads now than it had been during race week and we file out of Ramsey with some excitement. Ramsey Hairpin is still within the speed limited zone so we proceed with care, emerging at the Gooseneck and able to step up the pace. I have no idea which way the road goes so this is scarcely a balls-out run but we press on as hard as we feel is safe and prudent. A couple of well-ridden superbikes howl past up the Mountain Mile; they evidently know the course and are attacking beautifully – we keep them in sight for barely a minute.
It’s initially disorientating to use the full extent of the road but it starts to feel natural and it makes overtaking really easy. Once dispatched by the superbike pilots, we have a clear run and are not overtaken again over the Mountain. We run at a reasonable pace and it’s so much fun getting to roll the car into fast corners at autobahn speeds without the worry of oncoming traffic or zealous policing.
It’s a comedown to reach the Creg Ny Baa and the end of the run but it’s tinged with a slight relief that all three of us are in one piece, as are our machines. The blast over the Mountain confirms to me that the level on which the top riders operate is totally otherworldly. There’s no way I have the talent and bravery necessary to commit to blind corners at 150mph+, even without the prospect of oncoming traffic. My reverence towards these riders only grows with exposure to their world.
We also have Monday clear so we elect to head to the north of the island. By now, the road furniture is being replaced and we find, much to our delight, that speed limits are being lifted in several places. It would appear that the authorities impose artificial limits during TT fortnight to try and control the tourists. Our primary destination is the Isle of Man Motor Museum at Jurby, adjacent to the airfield, which itself hosts some motorcycle racing.
The museum is an impressive building – large and airy with a vast array of exhibits on two wheels and four (plus a couple riding on eight...). The collection is entirely personal and built up by local entrepreneurs Denis and Darren Cunningham. Each exhibit is described in detail, including the story behind its procurement, its personal history and its significance to the family. From diminutive Peel P50 to a Routemaster bus, it’s hard to know where to start. There is a definite American flavour to the collection and the range of flower cars is fascinating – it’s rare to see one, let alone a dozen.
Highlights include a TVR Tuscan racecar, tiny 160mph drag bike and one of only six Citroen DS23 Tissiers – the eight-wheeled transporters built in 1970. It’s an absolute treasure trove and certainly among the most diverting automotive museums I’ve ever visited.
We travel from Jurby to Ramsey where we pause for a break at Conrod’s, the coffee shop owned by Conor Cummins. The place is tastefully decorated with memorabilia and Cummins’ podium laurels from the previous week’s Senior TT rest above the packaged sandwiches; it doesn’t get much more authentic than that.
From Ramsey, we divert away from the Mountain course and pause at the famous Laxey Wheel for a drink and a potter around. We haven’t the time to visit the attraction itself but we explore the area a little on foot and observe from afar. The Laxey Wheel is the largest water wheel in the world and was built to act as a water pump for the nearby Great Laxey Mines complex. A proper exploration beckons for our next trip to the island.
Our ferry back to the mainland leaves on the Tuesday afternoon so we take advantage of one last excursion and head back to Laxey so we can ride the Snaefell Mountain Railway to the summit. The views are wonderful as you snake up the hillside, the mining evident in the valley below. Laxey Wheel passes to our right and there is a genuine frisson of excitement as we cross the TT course at Bungalow. For the first time during our trip, the mountain is shrouded in cloud. We find ourselves at the top of the island but blessed without the panorama we had expected. We have to conclude that it was better to have enjoyed the racing under uninterrupted sunshine and count our blessings.
Still, what a way to close out an amazing ten days on the Isle of Man. This is a place rich in history, with its own distinct culture. The racing is central to that for us but the track action is only part of the appeal. For an entire community to throw open its doors to petrolheads from around the world is unique in my experience – it’s intoxicating and all-consuming. We must return but decide that we should wait: this has been such a perfect trip that an immediate follow-up would surely disappoint. The veterans are right though – the TT grabs your soul.
The museum sits very close to Fairy Bridge, where we attempt to stop but are thwarted by the navigational ineptitude of the group leader in the silver Porsche. We’ll have to try and meet the fairies next time.
Our ultimate destination on this part of the island is Castletown, home of Rushen Castle. This is a deeply historic castle and it offers a fascinating reveal of the governance of the Isle of Man and its place in British history. Castletown is the administrative centre of the island, with Rushen Castle the monarchic home of the King of Mann. This title was given up during the 16th century when the incumbent decided he would sooner be “a great lord than a petty king’, since when the reigning British monarch has assumed the title King of Mann, while the Stanley family assumed the title of Lord of Mann until overthrown by parliamentarians during the civil war.
It’s a window into a period of history and a part of the world about which I know little and we thoroughly enjoy exploring the castle. The views out across the sea and the small, ancient town are fantastic – well worth an afternoon out.
We return north via a lap of the Billown circuit, and are delighted to find the speed limits have lifted so we are able to drive at a reasonable pace. We continue north over derestricted roads, enjoying the opportunity to stretch our machinery legally. We branch off to Peel, though struggle to navigate our way to a rest point on the fly and decide to explore further on wheels.
There’s a cracking road out of Peel and back towards the TT course, emerging near Kirk Michael. It’s bumpy and twisty, and probably the only place on the island where I can put some distance between the 911 and Chris’s mental Fireblade, the scarred Tarmac causing him to lift from his seat on a regular basis. Strangely, though the road isn’t fast, I enjoy this drive as much as any all week. We find no traffic and the Porsche can really be hustled. It’s not agile like a Lotus but you learn to use the mass to your advantage, gaining confidence and lunging down each straight in on a wave of boosted torque. There’s little chance for a rest and, though I rarely breach 70mph, I’m buzzing by the time we hit the main road again.
We continue to follow the TT course and finally – a week into our trip – get a clear run at the Mountain course, closed for one more day to two-way traffic. It’s quieter on the roads now than it had been during race week and we file out of Ramsey with some excitement. Ramsey Hairpin is still within the speed limited zone so we proceed with care, emerging at the Gooseneck and able to step up the pace. I have no idea which way the road goes so this is scarcely a balls-out run but we press on as hard as we feel is safe and prudent. A couple of well-ridden superbikes howl past up the Mountain Mile; they evidently know the course and are attacking beautifully – we keep them in sight for barely a minute.
It’s initially disorientating to use the full extent of the road but it starts to feel natural and it makes overtaking really easy. Once dispatched by the superbike pilots, we have a clear run and are not overtaken again over the Mountain. We run at a reasonable pace and it’s so much fun getting to roll the car into fast corners at autobahn speeds without the worry of oncoming traffic or zealous policing.
It’s a comedown to reach the Creg Ny Baa and the end of the run but it’s tinged with a slight relief that all three of us are in one piece, as are our machines. The blast over the Mountain confirms to me that the level on which the top riders operate is totally otherworldly. There’s no way I have the talent and bravery necessary to commit to blind corners at 150mph+, even without the prospect of oncoming traffic. My reverence towards these riders only grows with exposure to their world.
We also have Monday clear so we elect to head to the north of the island. By now, the road furniture is being replaced and we find, much to our delight, that speed limits are being lifted in several places. It would appear that the authorities impose artificial limits during TT fortnight to try and control the tourists. Our primary destination is the Isle of Man Motor Museum at Jurby, adjacent to the airfield, which itself hosts some motorcycle racing.
The museum is an impressive building – large and airy with a vast array of exhibits on two wheels and four (plus a couple riding on eight...). The collection is entirely personal and built up by local entrepreneurs Denis and Darren Cunningham. Each exhibit is described in detail, including the story behind its procurement, its personal history and its significance to the family. From diminutive Peel P50 to a Routemaster bus, it’s hard to know where to start. There is a definite American flavour to the collection and the range of flower cars is fascinating – it’s rare to see one, let alone a dozen.
Highlights include a TVR Tuscan racecar, tiny 160mph drag bike and one of only six Citroen DS23 Tissiers – the eight-wheeled transporters built in 1970. It’s an absolute treasure trove and certainly among the most diverting automotive museums I’ve ever visited.
We travel from Jurby to Ramsey where we pause for a break at Conrod’s, the coffee shop owned by Conor Cummins. The place is tastefully decorated with memorabilia and Cummins’ podium laurels from the previous week’s Senior TT rest above the packaged sandwiches; it doesn’t get much more authentic than that.
From Ramsey, we divert away from the Mountain course and pause at the famous Laxey Wheel for a drink and a potter around. We haven’t the time to visit the attraction itself but we explore the area a little on foot and observe from afar. The Laxey Wheel is the largest water wheel in the world and was built to act as a water pump for the nearby Great Laxey Mines complex. A proper exploration beckons for our next trip to the island.
Our ferry back to the mainland leaves on the Tuesday afternoon so we take advantage of one last excursion and head back to Laxey so we can ride the Snaefell Mountain Railway to the summit. The views are wonderful as you snake up the hillside, the mining evident in the valley below. Laxey Wheel passes to our right and there is a genuine frisson of excitement as we cross the TT course at Bungalow. For the first time during our trip, the mountain is shrouded in cloud. We find ourselves at the top of the island but blessed without the panorama we had expected. We have to conclude that it was better to have enjoyed the racing under uninterrupted sunshine and count our blessings.
Still, what a way to close out an amazing ten days on the Isle of Man. This is a place rich in history, with its own distinct culture. The racing is central to that for us but the track action is only part of the appeal. For an entire community to throw open its doors to petrolheads from around the world is unique in my experience – it’s intoxicating and all-consuming. We must return but decide that we should wait: this has been such a perfect trip that an immediate follow-up would surely disappoint. The veterans are right though – the TT grabs your soul.
Pericoloso said:
Flipping heck ,your reports and pics from motorsport events globally are just the best.
Thank you for making the effort.....
Thank you, mate - very kind. I love writing the reports so it's really no hardship Thank you for making the effort.....
We are off to Florida in a couple of weeks for the IndyCar at St Petersburg and the Sebring 12Hours so will be sure to share that story once it's written - though I am a bit slow!
Turn7 said:
Wow, what a really great post...
Ive long been in mental dispute with myself over the TT, but have, over the last few years, actually gotten past the "annual road racer cull" image it presents.
To the point I actually want to to visit myself. Posts like yours add to the curiouslty as well.
And then I see how much the ferry costs for a car !!!!
I can totally get that and every conversation I had about our trip with non-racing folk descended into death toll discussion. It really does feel like an anachronism but that's what sets it apart. I would strongly recommend you go - I don't think you'll regret it. Ive long been in mental dispute with myself over the TT, but have, over the last few years, actually gotten past the "annual road racer cull" image it presents.
To the point I actually want to to visit myself. Posts like yours add to the curiouslty as well.
And then I see how much the ferry costs for a car !!!!
In terms of costs, I think my ferry from Liverpool was about £500 - it would have been cheaper if my wife and our friend hadn't wanted to take their 'bikes. We paid £1500 between three of us to share a full house via AirBnB for ten nights. Thereafter, it's really cheap! We shopped at Tesco and took picnic lunches. Spectating is basically free and nowhere seems to jack up their prices for the fortnight. Beer at the Railway was less than £4/pint. As summer holidays go, it wasn't that pricey.
Those in the know reckon that chartering a little plane between a small group is the way to go. Perhaps £300 per head for a day out. Actually quite reasonable.
Thanks very much for the time and effort you went to to paint such a picture of your trip. Thoroughly enjoyable reading and very interesting to read when written from the perspective of someone who doesn't live and breathe bikes.
Ill be ticking it off the bucket list this year although very much doubt it'll be a one time thing.
Ill be ticking it off the bucket list this year although very much doubt it'll be a one time thing.
ar-em-en said:
Thanks very much for the time and effort you went to to paint such a picture of your trip. Thoroughly enjoyable reading and very interesting to read when written from the perspective of someone who doesn't live and breathe bikes.
Ill be ticking it off the bucket list this year although very much doubt it'll be a one time thing.
Thanks, mate - really appreciate you reading and responding. I definitely don’t live and breathe motorcycles, though I do totally love watching the racing and the opportunity to see those riders on that circuit will stay with me forever. I’m sure you’ll love every moment of your TT experience - I just hope you’re blessed with good weather like we had in 2018. Maybe you’ll see a 136mph lap? Ill be ticking it off the bucket list this year although very much doubt it'll be a one time thing.
Awesome write up, some awesome photos there and a really good insight to what the TT is all about. You were so lucky with the weather and the lap record being broken by quite some margin. It does amaze me that the lap record is nigh on 136mph now, quite something and being able to find the extra speed to get that is not easy at all (speaking from my own experience). Just shows how much the game has moved on. Well done once more and glad you enjoyed the experience.
Great write up. I was in the Churchyard at Union Mills visible in the first pictures from the Railway Inn. It was my first time at the TT in 2018. It won't be the last. I have to say this event will blow anyone away who has any chance of being impressed by the racing of vehicles. Truly epic bucket list stuff. Great atmosphere, people, the lot.
chevronb37 said:
ar-em-en said:
Thanks very much for the time and effort you went to to paint such a picture of your trip. Thoroughly enjoyable reading and very interesting to read when written from the perspective of someone who doesn't live and breathe bikes.
Ill be ticking it off the bucket list this year although very much doubt it'll be a one time thing.
Thanks, mate - really appreciate you reading and responding. I definitely don’t live and breathe motorcycles, though I do totally love watching the racing and the opportunity to see those riders on that circuit will stay with me forever. I’m sure you’ll love every moment of your TT experience - I just hope you’re blessed with good weather like we had in 2018. Maybe you’ll see a 136mph lap? Ill be ticking it off the bucket list this year although very much doubt it'll be a one time thing.
The main thing for me will be seeing everyone flying round, looking at the bikes in the paddock and most importantly everyone going home safe. Adam Lyon was testing his bike at cartagena in march last year and me and a friend were in the same garage. Very sobering to wish him well when he packed up and then turning on the telly to watch the highlights and seeing what hado happened.
Now that’s a write up!
I was going to go this year but struggled with ferries etc so booked 3 days at portimao instead!
Having previously lived in n.ireland I have experienced many road racing events, as well as volunteering doing various things around the NW200 circuit, I do understand road racing but I just HAVE to experience the TT.
Awesome write up mate!
I was going to go this year but struggled with ferries etc so booked 3 days at portimao instead!
Having previously lived in n.ireland I have experienced many road racing events, as well as volunteering doing various things around the NW200 circuit, I do understand road racing but I just HAVE to experience the TT.
Awesome write up mate!
My first post on PH, but I wanted to say hi as an ex-TT racer (sidecars). I see there are a few other ex-TT racers on PH too, and if anyone is going to be going over this year (whether racer, fan, or bored Other Half) then pop by the Rider Retirements office and say hi as I'm volunteering there for practice week and first half of race week.
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