The Isle of Man Tourist Trophy

by Jim Anderson
Issue #61--September 2003

I had heard about the Isle of Man and the motorcycle races there several years ago. After reading reviews of the race and festivities, I knew I had to see it for myself. This winter I found my self stationed in England while serving in the military, and was able to bring my motorcycle over. As work slowed down in the spring, I was able to arrange time off. I had to scramble for lodging and ferry ride, but I decided to do whatever I needed to in order to attend the races.

The Isle of Man is in the Irish Sea, midway between Wales, Scotland and Ireland. It is approximately 33 miles long and 13 miles wide. On a clear day you can see all three. In 1907 they started a motorcycle race on the island roads, and it has been going ever since. The only time the race hasn't been run is during World Wars One and Two, and during the Hoof and Mouth disease scare of 2001. The race is a 38 mile course that runs from the capital city of Douglas. The road runs south then west to the western coast, then north to Peel, east to Ramsey, then south across the spine of the island, at elevations approaching 1400 feet, then back down to Douglas.

The history of racing on the island's public roads goes all the way back to 1904, when the first automobile race was held on the island. Races were held in France in 1900, from Paris to Lyon. The automobiles representing each country had to be built entirely in the country sponsoring the automobile. The winning country would then host the next race. In 1902, England won, but there was a national speed limit of 20 miles per hour. Due to a loophole in the rules, the races were held in Ireland in 1903. An official for the English delegation believed he could get the separate parliament of the Isle of Man to agree to host races on public roads. His confidence was bolstered by the fact his cousin was the Governor of the Isle of Man. He, with the governor's help, was able to get the island's parliament to agree to a car race starting in 1905. Two years later they ran the first motorcycle race on the island.

The race is a two week festival that sees the island population nearly doubling the island's population of 75000. The two week festival is broken down into practice week and race week. The course is shut down for practice sessions during practice week. The Sunday between practice and race week is known as Mad Sunday, when the roads are closed and the course opened for the public to ride. The race course is closed during races and practices, but open before and afterward, when most riders will head onto the course. Enforcement is pretty relaxed, and it is not uncommon to see people flying around traffic doing well over 100 miles per hour. The course is laid out with traffic going clockwise during the race but open to both directions for normal traffic flow. Very little traffic attempts counter-clockwise during the festival, though. Too often overly exuberant riders pass on hill crests or around corners. This year there were several accidents involving the public, including at least one fatal crash. Unfortunately there were also two tragic accidents involving racers this year. David Jefferies, last year's most successful racer and owner of several track records, crashed after hitting oil from another rider's blown engine at 160 mph, struck a brick wall, and was killed almost instantly. His motorcycle struck a telegraph pole, knocking it down. The wires stretched across the road and almost decapitated another rider. His bike broke three of the wires. The fourth broke, but not before almost pulling Jim Moodie from his bike. He was left with a nasty bruise on his throat. Another accident involved a rider in the parade lap, an annual event on the first race day involving classic bikes. His engine seized, throwing him off and into a brick wall less than a mile from the start of the race.

The race is not about the negatives, but instead about the amazing displays of talent on the course. It is a beautiful island, with roads often lined with hedgerows or stone walls. Curiously enough, there are palms and warm weather plants everywhere. Due to the warm currents, and the proximity of the Irish Sea, it almost never freezes, and the summers are cool and rarely over 80 degrees Fahrenheit. That also brings humidity, and with it, fog and mist on the mountain sections of the course.

Things were slowing down at work, so I started looking at getting to the races. When I found out I could take the time off, I scrambled to find someplace to stay and a book a ferry. There is a website where people post lodging wanted and available. I checked it and found a place in Ramsey for the race week, three blocks from the race track. The owner of the house was leaving the island for the two weeks of the festival, and was renting rooms to the public. Her son was going to watch the home, and it only cost twenty pounds a night. I was to share the house with a British couple and two American women. Booking the ferry was more difficult, however. Just like with airline tickets, there are no bargains to be had during busy times. On short notice, I had to pay a premium. It was almost one hundred fifty pounds, about two hundred forty dollars and could only get tickets from 6:30 pm on Sunday evening, and going back at 7:30am the following Sunday, two days after the races ended.

I rode the almost two hundred miles to Liverpool where I needed to catch the ferry. The day was beautiful, about 75 degrees and hardly a cloud in the sky. I arrived in Liverpool following a group of locals that brought me directly to the docks. We had an hour wait before we could load the bikes onto the ferry, but then we were off. The ride takes almost three hours, and en route, I tried to memorize the directions to the house where I was staying. When I got off the ferry it was pissing rain. My rain gear was buried in the bottom of my bags. I thought since it was only a ten mile drive, I would be able to make it without getting too wet. Boy was I wrong. By the time I got to Ramsey, I was so wet there must have been an inch of water in my boots, and the map with phone numbers was almost illegible

I did find the house, and there was a couple outside the door, waiting to get in. They had a cell phone, and I had the number for the son and daughter of the family that owned the home. We called and the son showed up to let us in. I had a fold out bed in the living room. The couple had a room to themselves, and the two American women shared the other room. The son had also rented his apartment to a couple of his friends, so he stayed in the dining room on the floor.

The next morning, Monday, the couple said they would meet me near Bungalow Bridge. Bungalow is about midway along the mountain section, between Ramsey and Douglas. The course runs along the side of Mount Snaefell, the highest point on the island. There is a small museum and café there. You can see the racers come around the side of the mountain towards you, through a chicane, then accelerate through one of the faster stretches of the course. Unfortunately, that morning, as is too often the case, mist had settled on the course. They closed the course at 10:00, and the races are supposed to start at 10:45. The organizers will not run the race when there is mist on the mountains. The racers cannot see the course through the cloud cover. Also, in the unfortunate event of a crash, the helicopter cannot see to land for medical evacuation. Races that day didn't start until almost 1:00. Luckily it is a fairly comfortable place to wait out the delays. That day they had two races and the parade lap of classic bikes. That is also the day one of the riders crashed and died.

The next day, Tuesday, was a non-race day. I spent the day riding the roads of the island, checking out the scenery. There is a lot of history on the island, including one of the most complete medieval castles in the British Islands. The residents of the island are great. They recommended several places to go to watch the races, and on Wednesday I watched from Bray Hill. The only thing between me and the bikes going by at speeds up to 170 miles per hour was a small wooden barricade. This is the area where a classic bike seized during the parade lap on Monday, sending the rider into a stone wall and killing him.

Thursday I did more exploring on the island. Friday I headed to Rhen Cullen to watch. There is a small field there, and the owners charge a pound to park in the field. They have a portable outhouse and a burger stand. The road and racers pass by about eight feet from the stone wall everyone sits on. I picked a decent spot, and waited. Two spectators from London sat near me, and we passed the time talking, waiting for the races to start. Again, the roads closed at 10:00. You could see the mist on the mountain in the distance. The announcers, via radio broadcast, let us know the status of the races. There were two races scheduled for the day. One race, the Production 600 lasted four laps, and the Senior TT, which was six laps. The mist never really cleared on the mountain. At about 3:00 they started the Production 600, but midway through the second lap they called the race. The organizers held out hope they could still run the Senior TT. However, as 7:00 approached, they called the races for the day. If they cannot start the race by 7:00, they call the races and hope to run them the next day.

The next day, Saturday, they closed the road as usual, and we waited again. At about 1:00, they started the race, but reduced the race from six to four laps. That sounds like a very short race, but remember the course is almost 40 miles long, and even at average speeds of 120 miles an hour, a lap takes almost twenty minutes. They cannot start the entire field at one time due to the narrowness of the road, so they start the bikes at ten second intervals. The race field can be eighty bikes deep, so bikes are starting every ten seconds for almost fifteen minutes. There is almost constant action.

Douglas, the capital of the island, sees a lot of action. The atmosphere is like the main drag of Daytona. A police sergeant stood on the street directing traffic. Duke Video had a camera on the street, and a crowd had gathered around that end of the street. The sergeant interacted with people, including bikers doing wheelies, brakestands and donuts. He made no effort to stop them, and even hammed it up for the camera, including allowing someone to take his hat and walk around, mimicking him. That was shown on the display screen, as well as panning the crowd, where women would pull their shirts off to be seen on the screen.

Duke Video, as well as other companies, put out videos and DVDs of the races. Most do a ride around the course, with a camera mounted on a racers bike. You can get a feel for the race, for the adrenaline as you come round a corner, feeling the brush on the side of the road touching your shoulder as you lean. At the same time, you feel some sadness for the people who have died on these roads. I wondered how long the race will continue. Unlike dedicated racetracks, there is no run-off area or straw bales to protect the riders. When a rider comes down a road with brick or stone walls on both sides of the road, there is no forgiveness. Every year there are calls to end the race because of the deaths. Every year friends and family members defend the races, saying the loved-ones died doing what they loved. How long will it continue, when even the best racers die? Inevitably, it will change in some way, but will it retain the spectacular atmosphere?

M.M.M.