100th anniversary of the Isle of Man TT
(Page 2 of 6)
November/December 2007
Story and photos by Jason Roberts
There were, however, a few, er, logistical problems I’d have to deal with on my trip, mainly the fact I couldn’t carry gear in my usual duffle bag as my hands would be full of crutches. I decided to use a backpack, something I’d always associated with the grungy young touristas I’d hung with during my years living in Southeast Asia. How to carry a heavy pack on a busted shoulder? No worries, I’d work that out on arrival.
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England first
Arriving in Liverpool on England’s west coast off the train from London, it was obvious that something big was happening in the motorcycle world. The Steam Packet ferry that travels to the Isle of Man from Liverpool was absolutely packed with bikes, and more were streaming in every second. The berths had been booked years in advance (good thing I got mine in 2006) and although the ferry company chartered three huge ships from France to bolster their fleet, thousands of TT-ers were left stranded or re-routed to different ports north of Liverpool for crossings in the wee hours of the morning. All told, an estimated 92,000 people were ferried to the Isle, out of some 150,000 who attended the races. Needless to say, I felt lucky when I found a seat amid the leather-clad hordes on board. I sat next to an older couple who’d been riding to the Isle from their home in Birmingham for the last 40 TTs! During the course of my stay I met quite a few others who matched that record as well. “First TT?” the man asked me. “It won’t be your last.”
At only 32 miles long by 13 miles wide, the Isle is small and rural, its population of about 71,000 mostly clustered in the port town of Douglas on the east coast.
“Quaint” is the word I kept thinking of, which accurately describes the neat lines of Victorian row-houses and the rough-hewn stone walls of medieval cottages on the island, not to mention the funky antique electric and steam railroad lines that travel between the burgs of Ramsey to the north, and Douglas and Castletown to the south.
My host Tom graciously met me at the pier as I hobbled off the boat. His house was on a quiet street, in an immaculately clean neighborhood with views of distant green hills with nary a whisper of the race noise to be heard — perfect accommodation, and a bargain at just $50 per night, as hotels were going for upwards of $250 per night — if you could find a room.
David, a native Manxman who lived next door, offered to drive me to a good spot for viewing, all the while regaling me with TT tales of yore. “In the early ‘60s, my friend hosted the Honda racing team at his house. This was the first time anyone here had seen an Asian person, you understand, so there was a bit of culture shock, especially when the Japanese guys walked around the house with nothing on but their bathrobes, and spread mayonnaise over everything they ate!”
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