classic tt / manx g.p.

i'm out of derbyshire and onto the moorlands of staffordshire, its still pitch black and i settle my chest against the tank bag and settle into a rhythm, the headlight on the ducati is brilliant and shows the road ahead and more importantly the reflective paint on the rear of the speed camera's that are dotted along this road, into the deserted market town of leek and out past rudyard lake before cutting across the 'b' roads into congleton, a few miles later and i'm on the m6, dawn is just breaking as i join the nose to tail convoy of heavy goods vehicles making their way north at a staggering 56 m.p.h before hanging a left onto the m62 for the run into liverpool, the m62 just sort of fades away and i follow the photocopied google map instructions in the clear pocket of the top of the tank bag, i eventually spot the golden arch of maccee-dee's and pull in to grab a java, i take my coffee outside and sit on one of the benches listening to the big duc ticking as it cools and watching the steady procession of yawning builders and plumbers collecting their early morning, artery hardening, fat-fix, i reckon i'm around five miles from the ferry terminal, so i finish my drink and set off, i abandon the map now as i can see the liver building in the distance and just point the bike in that direction, i almost ride past the entrance to the ferry as i'm gawping at the waterfront buildings and eventually make an undignified entrance, wrong gear, dry clutch rattling and join the end of the queue of bikes, take of my lid and check in at the office, boarding pass in hand and we are allowed down the ramp onto the quayside to join yet another queue, where, your's truly is picked out by security for questioning and a bag search, its always the same, i always get stopped, don't know why, must just have one of those guilty looking mugs i guess? our ferry hoves into view on the inward leg of its sailing from the island and we are soon directed to board where a small army of matelot's are waiting to lash our bikes to the rails that run the length of the catamaran 'the manannan', bike in gear, sidestand down and before i've removed my tankbag my bike is firmly secured with a length of rope and a couple of knot's, up into the cabin area and we are away, out of the shelter of the mersey and  morecambe bay and into the irish sea, i take a walk to the back of the craft and watch england slowly disappear and our path marked by the swell as we plough through the sea, two hours and thirty minutes later and we are in douglas harbour, i make my way to the bike, untie the restraints and slap my bag on, the noise is incredible and the fumes makes your eyes water, booming exhausts bouncing back off the steel walls of the craft as we wait to disembark, off the quay and i can't help it, i turn right instead of left towards my dig's and head up the glencrutchery road to the pit's, park up and just have a wander around, the first bikes i see are the hrd vinny, the beemer, white walled custom, a beautiful triton with a triple engine shoe-horned into the featherbed frame, into the pit's and there's the o'kane honda of the late robert dunlop, a little further on is the new norton dominator, that's it, i'm done, i can't take all this in, i'd better go and find my dig's.............