Unfinished Project [Part Two] Getting There.

tuesday morning, the classic tt is over, suprisingly, [or not really i suppose] very few of the classic racing fratenity chose to leave the island because tomorrow, wednesday, see's the start of the manx g.p. festival, known as the 'amateur' t.t. in some circles, not in the loveless view though, these boys and girls take the challenge of the mountain course as seriously as the tt rider's in june and should not be dismissed as anything but the real deal, often racing on a shoestring, sacrificing everything for a crack at that fabled 37 and 3/4 miles of tarmac, anyhoo, thats tomorrow, today dangerous and me decide to have a day off from bikes, [until  the italian bike owners gathering later that night at the station pub in port st. mary which we are invited too via a flyer left on the ducati at jurby] today is all about walking and seeing some of the more remote parts of the island, off the tt trail so to speak, it's a cloudy, overcast morning but warm as we set off from port st. mary and up to purt le moirrey,  we find the famous 'arrow' almost by accident, this was filled with tar and set fire during bombing practice in the second world war, the pilots and navigators following the light of the arrow during darkness to drop bombs on pontoons moored out at sea to hone their skills for missions over germany, the site also includes the anchor from the mona queen three which helped to rescue troops from the beaches at dunkirk during the allied invasion, after a detour through a bemused locals back garden we pick up the coast path and head out onto the cliff's, [bluffs for our american readers] out past the rocky outcrop of kione y ghoggan and the anvil and stop to view the mighty 'sugarloaf' a massive sea stack rising from the sea above 'the chasms' a series of clifftop to sea level fissures just waiting to swallow up unwary walkers who stray too far from the path through the heather, i stood right on the edge of one and although not afraid of heights, got that 'hair on the back of the neck' thing going on, onwards admiring the views over bay stacka, mountain sheep, long, sharp horns and those spooky as eye's, drunken wasp's, their work done, females fertilized, might as well feast on the late summers harvest of fruit and buzz the bloody tourist's,  beisht kione, or black headed beast, the home of the mythical supernatural creature feared by local fishermen and sailors, spanish head, 100mtrs above sea level and named after a spanish galleon was wrecked here, history literally seeps from the ground here, you can feel the spirits of people past, standing on the shoulders of giants, iron age forts and burial mounds dot the coastline, a steep climb and we are met with a fantastic view of the calf of man, an island off the southwest coast of the island, the word calf is derived from the old nordic 'kalfr' or a small island near a larger island, the treacherous, narrow stretch of water between claiming many victims, i felt almost cheated as we descended down to the nearest point between the island and the 'kalfr' we had done it the hard way, yet as is the norm, the tour buses were spilling out their human cargo to take a snap before moving on to the next tourist attraction, a quick coffee in the cafe and we start to climb again pausing to look back at the view over kitterland and aldrick, the climb ends and we offered views over kione ny garree and the low cloud over bredde head, we descend into port erin, past the ruined marine life observatory on the quayside before sitting and enjoying a light lunch of homemade, [by rosemary, our land lady], buttered bananna and walnut loaf and fresh fruit washed down with a bottle of the finest 'buxton' [made in derbyshire thou knows] spring water, watching the gull's circle overhead and the kid's enjoying their last few days of freedom, swimming and splashing in the calm waters of the bay  before the dreaded return to school for the autumn term, back to the digs via the amazing little narrowgauge manx railway with it's hand-painted badges on the carriages, quick shower and off on the ducati to meet up with sweary mick and chalky at peel harbour overlooking the castle and picturesque harbour, an early autumn afternoon in glorious sunshine, quaffing tea and eating tuna and cheese toasty's by the seaside, brilliant, i'm blessed me, another 'brisk' lap of the tt course and down to the italian owners meeting at the station hotel, it's dropped cold and is drizzling, after an hour or so it's back to the warm welcome of 'the albert' in the harbour, probably the best pub in the isle of man, cold lager, hot food, motorcycle racing on the t.v and the barmaid? brunette and green eyed seeing as you asked and the sweetest smile this side of ripley marketplace.............