the ferry berth's in douglas and spews it's cargo of bikes, riders, vans and foot passengers onto the wet, greasy, dockside in a cacophony of noise, unburnt hydro-carbon's and slipping clutches, there's only one destination, the grandstand on the glen cruthery road, ten minutes after disembarking and negotiating the pock marked, rough as a badgers arse road and tramlines of douglas sea front, we are parked up on the tennis court at the back of nobles park, i'm buzzing, the sound of racing motorcycles being warmed up prior to evening practice in the spiritual home of road racing, does it ever get any better than this? i think not, the bmw's, pre-war, 'kompressor' bikes, i'm struck with the similarity between them and the 2014 tt winning bike of michael dunlop, 60 years seperate them and yet there's a purity that you only get from a racing motorcycle, nothing glam, black, white and blue and made to go as fast as possible around this unforgiving thirty seven point seven three, three mile course, we watch practice from the grandstand, eat ice cream and revel in being back on the island, a quick ride down south to castletown, past the start and finish line of the southern hundred / billown road race circuit, i resist the urge to get a couple of laps in and instead ride into port erin to catch up with rosemary, our landlady, shower, shave and a couple of pint's in the railway, hello, hello, it's good to be back.........
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