classic tt / manx gp [part three]

 saturday dawns early, roads closed before we leave the digs, backroads through foxdale and past the ancient manx parliament, 'tynwald' the oldest parliament in the world with an un-broken legislation dating back over a thousand years and it's roots back in norse history, i have a viewing spot in mind, the douglas road junction, the fast right hander as the riders enter kirk michael village, we park up and walk up the lane and onto the shallow bank, nothing, but nothing can prepare you for the sight and sound of racing in the isle of man, it starts as a steady, un-broken drone in the distance, you have to ask yourself if you are actually imagining it at first, the noise grows as the riders approach and suddenly they are gone in a blur of  speed and movement and sheer explosion of all these things combined, you sit or stand and watch and its almost beyond comprehension that a human being can go so fast on a motorcycle, on public roads, i find myself uttering 'fucking hell' 'fuck' 'fuck me' 'holy fuck' every time a rider goes past, awesome is a term that is much overused today, it really should be reserved for the spectacle that is road racing on the isle of man.
        back to the dig's after the roads open and i suggest we should wash the bikes after yesterdays ride up to liverpool in the rain, they are both ditched and i want them looking their best for sundays festival at jurby, a pleasant hour post-racing and pre-pub is spent fettling in the warm sunshine, 'that's me done dangerous, i'm off for a shower and there's a peroni with my name on it' dangerous is still polishing away at the already mint, yellow 750ss, i can't resist one more look at my bike and as i turn i can't believe what i'm seeing, almost in slow motion my bike rolls forward very slightly on the gradient of the driveway, the sidestand retracts and it arcs almost gracefully collecting the dangerous ducati as it falls, bollocks, we lift the bikes and survey the damage, dave's screen is broken and his fairing snapped just past the mounting bracket, mine has a bent front brake lever, bent rear brake lever and ugly, deep scarring to the once immaculate paintwork, i want to be sick, theres nothing we can do here, at least the bikes are rideable, our landlady, rosemary, produces a tube of contact adhesive and we make a temporary repair to dave's damaged screen and fairing, i think about trying to straighten my levers but decide against it, cast aluminium has a tendency to snap if you try and bend it back to shape. the rest of the night see's two miserable bastards drinking to relieve the pain and trying to figure out what happened, they say everything look's better in the morning but as we get ready for jurby i can't say i agree! so, it's off to jurby for the festival, i reckon the island must have tipped into the irish sea a tad with the amount of bikes and people on the north west of the island, every bike you have ever heard of, [and a lot that you haven't] was present and correct and at jurby, you really didn't have enough time to see everything, from the race paddock with lot's of the stars just mingling with the fans, the past-masters parade on rare, racing exotica to the bikes parked up in lines in the huge carpark, a really, really good day out if you have any interest at all in two-wheeled stuff, we check out late afternoon and decide to head for ramsey along the course and up onto the mountain for a 'brisk' ride over to douglas for a brew, you won't believe what happened next..........