[ Out & about ]
Isle of Man first-timer Dom Mattock finds visiting the Manx GP is something he could – and should – have done yonks ago
The Snaefell Mountain course has long held fascination, and I got really invested when Ian Hutchinson won five TTs in a week in 2010. Ever since it’s been my intention to go. But two things have stopped me. Firstly, being organised is a prerequisite and you need to plan 18 months ahead, which I can’t. Secondly, my head is full of ‘what if?’ questions, so l decide the answer is the easier-access Manx GP – ‘TT Lite’ – with pals Gary and accident-prone Chris.
Getting there’s a doddle, right?
The 2.15am Steam Packet ferry from Liverpool, land at our Douglas accommodation first-thing Thursday. One day of practice, two days of racing. Return on the Sunday. Perfect.
Then weather intervenes, and our crossing is cancelled. After frantic replanning. Chris and I book a ferry from Heysham the next morning, but this brings further complications for Gary who books a flight instead. D’oh.
The ride there via Hartington, Buxton and Settle (with the terrific Monks Road from Heyfield to Charlesworth) is great, though. At the ferry terminal we immediately bump into chatty comrades from all over Europe and settle in. Chris suffers badly from getting hangry, so I get pizza delivered direct to the terminal.
How is my pride and joy treated?
We’re anxious how our bikes –BMW S1oooR and Ducati Streetfighter V2 – will be secured on the ferry. I’ve heard dodgy tales, and details on the Steam Packet website are slightly opaque. Turns out they’re strapped down over the seat, and it’s done speedily and efficiently by ferry operatives. In fact, getting on and off the ferry couldn’t be breezier. Having sailed through a Force 9 gale, we’re unleashed with minimum fuss into Isle of Man sunshine.
Douglas seafront is geared for bikes. There’s dedicated parking but also no objections to parking on pavements. Aermacchis, Laverdas and ancient R-model BMWs from Germany and the Netherlands are everywhere.
A rearranged schedule has practice at 1pm. We head south, our journey taking in the Southern 100 course conspicuous by the black and white painted kerbs and scaffold gantries. I stop to point this out to Chris, who is blissfully unaware due to being hangry again.
What’s the island like?
After watching in awe as Chris puts away three fully loaded breakfast baps, a pre-arranged meet with friends takes us to Port Erin. We exchange superlatives about its beauty, then take the A36 (known as The Sloe) to Foxdale.
It’s like a mini-Mountain section, with beautiful tarmac and kind cambers that encourage breezy swinging rather than tear-arsing, and jaw-dropping views. ‘This place is remarkable, beyond my expectations,’ enthuses Chris. Ballacraine gives us our first taste of bikes crashing down gears and tipping in before blasting to the Black Dub. We see McGuinness on a Paton 5oo followed by Dunlop’s 250 two-stroke and Rutter on an XR69. The huge variances in line and speed are fascinating. The day concludes with a ride up to Governor’s Dip and a Thai meal.
How do you view the racing?
There’s a network of roads outside the track and places are accessible while it’s live, but you need a plan. We go to the legendary Creg-Ny-Baa and sit for a cuppa with a chap and his son, who tells stories of past trail-riding derring-do and watching Dave Jefferies in his pomp. It’s ace. We also bump into fellow Leicestershire dwellers Barney and Mark Stackhouse, part of a triumvirate of Laverda Jotas.
Racing starts. This is also ace. Watching a Wiz Norton scream knee-down past a beer garden should be on every racing fan’s list. More weather delays allow us to hop to Ramsey and Parliament Square, but seems that’s it for the racing. Shame. But with the roads opened we go to Ginger Hall, turn around and ride to Ballacraine. It’s pouring down over the Mountain, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alive. Back at our hotel – wet, shattered, cold – Chris says: ‘That was one of the greatest biking days I’ve had. The place and people are amazing. I’m definitely coming back.’
After more disruptions, the ferry back is simple. We slog down the M6 and A5o, and get home tired, happy and having had an epiphany. This is what it’s all about.
