Derry to the Isle of Man

Oh man. So we're currently on a bus en route to London from Liverpool (after waking up at 5 to pack up our tent, catch a taxi to a ferry, to a bus, to two trains, to our current bus (then the London metro to get to our hostel), and after three days camping on the Isle of Man, I'm still feeling a bit giddy about the experience. For those of you who aren't familiar, since 1907, arguably the most extreme motorcycle races (time trials, technically) have taken place on a twisty, often absurdly narrow, and just all around baffling mountain course (about 36 miles/lap). The island's lack of prevalent speed limits fostered a healthy racing culture that easily turned the yearly TT (tourist trophy - anyone can enter, if they qualify) into a Mecca for the most serious adrenaline junkies, motorsport enthusiasts, and, I suppose, curious world travelers. This was sort of an odd-ball goal for our trip - not too easy to get to, and as we learned recently, a trip that most people make bookings for a year ahead of time. Last minute ferry bookings only really allowed us to stay three days, which, with the races scheduled every other day, only gave us one full day to watch the madness.

We arrived late evening on "Mad Sunday" - the day where the mountain course is opened up for any of the ~40,000 visitors who have come for the races, many of whom on their own overpowered sports bikes; a day we've also learned many locals pray for rain on (the number of visitors who have died by testing themselves on the course during these weeks is actually pretty horrifying). The entire island was rumbling with enthusiastic revving of just about any combination of two (sometimes three) wheels and an engine that one could imagine. We grabbed a bus to our campsite (which had some of the last spots available in an overflow field behind the local pub), which happened to be on the exact opposite end of the island from the ferry port (thus the cab this morning), but was nice enough. While the general reputation of biker communities may lead you to guess otherwise, we we're very quick to learn how incredibly convivial and welcoming the people who flock to the event generally were. We met a large number of locals and other veterans of the scene who were overwhelmingly welcoming, and above all, excited that were about to experience it for the first time.

Wednesday turned out to be a glorious day for the races. Cool temperatures, light wind, clear blue skies. On a tip from some guys who had been coming to the same area to watch the races for years, we walked about a kilometer down the road through the tiny town of Kirk Michael, and ended up finding a great spot that gave us a long view up and down through the shop-lined, narrow town road: complete with a cozy stone flower bed that made a great bench for us and an extremely friendly northern English couple. It also turned out to be a stationing point for a group of race marshalls - veteran race enthusiasts who had volunteered to make sure that portion of the track was well tended to (free of stray soccer balls, dangerously wandering spectators, and the like). Everyone around us seemed to be excitedly anticipating our reaction as much as they were the first bikes to drop around the corner up the road from us. We quickly found out why. As astonishing as so many of the videos out there are (they still amaze me), there is no way to describe how ridiculously exhilarating it is when these guys explode around the corner and are roaring by you in an instant at 170+ miles an hour down this quaint, bouncy little town road.

Sorry for the poor quality - hopefully it'll give you a bit of an idea.

This was a good opportunity for testing out the "Super Slow Motion" mode on our tiny camera - again, not the best quality but I like it anyway

Our first races were on, relatively speaking, the smaller bikes of the main races, and as mind blowing as they were, the intensity was instantly superseded in the afternoon when the first of the big bikes (1000cc to the 600cc in the morning) rocketed past us, hitting about 180 in the straightaway in front of us as they propel into a top-gear wheelie down the long hill. I'm really not sure I've ever witnessed anything even close to this - as far as how close to the edge people will push the limits of danger and control. You'd see guys fishtail out of the corner, still accelerating to speeds I've never come close to outside of a small airplane, swerving so they'd miss a protruding curve by, I swear, no more than a few inches. I'll tone down the effusiveness at this point, but seriously, after two rainy, slow days, I'm still grinning. 

While we missed out on the biggest of the races (the 6 lap Superbike and Senior races), we had a wonderfully full day, which also included trails for sidecars and electric bikes - which were both incredible in their own unique ways. There are plenty of much higher quality pictures and videos out there if you're curious, but here are the rest of our best.

Campsite

Our favorite marshall - started marshalling in '96, been watching the races since '64.

You have no idea how many tries it took me to actually catch one in frame.

Popping around the corner

Unfortunately didn't catch any of the ones where the guy on the side has his feet flying behind him

Lucky catch

Happy campers

We spent Monday evening drinking with a couple of goofy English guys, ending with an offer to hit them up next time we come to races to borrow a motorcycle (very tempting). Yesterday was pretty rainy and miserable, and we were happy to take it easy, particularly with today's 17 hours of travelling with a 5am start. It'll be nice to get back to an indoor bed for the next two nights, then it's back to the tent for a few nights at a nearby music festival where we'll meet up with a few friendly British girls we met in Bulgaria. Hard to believe we have only about three weeks left, but still so much to do.