For a sleepy little island described by its inhabitants as "40,000 drunks clinging to a rock," the Isle of Man moves at a fast pace. The lesson in hyper velocity began the minute I stepped out of the tiny Manx airport, when my taxi driver decided that the best way to get me to my hotel, located 18 miles to the north, was to whip her minivan along the fabled TT course at Superbike speeds. That was just the first of many white-knuckle rides in taxis, private cars and on motorcycles that I'd experience during a wacky, exhilarating week in the world's home of rapid acceleration. During my days and nights there, parallels between the 96-year-old Tourist Trophy races held each June and the streetbike-freestyle movement were everywhere; you saw it in the breathless newspaper editorials condemning the two-week festival for being "too dangerous," and in the polarization it caused among motorcyclists.
Personally, I found the TT to be just as much of a King Hell buzz as cranking a stoppie in front of a crowded bus stop--only with better beer than we get back home. Most of the locals agree. Families refinance their houses and put off vacations to get husbands, sons and, occasionally, daughters, started racing the treacherous 37-mile Mountain Course, and they aren't doing so hoping to walk away rich. They're in it for the kicks. They'll gas to you about the adrenalin rush in aiming a sportbike between the Isle of Man's stone walls, sheer cliffs and concrete buildings (which, by the way, don't give much when you smack one at 120 mph). "The first time I ran the TT course, I was 16 and riding a (Yamaha) RD 350--the bike handled like a shopping trolley, but when I was done, I felt like I'd just scaled Mount Everest, shagged Liz Hurley and kicked Saddam Hussein's butt," Keith Wells, 49, a Manx a barman from the capitol city of Douglas, laughs. Wells has fallen and been to the hospital several times because of his addiction to the TT course, but he still tackles it several times during every race week.
Because the TT course is run on public roads, it's open to anyone with an able throttle hand during nonrace hours. And that means anyone, regardless of whether you're riding a lumbering BMW touring rig, an R1 running slicks and racing suspension, a custom streetfighter or a 45-year-old Manx Norton cafe racer. If you have the guts for extreme riding, you can take on every obstacle, from the country roads with no speed limits to the high-speed quarter-mile drop of Bray Hill. It's like going to Daytona and finding that the International Speedway's banking has suddenly become part of Interstate 95.
Borrowing a bike for a day, the TT course provided a lesson in just how fast I'm not--I was passed by a trio of German CBR riders doing knee-downs in the wrong lane. Around a blind corner. Into the fog. I was passed by moms rushing along the course to pick their little Nualas and Gareths up from soccer practice, and even a laundry delivery van managed to show me its taillight. While wheelies, endos and other stunts are rare enough on the island that any rider who attempts one is mobbed by crowds of appreciative spectators, it seems like fast corner carving is the Isle of Man's national pastime.
It's not that stunting is unpopular here; the Manx riders just seem so intent on dragging their knees that no one's bothered to learn other disciplines. But they understand. The Starboyz T-shirt I wore proved as welcome as a free round on a hot day, while televisions in pubs were tuned to the BBC's Men and Motors channel, where American stunt teams from the Wheelie Boyz to Team X-Treem appear in popular documentary films. During the Ramsey Sprint dragraces, local boys lined up to offer their best imitations of professional British stunters such as Neil Porter and Sonnie Ferguson, who did their own well-rehearsed freestyle routines before packed crowds on Sunday.
If this sounds like heaven, it almost is. In reality, people having this much on-the-edge fun on motorcycles is bound to make some people nervous. So even as the TT generates millions in tourist revenue, some residents have started a movement to ban the event because of its inherent dangers. Most of the world's top roadracers won't go near the place, while every year the event is boycotted by riders who say sensible motorcyclists should know better than to risk their safety all for a few kicks.
Sounds familiar, doesn't it?
Just like stunt riding, people either love or hate the TT. There's no shortage of folks hoping it would just dry up and go away, and every year there are serious discussions about making this one the last. That nearly happened one sunny Thursday afternoon when favored racer David Jefferies was killed during a practice session. A roadside memorial quickly sprung up where "Big Dave" had crashed, but his family and fellow racers spoke up to silence the hue and cry to cancel the remaining races. "This doesn't really change our attitudes about the TT," David's father Tony said, himself a former TT racer. "David loved riding here and he knew and accepted the risks."
That would make a great T-shirt design for sportbike riders, stunters and TT fanatics everywhere. Sometimes, the fun is worth any risks they can throw our way.