Manx GP 2004

nice old Douglas - in Castletown

Saturday 28th August

After shaking off Friday nights excesses with a brisk bounce about on the mountain bike it was time to prepare for our (belated) annual excursion to the Land of the Manx.
Having given the TT a miss this year we decided to give the Manx GP a try as everyone says it's a little quieter, less headcases and thus a better chance to actually do some riding and to see some racing.
The ride over to Heysham is taken at a relaxed dawdle and punctuated by regular coffee breaks. The sun shines, we have plenty of time and I'm developing that holiday feeling.
Waiting at the ferry terminal we meet "The Man With No Name", obviously an international globe trotter, tastefully tricked GS80/100, on-board computer and GPS, huge tank and sticker splattered panniers. Himself tall, imposing and kitted out with the best Tourag riding kit.
We stick with him for the crossing as TMWNN obviously knows about these things, he tells us that he is meeting up with friends at Sulby Glen, one of who is racing. This man is obviously an enduro god in waiting.
However he still has some mortal traits. In particular the ability to be a complete navigational fuckwit. GPS not loaded with the Isle of Man and a map the size of a postcard ... We guide him to Ramsey and point him in the direction of Sulby via the backroads as the main roads is closed for evening practice.
Lindsey and I then unload the bikes, get changed and hurtle off to the Brit huge amounts of beer and a chance to be entertained by a band called the Bedfords - who are actually quite good.
Here we go again folks...

Typical manx'y thing

Sunday 29th August

7:00am Wake up with hangover and it's pissing it down. Fuck that I'm off back to bed.
9:00am Wake up again, hangover has receded and the sun is starting to come out. Game on.
Everyone else is doing their own thing so Lindsey and I ride down to Laxey to meet up with Andy and Chris, mates from back home also over for the Manx, have a coffee and to plan the day.
The sun is still out and the hefty winds are keeping the clouds away so we all ride off down to Castletown to see what's happening. Googles of old bikes is what's happening, all returning from wherever they go, to park up in town and draw admiring glances as they leak oil seductively on the pavement.
Hell they are loud though these old thumpers. So next time some oldster complains about modern bikes with noisy cans just gently remind them of what they used to ride...

Not a pretty sight I admit - but he seems to be enjoying himself.

From there it's out to Port Erwin for Sunday lunch at Grainger's, a cute out-of-the-way place Chris and Andy had found a previous year when hopelessly lost. They have booked a table so Lindsey and I throw ourselves on the mercy of the court and are allowed to join them.
Cracking place, good grub, friendly staff and the view from the beer garden across Port Erwin and out to the Calf is absolutely stunning.

View from Graingers. Not bad at all.

Much later we leave, stuffed to the gills and all the happier for it.
It's still blowing a good 'un so we abandon any hope of the mountain and head back to Ramsey via Glen Helen, stop for a chat in Parliament Square and get back to the house before the rains start. I wonder if Andy and Chris got back dry or wet?
And later after much faffing about we at last get to the pub. Fancying a change tonight we call in the Ellan, nice pub, good beer then a young group on a hen/stag night appear all in fancy dress. How do young girls manage to make so much noise? I mean I know women can multitask but does this need to include shrieking, talking and cackling all at once? Shouldn't they at least take it in turns to listen to each other?
Or have I just become an old fart?
No, it used to bug me as a kid as well.
So we escape this chaos and wind up further up the road for a couple more beers till Janice and Debbie head homewards, which leaves George, Lindsey and myself to call in the Mitre where we get entertained by a couple of guys on guitar/vocals and an extremely drunk Tracy and friend (with haircut).

Monday 30th August

Another fine but windy day, as in very windy. It's also a race day so the roads are closed from about 9:30 (which coincides with our getting up time) so there is bugger all chance of us getting the bikes out today.
Instead after a quick wander round Ramsey we get the tram out to Laxey. The tram is an interesting way to get about, genuine Victorian technology with a pleasantly refreshing disregard to modern health and safety. The nanny safety that seem to plague England at the moment would have kittens. Yes it's possible to actually jump of the tram while it's moving, especially the back carriage which is open, but simple evolution means it doesn't happen any more. If you see a member of the HSE on board feel free to push them off at any time before they get any more daft ideas.

Ramsey trams, more fun than filling your waders with custard

We disembark at Laxey and have a good mooch about; down to the sea front, into the cafe, along a muddy track and up to the wheel. All thoughts of taking the second tram up the mountain abandoned because the mountain looks like it's still in cloud - so we don't actually get to see any of the racing! Nothing new there then...

Tuesday 31st August

Another fine and sunny day - not at all usual weather patterns for the IOM.
Today's a biking day, the original idea of riding down to the Port Erin Sprint abandoned in preference to Douglas for lunch.
The ride over the mountain is entertaining, Janice sets off at a cracking pace but by the time we're coming in to land at the Grandstand Lindsey in nowhere in sight. Before any real concern starts to set in she roles up complaining the Fazer isn't running right. Hummm.
We discuss the possible mechanical woe's over lunch aided and abetted by Pete, Cherie and Debbie. None the wiser we head down to SS Motorcycles at Castletown then back towards Ramsey. Despite pleading, threats and promises the Fazer is still sulking so we drop it off at Dedman's in Ramsey for their expert advice.
Thus reduced Lindsey and I go for a ride up to the Bungalow two up on the GS but it's not the same and soon come back down.

the mountain in sunshine

Then leaving Lindsey at the house to meet up with Rose I go out for a short blatt on my own. This evolves into me giving the boxer a right good caning over the mountain, which it seems to enjoy immensely, then on for a full lap of the circuit. For possibly the first time ever I manage to clear any traffic before the unrestricted good bits, don't get hassled by wannabees for sticking to the limits through points of civilisation and the sun shines from a cloudless sky for the whole time.
In fact it's such good fun I nip over the mountain again and back via the coast road.
By the time I get back Rose has been and gone, which is a shame, but it's time for the pub, which isn't.

Wednesday 1st September

A bit of a notalotta kinda day. Weather is fine enough and some racing is on but all I catch of it is some of the classic stuff in the morning from May Hill.
Everyone else is marshalling up the mountain so Lindsey and I take a walk along the beach collecting rocks and shells - well it keeps me happy.
Later we pick up Lindsey's bike, problem traced to a rusty plug cap apparently. Hummm.
A brief, slow, test ride round the north of the island reveals all is well although on the return Lindsey reports the pick up to overtake still isn't right. Sound like a carburation problem to me ....
Everyone else buggers off down south for a chinese later, I give it a miss and chill out with some reading and a couple of bottles of beer.

Thursday 2nd September

There is a sprint on a Ramsey today so after a few exchanged text messages we arrange to meet up with Andy and Chris for a look down. They ride over from Douglas and manage to bring some rain with them - thanks guys. It's doesn't last though and soon things have dried out enough for those thrashing their bikes up the 1/8th mile to enjoy themselves and for the rest of us to watch them. In actual fact we pay very little attention to the straight line going on's and spend more time looking at the old bikes on display and the not-so-old bikes in the car park.

The Man With No Name sets a good time at the sprint
Found his way back to the start line as well.

By mid afternoon we're all tiring of this and decide on a ride out to the café at Bride, Lindsey and me two up on the GS to save the Fazer. The café is closed so we adopt plan 2, a ride down to Peel in the now glorious late afternoon sunshine. A pub is found and a large feed sorted, and all at reasonable money - a pint would have gone down wonderfully but needing to ride back with a pillion I decide against it.
Just me and George out for a drink or three tonight which means we can ogle women and talk crankshafts and valve clearances - most enjoyable.

Friday 3rd September

Another race day and yet again we see none of it. Despite cries of doom and gloom from the met office everything is holding up well so Lindsey and me take off on the beemer down to Peel. The roads are closed so it has to the long way round and after a couple of stops to tweak suspension settings and tyre pressures I'm feeling happy with the bike two up.
We visit the celtic jewelery shop and then treat ourselves to coffee and sticky buns on the sea front.
Next stop is the Calf, the wind is getting up now and things should be interesting over the tops but the boxer doesn't give a stuff and chugs on regardless. Holed up in the posh café overlooking the Calf we enjoy a leisurely lunch watching the sea's making big fun with the rocks. I love watching the sea when it's in a playful mood...

Up the coast from Ramsey

From there it is an easy ride back to Douglas where we join some rush hour traffic chaos. We sneak our way through and are soon out the other side and on our way to Laxey where we stop for another coffee and at last the rain catches up with us.
We dive inside to finish our brews but within tem minutes the rain has gone leaving a pleasant but gusty ride back to Ramsey.
It's the Mitre tonight for diddly-diddly music. Actually is just a sing-around by the local folkies, it all sounds great but as some of them object to people talking while they are doing their finger-in-ear bit and we soon migrate to the next room. Here we can hear a frightening mix of the folkies-with-fingers-in-ears from one room and naff 60's band from the next. I do the only sensible thing under these sort of conditions and go for the guinness. In quantity.
Top entertainment and to add to the pleasure we get Pete beered up as well.
A most successful night if I may say so.

Saturday 4th September

Another glorious and sunny day. We take both bikes out this time (which relieves me of a pillion) and head down the coast to Douglas and then out to explore. Port Soderick seems like a good place to investigate, well it might have been years back but all there is now is a cove, a deserted looking pub and one house. Oh and a particularly smelly beach which can be blamed on the seaweed.
We explore around and wind up at Glenmaye to meet Janice and Debbie for a belated lunch and later still George. Good pub, pretty place, good company.
But then it's back to Ramsey to get some sleep before a ridiculously early ferry ...

Sunday 5th September

Wake up at 1:30am (that's right, am) and creep downstairs for some breakfast. About 2:00 I carefully wake Lindsey using a long pointy stick and retreat to a safe distance. This dangerous chore completed the final bits of luggage are loaded onto the bikes and we can set off towards Douglas.
I'm wide awake now and really enjoying the ride; it's still dark but it's pleasantly warm and the moon gives the sea and eerie light that I would love to have stopped to photograph. But no time, we don't want to be late for the 4:30am (stupid time to run a ferry if you ask me) with it's hurry-up-and-wait 2 hour check in.
We arrive at the port about 3:00ish and find two other bleary eyed bikers there. Someone please convince me this is a good idea.

Stupid o'clock awaiting the ferry.

Time creeps slowly on and like the casualties from some shipwreck or medieval battle other bikers turn up to join the early morning queue.
All is still.
The sea is dead calm.
This of course makes not a jot of difference to the Steam Racket who still fuck it up and announce the ferry is delayed by an hour. I know it's coming from Liverpool but what's the excuse? It's not a car, I can't imagine even the most enterprising scouse getting that on bricks and removing something vital...
At last the boat does land and we're all sent on, the bikes tied down we all scramble off for seats. As we're leaving port the captain starts his safety speech by announcing the ship is Italian built, not something to fill the average biker with confidence in ever reaching his chosen destination.
About an hour out of port the café closes. Don't know why, just one of those little nautical japes the Steam Racket specializes in I suppose.
Two and a half hours later we reach Liverpool and start the obligatory tour of the architectural wonders of the docks; everyone trying to both get out as quickly as possible and not to stop at traffic lights or other points of potential highway robbery.
The rest of the ride back should be wonderful; the sun is shining, it's pleasantly warm, perfect biking weather. But we're far too knackered and just want to get back home ...

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