An island remote enough to not be tainted by tourism, independent enough to not be too strict on its regulations. Undoubtedly, the event the Isle of Man is known best for is its annual Tourist Trophy, famously the oldest (and notoriously the most dangerous) motorcycle race in the world.
2022 is the first year I get to experience the race in person while visiting with my father and brother. The saddening part about this years event that made it to international news is that five of the two hundred riders that signed up for the various race classes have lost their lives in the competition. Isn’t it complete madness to contest on such a race course? I would like to share my thoughts along with the experience I made on the island here.
A haven of freedom full of greenery, quirkiness, and hospitality
Connecting from the main island of the Kingdom, we are landing on the airport with a propeller airplane, where our host Steve picks us up. The fact that our airplane has been two hours delayed doesn’t surprise him. “You’re on Island time now.” Taking it slow doesn’t mean that people seem to be driving slow, though. For most of its history, the island didn’t have speed limits, and the roads winding through green hills and along ancient stone walls seem to invite stepping on the gas a bit. Speed signs that have been put up more recently and are seasonally enforced. Village and location names such as Cronk-y-Voddy and Creg-ny-Baa are a reminder of the viking heritage of the island.
Other first impressions involve steam trains chuffing through fields and along castles, and tales of fairies. Manx people take pride in their quirky traditions and it is so that there is an announcement on public transport to please greet the fairies upon crossing a bridge where they are said to live under.
Manx Radio, the island’s radio station has a format called “nonsense news”. Yes, a format where precious radio time is used to talk about comical banalities that no one really needs to know. (Isn’t there a message there, a nod to all-too-important everyday news on mainland radio stations?)
Race Week definitely seems to be a busier time on the island and there are lots of Englishmen (and a few -women) and foreigners around, many on their own motorcycles. The athmosphere is jolly, but still not rushed. Races take place every second day to allow the locals to live a normal life (and use the roads) in between, and to leave some room for weather related delays. With races only every other day, we get to do some sight seeing too. Riding on a steam train, visiting motoring museums and enjoying some quietude around Peel Castle and some of the ports and pubs is in stark contrast to the experience when watching the races.
The first spot we are watching the races from is the bottom of Bray Hill, not far from the start of the course and a section where riders shoot down a hill, hit a compression at the bottom and then go up the other side. The turn at the bottom is small enough so that they do this exercise at full speed. Going full-speed makes sense when you think about it—it’s a race, after all—but standing next to the course when they are passing by is on another level of experience. All there is between us and the course is a stone wall. We are in someones frontyard—islanders obviously can’t help watching the races—and experience another example of Manx hospitality by even getting offered seats and beers. How nice are Manx people?
This and the uniqueness of the experience might be the reason why so many motorsport fans keep coming back to this event. Being able to be right next to the action, with a course large enough so that everybody can find their spot sure is a rare opportunity. And all of that for free—just stand by the road and watch.
A Question of Morality
Many countries seem to protect people from themselves, where the Isle of Man does not. The sheer fact a number of riders is ending up in a fatal crash every year raises the rightful question whether a race like this should continue to be held. In terms of morality, the question that should be asked first is what life should be about.
As Peter Hickman, who won three out of five motorcycle classes this year, put it, the riders “keep coming back for all the right and all the wrong reasons”. Your life is the highest price you could possibly pay for living your dream, for following your motivation and your passion.
Imagine being a world-class motorcycle rider intrigued by this mountain course and its history, and perhaps the fame and respect involved in competing in such race. Would you be willing to take this risk? Hickman continues that the riders know what they are doing and about the risk involved, for obvious reasons, while he regrets the taste these incidents add to the recognition of the event. And that there always would be people who never would understand why those riders are doing this.
Many people would call those riders madmen. I like to believe that the riders, rather than covering their eyes about implications, are aware and conscious about possible outcomes and the fact that in case of an accident, there is usually not much leeway. It is so that, consciously or unconsciously, these riders are tapping into what is real. Our life ends, sooner or later. We try to extend it by the best possible medical treatment and by weighing out our risks. Ultimately, however, there is nothing we can do about this very fact.
Watching the race from Kirk Michael the other day, with riders flying by a right-hander and into the village, I get to talk to a former rider who competed the last time this event happened in 2019. He is a rather young bloke, passionately following the competition, and he says he would have loved to compete this year but was rather using his money for an ongoing house construction in England. He makes a collected impression and explains where the riders shift into top gear, right in the middle of a village, near full speed and lean angle, in a narrow road shouldered by sidewalks. It is fascinating to see what a well-tuned man-and-machine combo are capable of.
Watching them race, the riders mostly look like a fish in water, as if they are doing what they were born to do. Living out this freedom of taking this risk, they convey that “playing it safe” is a way of life, but not theirs. Watching the racers brings another image to my mind: a pod of mountain goats I one day saw in the Alps, hasting along an impossible-angled cliff. There is no hesitation, and no worrying. They just do what they do and in that moment, nothing goes wrong. And if something does go wrong, so it is.
The last crash of this years TT, where a father and son were killed in an accident at the second sidecar race on Friday, added another layer of tragedy to the already saddening death toll of 2022. In a previous interview, Roger and Bradley Stockton said racing together at the TT has been an absolute dream come true for them. It is beyond tragic that they are not able to return home from pursuing their dream. Could there be a message there? It might be this: All of us are born to die. But more so, we are born to live.
Best of luck!