| It's 1600 hours on May 26, 2007, the Steam Packet Ferry has just docked at Douglas port in the Isle of Man, off the west coast of the UK. |
| The burbles of a few hundred motorcycles at idle resound in the hull of the SeaCat II as the smell of unburned hydrocarbons swirl about, invading nostrils. I can't wait to get my Suzuki SV650 onto terra firma, onto the hallowed land that's been venerated by motorcycle racers for the last hundred years. |
| The place that fulfilled every Brit boy racer's dreams when the Queen decided that she had had enough of racing on public roads. It's the holy grail of motorcycle racing, the Isle of Man. |
| It's two hours to the first practice session of the year and you can feel a sense of urgency in the air as motorcyclists are rushing to get to their favourite vantage point before the roads close. |
| When they call it the "World's greatest road race", the word road does have a significant meaning. Public roads are closed, cattle are locked in, pets are put on leashes and cars are towed away, so that loony motorcycle racers from around the world, aboard some of the fastest motorcycles on the planet, can pit themselves against the clock around 60.4 km of perilous public roads. |
| No time to stop for the stereotyped picture of me kissing the tarmac against the "Welcome to the Isle of Man" board, I pull out my map, head over to my accommodation, unload my luggage and am off to catch the first practice. |
| From the advice of innumerable people that I'd met on the ferry, what I understood was that any place is the best place, as long as it lets you see a motorcycle racing along the course. With 15 minutes to go to the green flag, I ride down to Quarterbridge, buy myself a Manx beef burger, a pint of Okells and lie back on the grass waiting for the first of the bikes to come by. |
| They say that the famously known Tourist Trophy race wouldn't be what it is without Quarterbridge. It a sharp right hander at the bottom of a hill that makes the start-finish straight and it was this very corner that led to the anti-road racing lobby try to put an end to the TT. |
| In 1971, the bad boy of racing, Barry Sheene, fell here and broke his ankle. He was air-lifted, never to return to the island, and a few years later, was instrumental in helping the TT lose its place in the world championship. |
| Thunder breaks through the air and in a few seconds the first of the bikes are slowing down to tackle Quarterbridge. Every hair on your hand is on end and your ears are tuned in as flames spit out of the exhaust of almost each of the 90-odd bikes before they power through the gears and continue to the other side of the island. |
| One poster by the side of the road put these races into perspective, it said "The Ultimate Test. Man... Machine... Three Hundred and Sixty Corners... Thirty Seven and Three Quarter Miles of Road... And the Clock is Ticking." |
| Wait for the August issue of Business Standard Motoring for a full story on the Isle of Man and its centenary celebrations |
Top Section
Explore Business Standard