Man, Oh, (Isle of) Man!

A little over a year ago my wife Monica asked me if I wanted to go on a guided “Luxury Bus Tour” in England, Scotland and Ireland. Normally, “luxury” and “bus” aren’t used in the same sentence, but she assured me this was in fact a real thing. We would be traveling with her sister and brother-in-law, who we’ve vacationed with in the past. As we sat down with our calendars to plot our trip, I noticed we’d be in the UK at about the same time as the Isle of Man races. Well, that got my attention! Not only that, Monica said we’d be on our own for several days.

I knew from speaking with friends that booking travel or lodging for the Isle of Man during the two weeks of qualifying and racing should be done well in advance, so I got to work! There was a three-day window between the end of our bus tour and our return flight to the U.S., so I would be cutting it close if I could even manage it at all. I eventually discovered a company called Duke Travel (duketravel.com) had numerous packages and decided to purchase a one-day ticket, which included passage on a ferry to and from the Isle of Man and grandstand seating. From what I could figure out, I would be able to attend the last day of qualification, so that was going to have to do. I booked it, realizing changes to our bus tour itinerary might force me to scrap the Isle of Man trip and eat the cost of the non-refundable ticket.

Months and months went by and Monica kept me updated about all of the historical locations we’d visit on our trip. Meanwhile, I crossed my fingers and checked out footage from past races.

The middle of June rolled around and we were off to Heathrow—only 11 hours away! We did a little sightseeing (pub crawls) on our first day in London before beginning our guided tour the next day. We met the rest of our tour group of 25 travelers and discovered half of them are from Australia and New Zealand and the remainder are from the U.S. It turned out to be a GREAT group! It didn’t take too long for everyone to meet and greet and we were off.

At nearly every stop I checked out all the different motorcycles, as well as touristy stuff. Pretty soon, our fellow passengers figured out I’m a motorcycle junkie and they started pointing out motorcycles I might have missed. We see all kinds of castles, churches and pubs—so many pubs! There seems to be one on every corner! Wales was our last stop before traveling to Ireland. One little aside about Wales: I was able to understand MOST of the words I saw in England and Scotland, but the Welsh people apparently have their own knack for strange words, as we found out when we jumped off the bus at the Llanfairpwllgwungyll rest stop!

After many, many castle and church tours throughout England and Scotland, our bus queued up (that’s British for got in line) in Wales for a ferry across the Irish Sea to Dublin. As luck would have it, in the queue next to our bus was a group of motorcycles! The other bus passengers saw the group before I did and excitedly pointed out the bikes to me. Knowing we’d be in line for a while waiting to get on the ferry, I asked our driver if I could get out to check out the bikes. He told me not to wander off, saying, “When it’s time to roll onto the ferry you’d better be on the bus!”

It turned out five of the group of about nine bikes were from Bahrain! Four of them are on BMWs and one is on an Indian. They belong to the Bahrain Motorcycle Club) and had already travelled over 9,000 miles by the time they queued up to ride the ferry to Dublin.

I brought three shirts with me from my local shop, where I’ve been working one day a week as a greeter since retiring in 2008 from my law enforcement career. I planned on giving them to a couple of Brit buddies when I arrived in London, but they were on a bike trip in Switzerland. I jumped back on our bus to retrieve the shirts and give them to three of the Bahranian riders and promised to send another one to the fourth rider when I got home. We posed for a photo op and our bus driver tooted his horn to let me know we were ready to move. The BMC group gave me a pin and a decal from their club and I hopped back on the bus.

The next day we ended up in Killarney after an epic tour of the Guinness Brewery in Dublin. My wife doesn’t like beer, so I had to drink her sample pint. While we checked into our hotel, I saw four bikes roll into the parking lot. Naturally, I had to see what they’re riding and was surprised to see Illinois plates. Before my wife dragged me away to help with our luggage, I found out a windshield company shipped their bikes over to Ireland to test a variety of windshields—some people have all the luck! I loved Ireland and it didn’t rain once while we were there. My 100% Irish ancestry wife even got to kiss the Blarney Stone.

After a few more days in Ireland—and of course more churches, castles and pubs—and we were back on the ferry for merry old England. As we got close to the end of our guided tour, I finished up plotting my path to the Isle. My passage on the sea ferry departs from the port of Heysham in northern England, about four hours north of London by train.

The London hotel we booked for the last four days of the trip is walking distance to Victoria Station. I figured out I could catch one train to Lancaster, then another to Heysham, wait at the port for 10 hours and then hop on the ferry in time to see a day of racing, catch the ferry back to Heysham, wait for the train from there to Lancaster, wait for another train to London and make it back in time to fly home with my wife. My biggest concern was that something would delay my return to London and I’d miss my flight. Monica would not like that at all. I always have to remember that when dealing with my wife of 45 years, I can’t get my fun and suicide mixed up.

Now, understand Monica and I hadn’t really talked much about this side trip to watch the races since I mentioned it when we were planning our trip nearly a year prior. After purchasing all the train tickets I’d need thanks to the helpful staff mentioning I qualified for a senior discount, I decided a good time to bring everything up with Monica would be during dinner with my in-laws.

Me: Please pass the salt…oh, by the way, I’ll be leaving the hotel early tomorrow morning.
Her: Why is that?
Me: Oh, to catch a train to the seaport so I can go to the Isle of Man.
Her: That motorcycle thing you were talking about?
Me: Yeah! You remember I planned to go if I had time at the end of our bus tour, don’t you?
Her: Yes, but you’re actually going to go?
Me: That’s the plan!
Her: But you’re going to miss the play.
Me: The play?
Her: Yes. We’re going to attend “Hamilton” while we’re here!
Me: Well, I’ve already got tickets for the ferry, the race and the train trip and I already know how “Hamilton” ends.
Her: You’d better make sure you’re back in time to fly home!
Me: I promise I’ll make it back in time!

I was up at three the next morning. After several subway and train connections I finally made it to Heysham! Then I faced a 10-hour wait for the “Isle of Man Steam Packet Company” ferry’s departure at 1:30 AM for its three-and-a-half hour trip to the Isle of Man. The ferry station was PACKED, mostly with motorcycles, and at the appointed time, the bikes fired up and attendants directed them onto various decks on the large ferry. The pedestrians (me included) go to a lounge area where it’s almost a scrum to find an empty seat in the lounge. By 2 AM many of my fellow passengers had found a place to sleep in chairs and even on the floor of the lounge. I found a wall to lean against and wait out the journey.

At about 6 AM we docked in Port Douglas on the Isle of Man. A bus picked up my Duke Travel group, delivering us to the assembly area near the Start/Finish line. We rode on a shuttle for one lap around the 37-mile course the racers use, with a recently-retired racer sitting at the front of the shuttle giving everyone a blow-by-blow description of the venue over a loudspeaker. Since it was only about 7 AM and there were only a few people on the road, the shuttle driver got everyone in the mood with a little spirited driving! The entire road closes at 11 AM in preparation for the race, but we got a close-up look at the fast (and FASTER!) portions during our lap around the track I’ve only seen previously in videos.

The shuttle delivered us back to the assembly area and we got a souvenir goodie bag and breakfast, then instructed in no uncertain terms to return at 7 PM SHARP in order to take the bus back to Port Douglas, where the sea ferry will depart at 8:30 PM SHARP! Until then, we’re on our own to explore the vendor area and the pits before the racing began later that morning.

I found my way down my grandstand seat and then out to the start/finish line, where I saw a couple of motor cops and a HUGE number of motorcycles lining up behind them. They were preparing for a parade lap, where anybody can take a circuit of the course as long as they don’t pass the cops. I wanted to film the parade as it passed me and was surprised at the 17 minutes it took for the parade—consisting of every kind of bike you can imagine—to pass me. It was a genuine thrill.

When I purchased my ticket I expected to see the last day of qualification. As it turned out, it’s the Superbike TT race! The racers take off at about 10 second intervals, with a pit stop after the fourth lap for fuel and then two more laps. The grandstand seats are great for watching the staggered starts of the race and the pit stops. Thanks to a Jumbotron screen mounted across the track from our seats, we were able to watch the racers’ progress on the rest of the course.

Michael Dunlop was posting record-setting speeds that day and looked to have the race wrapped up. He was in first place when he came in for his pit stop, during which he swapped out his face shield. All the races in the U.S. I’ve seen, I never saw anybody do that, they usually just rip away a tear-off. As luck would have it, Dunlop’s shield was improperly re-installed. He got less than a mile away before it started flopping about! He had to stop, take off his gloves, take off his helmet, install the shield properly, put his helmet back on, put his gloves back on and THEN get back to his lap. All of this dropped him from first to fourth place by the end of his last lap. What a heartbreak!

After the race ended, I had about three hours to kill before heading back to the bus. I bought an armload of souvenir shirts, hats and decals to take home. I was on time for the bus, but two people weren’t; the bus driver waited 10 minutes, then closed the door and drove off. If I didn’t think it would end in divorce (or homicide), I wouldn’t mind being stranded for a few extra days on the Isle of Man, but I promised Monica I’d be back in time to catch our flight home. As soon as I boarded the ferry I found a comfortable seat and grabbed a snack. I thought I might get in a nap on the three-and-a-half hour cruise back to Heysham, but my mind is spinning with the day’s events and there’s no way I could fall asleep.

After docking, I needed a 20-minute cab ride to Lancaster to get the 5 AM train to London. Nothing was open, so I just walked around Lancaster until about 4 AM and hung out at the train station until it opened up at 4:30. At that point I’d been up for over 40 hours and was ready for the end of my field trip.

The train arrived at exactly the appointed time and I was officially on my way back to London. The Brits sure know how to run a railroad! I made it back to our hotel at about 9 and Monica and the in-laws were out on one last shopping excursion. I got in a three-hour nap and visited a pub (where else?) for two or four last pints on my last day in the UK.

Monica, the in-laws and I made it through the airport and boarded our flight for the 11-hour trip back to San Francisco. We had a three-hour wait for our plane to Fresno, where our son picked us up. I couldn’t wait to give him his souvenirs and tell him about the Isle of Man experience. Like many of my friends, I’ve been fascinated about the Isle of Man race and it was always something I wanted to see in person. Now I’ve done it and I can’t wait to do it again! Next time I’m going to spend a few days there and maybe visit a few more pubs. But I still don’t know what that three-legged logo for the Isle of Man means.