ISLE OF MAN — If I had been able to sleep on the 10-hour overnight flight, it might have been a good plan. But I didn’t, which left me riding a motorcycle on the wrong side of the road in the rain while jet-lagged with no idea where I was going.
My destination was the Isle of Man, a tiny island in the middle of the Irish Sea off the northwest coast of England. It’s best known for two things: its status as a tax haven and a 102-year-old motorcycle race called the TT, which is run on real roads by unsung racers who whiz, at speeds approaching 200 mph, within inches of stone walls and spectators.
I planned to catch the tail end of the legendary TT, then enjoy the island in its natural state — that is, not overrun by motorcycles. I just had to get here, which meant flying to London, renting a motorcycle, biking 250 miles across England and taking a 3 1/2-hour ferry ride to the port town of Douglas.
It was quite the slog but worth it.
The Isle of Man, a British crown possession, is a mythological place, especially for motorcyclists, who revere its embrace of man’s need for speed and the talented risk-takers who live for it. Nowhere else does the government shut down 37.73 miles of its roads for two weeks to host a grueling race that probably will result in death; 224 racers have died on the course — including one while I was here — yet the race endures.
Its fans swarm the island every year in late May and early June, loading their sport bikes like pack mules to sprint around the island imitating their idols. When I arrived in Douglas in June, the island was in full TT swing. Cars were in the minority. The streets were a cacophony of up- and downshifting motorcycles.
The parking spaces along the seaside promenade were jammed handlebar to handlebar with candy-colored race-bike replicas, and the sidewalks were shoulder to shoulder with bikers, who hadn’t bothered to change out of their full leathers and race boots as they strolled the cobblestones while eating ice cream — one of the specialties on this largely agricultural island.
I felt among my tribe. But I was also exhausted. I squeezed my Honda ST1300 into one of the few remaining vacant parking spaces and checked into the Admiral House, the first in a long line of inns along the city’s main drag. This being the TT fortnight, I paid about $350 a night instead of the usual $175. Still, I felt grateful, having booked my trip eight weeks earlier. The best accommodations start to sell out 10 months before the TT.
My third-floor suite was smack in the center of the action. Looking out of my alcove window, I had a bird’s- eye view into the beer tent that was serving Bushy’s Piston Brew and Manx Bitter — the island’s local ales — and shots of a paint-thinner-esque whiskey called ManX Spirit, the only locally distilled alcohol.
Manx is the name for the 81,000 people who inhabit this island. About half of the people who live here are from the Isle of Man; the rest are so-called “comeovers” from nearby England, Scotland and Ireland who, I was told, came here because it is safer than their native countries. Few people lock their house or car doors.
At the Bushy’s tent I met a nonbiker from Scotland who lived on the island and worked in banking, the island’s main industry. The second person I met was from Ireland.
Both conversations were cut short by the Red Arrows, a stunt show by the Royal Air Force Display Team, a pair of bi-wing planes topped with scantily clad women doing quasi-calisthenics over Douglas Bay.
Such displays aren’t the usual Wednesday-night fare in Douglas, the island’s capital, business center and only real city. It was part of the TT-week entertainment.
Motorcycles everywhere
I decided to take a stroll through town. At 8 on a weeknight any other time of year, all of the shops would be closed, but not during the TT. Walking along the Loch Promenade, I stopped for a “whippy with a flake” — a towering, extra-creamy, vanilla soft-serve ice cream with a candy bar shoved in its side — then wandered the island’s main shopping district, where many of the windows of cellphone shops, clothing boutiques, beauty salons and art galleries displayed motorcycles along with their usual merchandise.
In celebration of the TT, Sayle Gallery had an Ace Cafe mods-and-rockers exhibit as well as pieces from a local named Adam Berry. I bought three of his Summer of Love meets Isle of Man prints, which blend speeding motorcycles with come- hither vixens and TT racecourse checkpoints, such as Black Dub, Ramsey Hairpin and Glen Duff.
To nonrace fans, these names are charmingly Celtic although meaningless, but to the thousands who come to the TT each year, they’re the places where high-flying racers test their mettle — and their bikes’ suspensions — speeding through tight switchbacks and catching air.
I rented a bike for this trip to experience the course up close, although at distinctly lower speeds. I started my trip in Douglas because it’s home to the course starting gate, which was a mile from my hotel and, unnervingly, next to the town cemetery.
For an island that embraces motorcycling, it’s odd that motorcycles are not rented on the isle itself. Neither of the two motorcycle shops rents bikes because of high insurance rates. A bike isn’t necessary, of course. The island has excellent public transportation, both bus and rail, or you can rent a car or a bicycle. But I wanted to experience the island on a motorcycle.
I was on the island for the last few days of the races, which I viewed from the grandstand, just above the pits where the racers were speeding so blindingly fast I couldn’t tell who was whom without the benefit of the announcer. There weren’t any big screens to show what was happening in real time, just Manx Radio, which was giving the play by play. To see the race, I had to watch the televised recap each night.
The races were over by the time I wheeled my bike around the island course. I didn’t know where I was going, but the course is marked with enormous orange signs and arrows. Many hay bales and foam pads cushion potentially deadly roadside obstacles, such as lamp posts, stone fences and trees. Even if the course hadn’t been marked, I would’ve been able to find my way. I just had to follow the steady stream of Ducatis, Gixxers and Ninjas.
It took me about an hour to ride the course during the day, when there’s street traffic. The racers do the same thing in about 20 minutes. But at my pace, I could experience the scenery that makes this island special.
Clusters of charming stone cottages in Douglas gave way to fields of grazing sheep and cows in nearby Kirk Michael, then sweeping coastal vistas and twisty, mountainous chaparral coming out of Ramsey.
Getting around is easy
It was such a gorgeous ride that I decided to ride it again — and again, which isn’t hard to do. The island is just 32 miles long and 12 miles wide, or just a little smaller than Los Angeles proper but without the traffic, so getting around is quick. After three round trips of the “track” at gradually increasing speeds, I had had my fill.
My next stop was the Fairy Bridge just outside of Douglas. According to island lore, people who pass over the bridge must say hello to the fairies unless they want bad luck. I wanted to see if the locals actually did that, so I hopped on a London-style double-decker headed for Castletown. I also planned to check out the well- preserved medieval-era Castle Rushen, from which the town gets its name, and go to the local pub.
About halfway through the 20- minute ride, the bus riders waved and called out, “Hello, fairies!” as we passed over the short bridge and under a lush canopy of trees.
The next night, I was sleeping in a “homestay” in Port Erin, a sleepy coastal village in the southeast corner of the island with a stunning beach and kayak rentals. Homestays are one of the most common accommodations on the Isle of Man and offer an up-close view of island life. Sanctioned homestays cost about $40 a night, a relief given the exchange rate.
My favorite place on the island was probably the Great Laxey Wheel in Laxey, said to be the largest working water wheel in the world, with a circumference of about 228 feet and once used to pump water from the island’s lead and zinc mines. It’s spectacular to see this giant red structure rising from the lush landscape.
It was three days since the races had ended, and the island was calm; it felt like a different place. There was almost no traffic when I decided to circle the course one last time, encountering mostly trucks picking up the hay bales.
Arriving in Douglas for my last night before ferrying back to England, even this, the most cosmopolitan city on the island, felt dead. At 6 p.m., parking was easy to find, and everything but the pubs was closed, which made the Isle of Man seem very much like an island.
Insider’s Guide: Isle of Man
STAY The Admiral House and the Sefton Hotel, both in Douglas, offer some of the most premium accommodations on the island. Rooms start at $150 ($225 during the TT); , 011-44-1624-629-551; .im, 011-44-1624-645-500.
Homestays, or staying in residents’ homes, are affordable (about $40 per night) and fun (you get to hang out with the locals). Book online at gov.im/tourism/ homestay.
DINE
Moore’s Traditional Curers, in the town of Peel. The locally caught, traditionally cured Manx kippers are to die for at this small, harbor- side fish shop, which serves “kipper baps,” also known as smoked kipper sandwiches.
Davison’s Manx Dairy Ice Cream Parlor whips up vanilla soft-serves called whippys and delicious hard ice creams. On the promenade in Peel and in Douglas.
RENTING A MOTORCYCLE
Riverbank Motorcycles, Riverbank Business Park, Dye House Lane, London. Honda CBR600s, Yamaha R6s and other sport bikes are available by the week for about $500; .
MORE INFO
For more tourist information on the Isle of Man, go to gov.im/tourism.
