First times at the TT
There’s nothing like it (and never will be). And it’s the first time that leaves the biggest impression. Enjoy some PS readers’ stories
You never forget your first TT How could you? It’s the greatest road racing spectacle on earth. Unfortunately, mine didn’t go quite to plan. It was 1999 and I went to the island as a young PB staffer to write a feature about the extreme highs and lows of the event through the eyes of a race team mechanic.
My trip experienced its first hiccup when I missed my ferry, from Liverpool, by 15 minutes. I’d ridden across country on my Yamaha R6 –I figured it’d be more interesting than plodding up the M6 – but underestimated how long it’d take. When I made it to the docks the ferry hadn’t even upped anchor, but the ever-helpful Steam Packet staff wouldn’t let me on board.
“There’s one going from Heysham in an hour, you could try that,” they said.
So, I charged up the M6 at ludicrous speed only to miss that ferry by the same amount of time I’d failed to catch the first. Bollocks.
Next ferry wasn’t until 2.30am. Double bollocks. I spent the next 12 hours pacing up and down outside the ferry terminal, leaving messages for the snapper I was supposed to meet in Douglas that night, and nursing a coffee in a nearby pub until it eventually evaporated into thin air.
The trip across the Irish Sea was hideous.Nowhere comfortable to sleep, a bar full of rowdy pissheads stinking of cheap beer, damp leather and mildew. By the time we docked in Douglas at 6am I was knackered, but there was no time to kip. Just a brief stop at the hotel to admire the bed I could have slept in, catch a bit of breakfast, then head to the paddock for a full day’s work. At least I hadn’t fallen foul of the seasoned journos’ trick of telling junior reporters they’d best reset their watches to ‘Manx time’, two hours behind GMT. That way they’d miss all the drinks and dinner invites…
The previous day’s debacle was forgotten the moment I stood on the start line for the 600 race. The air fizzed with anticipation, nerves, the smell of high-octane fuel, and the chatter of mechanics holding last minute debriefs with their riders. I was lost for words once the leaders flashed past pitlane for the first time.
I was only on the island for just over 24 hours. Once I’d watched the first race I wanted to stay all week and immerse myself in the atmosphere, but instead I had to get back to write the feature. But what I did see of the TT in those few short hours guaranteed I’d return – and for longer.Haven’t missed a ferry since, either…
Chris Withey
Mansfield, Notts
