The TT.

If you’re not a diehard motorcyclist or if you’ve never been, how can I describe the TT to you? I have to go somewhere else entirely. It’s a Shakti Gawain book about spirituality. She talks about finding your intuition through meditation and deep imagination, a process of being still and contemplative, and trusting it, knowing and living it. The first time I went to the TT I got a day off work, caught a train from London to Liverpool, an overnight ferry to Douglas (sleeping on deck) and walked to the bottom of Bray Hill in the early morning. I waited. The race was postponed due to mist on the mountain. The course is 37.5 miles and includes a mountain; the two-week event is over a hundred years old. The ‘average’ race speed is 130 mph, which means 160 to 200 mph on most of its narrow country roads. On the middle, ‘Mad’, Sunday the mountain is made one way and open to public ‘racers.’ Doing 70, being overtaken by a guy doing 90 who is being overtaken by a guy doing 120 + on a B road is not an experience I wish to repeat. Anyway I waited, I ate a packed lunch, waited, imagined and caught the ferry and train home. Sitting at a suburban bus stop looking at traffic for 10 hours isn’t an encouraging introduction but that’s the TT. Even when there is racing one has to be able to enjoy contemplation. The roads close 2 hours before racing so you have to be where you want to be, and wait. You have to wait 17 minutes before they come round again, and then you have to wait for the roads to open again. In the midst of this dangerous excitement bees hum, the wind rustles the trees, ants climb your boot, and the grass becomes interesting. In the 6am practice sessions the sound of the bikes begins 4 or 5 miles away building to a tortured mechanical crescendo and a barely visible whoosh of express colour. That’s it, and back to the grass. Now ordinary racing is great. You line up, the flag drops and you enter a funnel of bikes, in my case motocross, into the first corner. The concomitant danger is not uppermost, in fact it is swallowed up by focus. One enters a trajectory of reality that is unbeholden to such considerations, a form of clarity and purpose unknowable by those who haven’t experienced it. One is not afraid but an unconscious drive to survive strikes the anvil of one’s capabilities into life. No fear, no anger, no impatience, no consideration of ‘how’ to ride. One is piloted by intuition. But the TT is not ordinary racing. Each rider sets off alone at ten second intervals so he is racing himself and the road, exploring all the different elements of his own limits. Someone asked me, “is it exciting when you crash?” Der, no!! One is just deeply upset it’s all gone wrong. It’s too fast to even worry about the impending injuries. It just happens, almost serenely. But on the island (Isle of Man) it can be fatal. That’s why tens of thousands of bikers pay yearly homage to the most excellent bravery, a bravery that is worth dying for. Cynics will never be brave enough to know its value. As with the riding the preparation must be nothing short of immaculate. That doesn’t mean polishing the mudguards; it means complete attention to the smallest detail, the emotionless appreciation of every part to the purpose of the whole. What Shakti writes about, these riders live. They’re clear, focused, unphaseable, self-effacing and they love it. Whatever your route to bravery, Shakti’s or the TT, it’s worth the journey. My thoughts go out to the Dobbs family for their loss, to Connor Cummins for a good recovery and to Guy Martin who, thankfully, was not badly hurt.