Isle of Man, man

In two days, I have to vacate the apartment rental in Kinsale. My next destination still undetermined, I look up flights from Dublin to anywhere…nonstop. There’s one to Douglas, the capital city on the Isle of Man.

Flying above the Isle

The Isle of Man is home to the infamous TT Races, the most dangerous motorcycle course in the world. Google it. Being a racer, Tom wanted to visit years ago when we were in Scotland; it didn’t work out. It just so happens, they’re happening next week! People plan a year in advance to secure accommodations for this popular event and I find online what claims to be one of the last apartments available. Kismet. I’m wearing the necklace with your ashes in the pendant that lays upon my heart …”We’re going to the races, baby!”

Standing on Bray Hill, the straightaway after the starting line, racers whizz by too fast for focus. Each bike engine has a distinctive sound, its own voice. I breathe in a scent of fuel or oil or I don’t know what but it all makes me quiver and tap a little dance and giggle aloud. Check this out….Speed Racer

 

Isle of Man Steam Railway

Riding along on the Isle of Man Steam Railway, a text message arrives from the apartment owners, the lovely John and Adele. The merry men from Wales staying in their home for the races have invited me to ride TT MAD Sunday (so named because the course is open to all to ride on the deadliest course in the world). It’s MADness…and I’m over-the-moon grateful to have the opportunity. However. In the last two days — one racer was killed, one lay in a coma, another clipped a hedge and went down (right in front of me) “only” shattering an ankle.

Yikes. It’s Saturday night before MAD Sunday. I’m supposed to meet “the boys”  at the house at 10:00 a.m. Richard has been texting updates. Russell has already fitted me with leathers, helmet, and gloves. Stuart, Steve, Dave and John know of Tom’s accident; they respect my apprehension while offering encouragement. Surfer and motorcyclist Terry is to be my driver and on our “meet and greet” fun night out, he assured me that everything would be all right.

Is this opportunity or stupidity?! Is this bonkers?! To race with a complete stranger on a death trap in an event including the word MAD?!  Then again, why am I here? To experience. To live. To share. To be thankful. To touch and spread Onelove. What do I fear? Do I think it’s safer to stay at home? What if instead of going on the ride, I’m walking down the street and swat at a bee causing me to trip and fall to the ground smashing to smithereens my not-so-funny bone?! Rationale: Whatever happens is meant to happen. It is what it is.

Isle of Man flag:
“Whichever way you throw me, I will stand.”

I’m doing it. Nonetheless, as I close my eyes I ask the Universe for a sign, a dream, anything. Then get this: On Sunday morning at breakfast, I look up a word using the Dictionary App. I see a “word for the day” option, unnoticed before. Click. The word for the day is… OPPORTUNE.

How can I explain the roller coaster of emotion felt for thirty-seven miles of riding in perfect weather conditions, at high speed, through small towns and idyllic countryside, over a mountain, on a revered course? Elation. Appreciation. Surprisingly, no fear (ok, a wee bit once when Terry sped through a curve where I would have slowed to a near-stop on approach). On the last straightaway, Terry taps my leg (sweet memory, Tom) and leans on the tank so I could see the odometer read 102 mph. “Yippee Ti Yi Yaaaay!!!” I shout through my helmet. It’s been seven years since I’ve ridden my motorcycle on a highway; I ride the back roads, shifting no higher than third gear, no faster than 50 mph. But this. This experience… a reawakening. Terry (and the boys) have given me the immeasurable gift of confidence to want to ride, without fear.

Terry and I arrive back to the house first. We take off our helmets and he asks, “What do you think? How do you feel?”

I hug him. I look in his eyes, mine moist. “Terry. I am overwhelmed. Thank you. Thank you. You have no idea the gift…the thrill of a lifetime I thought was lost…I will remember you forever.”

Thanks, Terry

 

 

“I don’t want a pickle. Just want to ride on my motorcycle…And I don’t want to die, I just want to ride on my motor-cy-cle.”  — Arlo Guthrie, The Motorcycle Song (The Significance of the Pickle)

 

 

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