Wednesday’s child is full of joy

Back to Castletown again to talk to the mechanic. He can do next Tuesday. B*gg*r. That's Ramsey Sprints day, when there's no racing on the Mountain Course but drag races on the northern town's Mooragh Promenade instead - and a custom show on the side, which it occurred to me as I was polishing the bike, I could enter. She's not the shiniest thing around, but she's one of the most unconventional and might be in with a chance of "Best Engineering" or something. Ah well; if I cancel this appointment, I'll not get another. Maybe next year.

So, since it's a sunny day, let's go play. We went down the coast road to Port St. Mary when we visited the Calf Sound - so this time, I decide to use a bit of the "Southern 100" short circuit and go inland, through the southern plain villages of Ballabeg and Colby instead. Good fast roads which I know well, largely empty - and thanks to the pre-TT races on the circuit, there's even padding on the walls, straw bales on corners and signposts and so on.

So it seems only right to give the trike her head a bit. :-)

This, we hurtle noisily down towards Port Erin. Respecting that town's 30 limit, I putter through, gathering a few surprised looks... then out the back way, up past the Fleshwick road and up towards South Barrule, the south of the Island's biggest hill.

The trike's pulling strongly, handling well, so I go for it. Twisty little country roads, with graet visibility, and while I tend to brake hard for the corners, we're doing 80-90 on the relatively straight bits - and it's perfectly legal. Marvellous. The TT programme a few years back started with the phrase Welkommen in Motorradel Paradeis and it spoke truly. (Well, words to that effect - "Welcome to Motorcycle Paradise". My German is dreadful. Thousands of German bikers attend each year in a welcome break from restrictive laws at home.)

This is what I set out to achieve, all those years ago, and it's worth every penny.

We hoon down to Peel, have a reasonable seaside dinner in the Marine Hotel - veggie food here still tends toward the basic - and then the heavens open, and we squish back to the trike and trundle slowly and carefully homewards.

Later that same day...

Oh, h*ll, this is getting wayyyy too far behind.

I headed straight back toward Douglas - forgetting that there would be a practice on. That is why they call it "practice week", after all. (Look, it's been a couple of years,OK? And I usually pay sod-all attention to the races anyway...)

We got as far as Ballacraine and then were stopped by closed roads. But, as is typical of the Isle of Man, in that short distance and time, the weather had changed... now, it was just barely drizzling with bursts of sunshine (and a splendid rainbow).

We watched the practice, which was as terrifying as ever - and yet oddly boring too, as after the first few colourful blobs hurtle past there's an undeniable sameness to the experience. Then hooned back along the back roads. Others may come for the racing, but it's not what I'm here for...