"TT MEMORIES 2003"
or
Why does it always happen when there are lots of witnesses?

It had been another pleasant early evening ride up to Heysham on the west coast of England only a 100 miles from home. We were booked on the 02.00am ferry, Jean and I were on the Honda ST1100 and Ian and Carol were on his Kawasaki GTX 750R.
A big plus this year--no need to haul heavy panniers with vast amounts of Jean's clothes-shoes-etc and all those things that women seem to need for a holiday on Mona' Island ( another name for the I.O.M.) "Jean it's a bike holiday,not a bloody fashion show" Although I must admit she scrubs up well for an "Old Bird"
The reason we had none of "Jeans Fashion Outlet" with us, Neil--Ian,s brother--was taking his builders van this year with his ZZR1100 and my old Honda 750 plus Jean's gear. Kevin and Pam are a couple from Somerset who we had met on the TT ferry in the 70s and they were going to use the old Honda for their holiday. They will ride anything--as long as it's someone else's bike!!!!!!!!!!!!!! They are great company but drink a little too much, but don't pay often,be warned if you make it to the TT sometime!!

Although it's only about 1and 1/2 hours to the ferry terminal,you can do it in an hour --BUT-- TT time means lots of police about on the roads leading to the ship. The ride gets better the closer you get to Heysham--it's 8 miles from our place up to the motorway-M62- a great country road, fast and open--similar to the Mountain Road in the Island. But you have to keep your eyes open for sheep wandering about--even sleeping in the centre of the road sometimes. The A672 road from The Trotter house runs through Sowerby Bridge--Triangle--Ripponden, and then opens up into open countryside passing Boothwood Reservoir .If you look up to your left (watching out for suicidal sheep)the bike is now travelling parallel with the M62 where you can see bikes--usually German lads on BMWs--moving at high speed(for BMWs) on the run from the Hull Ferry on the east coast up to Heysham about a 200 mile ride for them. As we head up the slip road to entry 22 its a great feeling as you become part of an ever-growing group of bikes heading for another TT. About 20/30 miles away from Heysham as I look in the mirrors all you can see are bike headlights following--(its BMWs trying to catch up)--but every so often here comes a "HERO" in the fast lane--he just cant help himself, one I really remember I think it was 1988--riding a Laverda "JOTA" 1000cc--I heard him as he blasted past--don't they make a great sound those 3 cylinders. The speed limit is 70mph on our motorways--but you can get away with 80mph,and we were sitting at a nice 80/85 when he came past--head down with the wire stretched to 140 easy--with a set of blue lights flashing behind him!!!! We never saw the "JOTA" again, but about 5miles up the motorway on the hard shoulder was a cop car with smoke pouring out of the bonnet (hood) and tail pipe!!!!!! Laverda JOTA 1 Cops 0

We had left far too early for the ferry,but planned on a drink before the pubs closed at 11pm. There,s one at the crossroads about 300yds from the ticket office on the dockside,and by the time we arrived the place was heaving. Whatever bike gets you going there was one to look at as we walked round drinking our first and only beer before the sea cruise. Just as we were about to mount up and leave we noticed a group of about 6 young bikers throwing beer at one poor lad in the group. Turns out he was in charge of tickets and arrangements for their first ever TT trip-- they should be on the 2pm sailing later that day--not--the 2am boat they had turned up for-- so they had a long wait.His leathers were covered in beer and Guinness etc but it was all good natured fun.

Time to embark--as they say--for TT number 36. Some ferry trips are memorable--.lots of laughs,beer,strange sights,new friends,stunning bikes/girls and bad crossings(only one so far) But Jean and I must have had a good 4 hrs sleep this time.I don't remember much about our Irish Sea Cruise--but I certainly remember "GETTING OFF" the boat!!!!

Jean and Carol had walked off the boat,because it can take a long time to unload 150/200 bikes and 1400 passengers. Ian and I had got split up when we got on during the night,so he didn't see what happened--good job as you know what your mates are like --always ready to take the ---- when things go wrong.

I know I meant to put the choke on BUT----must have got talking to the lad next to me as we untied our bikes. Anyway the ST fired up no trouble and seemed to be running cleanly,but how the hell can you tell when your surrounded by a mad bunch of bikers crazy to hit The Mountain Road at 6am for the first time since last years TT Races. Exhausts of every make from round the world are being warmed through--some at close to maximum revs,some headbanger is doing a burn out on the steel decking. Horns are being sounded impatiently-the 2 stroke haze is creeping into my helmet---I love it--its TT TIME again. Oh to be 18 and do it all over again.

Its my turn to get in gear and climb the ramp up onto the deck. I think it all went wrong on the first ramp, I got up the ramp ok but as the front wheel mounted the level area between ramps and I began to turn right the Honda ST coughed and stalled(no choke) and over we went,back down the ramp. If id had an 60inch inside leg perhaps I could have saved the bike---but its doubtful--an ST1100 must weigh at least 650/700lb and feels even bigger at embarrassing times like this.

For an old guy(I would be 63 when this happened) I must have been bloody quick at times like this--before the bike can pin me to the deck and cause me more embarrassment I'm upright. Now I'm watching the bike first hit the engine crash bar--then carry on over until it smashes the right hand mirror and plastic fairing cover--then go over even further until the windshield hits the deck and the bike comes to a halt at last.

Don't expect sympathy when you are on your arse on the bikers boat and your in the way ,all i could hear was "Ever thought of buying a moped or a scooter mate" "Come on stop lying around I want my breakfast" "Must be one of those born again bikers" "First time on the ferry I see" " Does your mother know your out on your own" "Must be a girl" That's just a few things I can remember--and then they all start sounding their horns--sometimes its good to be wearing a full face helmet.
A young guy came to my assistance and between us I was upright once again and back on my wheels. This time with plenty of choke we made it out onto a very warm, sunny Douglas sea front. In spite of 'THE OFF' it was another great TT. It always is, altogether now
'I think I'll go just one more time'.

PS There was a letter in the Motor Cycle news a couple of weeks later, some guy complaining about born again bikers who couldn't even get of the Isle of Man ferry. I think he was writing about me.
I'm sure his time will come.
JIM

“My god those waves are 80foot high out there Jim”, said Jean—laughingly

Was it the Cornish pastie—pork pie—or the previous night’s beer in the pubs along the Douglas sea front in the ISLE OF MAN?

Whatever something was moving around inside me and we hadn’t even cast off from the harbour wall . And we had a 4hour return sailing across the Irish Sea to Liverpool.

We were on the MANX MAID or THE KING ORRY or THE PEVERIL or—the list goes on and on—at one time I believe in its hey day THE STEAM PACKET COMPANY had a fleet of 30 boats or should that be ships—not being a sailor (and never would be after this trip) do we call them boats or ships? In fact some of these old tubs had served at DUNKIRK during the Second World War. So the Irish Sea held no fear for our vessels-unlike the motorcyclists getting on board looking very wet—very miserable –and very nervous indeed.

As Jean and I found seats in the lounge area, the boat began to fill up with passengers (not water --that might happen later judging by the size of those waves) This was Friday- Senior race day—the last race of TT week. There wouldn’t have normally been too many people leaving the island on the main race day—but I think we were all sick of the rain and ready for home.

All the races counted towards the FIM World Championships for 125—250—350—500cc and 500cc sidecars—but events taking place over the mountain course would see the Grand Prix event taken away from the Isle of Man 1976

An Italian rider Gilberto Parlotti competing in the 125cc race had arrived on the island a week or two early to ride a road bike round and round the 37;73 mile public road course to gain enough course knowledge determined to win on his first visit to the island. Unfortunately Parlotti had fallen off his race bike and hit a concrete post over the mountain during the race, and been killed . It was a terrible day—high winds and heavy rain—in fact they should not have been racing—and nowadays the race would have been postponed to the following day. From 1973 on- if the rescue helicopter cannot fly because of poor weather—then the racing cannot take place.

BACK TO THE BOAT.

As the boat moved out from the shelter of the harbour, I could see that Jean had made a big mistake—those waves were at least 100ft high. This was the impression I got being a poor sailor—which I hadn’t really been aware of until today!!!
During a particularly violent lurch to the ship the lounge door burst open with a loud bang and a friend called Jim came hurtling through clutching his crash helmet and a bottle of milk. Jean and I had met Jim and his wife two or three years earlier at a bed and breakfast at the TT., when they had kept us entertained with tales of travelling across Australia, in a car accompanied by a barmy parrot which would keep pulling its feathers out until it was just about bald (apparently boredom leads to this – poor parrot). As Jim made his way towards our table – bouncing off motorcyclists and the sides of the ship and spilling the contents of his milk bottle over various people-- for a brief moment I forgot the movement in my stomach while I laughed at Jim’s efforts to reach us.
“What’s the milk for Jim?” I asked.
“Well it’s supposed to settle your stomach on a rough sea crossing,” came his reply.
“What a load of rubbish” I said, laughing, little knowing that my insensitivity would come back to bite my ass. Jim wobbled off spilling the rest of his milk on more unsuspecting motor cyclists lying around on the floor moaning.
“Look Jean those nice Steam Packet people (ferry workers) are passing out little brown bags. I wonder what’s in them.”
“I should think vomit in a little while, you fool, they are sick bags,” Jean replied sarcastically.
Now things were really beginning to move around inside me.
“How do you feel now, Jean?” I asked.
“Fine as long as I sit and read my book and don’t see or hear YOU OR ANYONE ELSE being ill, so if you plan on filling that bag would you go away now,” Jean replied ,a caring wife as usual.
I thought a good wife would look after me in my time of need – my mother would have. But it’s no good I can’t hold on any longer – time to go look at the Irish Sea very, very quickly. Ha that’s better, I can now see the 100ft waves, the lashing rain, the vomiting bikers hanging onto the rails at the side of the boat. Someone said ‘look at the horizon you’ll be alright’ but where the hell is it? Well it didn’t work for me, or the dozens of motorcyclists hanging on for dear life, trying not to be pitched into the Irish Sea while bringing up the last two week’s of Isle of Man beer, chips, pie and Manx kippers.
After about 10 minutes of the howling wind and cold lashing rain I suddenly got the impression that I was over the worst – WRONG –VERY,VERY WRONG – when I got back to the lounge there was Jean reading her book and she had been joined by two ex sailors who said the slight breeze and swell was nothing compared to going round Cape Horn. Well you can put that place at the top of my list of places NOT TO GO—“ EVER”!!!!!!.
Jean says to me “How are you feeling Jim?”.
“Well I thought I was ok but I’m off again,” Like the proverbial bullet up the stairs and up to the hand rail again. Only this time Im stood next to a 6ft 4in Hell’s Angel and his long hair which I suppose on a calm day would reach his waist but in the Force 20 gale it was lashing around like a pair of lounge curtains. So there was no way I could see the horizon even if that had worked for me.
“OH MY GOD HERE IT COMES” STAND BACK EVERYBODY and there it goes flying out to sea, whatever had been moving around for the last hour in my stomach. But then just as quickly to my horror the wind was bringing it all back towards me and the Hell’s Angel. But at the last minute it changed direction and my new 6ft 4in friend got the lot – all in his hair and all over his leathers. As I started to apologise all he said was ‘It’s quite alright old chap, I believe I’m about to unload myself’. That’s not really what he said but Muriel wouldn’t print what he did say in the MOVer magazine.
Just about now when you think things can’t get any worse I thought ‘Oh no it’s time to visit the bathroom BIG STYLE’. On my way there I just had time to call and see Jean who asked if I was still being sick. ‘No Jean it’s the other end that’s a problem now’, and with that I was gone..
Thank goodness I had rubber boots on as I stepped over into the Gent’s. It was awash and that’s all you want to know dear reader. The cubicles, sinks and troughs were all full of bikers, all calling loudly for their mothers and god. I suddenly noticed that Jim hadn’t had any success with the milk because there he was throwing up with the rest. After about an hour of joining in and becoming totally drained and wanting to DIE, even considering jumping overboard, I had to find somewhere to lie down and guess what ,as soon as I did, all those horrible feelings went away. Finding a spot at the bottom of the boat I soon began to feel soooo much better.
Number one tip - don’t bother looking at the horizon on a rough boat ride go as far down in the ship as possible and lie down – well it works for me.
And the lovely caring Jean – well she finished her book, never moved once in four hours, had a very empty sick bag and as she looked over the dock side at Liverpool at the pouring rain was heard to say in a very loud, forceful way “GO HOME AND FETCH THE CAR, I AM NOT GETTING ON THAT BLOODY MOTOR BIKE AGAIN -- EVER!”. This from a women who never swears.
Sometimes a man knows when to do as he is told.
I left Jean sat undercover watching a fleet of ambulances arriving to take several poor bikers off to hospital in Liverpool
As i rode off in the pouring rain on my trusty (and getting rusty in the last week’s salty rain on the Island) BSA GOLD FLASH or was it a SUPER ROCKET or ROAD ROCKET – I just love those old A10 models made by BSA and had quite a few.
So another memorable TT was over. So as I always say after each TT-- altogether now

I THINK I’LL GO JUST ONE MORE TIME