Home
Travel StoriesIsle Of Man 2014
Isle Of Man - The North Side
By Ren Withnell
This being close to the longest day the sun is up bright and early. This means I am also up bright and early, much to the gf's chagrin. As usual I mooch around in search of entertainment while everyone sleeps. I eat some cereal, read a motorcycle magazine that's 4 years old, watch the news and look at the bike, trying to predict it's next failure. Eventually the gf manages to drag her ass out of the pit and put some clothes on. She thinks the fact we're on the bike and on the road before 0830 is highly impressive. If I had my way I'd have been on the road by 0630. It's warm but there's a mist in the air as we depart.
Today we are mostly doing "the north". I definitely want to see all of the TT course but I'm not bothered about riding a complete lap. I'm told the Mannish police, while both friendly and happy for you to proceed quickly in the countryside, take a dim view on speeding through their towns and villages. I'm also 2 up on a 250 so it seems I'm unlikely to complete a 100 mph plus lap.
I follow the TT course towards Peel. Some lampposts wear padded jackets. Some trees wear padded jackets. Some bends are lined with red and white pads. Often bends and bridges are marked with a board bearing names such as "The Highlander" and "Greeba Bridge". We turn at Ballacraine and as we pass a white circle with a black diagonal line I open the beast up. With a roar and a scream the bike goes ever faster and faster. the excitement and tension builds in my adrenaline filled veins. I see the needle sweep around the dial...from 30 to 40 to 50 and eventually 60 mph! At one point it reads 67 miles per hour! Imagine that, back home I would be at risk of a speeding fine, if the copper could stop laughing long enough to write out a ticket. Here any policeman watching the CBF 250 rattle, wheeze and clatter past struggling under the load will only laugh.
By the time the 250 has clawed it's way up to this dizzying speed another 30 sign comes into view, I slow down to the relief of the clattering valves and slapping piston. It's not long at all before we reach Ballaugh. That's odd. Ballacraine to Ballaugh is around a quarter of the length of the island on my map. On other maps this distance should be half a days solid ride, here it's less than 15 minutes ride, 10 miles at a guess.
Ballaugh Bridge eh? This is another place I've seen on the telly. Footage comes to mind of motorcycles flying over the little bridge, landing with a wobble before screaming off into the distance. And yet here today this tiny little village is peaceful and pleasant. It's a strange sensation visiting places you've seen on TV, places you think you know. A part of my mind thinks it's on a movie set, another part finds it surreal to think I'm here in the TV and the final part is a little, well, underwhelmed really. I mean it's pretty if somewhat misty but there's no magic here, no ghost of George Formby or Joey Dunlop, just a pretty little village.
The bridge at Ballaugh, aka Ballaugh Bridge. No fast motorcycles today but the railings for the crowd are still here.
Jurby Junk is our next destination. A good friend informs me we MUST go there, it's an Aladdin's cave of intrigue and nonsense. After meandering around an industrial estate and perusing the signs I find it, and it's bloody closed until 1000! Blast. We'll go and find The Point of Ayre instead and come back later. Serves me right for getting up so early I guess.
I get us lost. This is not a problem on such a small island, it really is not. It is physically impossible to be more than 33 miles from anywhere on this rock so you can never be truly lost. We pass through Andreas and Bride's tiny villages and now the mist is starting to lift they look good in the sun. The Point of Ayre is the northern tip of the Isle and comprises of 2 lighthouses and a massive foghorn. Other than that we're on a flat dusty plain. It ought to feel remote and wild, it certainly looks it, but we can't be more than 20 miles from the cottage we're staying at. As the breeze blows a little sand into our faces we take some snaps and head back to Jurby Junk.
The flatlands at the Point Of Ayre.
As we arrive, again, an aged blonde lady dressed in baggy black jumper and tight faux leather pants is feeding stray cats outside the door. I recognise her from the pictures my friend showed to me, it's her, she is the archetype crazy cat woman with wayward hair. She welcomes us like old friends who come every week and as we wander around she busies herself with putting out signs and talking quietly to herself or the cats.
This place is madness. Imagine a B and Q warehouse but maybe a fifth of the size, imagine the shelving stacked inside so tight you can barely pass through without turning sideways. Fill those shelves to the brim with junk of every kind. Trinkets and glass figurines, old family photographs in tote boxes, vinyl records from the 50;s, 60's, 70's, 80's and 90's, VHS videos of all genres, used hairbrushes, kids toys, board games, an old TV stand, plastic chairs, inflatable beds, pirate swords, party hats, crates of marbles and so on and so on and so on. In fact it's overwhelming, claustrophobic and confusing. Most of it looks like house clearance junk but we find a few new items here and there. The gf picks up a biker neck warmer and I find a spare t-shirt, that's another thing I forgot to bring. The gf pokes her nose into Jurby Books, next door. This also belongs to the cat lady and is crammed with old books in no order. The gf, being a librarian, wants to put them all in order. There's not enough time.
The curious and surreal world of Jurby Junk. The lady in shot is the owner.
The old lady likes my sunglasses, "Oh you look good in them". I put on the t-shirt "Oh that looks good on you, mind you, I bet you look good in anything." Game on! I'm in here lads. I envisage myself riding around the island on my motorcycle with the crazy cat woman on the back seat saying things like "Oh Ren, you're so fast". Damn, if only she were 30 years younger. The gf teases me. As I ride away I see the shopkeeper's blonde hair and tight leather pants, maybe I'll leave the gf and take her?
We rejoin the TT circuit at Ballaugh Bridge and proceed towards Sulby. Again I open the 250 up to the max and this time achieve a dizzying 68 mph. There's more in the motor to come but I've run out of unrestricted road before I can achieve it. Sulby is not far at all from Ballaugh. And Ramsey is not far from Sulby either, damn this place is small. Ramsey is a proper town with shops etcetera but it's smaller and feels more comfortable than Douglas. We stop at a Co-Op and the gf grabs us both a "meal deal" sandwich, drink and sweet.
I follow signs for "Ramsey Sprint". I find myself on the sea front north of the town on a broad dual carriageway, still in a 30 zone. As I reach the end of the dual carriageway I notice an inordinate number of skid marks all terminating at the left of the tarmac where the two lanes become one again. Logic dictates to me the Ramsey sprint consists of a drag race up this dual carriageway, a sharp fast U turn and back down the other lane. I do my U turn, without skidding and a positive life saver. Sure enough there are fainter black lines where powerful engines have pushed tyres to the grip limits as they set off back towards Ramsey. My tyre laughs as 22 bhp gradually pulls the gf and I back up to 20 mph. I stop on the sea front and we dine on delightful chicken and bacon butties, orange juice and millionaire shortbread. The sun shines, the beach is quiet, Ramsey is just down the road and if I'm honest I feel great.
Ramsey Prom, getting ready to set off. Sun!
While the CBF 250 is not going to set any speed records this week it does do some things exquisitely well. It takes the gf and myself down some narrow awkward roads at a safe and steady pace. The motor thrums comfortably at 20 and 30 mph as we make our way down empty lanes through Maughold and to an isolated rocky shoreline. I do get frustrated with the lack of power at time but if I'd been on the Fazer I'd have been more frustrated by the cumbersome weight and the motor straining at the leash. This is what the 250 does best, this is why I love it. We stop for a few moments to admire this craggy coastline.
The craggy shoreline near to Maughold.
More pottering and dawdling along sees us into Laxey just down the coast. The day has become hot now, uncomfortably so. After taking photographs and admiring the views I seek the shade of a toilet block. I stick my pasty white legs out in the sun, ever hopeful that one day they'll get some colour. We both like Laxey. There's a small harbour, a pretty promenade and a quiet beach. The sea is mill pond flat, there's but a waft of traffic and all is calm. As we leave we spot the chap from the Midlands on his VStrom 650, we swap courtesies and an update as to where we've all been, then we set off to find the TT Circuit.
Laxey Prom. Peaceful and perfectly lovely.
I'm sure I've missed a bit, we seem to be somewhat south of Ramsey. Oh well, not to worry. This must be the mountain section as I'm definitely heading up hill. How do I know? Because this section of road has no speed limit, the rev counter on the 250 is buried at 10,000 rpm and I'm sill only getting up to 55 mph. I dare not hook up a gear, I fear I would simply slow down. Yeah, OK, it's times like this I wish I had a 100 plus bhp motorcycle. It's frustrating as I'm struggling to keep pace with the cars and I fear I'm about to drop a valve or melt the piston.
Whoa! That's the famous Joey Dunlop statue, too late I've whizzed past at (sort of) warp speed. I carry on a little further until I can find a safe place to turn. Of course this is where the 150 kilo 250 is much much better than a 210 kilo Fazer, I can spin this one around, 2 up, just using a little bit of layby and my deft skills. I pull in to the driveway, past a most curious giant sheep or goat thingy and up the steep path to where Mr Dunlop forever sits onboard his motorcycle, smiling through the sun, rain, wind and snow. All my friends have pictures of them hugging Joey or sitting on his tail piece. The gf and I follow suit, it seems the done thing, it would be rude not to.
Well, it's the thing to do apparently.
We sit in the sun, it's much cooler up here to my relief. I watch the traffic below. Somehow I'd expected every single car to be driving at high speed and the motorcycles to be screaming by, considering there's no limit here. Nope. The traffic moves much as one might expect on any country road. Most motorcyclists, of which there are many, are not going fast. They are either stuck behind the cars or taking in the serene surroundings. Every now and then one or two get a move on, engines gnawing and howling in search of thrills until the next car slows them up again. This is not a racetrack or a two wheeled nirvana, it's a road like any other. Still, the views are lovely and that's why we're here.
There's no limit, but it's not your personal race track either.
We roll down down down back toward Douglas. We glimpse the sea to our left then to our right, it really is a small island. We pass Greg ny Baa, another famous landmark. We roll down into Douglas and I turn off the course into the town. I find a wireless connection and email mother to let her know we are well and check my emails. No disasters, no screaming customers, thank goodness for that. After Ramsey and Laxey Douglas feels more like a city, we head back to the cottage.
We're back at the cottage by 1600. As I look at the map I can honestly say we've had a damn good look around the northern part of the Isle, there's not much we've not seen. How strange that feels. I still can't get used to how small this place is, if this map were France it would take us months to just touch on a small corner. It's been a good day though.
That evening we all dine at "The Crosby", the pub is a couple of minutes walk away. I am tight, I get it from my Dad. The reason why we're dining at the Crosby is at roughly £10 for a main meal this place is cheap. Yep, that's right, cheap. I'd expect to pay maybe 5, 6 or possibly 7 pounds for the same meal on the mainland. Here it's a tenner. Elsewhere we've seen main meals starting at £17, deserts at £10 and a mere £7 for soup and a roll. And these are not high class establishments, I dare not wonder how much those sort of places would charge. Everything on this island is a little more expensive but eating out is ruinous.
Into The Isle Of Man
The first day of our Isle Of Man break. We sail the Irish Sea, search Douglas and walk around Peel
Isle Of Man - The North Side
Today we look around the northern part of the Isle Of Man. Jurby Junk, Point Of Ayre, The TT Circuit and The Bunglalow.
Isle Of Man - The South Side
This time we explore the southern side of the Isle Of Man. Beautiful sea views, slow riding, fast riding, sunbathing and harbours. It's all here you know.
A Final Poke Around The Isle Of Man
We take a mooch around the Isle Of Man to find sheep tracks, steep switchbacks, a non magnetic hill and ice cream.
Final Day And Thoughts - Isle Of Man
The return trip from the Isle Of Man and Ren's thoughts about the place.
Reader's Comments
Name
Comment
Add a RELEVANT link (not required)
Upload an image (not required) -
Uploading...
Home
Travel StoriesIsle Of Man 2014