Three days at the deadliest race: The Isle of Man TT

Men, motorcycles, and a mountain.

Max Prince spent 72 hours trying to figure out what makes the world's deadliest motorsport event, the Isle of Man TT, the unstoppable juggernaut of motorcycle racing that it is—and why it'd take an act of God, or a nuclear event, to stop the race despite its human toll.


Monday, June 2

"And why 'ave you come to the Isle of Man?" asks a cheery airport customs woman, stamp hovering over my passport.

"The circus," I answer.

She hands back my travel papers, ink still wet, with a smile.

Into the menagerie. Backdrop? Imagine rural Ireland with a pinch of Appalachian Mountain—craggy, stone-lined country roads tumbling through farmland and tall woods, punctuated by small townships of austere cottages and limewashed pubs.

This time of year, the capital city of Douglas houses the TT Grandstand, epicenter of festivities that includes the main scoreboard, start/stop line and pit lane, and a sprawling grid of vendor's tents and team motorhomes.

Population on the Isle of Man—typically around 80,000—swells nearly twofold during race week. Running commentary crackles through PA speakers. Everyone is upbeat. Professional and amateur racers fuse agreeably, as do tourists and locals. No other gathering has so much drinking and such little risk of a fistfight.


Bypassing the beer stands, I find a spot just off the starting line for this year's maiden Supersport trial. A low, jaggedly-cobbled stone wall separates clamoring spectators from the course. Motorcycles siphon from the pits and roar into multicolored blurs, one after another, after another, after another …

The rhythm is hypnotizing—so much so that it takes me an hour to look beyond the riders. The lot adjacent is actually a cemetery.

Word of a fatal accident at Ballaugh Bridge during the race's third lap comes down. Rain is imminent and police need to investigate the wreck, so officials close the 37.73-mile Snaefell Mountain Course for today, postponing those remaining trials until morning. The man killed, Bob Price, had been coming here from Gloucestershire, England, to ride the TT for more than two decades. He was 65 years old.

Tuesday, June 3

The Superstock 2 race, delayed by yesterday's fallen rider, takes place at midday. People are abuzz: Michael Dunlop is set to tame the Mountain Course in his new colors. He's an adopted son of the island, favorite son of Northern Ireland, actual son of Robert Dunlop, and nephew of Joey Dunlop, the TT's most beloved (and decorated) rider. After eschewing Honda for BMW in February, Michael's now straddling a blue and white S1000RR.

We watch from the infamous Creg-Ny-Baa pub lawn, where Kate's Cottage straightaway dumps into a deceptive sweeper that's responsible for all variety of vicious lowsides and ragdoll stoppie ejections.


Michael wins the four-lap trial, trouncing runner-up Dean Harrison by 20 seconds. Moments later, we hear that Karl "Bomber" Harris, three-time British Supersport champion, has been killed during the race's final lap at a corner named for Dunlop's deified uncle. Someone shares a few particularly gory details involving a blind overtake and scaffolding. I wish they hadn't. Harris was 34 years old.

Most sources claim the Isle of Man TT has killed around 250 people since its inaugural running in 1907. Locals tell me most sources are wrong. During the bloodiest years, when the island's medical facilities reach capacity, the critically injured are airlifted to nearby hospitals in Dublin or Manchester. Those who die in transit (or soon after) have death certificates issued in Ireland or England, so fatalities could be nearer to 300. Or 350. Or two times that. Nobody knows, and it wouldn't affect the TT even if they did.

See, the Isle of Man is an anomaly of sorts, equidistant to England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, but considered a self-governing 'crown possession' of the UK. Revenue from race week keeps this island afloat, so local officials won't stop the TT. This place is also a corporate tax haven, so English politicians won't exercise territorial power to shutter the TT, either, lest they joust the banking superstructure to prevent a handful of fatalities from a fringe motorcycle rally.

Conclusion? It'll take a nuclear warhead or an act of God to stop this race.

READ THIS: Mark Higgins sets new Isle of Man record in Subaru WRX STI

Wednesday, June 4

This morning is all about Mark Higgins, the 43-year-old rally veteran with a gentle face and local accent. He's going to try to best the four-wheel TT speed record he set four years ago, this time in a new 2015 Subaru WRX STI, which has been described as "stock."

It is not. The four-door is gutted and caged, with sticky 245-section rubber, uprated brake pads, stiffer springs, and a straight-through exhaust. Subaru claims the only further suspension tweaks are to keep damper oil from boiling under duress. Not that any of this detracts from what Mark's doing. Up here, you'd want a proper chair and whip, too.

In a rickety Ford van, we ride along with Mark on a spotting lap to survey conditions before the record attempt, which is slated for 11:00 am. We manage to beat the rain, but not the strict 9:15 am road closure near Ramsey district. At the Orange Army's behest, our diesel Transit putters to a halt. This marshaling crew has marching orders not to let anyone through.

I glance over at Mark. He wrings the tassels of his blue hoodie, rubs his face, and checks the time. It isn't until 40 minutes later that we're granted an official escort. There's no chance of reaching the TT Grandstand before 11. Mark will have to start from Creg-Ny-Baa.

We reach the pub just in time. While his pit crew hastily prepares the Subaru in an alleyway, Mark throws on a fire suit and crash helmet, then climbs into the cockpit.


PHOTOS: Mark Higgins's Record Run at 2014 Isle of Man TT

And just like that, he's off to snatch 220-some-odd corners from Snaefell's jaws, distended 2000 feet in the sky.

While we trundle back down the mountainside towards Douglas, conversation inside the van is replaced by a coarse AM radio signal which broadcasts TT results. It's tense. Listen carefully, and you'll find out if Mark has set a record or merely survived—or neither.


By the time we're pulling up to the TT Grandstand, Mark's pulling into Victory Lane. His average speed of 116.47 mph beats the outstanding record by 1.11 mph. Champagne and wreaths. Mark was friends with Karl "Bomber" Harris but understands that perishing in an attempt to tame Snaefell is simply part of the culture here. No one relishes the death of an acquaintance or neighbor or kin. But they accept it. No one is forced to ride the TT. But they do, anyway. It's a wonderful, archaic, captivating, brutal, strange, romantic yearly ritual. And tourists keep coming.

Nathaniel Hawthorne once described seeing a circus show where a man put his arm and head into a lion's mouth. Spectators, he noted, watched so attentively that not a breath could be heard.

"That was impressive, its effect on a thousand persons, more than the thing itself."

BUCKET LIST DRIVE: The Isle of Man in an Impreza STI

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