Frank 'n' Stan's bucket list - #2: TT Races - Poignant, uplifting and sublimely funny - one to put a huge smile on your face!

by J C Williams

  “Okay?” said Abe, now taking the language differential in stride. “I’ll go and make love to the sidecar, boss.”

  “Good! I must go and give motivating love to Dave and Harry!” replied Henk.

  “Brilliant. I hope they enjoy it?” said Abe, with a cheery if somewhat confused wave.

  The glorious smell of grilled meat wafted through Frank and Stan’s garden, teasing the noses of Stella and Lee. “I’m wasting away to nothing over here!” Stella proclaimed. “How long for a burger, Frank?”

  “She likes her meat, this girl,” smiled Lee, before the expression on Stella’s face saw him quickly backtrack.

  “Five minutes, Stella. Though you should maybe take a moment to digest the previous two before you have another?” Frank suggested.

  “Did I ask your opinion? I don’t think I did. You worry about the cooking, Frank, and I’ll worry about the eating,” said Stella, using a twig she’d picked up from the garden to clean food from between her teeth.

  Stan, ever the gracious host, returned from the kitchen carrying a trayful of exotic-looking cocktails provided in an array of different colours. “I love a good helping of Tom Collins on a warm summer’s evening,” he declared.

  “Whut, no lager?” enquired Stella bluntly.

  “Try this, Stella,” suggested Stan, handing over a delicate glass that all but disappeared in Stella’s mitt. She looked at it suspiciously, raising the glass to show her displeasure at the minimal volume, before draining the contents faster than Stan even had time to serve the next guest. Stella wiped her lips before taking another glass from the tray and dispatching that one just as quick.

  “Stella, that was for…” Stan began. “Eh, nevermind,” he said agreeably. “I’ll get another one.”

  “Good. Don’t forget my lager while you’re in there,” demanded Stella, handing back the newly emptied glass.

  Frank arrived in short order with a platter of succulent meaty treats, fresh from the grill. “So, Lee. You’ve enjoyed your trip to the Island thus far?”

  “Loved it, Frank. And loving it,” Lee replied, reaching for a burger, but his hand was promptly brushed aside by Stella’s.

  “I’ll take that, thanks,” said Stella.

  “I can see why you and Stan have fallen in love with the place,” Lee went on. “It’s beautiful, so it is. And as for the racing, Jaysus, I’ve never seen anything like it. I watched a few videos of the racing on the internet, of course, but the real thing is an entirely different animal. I think I’m going to book my ferry passage for next year, if that’s okay with you both. Stella’s really enjoyed it too. Haven’t you, Stella?”

  Stella clutched her stomach like she’d been winded. “Are you sure those burgers were properly cooked, Frank? My gut’s making some noises here. Hold that,” she said, handing her latest burger to Lee. “I may be some time.”

  Lee’s smile was unwavering. “Honestly, guys, she’s really enjoyed it.”

  Frank took a seat one side of Lee and Stan the other, with both placing a firm hand on either of his thighs and giving them a squeeze.

  Lee looked uncertain as to where this was headed. He knew of Stan’s persuasion, naturally, and wasn’t the least bit offended, of course. But now Frank as well?

  “Em, lads…?”

  Frank patted Lee’s thigh like a drum. “You and Stella…” he began.

  “Ah!” said Lee, somewhat relieved.

  “We’re pleased for you both, Stan and I,” Frank went on. “Aren’t we, Stan?”

  “Very happy,” Stan chimed in.

  “Lee, can we ask you a blunt question?”

  Lee lowered Stella’s burger. “Of course.”

  Frank chose his words carefully. “This isn’t some sort of stupid stunt?” Right, well possibly not so carefully.

  “Or a bet?” added Stan.

  Rather than take objection, Lee returned the overtly friendly leg-touching. “Frank… Stan… I know how much Stella means to you both. I also know how much you mean to her. Stella’s not everyone’s cup of tea, I totally get that, but I genuinely like her. She makes me laugh, and hopefully she likes spending time with me as well. I promise you both that my intentions with Stella are honourable.”

  “I can see that she does,” Stan offered kindly.

  “I’ll take good care of Stella, I promise you lads. I see something in her that we three can see well enough, but that perhaps most others may not take the time to see.” Lee nodded his head serenely. “I’ve gotten to know Stella as someone very special and important to me,” he went on. “She’s sensitive, caring, warm, with a gentle underbelly. She’s quite something.”

  “She is quite something,” Frank agreed with a laugh. “On that we can all agree.”

  “My ears burning?” growled Stella, fag glued to her bottom lip. “Best not go in there, by the way,” she cautioned them, pointing in the direction of the downstairs toilet. “For at least ten minutes. I’m shittin’ through the eye of a needle and I’m sure it’s your burgers, Frank,” she said, raising the trajectory of her fag in Frank’s direction.

  Stella’s warning was interrupted by the arrival of Dave and Monty.

  “Something smells good!” remarked Monty, opening the gate.

  “It doesn’t in there,” said Stella, pointing once again. “It won’t be safe for a bit yet. Fair warning.”

  There was a collective hush, with Dave eager to break the silence:

  “Henk came to see me earlier. He really doesn’t like that Rodney Franks. Oh, and we’ve got a new chief mechanic, fella by the name of Abe Maddocks. Good he is, too. Reckons he can get a bit more out of the bike for us.”

  “A bit more,” repeated Monty, for no discernible reason, for which Dave gave him a glance but let it pass.

  “Anyway,” continued Dave. “Henk is desperate to do the double over Rodney, as you know. Seemingly it was Franks who gave Tom the photo so Tom’d get himself disqualified. He also spread it around that it was Tom who drew the giant coq au vin.”

  “So,” Stan interrupted, clearing his throat. “Nobody thinks it was…”

  Dave shook his head. “You’re fine, Stan. Oh, and guess what he’s offered me? Well, offered the charity, I mean.”

  “He’s going to give the farm to the charity,” said Frank. “Yes, we already know that.”

  Dave lowered his head. “Oh, em… no. He’s decided to keep it, actually, and build the same hotel that Rodney Franks was planning. Shit. He didn’t already tell you this?”

  “No, it must have slipped his mind,” Frank replied bitterly. “But… you know, I think it was more than we could’ve really handled anyway,” he added, trying to look on the positive side.

  “Bollox, now I feel bad because whatever I say, it’s going to be a let-down,” said Dave.

  “Let-down,” offered Monty.

  “Anyone eating that?” asked Dave, casually, of Stella’s burger, but before he moved an inch, Stella whipped her arm out to claim it in a motion quicker than a chameleon’s tongue.

  “It’s mine,” she told him, eyes narrowed. “So don’t even.”

  Frank and Stan stood with jaws hanging. “Dave, hello? So what did Henk say?” asked Frank.

  “What’s this big news?” Stan added.

  “Oh, yeah. Almost forgot. Okay, well, to be fair, I did ask him to gift the farm to the charity as I knew how much it meant, but he just laughed that big laugh of his.”

  “That big laugh. You know the one,” Monty put forth.

  Dave sighed, then continued on: “What he did say, though, is that it’s probably going to be two or three years until the builders put shovels in the ground. So it’s yours – well, the charity’s – until that time. And it could even be longer. And at least this way you get to see if the idea for the farm will work out. Oh, and he said the all-important words… rent-free.”

  “What? Dave, that’s brilliant!” Frank answered, the wind returned to his sails. “Imagine what we can do with the place. I can see it
now, Stan!” he said, holding his hands up in the air to frame an imaginary picture.

  Dave slapped Frank’s hands away. “I don’t mean to piss on your parade too much, gents. There is the small matter of winning an Isle of Man TT. And for someone that’s never broken into the top ten, I just, you know, want to manage some expectations, yeah?”

  “We’ve got every faith in you both,” replied Frank, before realising his error. “Shit, sorry, Monty,” he added, cursing his own stupidity. “I didn’t mean–”

  “No worries, Frank, I’m well over it,” Monty assured him. “I just want this big dopey baboon to be stood on the top step of the podium tomorrow. Truly, that’s all I want.”

  Frank raised his can of lager. “I’ll drink to that. Fucking hell, can you believe that this time tomorrow we might well be having a drink with a TT Winner? Come on,” said Frank, ushering his flock to follow him.

  They peered over the garden wall, looking up the length of Glencrutchery Road towards the start/finish line.

  “Look at that, Dave,” said Frank. “Visualise yourself hurtling along here tomorrow, heading for that line, to become an Isle of Man TT winner. Just close your eyes and imagine how that’s going to–”

  “Right. That’s been ten minutes,” announced Stella, looking at her watch. “So the smell of shit should have gone by now, if anyone should need the loo.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  H arry McMullan was a man on a charge. “It’s not difficult, Dave,” he said sarcastically. “Watch how it’s done,” he continued, looking back to Dave, before leaning forward to the small boy hopping in excitement. “You want me to sign that?” he asked the happy little chappy.

  “Yes, please!” came the eager reply.

  “How about you bugger off instead, yeah? Go on, then!” Harry told the boy, shattering the child’s enthusiasm in an instant.

  Granted, the walk from the paddock to the start line could be a challenge, what with all the spectators vying for an autograph or perhaps a photograph with their sporting heroes. Most, apart from Harry McMullan, were perfectly accommodating. In fact, this was one of the very charms of this event; you had the opportunity to meet your supporters, and the fans their superstars.

  Dave was as happy as a pig wallowing in the muck, walking through the crowds, absorbing the positive convo like a sponge, pausing for photographs, and simply making the most of the adulation. For he was under no illusions in that, tomorrow, once the race was done, he would simply be plain old Dave Quirk once again.

  “What’s up with you, Quirk?” asked Harry, with no attempt to hide his displeasure. “Can we get a move on?”

  “Harry, will you just shut the fu– Oh, hello, princess, would you like me to sign your hat, luv?” asked Dave, changing tack mid-sentence, ever the professional. “I’m just looking for someone, okay?” Dave told Harry once the wee one’s autograph had been sorted.

  “Bloody hell, now’s not the time, Dave! You’re moving slow as a dino stuck in a tar pit, and we’ve a race to start, in case you’ve forgotten!”

  Dave continued to sign autographs whilst looking through the crowd for a particular familiar face.

  “We have to go! Now!” shouted Harry, in between ruining another child’s day.

  “Okay!” replied Dave, having one last glance around. “I’m coming.”

  Access to the pit lane area was obtained by passing through a narrow gate at the side of the grandstand, and, at this point, passes had to be shown. Senior race day in the Isle of Man was one of the biggest events in sport and every chancer was eager to get the best view of the proceedings.

  The noise of a paddock on race day was overwhelming and a true assault on the senses. There were thousands of spectators, engines revving, TV crews, radio crews, helicopters hovering overhead. There was the smell of beer, fried food, oil, racing fuel. It was easy to be overtaken by the occasion, but Dave was no rookie; he took a breath and gave those waiting by the gate the courtesy of a wave as he had one final glance around.

  “Dave, over here!” screamed a voice through the din. “Dave, wait up!” the voice shouted once more.

  Frank and Stan were stood at the rear of the crowd, waving furiously. “Come here!” shouted Dave in return, waving them over.

  “We can’t!” replied Stan, shaking his head. “There’s no way thr–”

  Stella rose her head and with an air of confidence borne of iron will, extended her arms like a plough. “Coming through!” she said, politely enough – in Stella terms – but with a tone which made clear that those in front best move clear. “Coming through!” she repeated, lest any doubt of her intentions remain.

  Stella ushered Frank and Stan through the sea of spectators, leaving people spinning in her wake, dazed, with cries of “What just happened?” and “… force of nature” and “I feel seasick.”

  Once arrived at the destination, Frank and Stan took Dave in their arms, stopping only to look at him with an expression of paternal pride.

  “You’re wearing the leathers!” cooed Frank, taking a step back.

  Dave fanned his hands down his body, smiling broadly. “I told Henk that if I was racing in his sidecar, then I was wearing the ones with Team Frank and Stan’s Food Stamps on them. After all, if it wasn’t for you two dickheads, I wouldn’t be stood here now.”

  “It’s a nice touch, Dave, thank you,” added Stan.

  “No, eh, Monty?” asked Dave casually, unable to hide his dejection. “Oh, bother,” he said, before anyone could answer. “Is that not–?”

  “Move it along, you lot,” instructed Adrian. “Keep it moving here!”

  “We have to go!” screamed Harry, already ahead of them. “God, this is what you get when you deal with amateurs!”

  “He’s a real charmer, isn’t he?” remarked Frank, rhetorically, since the answer was evident.

  Dave smiled. “A complete tosspot. But he’s good at what he does, so, I’m smiling sweetly and going with it. Guys, I really have to go. If you see Monty, will you tell him, well, you know–?”

  “Pass, please,” asked Adrian, blocking the path with his somewhat less-than-considerable frame. Evidently, Adrian remembered Dave as well, and was taking no chances.

  “Would you believe me if I said I’d forgotten it?” asked Dave.

  “I’d suggest you find it very quickly,” replied Adrian, keen to disabuse Dave of the notion he’d get in without it. “Unless you want some more of what I’ve got to offer, that is,” warned the boy, pointing to his flexed bicep which resembled nothing more than a picked-clean chicken bone.

  Dave decided it best not to test Adrian’s mettle just now, opting for the easier option, raising his arm to show his wristband pass.

  “Very good. Hurry along, sir,” replied Adrian, eyes narrowed in an I’m-watching-you steely expression.

  “Dave, wait there!” shouted Frank, pointing over his shoulder.

  Stella’s ploughing duties had resumed, as this time she moved through the crowd with Monty tucked under her arm. This display of crowd manipulation drew an admiring gaze from Adrian, who dropped his guard, allowing Dave to step back through the gate.

  “Eyes off, lads!” shouted Lee over the crowd as Stella pulled away from his side, to anyone who would listen. “That one’s mine!”

  Once delivered, Monty was deposited by Stella at Dave’s feet. “Sorry I’m late, gents,” Monty offered.

  “Did you get it?” asked Dave.

  “Yes, here you are,” Monty answered him, transferring an item to Dave’s waiting hands. “Now go!” he said, holding his most sincere crooked gaze. “Off with you! You can do this, mate! I’m so proud of you!”

  Dave blew him a kiss and stuffed the delivery inside his leathers, giving a final wave.

  Monty, turning to the others, looked more confused than usual. “Here, you’ve got passes to go through?” he asked of Frank and Stan. “Pit passes are rare as rocking horse shit! But… why haven’t you gone in, then?”

  Frank mo
tioned towards Lee and Stella. “We all wanted to be together, do you know what I mean?”

  “I’ll stay with you?” asked Monty.

  “That’d be nice,” said Frank.

  “It’d be nice,” added Stan as well. “So what did you give Dave?”

  Monty’s bottom lip wobbled. “It was a photo of our first sidecar race. I couldn’t find it at first, that’s what’s took me so long, but I finally managed to locate it, in a proper place of honour, atop the beer fridge. Dunno why I didn’t look there at the start. Anyway, Dave said he wanted a photo of the both of us to have with him as it’s the only way he’d race without me.”

  “Now you’ve got me going again!” said Stan, rubbing his eyes. “Bloody hell, I never knew racing could be so emotional!”

  “Come on,” offered Frank. “Let’s go and take our seats. This is going to be a proper special day.”

  “It’ll be grand, indeed,” agreed Lee.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  … If you’re not fortunate enough to be trackside in the Isle of Man, then listening in to Manx Radio TT around the world is the next best thing. Tim Glover here, and I’m pleased to report that conditions are perfect as I look out from the tower. It’s Senior Race Day and, arguably, the home of the greatest sporting spectacle anywhere. I certainly wouldn’t argue with that, at least! We’re going racing in a little over twenty seconds in the second Sidecar Race and I absolutely cannot wait. Folks, this is going to be a treat!

  D ave ordinarily had a little more time to compose himself. But today he was starting at the number two position, on Henk’s machine as opposed to his familiar own, and with a bloke he could barely tolerate as his companion for the next three laps. He looked down at the Frank & Stan logo emblazoned on his leathers, for both comfort and motivation, before taking a final glance up to the TT Grandstand where he knew all eyes would be on him. He eased the machine forward, towards the starting arch, allowing his eyes to drift briefly to the pretty girls stood elegantly either side – positioned there, as always, to see the riders off.