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

  The engine of Thomas and Napier’s machine erupted into life as the first outfit off the mark sped away from the start line on its way to the top of Bray Hill.

  This was a time trial rather than a mass start, so Dave had ten long seconds to wait until he received the tap on the shoulder. He made sure first gear was engaged, giving the throttle several quick bursts to get the oil flowing, before dropping the clutch the instant hand-made-contact with-shoulder.

  He tucked himself as much as physically possible for a unit the size he was. Second, third, fourth gear… Dave was second on the road in the greatest racing event on earth. Shit, this thing’s quick! he said to himself, before pointing the machine towards Bray Hill – where he’d once again feel like he was driving off the edge of the earth.

  Back in the grandstand, Lee, Frank, Stan, and Monty couldn’t take their eyes off the starting grid. “Go on, Dave!” screamed Monty, jumping to his feet. “They look bloody quick!” he offered, before taking his seat.

  All eyes were transfixed on this sporting spectacle. That is, until Stella returned from the concession stand armed with a hot dog and a lager, interrupting those sat patiently as she pushed her way through unceremoniously.

  “Did you not get me one?” asked Lee. “It’s just that I couldn’t help but notice there’s only one hot dog held in your hand?”

  “I did,” said Stella. “But I ate it on the way back. Those stairs really took it out of me, and I needed to keep my strength up,” she told him, pointing to the sweat on her face. “I ate yours, and this one was mine,” she added, by way of explanation, before tucking in to the remaining hot dog.

  Today they didn’t need a radio as speakers the size of small cars were fixed to the wall behind them, trumpeting out the race commentary.

  Frank turned to Stan, whose face was rigid with concentration. “Stan, you do know you’re holding my hand?”

  “Yes, Frank. I won’t lie, I do.”

  “That’s fine. It’s quite comforting, actually. Have you got that app on your phone ready?”

  “Sure do,” Stan answered, waving his phone as confirmation.

  The commentator called off the outfits, each in turn as they left the start line, as much as time would allow until having to break away as the frontrunners reached the first commentary point on the circuit, Glen Helen.

  … And now it’s over to Dave Christian at Glen Helen!

  Yes, thank you, Tim Glover, perfect timing as ever. I can hear the roar of an engine coming up the valley and the spectators to my left are starting to fidget which can only mean one thing – the first outfit is about to arrive!

  … And sure enough, Sidecar Number One and first on the road is Jack Napier and Andy Thomas, looking quick as they tackle the left-hander before heading up towards Sarah’s Cottage and then onto the rapid Cronk y Voddy Straight. For relative newcomers to the circuit, they certainly came through here as smooth as you like!

  We await number two on the road, Dave Quirk and Harry McMullan, but I’m counting down on my head and they seemed to have lost ground on the run in from the Grandstand…

  … Yes, the gap is certainly more than ten seconds, so Quirk and McMullan have dropped time, but here they come! That engine sounds wonderful, but as we wait for the official times, I can see they’ve dropped back and that third on the road has actually started to gain on them…

  … As I suspected, the official timings show Napier and Thomas have pulled out a three-second advance over Quirk and McMullan. It looks like the Sidecar World Champions are on a charge, and eager to avenge their defeat in the first race!

  Stan squeezed Frank’s hand a little tighter. “I thought Napier had a broken hand or something? It doesn’t appear to have an impact on his lap time.”

  Frank looked down at his white knuckles. “He does, according to Henk. And I think I may have soon, Stan, as well. A broken hand, that is.”

  “Sorry, Frank, I’m just a bit nervous.”

  “You’re fine, actually. The pain is taking my attention away from the race,” answered Frank.

  Never had Frank and Stan been so intrigued as to the progress of an egg timer. They both sat, heads bowed, staring at Stan’s phone screen.

  “Pants!” shouted Frank.

  The app on the phone had apparently updated before the radio commentator, since it revealed that Dave had now dropped back to third place at Ramsey, trailing by two seconds, whilst Napier and Thomas were extending their lead. “Come on, Dave! You can do this!” urged Frank.

  “Dave’s favourite section is over the Mountain, coming up,” offered Stan encouragingly.

  Lee interrupted, but for good reason, handing them each a large plastic beaker of lager. “You pair look like moody teenagers Faceapping your friends, or whatever it’s called. I thought a beer would release the tension?”

  Stan gratefully reached out for the beer. “I knew we’d met you for a reason, Lee. Keep them coming!” he joked.

  “And the hot dogs,” chided Stella. “You said you were getting a hot dog.”

  “Balls. Sorry, Stella, I forgot.”

  “Don’t sit down,” continued Stella, with a deft flick of her perm. “You said you’d get me a hot dog.”

  “And so I did. One hot dog coming up, Stella,” replied Lee without complaint.

  Glencrutchery Road was eerily quiet in contrast to the chaos a few minutes earlier. The lower-numbered outfits had all departed and those at the front had yet to reappear upon completion of their first lap. Dave had already broken the fifth of the six timing points, located at the Bungalow section, and, as Stan predicted, he appeared to be settling into his rhythm, having pulled back two seconds on that section and promoting them into second place once again as a result.

  All necks were soon arched, however, as the relative tranquillity was smashed by the noise of the engine howling their way. Napier and Thomas had turned in their first lap unscathed, but the extent of their lead wouldn’t be known until the other machines broke the timing beam at the grandstand.

  “They’re still second,” announced Stan. “But–”

  “Yes!” Frank yelled. “But how far down are they?”

  “Wait…” replied Stan, index finger raised. “Bugger, they’re sixteen seconds down. But, their advantage over third place is four seconds. That’s good?”

  Monty punched the air. “Come on, Dave! I knew that boy was bloody quick!”

  Frank watched Monty, who was jumping on the spot, delighted for his friend. Monty caught Frank’s eye for a moment, and with a beaming smile flashed an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Not once had Monty moaned or complained that he wasn’t racing, more interested was he in focussing his efforts in supporting his friend. That’s what mattered most to him, and bless him for it, thought Frank.

  “Have you had your meds, Frank?” asked Stan. “Only you’re looking a little bit peaky. Are you feeling okay?”

  Frank threw him a contented grin. “I’m feeling a bit washed out, Stan, if I’m being honest. But, at the same time, I feel more alive than I’ve ever felt. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Good,” replied Stan, waving his hand like he was fanning himself. “Because I’ve got a little surprise for you. It’s a little bit later than expected, but you can blame the Isle of Man airport for that.”

  “What are you prattling on about St–?” began Frank, but then he saw what Stan had been waving for – or, rather, to. “Oh, my!” exclaimed Frank, holding his hand to his mouth. “Molly, what are you doing here?”

  Stan pointed to the spare seat. “That’s yours, Molly.”

  Molly took her father’s hand. “I wanted to come over and support you, you silly biscuit.”

  Frank was left momentarily speechless.

  “You’ve spoken so much about this place, and Dave and Monty,” Molly continued. “I just wanted you to know that I was interested in your life over here, and, well, that I love you.”

  “I love you too, Molly,” replied Frank earnestly, but also with one eye on
the racing.

  “Dad…?”

  “Erm… sorry. I’m so glad you’re here, honestly I am!” Frank replied. “It’s just I’m a little bit distracted at the moment…”

  “Enjoy the racing, Dad,” Molly assured her father with a laugh. “I can see you’re a tad engaged at the moment, so you can tell me what’s actually going on when it’s finished,” she told him, giving him a quick cuddle as she took her seat.

  Frank gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Perfect! Thank you so much for coming, Molly. I didn’t think this day could get any more perfect, but it just did with you here with us!”

  … And with that, we’ll hand over to Roy Moore at Ramsey Hairpin.

  Yes, thanks, Tim, right on time as usual as I can hear the sound of machinery passing through the sweeping right-hander at Stella Maris before they arrive here with us at the hairpin. I can report that machine number one is first with us and Napier and Thomas are looking very impressive as they pass us on lap two, heading up to the Waterworks where the engines will need to put in a shift.

  … Next on the road is Quirk and McMullan and unless I’m very much mistaken they’ve eaten into the leaders, and… yes, we need the other machines to make up the leaderboard, but it looks like Quirk and McMullan are on a charge, with the lead cut to eight-point-six-four-eight seconds – we’ll call it eight seconds. With third place fifteen seconds back, it very much appears the battle for the top step will be between those two machines first on the road.

  Frank and Stan were coupled once more in such a way as to the casual observer must have appeared almost indecent. “Come on, Dave!” they repeated, over and over, like madmen.

  “I don’t think I need those tablets from the chemist,” suggested Stan. “This has got to be the greatest thrill I’ve ever experienced!”

  “Thanks for that, Stan. I mean bringing Molly over. Not that,” said Frank, pointing at Stan’s trouser area.

  Stan turned to look at the rest of the gang. “You’re welcome. I’m going to remember this very moment,” he said. “Stella’s actually made it onto Lee’s knee, by the way.”

  “Is he okay?” asked Frank, giving over a concerned look. “That’s not something an ordinary man would usually be able to…”

  “He seems to be rather enjoying it, and I think Stella’s quite taken with this racing as she hasn’t even eaten her hot dog,” Stan assured him. “Oh, wait, here we go,” Stan said, as the necks in the grandstand were once again craned up in the direction of Glencrutchery Road.

  Napier and Thomas held the lead as they tore over the start line at blistering speed, but before Stan had a chance to confirm the lap time, Dave and Harry appeared rapidly behind them on the start of the third and final lap.

  “They’re about twelve seconds down,” said Frank, who’d manually timed the difference on his watch.

  “That’s amazing!” exclaimed Stan.

  “It is? That’s more than at Ramsey, isn’t it?”

  “No, no!” replied Stan. “Don’t forget that Napier and Thomas started ten seconds before, so, if Dave is twelve seconds back on the road, on adjusted time, they’re only two seconds down. They’ve pulled back another six seconds over the mountain!”

  “You’re sure?” asked Frank.

  Stan handed over his phone. “Look at the leaderboard, mate. Napier and Thomas hold just under a three-second lead. Frank… I think… they can really do this, can’t they…?”

  Stan turned to show Monty the leaderboard, but the radio commentator had beaten him to it. Monty knelt on the ground, with the palms of his hands joined, offering a prayer to anything and everything that was holy, and the atmosphere in the TT Grandstand was electric.

  Tim Glover gave a run-through of the leaderboard before breaking for a commercial break.

  “What the hell are they going to a commercial for?” demanded Stella, shaking a fist at nobody in particular. “And I can’t even bloody smoke in here!”

  The radio commercial break ended with some warning about keeping domestic animals and livestock under control, but Frank and Stan were more concerned with keeping their bladders under control.

  “I feel all funny, like I’ve been smoking weed again,” confessed Stan, slapping his cheek to try and sort himself out.

  Frank gave him a puzzled glare. “What? What do you mean again? When did you ever smoke weed in the first place?”

  “It was when…”

  … Let’s hand back to Dave Christian at Glen Helen for the final time in Sidecar Race Two.

  Yes, thanks, Tim. Bang on. The leaves are rustling, and I can hear the sound of the helicopter overhead so that can mean only one thing, and, yes, I can hear the first machinery approaching and the leader on the road is… machine number two!

  Unbelievable scenes here at Glen Helen on the last lap. Dave Quirk and Harry McMullan now on top, holding the slightest of leads over, in second place, Jack Napier and Andy Thomas...

  I know that Andy Thomas has been struggling with his hand, so whether that’s had an impact… the strain on any injury is massive on this circuit…

  Both outfits should now be heading along the Cronk y Voddy Straight, and for those sat in the hedges, look out, you’re in for quite a battle!

  With about twenty-six odd miles to go, I’ve no idea who’s going to take the spoils. What a race this is turning out to be!

  Monty was now joined in the prayer position by both Frank and Stan – rendering them now unable to watch the app on Stan’s phone, at least for the moment.

  Stan half-opened one eye, “Frank can you confirm if there’s water on the floor?”

  “Stella dropped some of her lager,” replied Frank.

  “Thank god. I thought I’d pissed myself.”

  Frank attempted again to listen to the commentary, but it was all muddled because he couldn’t concentrate. He took to his feet and paced up and down the aisle. Ordinarily, those sat behind would have vented their objection, but it was clear to most that those idiots in front of them were cheering on the likely winners of a TT.

  The blood had drained from Monty’s face, and only for the efforts of Lee and Stella was he able to get back to standing position. “You can do this, Dave,” he insisted, pointing skyward.

  Stan’s phone remained planted in his pocket. Frank and Stan stared at each other as the commercial jingle – which they were now acutely familiar with – was drawing to a close, meaning Roy Moore at Ramsey Hairpin was up next…

  … The first machine is coming into view and I can tell you… yes, Quirk and McMullan are still first on the road! Seven seconds the lead at Ramsey Hairpin…

  What a fabulous race we’ve seen today. Local rider, Dave Quirk, has performed heroics with his passenger to lead the Sidecar World Champions by a stunning seven seconds as they head up the mountain on their final lap…

  They cannot be complacent as they’ve still got something like thirteen miles to go and certainly anything can happen on this course, as we’ve witnessed over the years. After all the effort, we’ve seen riders run out of fuel or had their race brought to an abrupt end by something as trivial as a loose wire!

  Harry McMullan was all but hanging out the left-hand side of the bike as Dave turned into the sharp left-hander at Kate’s Cottage, situated around the thirty-fourth mile of the course. Dave glanced up towards the iconic Creg-ny-Baa before tucking himself in for the long straight. The hedges were packed with an array of spectators waving their programmes, but Dave was only focussed on the right-hander in front of the iconic hotel.

  The bike was running like a dream, and for all he disliked Harry, Dave knew he was something apart from the rest. Harry, like the bike, hadn’t missed a beat, and the confidence Dave had in knowing Harry would be there for him propelled him onto lap times he never believed possible even in his wildest and wettest of dreams.

  Dave tuned in his ears to the engine on the run to Brandish Corner, and gave the simplest of prayers that the fuel in the tank would be sufficient. He dropped down a ge
ar, and, once again, Harry was positioned with precision to give Dave the confidence and grip he needed. He didn’t dare to believe, but with Hillberry Corner approaching him at speed, Dave knew he was only a couple of miles from the chequered flag.

  Henk’s team had volunteers all over the course, so he and Harry were inundated with boards confirming their advantage, but Dave knew if he finished ahead of Thomas and Napier then the race was his, by at least ten seconds.

  “Shiiit!” he shouted, as Andy Thomas flew past him on the inside. Dave didn’t expect a pass, and his composure escaped him for a moment and he missed a gear, losing him valuable momentum through Cronk-ny-Mona. “Fuck!” he shouted at himself.

  Dave was furious, but he consoled himself knowing that if he finished less than ten seconds behind them, they’d still win. The momentum they’d lost allowed Napier and Thomas to pull away as Dave opened the throttle, but as they approached Signpost Corner, Thomas was already out of sight.

  Dave knew what speed he could take the precarious right-hander at Signpost, but he didn’t factor in the fade on the brakes which had been under constant pressure for over one hundred and ten miles.

  Dave fought with the machine but the brakes didn’t slow him sufficiently, and for a moment he headed straight for the hedge.

  Dave had to take it wide, which lost him more precious time.

  With his heart racing, Dave eased off into Bedstead Corner and knew that the infamous Nook was ready to catch him out if taken with too much speed.

  He eased through the tree-lined section, which was notoriously slippery due to the dense canopy overhead, with fallen leaves scattered about and little sunlight. He emerged back into daylight and applied the throttle, turning right onto Glencrutchery Road and on to the finish line.

  Dave gave it everything and tucked in, unsure if he was crossing the finish line as the winner of the Isle of Man TT races or in second place, of which there was certainly no shame.

  He couldn’t hear it, but there was rapturous applause and not one person remained on their seats as he applied the brakes – this time with more success – and turned up to the return road.