The Chinese have a saying 'Be careful what you wish for - it might just be granted. I never really appreciated the true meaning behind this until I found myself waiting on the start line of the Isle of man TT course. sat on Peter Lockwood's beautifully prepared 7R AJS and surrounded by one hundred classic racing bikes of every possible engine configuration. Singles, twins, fours - you name it, it was there. The noise from all these unsilenced machines was deafening - even through the thick lining of the latest ACU approved helmet. Famous TT riders were all around me. Phil Read on the Yamaha and Jim Redman on the fabulous six cylinder Honda was sat just in front of me. To my right was Sammy Miller on the Gilera four. I had not been in such exalted company since I last sat here on a Benelli in 1957, The Grandstand, which stretches for some 300 metres or more, was packed with spectators - thousands of whom also line both sides of the 38 mile course. 'What the heck am I doing here? ' I asked myself. 'I am 74 and on a bike I have never sat on before today I am about to try and lap a course, acknowledged to be the most dangerous in the world - and which I haven't ridden round for over 45 years. I have had no opportunity to have a practice run - apart from one early morning lap with my wife, Elizabeth, (Miss Isle of Man TT 1977) on the pillion and didn't exceed 50 mph, except when we came down Bray Hill a bit quick and found the the Norton Atlas (also courtesy of Peter) brakes were not interested in stopping for the red light at the bottom and we had, perforce, to nonchalantly sail straight through. Good job it was half past five and Douglas was still asleep. The only other opportunity I had had to refresh my memory of this complex circuit - said to be 1000 gear changes per lap - was couple of days previously, again on the open road, but which came to a dramatic stop some twenty miles out at Ramsey, where all traffic had been halted by the police and sent back to Douglas, a bad accident at the Waterworks Corner apparently the cause. Then, as if all this lack of preparation on my part was not enough, I had found that my leathers, unused for so long, were as stiff as a board and, after struggling to get into them, I stood there like a crab in it's shell - unable to move. 'I know' said Elizabeth, brightly 'We will hoist you up like a knight in armour and drop you onto the bike'. I did not dignify this suggestion with a response. Then, when even after a thorough oiling - and bending and stretching - the best crouch position I could achieve on the Ajay still left 3 inches of daylight under my backside I gave it up as a bad job. Fortunately, my son, Jarad, had flown over in his plane from his home in Scotland and had had the foresight to bring his leathers with him - just in case. All well and good - except that he is three stone (20 kilos) heavier than me and I was a dead ringer for the Michelin man in them. So loose, in fact, I had to avoid any quick turn around's to stop them being back to front. My musing then comes to an abrupt halt as I realise the Starter is wagging his flag at me. A big fistful of throttle, all nerves and doubts gone, and we are off, screaming down the heart stopping descent which is Bray Hill. The top riders hit 160(256K) mph down here but I content myself with 130,(200K) especially as I know Elizabeth is waiting there to take a photo (which she did and it's the best picture of a baggy rear end I have ever seen. 'Why didn't you slow down a bit ? she later, querulously, asked me, 'I didn't expect you to be going so quick'. 'Sorry, love' I told her 'I meant to give you a big toothy grin as I passed but I was a bit busy hanging on') Quarter Bridge comes hurtling up and, braking and changing much too early, I give myself a mental kicking as I have to open the throttle again. On toBraddann Bridge where a couple of days previously a French rider had been fatally injured when he had smashed straight into the barrier. The S bend of Union Mills follows and onto Crosby - this fast straight I can handle, just give her the gun and hang on - passing Mike Hailwood's favourite pub flat out at 9000 rpm in 6th gear, Feels like flying but is still a long way short of the 200 mph (320K) achieved by the 'works' bikes. At Greeba Castle I get all crossed up and scrape through using the gutter - ' No madam! thank you for clapping but I was damn lucky to get away with it'. Ballacraine, easy, as the Ajay and I are just getting to know one another. Then Laurel Bank and Glen Helen, a nightmare - where the hell am I? Did they change the road? I don't remember the sequence. Again I just scrape through on the edge but am still sweating when the leap over the hump back of Ballaugh Bridge looms up. Another clanger as I go in too quick and land heavily on the front wheel, the Ajay punishes me with a vicious shake that nearly has me off. Quarry Bends, changes have been made here and again I am lost , I ease down a gear - Colin Breeze bought it here on Wednesday, and I did promise Elizabeth I would return in one piece - that's my excuse anyway. The miles stream by, telegraph poles flashing past and endless corners - whose names I should recall, but cannot. Some I take well, others? Well! Let's just say I won't need high fibre for a while. Through Parliament Square and I then make a real ass of myself at May Hill by charging straight at the barrier, stopping just 6 inches short. Good job my helmet is full face - hides my embarrassment. However, my red face doesn't get a chance to fade as at Ramsey Hairpin I have to have a couple of dabs to get round. Up to the Waterworks and yellow flags are wagging furiously,there's a rider down on the road and he does not look good (I later learn that he suffered a broken pelvis) Up over the Mountain and a light rain is falling . The new white flags with a red cross are wagging on every corner - indicating a slippery surface. I take it easy through the famous bends, Guthries, The Bungalow and Windy Corner. I had intended to really blast the spectators off the wall at Kate's Cottage as this was always my favourite viewing spot, but it arrives sooner than I expect and I doubt the spectators even notice me tootling through. Down to Creg ny Baa not too bad and on to the fast kink which is Hillberry. Then coming up Cronk ny Mona to Signpost I again lose the rhythm and slow down at the wrong place, allowing two riders to overtake me before the corner. 'No way' I say to myself fiercely, The previous thirty odd miles have welded the Ajay and myself into a team - I go after them full bore and shoot between them as they slow for Governor's Bridge. The guy on the left gives me a startled glance as I duck under him to beat them both into the hairpin. Round the Nook the Ajay is flat out onto the home stretch as we streak towards the Grandstand to cross the line well in front.
