 |
| Racing in the rain on slicks with Blake Davis (I won!) |
I thought my dream of racing on the Isle of Man was pretty well secured. I mean, I'd submitted my race results, been invited to, and attended, the Newcomers Weekend. However, somewhat inexplicably, from my view, I was excluded from being offered a start number for the Manx Grand Prix. All of my race results prior to October 2018, which had been used to qualify me to race the Manx in 2019, were discounted due to my classification as a novice. It's worth pointing out that all my races, national events included, were run with expert class riders, and my results relative to the race winners met the criteria of a qualifying race result. I'd been fast enough, but what was done was done. I set my sights on 2020, and promptly won my next race. Onward and Upward!
A Persistant Man
If I've learned anything from my travels through life, it's this; No matter how little or big you dream, how much you plan, or how hard you work, forces, both seen and unseen, conspire against even the noblest endeavors, best laid plans, and most diligent laborers. Flexibility and ingenuity help overcome such opposition, but nothing works like willpower and perseverance.
After contemplating the circumstances surrounding my exclusion from racing at the Manx GP this year, I came to the conclusion that even though I wasn't to be competing I should attend anyway. I offered my assistance to fellow Newcomers and friends, Michael Mace (English, Triumph Daytona 675), and Kenneth Karnov (Danish, Moto 3 Honda). Both offered me pit passes, and I set about planning my trip to the Isle.
As I mentioned before, things rarely go to plan, and this trip was no different. Due to inescapable circumstances I'd been forced to leave my four legged, furry, buddy, Dandy, in Romania following the newcomers weekend I'd attended in March, in order to take part in races back in the States which I thought would cement my inclusion in this year's Manx Grand Prix. Upon returning to Europe I purchased a Yamaha XT660z Tenere in England and rode to a Romanian farm in a nostalgic nod to my first transcontinental motorcycle trip back in 2010. The trip east went down easily enough, and the reunification with my buddy Dan offered a breath of relief along my twisted path to the Isle of Man. I'd missed his company.
This is where things get complicated. I had the good fortune of obtaining a fancy carpentry job in Vienna which necessitated loading my Yamaha into my Sprinter van along with my tools and a healthy portion of North American Red Oak for the trip West. Though the drive back to the border went down without a hitch, when I went to retrieve the van's documents while lined up at the Hungarian border, they were nowhere to be found. They insisted I pay a fine, which I did, and still they refused me entry. As the sun rose above the distant trees I parked my van in the shade alongside the checkpoint, extracted an inflatable mattress from the back, and went to sleep. It had been a long night.
Mercifully, sometime in the early afternoon I was awakened by a very clean smelling middle-aged Hungarian official. He handed me a paper to sign, and invited me into the Schengen Zone. I said thank you, to which he replied, with a smile, "You are welcome". The entire ordeal took about 12 hours. Whether I prevailed out of sympathy from the proper person, concern over the image generated by my little American refugee camp, or the realization that I was going to be far more trouble than I was worth I cannot say. However, regardless the impetus Dan and I were allowed continued on our way.
European Work, Hungarian Heat, and Viennese Parking
The particulars of how an East Tennesseean that studied economics and trades in motorcycles managed to get a carpentry job in Vienna is worthy of its own story. However, in an effort to expedite this tale, I'll just say it involves beer, a coffeeshop, a kindergarten, the world's largest brick manufacturer, and a friend named Bruno. The project got underway well enough, but in the midst of work I needed to reach the Isle of Man for the Manx Grand Prix. The plan was for Dan and I to ride to Calais, France, hit the Chunnel, continue on to Liverpool, England, and catch the ferry to Douglas, on the Isle. First, however, I needed to link up with my friend Susan in Budapest to retrieve my Nomex racing suit which was a compulsory item for working in the pits during the races. It was kind of her to have carried it from Tennessee to Eastern Europe to help benefit me in an endeavor that most folks just didn't understand. Though backtracking into Hungary through mid-August heat was unappealing, it was nice to see my friend prior to her departure to her own adventure in Antartica.
Upon returning to Vienna I set about packing for the long ride west. It was to be Dan's longest trip to date, and we were running short on time. I made one last run to my van to collect a few items before departing. Things were, once again, about to get difficult. Though I'd parked around Vienna's periphery, in "free parking", an oxymoron if ever there has been, I reached my van's spot to collect my Thermarest mattress and sleeping bag only to find a Five series BMW and the feeling that my trip's funds were about to disappear.
1000 Euros and two days is about what it took to retrieve my van from impound. As frustrating a loss as it had been, I had no time to be bothered. I ditched the motorcycle trip, and opted to fly to the Isle. Unfortunately, last minute direct flights to the UK were expensive, and the only sub-500 Euro option involved flying to Warsaw and enduring an eight hour layover. Fortunately I have motorcycle friends in Poland, and the layover was spent in a garage drinking beers, talking motorcycles and the Isle of Man.
Manannan's Cloak
Later that day, after the transfer in London, as we began our decent towards the Isle, I mused to myself that the low level cloud cover could be problematic. I was correct. Just as I gained visibility from my window to see fog turn to rapidly passing saltwater, in extraordinarily close proximity, the pilot immediately throttled to the max and swiftly pulled us up. It was close, far too close. We circled for half an hour and made another less committed attempt to land to no avail. We returned to London, and long cab rides to Liverpool.
The early morning flight from Liverpool to the Isle was no more fruitful, and after an hour and a half sat on the runway the captain announced that the flight was cancelled. I'd had enough flying and was ready to vacate planes in favor of boats. In my haste to escape the airport I made my way back to security, leaving the rest of the passengers waiting at the gate. There was only one other guy taking my proactive approach. After security returned us from whence we came, John Ingram, a fellow carpenter, racer, and a mighty fast man round the TT course, graciously offered to give me a ride to the ferry terminal.
Though it took a motorcycle, a car, a bus, two vans, four planes, a ferry, lots of effort and help, I made it to the pits on the Isle of Man.
Here to Learn
To be quite honest, as a guy that mostly flies solo at the track (regards to my furry buddy Dan), I always find myself struggling to keep on top of things at race meetings. Some competitors manage without help in the pits while making it look easy, but I find it overwhelming running round to my tire guy, buying fuel, swapping wheels, passing through technical inspection, and getting suited up in time for my practice sessions, which oftentimes follow long nights driving to the track. So, although I was disheartened over my exclusion from the racing this year, I was eager to learn the Ins and outs of the ManxGP paddock. It was a very busy place, and there was plenty to absorb. If I'm to race in 2020, preparation will be key to my success.
My Fellow Newcomers
The two Newcomer buddies offering me pit passes were experiencing drastically different luck during what had been a mostly rained out practice week. When they finally hit the course for their first timed practice Kenneth Kørnov's fancy Moto 3 bike blew itself to bits, and Michael Mace had been second quickest amongst all Newcomers aboard his aging Triumph. The Newcomers race, held the day following my arrival on the Isle, found Kenneth spectating as Michael was preparing to take his secondary starting position between Professional French Racer, Pierre Bian, aboard his new R6, and the extremely rapid, Yamaha mounted, University of Wales senior, Sam Mousley. Throughout practice week Pierre had a couple of miles per hour in hand over Michael, and as practice sessions came and went each seemed to grow faster by like amounts. This had not been the case for the always smiling Mousley. His early practice sessions had been plagued with technical issues. Fortunately for Sam he'd managed to impressively overcome this cavernous deficit in no small part due to his superior track knowledge. In the months between our Newcomers weekend and the race meeting he had toured the course approximately 120 laps. In the final couple of practice sessions he found lots of speed, and by race time he was right on Michael's heels.
There are three separate classes of machines simultaneously competing in the Newcomers race. Group A is the fastest, and consists of primarily four cylinder, four stroke, bikes with a maximum displacement of 750cc. Pierre, Michael, and Sam were contesting this class. Group C is made up of the smallest machines. Moto 3 bikes, older 125cc two strokes, and early 90s 400cc fours are popular in this class. Poor Kenneth would have been racing in this group had his Honda's engine held together. Instead he cheered on two other nice guys from our Newcomers class back in March, Adrian Skaife, and the enthusiastic William Piquet. Group B slots into the middle power wise, and is the class in which I would have competed in had my plans not run awry. It's composed of twin cylinder motorcycles capped at 650cc, with the occasional 250cc two stroke bike tossed into the mix. Though I was primarily focused on assisting Michael in the pits and paddock, I had a keen eye on the guys at the front of this class, both of which had been in my Newcomers class. Andrea Majola is a jovial Italian fellow with good reason to be happy, the Ducati test rider, and IRRC racer, was not only blisteringly fast in practice (and in general), he was also on an ex-factory Paton, the fanciest machine in the class. As such, he started the Newcomers race fourth overall with a qualifying time in excess of 110 miles per hour. The second fastest man in Newcomers B qualifying was a big fellow by the name of Mark Kirkby. Mark was the first fellow Newcomer I'd met upon reaching the Island back in March for orientation. He'd been waiting in his aging race van for the Manx Motorcycle Club's offices to open. We had introduced ourselves and exchanged pleasantries as we waited. Mark is a construction worker that loves motorcycles and racing. Like Michael, he was taking on the Mountain Course with a slim budget and lots of determination. I'd identified with him immediately, and was glad to see him solidly in second following qualifying for Newcomers B.
Time to Race
The unique starting procedure for the Manx GP races is a long, climactic, affair. Unlike short course races where your bike only passes through technical inspection once at the beginning of the meeting, with quick practices and races thereafter, at the Manx your bike is sent through scrutineering prior to every time on track. On race day the bikes are then taken directly from inspection to Parc Ferme to await the call for teams to que the motorcycles in start order up on Glencruchery Road. As a team member I felt a few nerves as I wrapped Michael's tires in warmers for 20 minuets of waiting, I could only imagine what the competitors were experiencing. All the time, money, and effort spent on preparing for this. Where does the mind race in the moments prior to finally throwing leg over machine, inching forward to the start line to take the wave of a flag and a tap on the shoulder?
The ten-seconds that transpired between watching Pierre's slick R6 rocket off the line, and starting his own race must have felt like an eternity for Michael. Though I imagine once underway the business at hand quickly quelled any nervousness, that first drop from the precipice of Brey Hill under race conditions, taken in excess of 145 mph aboard Michael's 675 Triumph, must have still made his stomach spin.
After hustling the gear from the grid for the start, our motley crew, Lee, Liam, and myself, took to watching the timing and preparing for Michael's pitstop at the end of the second lap. An eventful first lap saw Pierre Bian create a comfortable cushion, Sam Mousley catch and overtake Michael, and Andrea Majola's lovely Paton sputter to a halt rounding the Gooseneck. Leaving Mark Kirkby in the lead of class B.
Though Sam had passed Michael for second on the road he could create no gap, and the two passed down the pit straight line astern to end the first 37.7 mile lap. The second lap found the pace of the top three equalize, with Bian maintaining his cushion while Mousley and Michael remained tethered to one another right up until entering pit lane. Pierre's crew was just finishing up his stop as Sam and Michael reached the pits. My job was to clean Michael's helmet and give him a push out once refueled. Though we managed to spill fuel in the process we had the second fastest stop in the entire field. It was just over three-seconds faster than Mousley's and put Michael back into second on the road. With two laps to go, the gap between the top three was about thirty-seconds, not a huge amount over the course of 75 miles. There was still everything to play for.
This Mortal (Triumph) Coil
Michael held second on the road up to the famous, ultra fast, righthand corner of Ballagarey. He'd turned in a touch early and been forced to roll off, ruining his drive from the corner down the long straight, allowing Mousley to whistle by with plenty of speed in hand. By the time they'd reached Greeba Bridge Michael had caught back up though, and the two continued to put daylight between themselves and fourth place.
Towards the end of the third lap something had clearly happened to Michael, and he'd dropped off the Yamaha's tail. When Sam made his appearance along the pit straight to start the final lap Michael was nowhere to be seen. Ten or 15 seconds later his Orange Triumph came by with a clear miss. He had a failing coil, which incidentally had also brought an early end to the fleet Italian, Andrea Majola's race. It was hard to watch the scoring along with Lee and Liam as the Gap to fourth place runner Brooks dwindled. Upon seeing the Sulby Straight trap speed of only 120 mph, we knew the podium was lost, and began hoping that Michael would make it home.
The 110 mph flying lap put in by Michael aboard a bike so hampered by lack of top end power is a testament to his skill and perseverance. Though he missed what had appeared to be a sure podium finish, he'd placed fourth of a field of 24 finishers. It was impressive, and I was a touch jealous.
Speaking of jealousy, big Mark Kirkby ended up winning Newcomers B by over six minutes, having turned a high 105 mph best lap. I was happy to see him take the win, if a bit frustrated that I'd not been able to compete. Though I'm uncertain that I would have been able to run with him, I feel as though I would have made things closer in the Twins class.
2019 is History
That's the tale of the 2019 Manx GP Newcomers Race, and my place in it. It wasn't what I'd hoped for, but I took what I could get. I'm certainly in a better position for next year because of it. Let the preparation commence. Kenneth and I are ready, and patiently awaiting our crack at the Manx Grand Prix Newcomers Race 2020. Stay tuned.....
A Persistant Man
If I've learned anything from my travels through life, it's this; No matter how little or big you dream, how much you plan, or how hard you work, forces, both seen and unseen, conspire against even the noblest endeavors, best laid plans, and most diligent laborers. Flexibility and ingenuity help overcome such opposition, but nothing works like willpower and perseverance.
After contemplating the circumstances surrounding my exclusion from racing at the Manx GP this year, I came to the conclusion that even though I wasn't to be competing I should attend anyway. I offered my assistance to fellow Newcomers and friends, Michael Mace (English, Triumph Daytona 675), and Kenneth Karnov (Danish, Moto 3 Honda). Both offered me pit passes, and I set about planning my trip to the Isle.
As I mentioned before, things rarely go to plan, and this trip was no different. Due to inescapable circumstances I'd been forced to leave my four legged, furry, buddy, Dandy, in Romania following the newcomers weekend I'd attended in March, in order to take part in races back in the States which I thought would cement my inclusion in this year's Manx Grand Prix. Upon returning to Europe I purchased a Yamaha XT660z Tenere in England and rode to a Romanian farm in a nostalgic nod to my first transcontinental motorcycle trip back in 2010. The trip east went down easily enough, and the reunification with my buddy Dan offered a breath of relief along my twisted path to the Isle of Man. I'd missed his company.
This is where things get complicated. I had the good fortune of obtaining a fancy carpentry job in Vienna which necessitated loading my Yamaha into my Sprinter van along with my tools and a healthy portion of North American Red Oak for the trip West. Though the drive back to the border went down without a hitch, when I went to retrieve the van's documents while lined up at the Hungarian border, they were nowhere to be found. They insisted I pay a fine, which I did, and still they refused me entry. As the sun rose above the distant trees I parked my van in the shade alongside the checkpoint, extracted an inflatable mattress from the back, and went to sleep. It had been a long night.
Mercifully, sometime in the early afternoon I was awakened by a very clean smelling middle-aged Hungarian official. He handed me a paper to sign, and invited me into the Schengen Zone. I said thank you, to which he replied, with a smile, "You are welcome". The entire ordeal took about 12 hours. Whether I prevailed out of sympathy from the proper person, concern over the image generated by my little American refugee camp, or the realization that I was going to be far more trouble than I was worth I cannot say. However, regardless the impetus Dan and I were allowed continued on our way.
European Work, Hungarian Heat, and Viennese Parking
The particulars of how an East Tennesseean that studied economics and trades in motorcycles managed to get a carpentry job in Vienna is worthy of its own story. However, in an effort to expedite this tale, I'll just say it involves beer, a coffeeshop, a kindergarten, the world's largest brick manufacturer, and a friend named Bruno. The project got underway well enough, but in the midst of work I needed to reach the Isle of Man for the Manx Grand Prix. The plan was for Dan and I to ride to Calais, France, hit the Chunnel, continue on to Liverpool, England, and catch the ferry to Douglas, on the Isle. First, however, I needed to link up with my friend Susan in Budapest to retrieve my Nomex racing suit which was a compulsory item for working in the pits during the races. It was kind of her to have carried it from Tennessee to Eastern Europe to help benefit me in an endeavor that most folks just didn't understand. Though backtracking into Hungary through mid-August heat was unappealing, it was nice to see my friend prior to her departure to her own adventure in Antartica.
Upon returning to Vienna I set about packing for the long ride west. It was to be Dan's longest trip to date, and we were running short on time. I made one last run to my van to collect a few items before departing. Things were, once again, about to get difficult. Though I'd parked around Vienna's periphery, in "free parking", an oxymoron if ever there has been, I reached my van's spot to collect my Thermarest mattress and sleeping bag only to find a Five series BMW and the feeling that my trip's funds were about to disappear.
1000 Euros and two days is about what it took to retrieve my van from impound. As frustrating a loss as it had been, I had no time to be bothered. I ditched the motorcycle trip, and opted to fly to the Isle. Unfortunately, last minute direct flights to the UK were expensive, and the only sub-500 Euro option involved flying to Warsaw and enduring an eight hour layover. Fortunately I have motorcycle friends in Poland, and the layover was spent in a garage drinking beers, talking motorcycles and the Isle of Man.
Manannan's Cloak
Later that day, after the transfer in London, as we began our decent towards the Isle, I mused to myself that the low level cloud cover could be problematic. I was correct. Just as I gained visibility from my window to see fog turn to rapidly passing saltwater, in extraordinarily close proximity, the pilot immediately throttled to the max and swiftly pulled us up. It was close, far too close. We circled for half an hour and made another less committed attempt to land to no avail. We returned to London, and long cab rides to Liverpool.
The early morning flight from Liverpool to the Isle was no more fruitful, and after an hour and a half sat on the runway the captain announced that the flight was cancelled. I'd had enough flying and was ready to vacate planes in favor of boats. In my haste to escape the airport I made my way back to security, leaving the rest of the passengers waiting at the gate. There was only one other guy taking my proactive approach. After security returned us from whence we came, John Ingram, a fellow carpenter, racer, and a mighty fast man round the TT course, graciously offered to give me a ride to the ferry terminal.
 |
| Fleet airport taxi service |
Here to Learn
To be quite honest, as a guy that mostly flies solo at the track (regards to my furry buddy Dan), I always find myself struggling to keep on top of things at race meetings. Some competitors manage without help in the pits while making it look easy, but I find it overwhelming running round to my tire guy, buying fuel, swapping wheels, passing through technical inspection, and getting suited up in time for my practice sessions, which oftentimes follow long nights driving to the track. So, although I was disheartened over my exclusion from the racing this year, I was eager to learn the Ins and outs of the ManxGP paddock. It was a very busy place, and there was plenty to absorb. If I'm to race in 2020, preparation will be key to my success.
My Fellow Newcomers
The two Newcomer buddies offering me pit passes were experiencing drastically different luck during what had been a mostly rained out practice week. When they finally hit the course for their first timed practice Kenneth Kørnov's fancy Moto 3 bike blew itself to bits, and Michael Mace had been second quickest amongst all Newcomers aboard his aging Triumph. The Newcomers race, held the day following my arrival on the Isle, found Kenneth spectating as Michael was preparing to take his secondary starting position between Professional French Racer, Pierre Bian, aboard his new R6, and the extremely rapid, Yamaha mounted, University of Wales senior, Sam Mousley. Throughout practice week Pierre had a couple of miles per hour in hand over Michael, and as practice sessions came and went each seemed to grow faster by like amounts. This had not been the case for the always smiling Mousley. His early practice sessions had been plagued with technical issues. Fortunately for Sam he'd managed to impressively overcome this cavernous deficit in no small part due to his superior track knowledge. In the months between our Newcomers weekend and the race meeting he had toured the course approximately 120 laps. In the final couple of practice sessions he found lots of speed, and by race time he was right on Michael's heels.
There are three separate classes of machines simultaneously competing in the Newcomers race. Group A is the fastest, and consists of primarily four cylinder, four stroke, bikes with a maximum displacement of 750cc. Pierre, Michael, and Sam were contesting this class. Group C is made up of the smallest machines. Moto 3 bikes, older 125cc two strokes, and early 90s 400cc fours are popular in this class. Poor Kenneth would have been racing in this group had his Honda's engine held together. Instead he cheered on two other nice guys from our Newcomers class back in March, Adrian Skaife, and the enthusiastic William Piquet. Group B slots into the middle power wise, and is the class in which I would have competed in had my plans not run awry. It's composed of twin cylinder motorcycles capped at 650cc, with the occasional 250cc two stroke bike tossed into the mix. Though I was primarily focused on assisting Michael in the pits and paddock, I had a keen eye on the guys at the front of this class, both of which had been in my Newcomers class. Andrea Majola is a jovial Italian fellow with good reason to be happy, the Ducati test rider, and IRRC racer, was not only blisteringly fast in practice (and in general), he was also on an ex-factory Paton, the fanciest machine in the class. As such, he started the Newcomers race fourth overall with a qualifying time in excess of 110 miles per hour. The second fastest man in Newcomers B qualifying was a big fellow by the name of Mark Kirkby. Mark was the first fellow Newcomer I'd met upon reaching the Island back in March for orientation. He'd been waiting in his aging race van for the Manx Motorcycle Club's offices to open. We had introduced ourselves and exchanged pleasantries as we waited. Mark is a construction worker that loves motorcycles and racing. Like Michael, he was taking on the Mountain Course with a slim budget and lots of determination. I'd identified with him immediately, and was glad to see him solidly in second following qualifying for Newcomers B.
Time to Race
The unique starting procedure for the Manx GP races is a long, climactic, affair. Unlike short course races where your bike only passes through technical inspection once at the beginning of the meeting, with quick practices and races thereafter, at the Manx your bike is sent through scrutineering prior to every time on track. On race day the bikes are then taken directly from inspection to Parc Ferme to await the call for teams to que the motorcycles in start order up on Glencruchery Road. As a team member I felt a few nerves as I wrapped Michael's tires in warmers for 20 minuets of waiting, I could only imagine what the competitors were experiencing. All the time, money, and effort spent on preparing for this. Where does the mind race in the moments prior to finally throwing leg over machine, inching forward to the start line to take the wave of a flag and a tap on the shoulder?
 |
| Liam, Michael, Izzy, and Lee |
The ten-seconds that transpired between watching Pierre's slick R6 rocket off the line, and starting his own race must have felt like an eternity for Michael. Though I imagine once underway the business at hand quickly quelled any nervousness, that first drop from the precipice of Brey Hill under race conditions, taken in excess of 145 mph aboard Michael's 675 Triumph, must have still made his stomach spin.
After hustling the gear from the grid for the start, our motley crew, Lee, Liam, and myself, took to watching the timing and preparing for Michael's pitstop at the end of the second lap. An eventful first lap saw Pierre Bian create a comfortable cushion, Sam Mousley catch and overtake Michael, and Andrea Majola's lovely Paton sputter to a halt rounding the Gooseneck. Leaving Mark Kirkby in the lead of class B.
Though Sam had passed Michael for second on the road he could create no gap, and the two passed down the pit straight line astern to end the first 37.7 mile lap. The second lap found the pace of the top three equalize, with Bian maintaining his cushion while Mousley and Michael remained tethered to one another right up until entering pit lane. Pierre's crew was just finishing up his stop as Sam and Michael reached the pits. My job was to clean Michael's helmet and give him a push out once refueled. Though we managed to spill fuel in the process we had the second fastest stop in the entire field. It was just over three-seconds faster than Mousley's and put Michael back into second on the road. With two laps to go, the gap between the top three was about thirty-seconds, not a huge amount over the course of 75 miles. There was still everything to play for.
This Mortal (Triumph) Coil
Michael held second on the road up to the famous, ultra fast, righthand corner of Ballagarey. He'd turned in a touch early and been forced to roll off, ruining his drive from the corner down the long straight, allowing Mousley to whistle by with plenty of speed in hand. By the time they'd reached Greeba Bridge Michael had caught back up though, and the two continued to put daylight between themselves and fourth place.
Towards the end of the third lap something had clearly happened to Michael, and he'd dropped off the Yamaha's tail. When Sam made his appearance along the pit straight to start the final lap Michael was nowhere to be seen. Ten or 15 seconds later his Orange Triumph came by with a clear miss. He had a failing coil, which incidentally had also brought an early end to the fleet Italian, Andrea Majola's race. It was hard to watch the scoring along with Lee and Liam as the Gap to fourth place runner Brooks dwindled. Upon seeing the Sulby Straight trap speed of only 120 mph, we knew the podium was lost, and began hoping that Michael would make it home.
The 110 mph flying lap put in by Michael aboard a bike so hampered by lack of top end power is a testament to his skill and perseverance. Though he missed what had appeared to be a sure podium finish, he'd placed fourth of a field of 24 finishers. It was impressive, and I was a touch jealous.
Speaking of jealousy, big Mark Kirkby ended up winning Newcomers B by over six minutes, having turned a high 105 mph best lap. I was happy to see him take the win, if a bit frustrated that I'd not been able to compete. Though I'm uncertain that I would have been able to run with him, I feel as though I would have made things closer in the Twins class.
 |
| Mark Kirkby's win produced a special ride |
2019 is History
That's the tale of the 2019 Manx GP Newcomers Race, and my place in it. It wasn't what I'd hoped for, but I took what I could get. I'm certainly in a better position for next year because of it. Let the preparation commence. Kenneth and I are ready, and patiently awaiting our crack at the Manx Grand Prix Newcomers Race 2020. Stay tuned.....
 |
| Michael graciously lent me his road bike for a lap before departing. |
