Thursday 4 March 2010

Gus Scott - Part 4

"24 hours before his death, Gus Scott wrote this heartfelt account of a 115mph lap at his first TT. We couldn't think of a finer tribute to our friend than to publish it."

Continued from Gus Scott - Part 3...



I came out of Quarry Bends and thought I was on Sulby Straight and could relax, but I wasn't. I was heading straight towards a wall. I was trying to turn the bike at 180mph with the throttle pinned. It was a nightmare. the bike's screaming it's head off down Sulby Straight, but I take the chance to give my fingers a bit of a waggle around. In the 600 race the bike in front hit a bird and it was like a pillow exploding. Then you apex off the houses, before going down into second to wheelie over Sulby Bridge.

Just there my mate, Kenny Munro, was killed a few years ago. I say hello to Kenny every time I go past.

Then all hell breaks loose. I've never ridden a road as bumpy as the one between Ginger Hall and Ramsey. The bike's lock-to-lock through Milntown. Down a hill, through the bumpiest corner, then you start building up to a horrible jump where Rob Frost crashed. Pull on the bars to wheelie. then keep it pinned until I see a little fence. I call it Fast Fence, to remind myself not to roll off through the blind kink. The sunlight coming through the trees distracts you.

I'm not getting used to animals on the track. In the 600 race I came through Milntown to see a massive black cockerel in the middle of the road. It looked at me and I  looked at it. I thought 'I'm going to hit this', before it casually walked to the side of the road.

It's really bumpy, but the faster you go, the smoother it gets. Bumpy right, back another gear. there's a tree with a big 'K' carved into it. Aim for that and you miss the kerb.

Ramsey's a nightmare to get round so you may as well just pootle. Up towards the Waterworks there's a lot of nice short circuit scratching stuff. Waterworks is a tight right with loads of people shouting into your ear. It's great. Do a tiny wheelie before the climb up the Mountain.

Three corners taken as one into Guthries, a nasty little bastard that can easily have you off. fast left, keep climbing, over a tiny bridge where you nearly hit your shoulder on a bale, then you start the Mountain Mile. It's not a straight and easy to get wrong.

Everything's a blur, but it's a nice feeling. The bike's labouring, but I feel great in the fresh air and sunlight.

Up the top I get a pitboard as I go over the tramlines telling me if I have to come in for fuel or not. On to Brandywell and Windy Corner, past where Simon Beck died, two apex left-hander that can catch you out and a lovely right...

I'm missing out chunks because it's all constantly left-right up here. You can't compare this place to anywhere else and that's exactly what I wanted. I wanted a completely new challenge. It doesn't even compare to other road circuits because it's such a length. In one race I'm only going through a corner four times. On a short circuit I'm going through 20 times. Even the longest race you're only going through six times. And the conditions could've changed, someone could've fallen off.

Accelerate through Kate's, through the damp patches. I always think I'm going to lose the front here. down to Creg-ny-Baa. Down three, gentle kneedown for the punters, close to their feet to give them a proper buzz. through Brandish in top, right up close to the spectators. I love it.

Into Signpost. My team-mate Nigel 'Cap' Davis crashed here the other night and broke his femur in half. I think the bike landed on him. It's blind in second, then into another nice corner that's off-camber, aim for the gatepost, then turn away, accelerate towards the horrible Nook, then a whiff of throttle to Governor's then bam-bam...

Governor's is awful. It kicks your arse-end all over the place. Through gently, I nearly topple off I'm going so slow. Short-shift into second, there's a nasty little rise so I stand up and accelerate like fuck, skim the kerb and that's it, on to the start/finish for another lap or five.

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