Sorry about the delay... just been knackered and pretty busy trying to get back to normal life... here goes...
With the Ultra Lightweight race done... I had only 1 hour to recover physically and focus on the Senior race. I was feeling a bit tired and not very hungry... but forced down some pasta because my body needed fuel. I swallowed a couple of ibuprofen with isotonic drink to keep the muscles in my back, neck and shoulders loose and sat in the sun relaxing my bones as much as possible... and focusing on blasting down Bray Hill again. My Dad and Ian were great and already had the warmers on Candy during the Ultra Lightweight race and organised the fuel for the pit-stop.
The Team and Candy in Parc Ferme before the races
I suited up again and was at Parc Ferme fifteen minutes before wheeling the beast up to Glencrutchery Road for the last time in 2010. Start number for Senior race: 94 - stone fuckin' last. Nice! No worries... gave me more time to rest and get my mind into gear. Wheeling my way to the Start line, some fuel had overflowed into the belly-pan from the steep ramp up to the road. I think every scrootineer on the road came and had a look. "It's only a bit of fuel that's overflowed... don't stop me now... please don't stop me now...". They deliberated and ummed and aaahed... those last few minutes up to the start line crawled along. I get near the front and the scrootineers disappear... I focus.
The Starter taps my shoulder and by the time I've hooked up second with a little wheelie I'm fully into race mode - doing a race before sure helps. I get the hammer down immediately and catch the first rider before Braddan Bridge. Candy is pulling well and I'm smoother than I've been on her before... and faster.
Into Governor's Dip - thanks
tmgreed
I catch and pass about a dozen riders on the first lap... not as many as in the Ultra Lightweight... but that was expected. I knock out a 107.6mph lap from the standing start :-)
I press on. The sun was shining by now and mist on the mountain burned off. Down Cronk-y-voddy I look around... it's just so damn pretty out there. I feel incredibly privileged to be able to race on the most awesome track in the world. It's beautiful.
Getting Candy turned into the Gooseneck - thanks
Dave Kneen
Second lap rolls around and I'm in a good rhythm... 108.6mph. A few more passes and before I know it I'm pulling into the pits. My Dad and Ian do another great job but some fuel overflows down the front of the tank and soaks into the kevlar material in the crotch of my leathers. No worries, and soon I'm hammering Candy down Glencrutchery Road again with a full load of fuel and clean screen and visor. Then the bollocks start to burn. When this happened last year, and the first year we did the Manx, it only burned for a minute or so. This was a good soaking. I opened my legs to get the wind in there and try get the fuel to evaporate quicker... but it got more and more painful. It burned like hell all the way to Kirk Michael!
Wobbling around Governor's Dip - thanks
tmgreed
Candy is much harder work than Suzy V around the Isle. I think the springs front and back and oil level in my forks are wrong. I'd figured this out during practice but was scuppered for time, knowledge and ability to be able to do anything about it. I couldn't find the Maxton guys in the paddock (disadvantage of not living in the paddock for 2 weeks!) so just made do with what I had. My pre-load was to the max and I was still bottoming the forks out... to prevent this, my compression was wound in. Giving a harsh ride... too harsh for the Isle.
Over Ballaugh Bridge - Wheeeeee... (sorry - don't know where I got this one...)
The back end wasn't as bad, but the compression was completely out... so no room to maneuver there. She was great on the smooth bits, but a handful on the bumpy stuff... which is about half the bloody lap! She was also shaking her head at most bumps and I had to hold on tight. On the first two laps I got a bit of a tank-slapper on the go on landing from the jump at Ballacrye. Not much fun and losing a lot of time as I roll off to get her settled again. Also, with the change in geometry she was stable but I had to really shove her around to get her to turn.
I go deep and square off the Gooseneck, don't know if it's the fastest line, but feels the safest because the exit runs off-camber... high-side city! (sorry - don't know where I got this one either)
With twice as much effort going into keeping her between the hedges, at every opportunity I concentrated on relaxing my back, neck and shoulders. I had to manage my body.
Shortly after coming out of the pits for the third lap, I caught an R6. I passed him through the twisties no problemo. Coming out of Kate's Cottage, I miss a gear and he passes me immediately... he must have been on my six since I passed him. "No problem." I think... "We'll be on Cronk-y-voddy soon and this big old 1000cc Vee Twin will chomp that screaming 600cc rice burner." I hold onto his coat tails through the left, right, left sequence... through the farmyard section and over the brow with a wheelie onto Cronk-y-voddy Straight. I couldnt believe it... he starts gapping me! By the time we reach the end of the straight he's pulled 30 yards on me! On a wee 600!
Laying down as much power as I dare coming out of the Gooseneck - thanks
Dave Kneen
Every straight, he gaps me... I catch him through the twisties, but fortunately he doesn't hold me up. detemined not to have a repeat of 2006, I dispatch him on the brakes into Parliament Square... he goes wide and there is no way he'll catch me over the smooth curves of the Mountain. By the time I have Candy across the Mountain and cranked over through the Creg-ny-baa, he's nowhere to be seen.
End of the third lap and the throttle is pinned past the grandstand. Is it my imagination or does she sound a little louder? Probably losing some exhaust packing... that short-stroke engine has so much back-pressure that exhaust cans only last 2 or 3 race weekends before they need repacking. Up through through Snugborough and Union Mills and she definitely sounds lauder between the walls. The power used to chime in at 6000 rpm... now she's choking at 7000. Shit.
Looking a bit lost, wandering around Governor's Dip - thanks
tmgreed
She doesn't feel a crisp and certainly isn't pulling like she did before. Through the left before the Crosby and I know she's lost the end of the exhaust with the ear-splitting crack of the exhaust note resonating from the wall that's 2 feet away at 130 plus. "Not now... c'mon... just one lap to go baby!" I coax her... but I'm a bit pissed with her and screw that throttle harder.
Through Ballacraine it's obvious that I don't have an exhaust and a Travelling Marshal * steps into the track and scrutinises the bike closely as I tip her through the 90 degree right-hander. "Oh fuck! They're onto me now.". I wind that throttle as hard as I dare... somehow hoping I can outrun the officials. I'm a man on the run. I scarper through Glen Helen quicker than I ever have, despite having to hold her in a gear lower than normal. Under 8000 rpm and she is limp as overcooked Pizza-Hut spaghetti. I punish her for it.
The left-hander just before the Gooseneck - thanks
Dave Kneen
Through the 13th Milestone and I see the marshals unraveling a black flag. If a rider is shown a black flag, they have to stop immediately (when safe to do so...) otherwise they will be disqualified. This is done if there is an infringement, or the marshals can see something on your bike that would make it unsuitable to race (like smoke pouring out of an exhaust or a fairing hanging loose...). I just know the black flag is for me... yep, man on the run. I've beaten the first black flag... and go faster somehow thinking I can beat the next one...
No such luck... on the brow of the short straight leading into Kirk Michael, I see a black flag with an orange dot in the centre... and a blackboard with the number '94' on it. "Fuck!" "They've got me."
I slow and pull into the next marshal post on the outside of the right-hander going into Kirk Michael. A Travelling Marshal flags me down and I stop next to him. He walks around the bike and I glance over my shoulder at the cracking exhaust. The end cap is gone and she's making an almighty racket. I switch off. The TM is on a radio.
Split down both sides, end cap blown off - I think running with a dB killer in practice week induced a bit too much heat fatigue to the battle-worn Ti zorst...
One of the rule changes this year is that if a rider is black-flagged, even if in error or for something minor like some duct tape flapping loose, their bike has to be scrootineered by a qualified scrootineer before being allowed to continue. This was forced by the ACU. I'm thinking: "Fuck - that's my race over."
The TM is more interested in something on the left, rear of Candy than the poked exhaust. He bends down and breaks off the remains of the carbon-fibre toe-guard. I had no idea it was adrift. He goes around to the exhaust... takes a look, checks it's secure and is back on the radio. I'm thinking my race is done.
He's on the radio for a good half-minute or so. The R6 I passed on the last lap screams by. Next thing, the TM gestures for me to start up. I guess he wants me to park it up in a safer place. Then he waits for the next rider to pass before gesturing for me to rejoin the course. It's then that I remember the Chief Scrootineer telling us in the Technical Briefing that they would try get all the TMs qualified as scrootineers before the start of race week. They did it! I could have kissed the TM! "Yeah!" My Angel on the Course.
After the races at the beer-tent with the Pit Crew... no major incidents... a successful day!
With no exhaust and a big power loss I ride Candy hard. Harder than I've ever ridden anything around the Mountain Course before. I'm angry at her for falling to pieces on the last lap after all the time, effort and expense I've put into her for the Manx... but I'm also chasing a replica **. With my mediocre lap times in practice and the fast boys really setting a blistering pace, I always knew it would be a push to get a replica. I had to push hard despite her being down on power.
The babes after a hard day's work - thanks Ian for the cool shot
Ballaugh, Ginger Hall, Ramsey... The Mountain. I crossed the line relieved to make it home. Relieved to finish... but she had let me down on that last lap. But mabe that's what I needed... a kick in the pants to get me really riding her properly. That last lap I really upped my game. With no exhaust, she lost loads of power... my speed through the traps on that last lap was only 137mph - 13mph slower than in practice and slower than Suzy V who is only a 650cc. But I rode Candy's wheels off and still managed a lap of 108.3 mph! That's what a bit of encouragement can do!
I missed a replica by 45 seconds, only 11 seconds a lap... but too much to make up over the last lap. We get a finishers medal for our efforts- I'll take it!
Just love this shot from practice week - with that teeny-weeny red bikini and a dash of yellow it can only be Candy - thanks
TGFphotos.com
* Travelling Marshals (TMs) are the Angels of the TT Course. These guys are all ex-TT racers that can lap the course far faster than I dare. There are about 8 of them that ride souped-up road-bikes (their own bikes at the Manx) wearing a day-glo yellow jacket with a big 'M' on the back. I believe they are all trained paramedics and are normally the first person with medical training to an incident. They have tail packs strapped to their bikes that are packed with survival medical stuff... the first few minutes after an incident are critical for survival. They are your Angels around the course.
** 'Replicas' are a replica of the winners trophy... but only about 6 inches high. This is what most of us come to the Isle for. To get one you need to finish within 10% of the winners time - or something like that. To get a finishers medal is great... but we're all going for a replica...
