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Touring with Byercycles
Isle of Man 2001
 
                     Anybody with a little knowledge of geography, would not need to be told that The Isle of Man sits in the middle of The Irish Sea and is four hours sailing time from Liverpool. Now when the opportunity arose for two cyclists from Bedfordshire (160 miles from Liverpool), to take a short one hour flight to the island, it was not to be missed. It was during May 2001, that I spotted in a national newspaper, an advert  placed by Manx airlines offering cheap flights from Luton. Traditionally the August bank holiday weekend is a quiet one in our cycle shop, so it is a good time to plan a long weekend break. As is often the case, all the cheaper advertised tickets  had been sold when I attempted to make a booking by phone, but we were not to be deterred  having decided to go whatever the cost. Booking the flight was the easy bit, trying to find hotel accommodation on the island the next day was virtually impossible. We were soon to be informed  by hotel staff that "The Manx Grand Prix" had been organised to take place over that bank holiday  weekend and most hotels were already fully booked. Previous experience has taught me that two  ageing pedal cyclists would not feel at all comfortable riding amongst hundreds of motor bike boys, speeding around the island at 100mph. Anyone can make a mistake and that one could quite easily have proved to be fatal. So I conceded defeat gracefully and phoned the airline office to change our departure date to Thursday the 6th of September returning the following Tuesday. It then became very easy to find a hotel in Douglas for three nights and one in Peel on the west coast for the other two.
                    London – Luton airport as the authorities now insist on calling it, is a pleasant seventeen mile cycle ride from our village of Clifton along minor country lanes. Only for the last two miles as we approached the airport from Cockernhoe was it necessary to ride through a busy  built up area. We had allowed plenty of time to check in and prepare the bikes for the flight. On our way to the departure lounge we passed through the usual security check. I remember  remarking to the lady who opened all our hand baggage and took everything out for examination, how stringent and thorough the whole process was just for an internal flight. I commented that we  were all in favour, as it was done for our own protection and safety. Looking back with hindsight  it now seems to be incredible that only a few days later, the true relevance of that conversation  with the security officer, would be rammed home with such earth shattering consequences. In contrast to the busy London airports, Ronaldsway on the south eastern tip of the island is a delightful airport for a cyclist to arrive at. Our twin engine propeller aircraft, touched down on time at 2-15pm. The arrival hall was soon cleared as the other passengers collected their bags and departed in waiting buses or cars. Richard and me were left alone in the terminal to  assemble our bikes and get ready to leave. The Isle of Man terrain varies from hilly to almost  mountainous. This results in a shortage of quiet lanes to ride along, as there is only a selection of  A and B classified roads with traffic flows that range from light to busy. After a short section of dual carriageway the fairly busy A5 heads out into open country towards Douglas. We passed  through the village of Ballasalla then turned onto the A25 an almost deserted alternative road that runs closer to the coast for the remaining eight miles to Douglas. It was not until we were halfway that a barrier and a road sign clearly saying "ROAD CLOSED" explained why there were no other  vehicles about. Remembering the motto of the Caistor life boat crew " Never turn back" we continued on our way, passing some very deep excavations to allow a large bore blue water pipe to be laid along the whole length of the road. Sadly on the verge at the side of the road, a small bouquet of flowers had been left to mark the place where a young man had lost his life two days previously in a tragic accident while at work on the project
Douglas promenade lamps. Climbing away from Ramsey. Laxey Wheel. (Lady Isabelle)
Douglas the islands capital did not disappoint us one little bit. In early September (without the motor bikes), it portrayed all the charming features of a quiet English seaside resort. A sandy beach and the promenade follow Douglas Bay for one and a half miles, from the sea terminal to the electric railway station at the north end. On the wide promenade pavement two white lines one metre apart mark out a cycle route. Along the centre of the adjacent road a horse drawn tram transports visitors to various attractions on the front. The other side of the road is lined with an assortment of hotels, guest houses, restaurants, shops, the theatre and casino. Our  accommodation for the next three nights was a private hotel in a side road close to the casino. That evening to celebrate our arrival we took a leisurely stroll along the brightly illuminated promenade. Then enjoyed dinner which was accompanied with a bottle of house red wine in the Brasserie Restaurant situated on the ground floor of the rather grand looking Empress Hotel. Later we retired to the Piano Bar one floor above, here we supped a pint of Murphy's stout and listened to soft relaxing music performed for us by the hotels resident pianist. Full English breakfast was prepared next morning by Mrs. Ryan who had recently become the new owner of The Chesterton Hotel. This was a meal of enormous proportions that took ages to consume. Consisting of a choice of porridge or other cereals, to be followed by a large plateful of fried bacon, sausage, egg, tomato, hash brown and black pudding, with plenty of toast and marmalade all washed down with fresh pots of tea. Not to be recommended as a recipe for healthy eating, but excellent fuel to sustain a  couple of saddle tramps along the extremely undulating roads of the Isle of Man.
                   Friday morning started dull and overcast with light drizzle, low misty clouds drifted over the summit of Snaefell mountain. We cycled north along the A11 with the electric railway  running parallel only a few metres away. After three miles we joined the A2, at this point the railway takes a flatter route to its terminal at Ramsey. Like the majority of main roads the A2 is a single carriageway, Richard remarked that it reminded him of the mainland trunk roads during the late fifties before the motorways were built. Most of the milestones were still preserved, sometimes stating the distance between places down to a fraction, 7/8 of a mile in some cases. We climbed steadily away from the railway for two miles riding over the hills that stretched down to the sea, at  one hundred metres we began to descend for another two miles into Laxey. This village is home for  two of the isles major tourist attractions. The Great Laxey Wheel was built in 1854 and  affectionately nick named Lady Isabelle after the governors wife I am not sure whether that was  as meant to be a compliment or not. A mechanical marvel and a monument to Victorian engineering is how the brochures describe it. The wheel is 721/2 feet in diameter and was used to pump water from Laxey mine that once produced vast quantities of zinc, lead and silver. Visitors to the mine can pay the entrance fee that entitles them to take a walk around the old mine shaft and climb to the top of the wheel to admire the views of the surrounding hills and coastal scenery. Time had passed quickly, it had been planned to be in the islands second largest town by lunchtime. Richard took the photo used to illustrate the wheel, then it was time to move on and continue our ride for the next ten miles up and down the long coastal hills to our mornings destination. Ramsey was the only town  on the Isle of Man that did disappoint us, after Douglas it appeared dull, grey and depressing, with an uninteresting industrial feel about it. To be fair on the town it could have been the weather that was responsible for creating this negative impression. Anyway it was decided over a liquid lunch taken in a pub close to the harbour, to retrace our route back to Laxey and take a ride on the second famous tourist attraction the Snaefell mountain electric train.    
 
Snaefell mountain train. Crossing the A18 mountain road.  
                  As we cycled into Laxey railway station a large group of elderly people enjoying a day out with a coach tour, were beginning to board the waiting train. Our bikes were quickly hidden behind the station building and locked to the railings then we also climbed aboard the train. Snaefell mountain railway was opened in 1895 the track goes up to the summit of the islands highest mountain. The original single carriage electric train takes thirty minutes to climb the 2036 feet. It chugs up the side of Laxey Glen, crosses the A18 mountain road then nearly completes a circuit of the top before coming to a standstill at the summit station. Standing upright on the station. viewing platform at the top of Snaefell was just about impossible. A cold north east wind  blowing at the speed of a hurricane, nearly blasted us over as we stepped off the train. Sitting in the station cafe drinking cups of tea and eating fresh cakes was a much more comfortable pastime while we waited for the train to make it's return journey.
                 For many years like the great majority of people, I have associated The Isle of Man with motorbikes and the TT races. Coming from a cycling club background I can be forgiven for believing that the TT stood for time trial, as the motorbikes are set off in two's and they race against the clock. I have since been reliably informed that this is not the case and that TT stands for Tourist Trophy, which to me is incomprehensible as I fail to see the connection between touring as I have come to understand it, and racing around the island risking ones life on a super charged motorbike at 125mph. However on Saturday morning we set off around the 39 mile TT circuit to compete for our own tourists trophy. Finding the start of the TT circuit in Douglas should have been easy, but as so often happens in an unfamiliar town we became lost. A kind man who was cleaning his car, outside of his house in the middle of a fairly large estate of council houses, gave us directions and set us on the right track. Richard is fine out in the countryside, with the help of an OS. map we ride for miles along narrow unclassified roads and bridleways without getting lost. As soon as we enter a large town or urban area he will loose his sense of direction and I never  know where we will end up. Initially all we had been looking for was the A1 to Peel, the TT racers soon sweep along this first section of the course as they travel west across the island. Two miles outside of Peel they turn right and head off over the hills towards Kirk St Michael. Then they race along the coast for two miles before turning inland once more, past the half way marker close to The Sulby Hotel, a good place to stop for lunch it was decided, as it was about that time and the benefits of Mrs Ryan's second breakfast were beginning to wear off. After Ramsey the climbing starts to get serious, during the TT races the motorbikes will roar out of the town and head for the mountain at 80mph then they negotiate The Ramsey Hairpin. Other famous landmarks on the climb include The Waterworks, Tower Bend and Gooseneck. At Guthrie's Memorial close to the 27 mile marker the steepest part of the climb is over. I am pleased to be able to report that I managed to twiddle up the climb at 5mph in my granny gear with no problems at all.
 
Murray's motorcycle museum. Peel castle and harbour entrance.  
                    On the right hand side of the road just before the railway crossing, below the summit of Snaefell is Murray's Motorcycle Museum and cafe. I was sure that I had worked hard enough climbing six miles from Ramsey up the mountain road to earn a cup of tea. Richard took a photo for evidence while I locked the bikes, then we entered the museum. We were straight away greeted by a stout, cheerful, elderly man who asked if we would like to look through the museum. Feeling somewhat tired after the climb I answered "no but a cup of tea would do nicely." "Certainly!" he exclaimed "take a seat in the cafe" and beckoned us to sit on a bench by the door. The bench ran along two sides of an old rectangular table, a small dog slept in his basket at one end, there didn't appear to be any more tables or seating in the cafe. A second elderly man who had been sitting at the other end of the bench, shuffled off to the rear of the building then returned minutes later with a very old and discoloured Tupperware jug filled with water that he poured into a kettle. A young lady who had entered the cafe with her partner and sat down with us on the bench, saw the jug and hastily declined the offer of tea. The cheerful stout man, (I never asked his name he could have been Mr Murray himself) was a walking, talking encyclopaedia of motorbikes and their riders. Over the next thirty minutes he was responsible for a considerable improvement to my knowledge of TT racing, great names from the past including Mike Hailwood, John Surtees and Jimmy Guthrie, a six times winner in the thirties, who's monument we had passed as we rode up the mountain, all entered into the conversation. Before leaving we were kindly presented with a TT circuit certificate, usually only reserved for the motor bikers. During the real races the fastest riders will complete a lap in 19 minutes, by the time we had descended from the mountains and arrived a back at the start in Douglas our leisurely lap had taken 5 hours and 19 minutes, which includes our stops for refreshment of course.
                 On Sunday a short twelve mile ride straight across the island to Peel had been planned. A very strong and blustery north west wind, that brought with it some heavy showers was blowing in off the sea when we arrived at the Fernleigh Private Hotel along the front, it was not the best weather for cycling. The big attraction in Peel is the castle, that dominates the view at the south end of Marine Parade. Our time that afternoon after we had deposited the bikes and bags  was spent walking, at first through the narrow streets of the town centre, then along by the harbour and finally around the walls of the castle. A road that runs from Peel to the southern end, follows the coast until Dalby village nearly halfway. After the village the coastal hills fall steeply down to  the sea. To avoid impossible gradients the road turns inland and climbs steadily up through purple heather moor land until it reaches 340 metres above the sea level. Then it begins a long winding decent revealing wonderful panoramic views of the sea and coastal scenery. At the south end of The Isle of Man are the two villages of Port Erin and Port St Mary, they sit like twins on opposite
 
Castletown. Port Erin harbour.  

sides of a piece of land that juts out into the Irish Sea forming The Isle of Mans big toe. Both overlook beautiful bays that have created natural and very picturesque harbours for the boats. Further over to the east is Castletown complete with another castle and a harbour, this town was once the islands capital before Douglas assumed the role. Weather conditions had improved considerably for our tour of the south, on the last full day of our long weekend break. Lunch was eaten in a Castletown Hotel lounge bar, then we cycled back to Peel along the A3 that runs through the centre of the island.
                  Unfortunately our visit to The Isle of Man was drawing to it's end, in the morning we said farewell to June and Rachel (mother and daughter) owners of the Fernleigh Hotel, who had looked after us so well and then it was time to ride back to the airport. By 1.30 in the afternoon  we had landed at Luton and were enjoying a peaceful ride through the country lanes in the war sunshine. About the same time that we were descending Gravel Hill between the villages of Lilley and Hexton, a highjacked airliner on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean was descending from the sky above Manhattan on a collision course for the north tower of The World Trade Centre. By the time we had reached Shillington village, virtually the whole world was able to watch live pictures of the second airliner as it crashed into the south tower. It was Tuesday September the 11th, like millions of other people we will remember forever, where we were and what we were doing, on the day that those terrible and tragic events unfolded. Would we ever be able to travel the world safely in an airliner again?
     
    (Christine Byers)
     
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