Don?t get summoned to a Manx court for speeding. Like I did.
As the weather sloooooooowly starts to improve (today is a sunny day, so I?m all full of optimism) and we fight our way out the back of a pandemic that?s sloooooooowly starting to release its vice-like grip on the world (that?s my optimism again), we?re all looking forward to getting back out on our bikes and getting further-a-field than the butty van down the road. In fact I was recently invited to the Isle of Man with some mates on their annual let?s-go-really-fast-on-motorbikes holiday. They?re all mad-keen for it, especially the ones that haven?t been before, and I don?t blame them. But I had to remind them that there are still police over there. And that they’ll absolutely f**k you, if you take the piss. Like they did to me. This is the story of when I got summoned to a Manx court for speeding.
I was on the Isle of Man on my trusty old CBR600, the bike I?d bought specifically for learning my way round the TT course. It was 2017, the year which should have been my second TT appearance, but thanks to a sponsor dropping the ball at the eleventh hour, it never happened. Anyway, I?d sorted the time off work and booked all the ferries, so I thought I might as well go over and have a two week holiday, and do some laps on the Honda. So that?s exactly what I did.
I got up early most mornings for a lap or two. Sometimes did a couple in the afternoons, as well. I knew where all the police liked to hang out with their speed guns, I knew all the speed limits (or at ...
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