Tales From The TT Course True Tales from the TT: " It is nearly 2 years (although Foot and Mouth wiped out one of these) since I began my project to put together a booklet of stories and anecdotes (and myths/lies) that relate to Isle of Man biking and racing. Any profits from sales will go to MOTORCYCLE CHARITIES on the Island, especially RESCUE HELICOPTER FUNDS. My file is filling up steadily, but there are many more stories that have not yet come my way. If you have a story/ germ of an idea/ suggestion/ photo/ cartoon or a silly tale that could apply to an Isle of Man situation, please send it. It will only cost you pence to send an item and all contributions will be acknowledged in the booklet. I know that there are thousands more great stories out there so please send them in. Share a story and help a very worthwhile cause. Your contribution could make all the difference for a rider. Don't just think about doing something for this project until your mood wears off, GET UP AND DO IT NOW! Please. SEND CONTRIBUTIONS TO: john.rs.foster@talk21.com Now read the latest entrant for my book. Whilst the Balance Of His Mind Was Disturbed One early evening in practice week, two elderly ladies were driving past the Grandstand in their Austin 1100, on their way to a rave at the local WI, when a motorcyclist on a classic BSA A10 pulled out ahead of them from the Pit Lane. As he emerged, riding sensibly and well within the speed limit, he turned slightly in their direction and acknowledged them with a kindly salute reminiscent, they agreed, of the halcyon days when each fellow-motorist had been considered a friend. Margaret was in the middle of telling Edith about her misty memories of the AA Motorcycle Patrolman who had come to the rescue of her family, when the engine of the old Standard had overheated on Creg Willey's Hill in 1956; but her story was interrupted as they approached St Ninian's traffic lights which had turned to red. The motorcyclist ahead pulled up carefully as the lights changed, then slowly fell over. The ladies were horrified to see that he lay helpless on the road ahead, trapped by his machine. Edith was first to regain her senses and tottered out of the driver's door, losing her straw hat in the process. Margaret followed closely (after discreetly dabbing a little powder on her nose with the aid of the sun-visor vanity mirror). As they reached the side of the leather clad victim they were greatly relieved to hear him say that he was fine if only they could turn the handlebars slightly to release his foot which was trapped under the front wheel. The dishevelled ladies struggled to aid the fallen biker, eventually engineering his release as passers-by began to rush to the scene of the accident. Someone pushed the BSA onto a nearby pavement and the two ladies, taking full advantage of the opportunity, held the motorcyclist's hands, tut-tutting and patting him all the way to the nearest bench. A close examination revealed that, apart from light scuffing to the heel of one boot, and an extremely red face, the motorcyclist was fine. His mount was little the worse for the experience, and it was indeed difficult to tell if there were any new scratches, dents or oil leaks on the old BSA. Edith regained her breath and composure sufficiently to ask the question (now simultaneously on the lips of a fascinated small crowd that had gathered around the biker), "W-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-what happened, young man?" There was a short silence, whilst he considered the potentially personal consequences of the information that he was about to reveal, then blurted out his confession. " 'Just came off t'ferry about half an hour ago, and forgot Ah'd unbolted t'bl**dy sidecar at t'bl**dy campsite!" © John Foster July 2002