|
I must admit that there is nothing like a week of miserable weather at the Isle of Man to make one thankful to be a ghost! High winds and driving rain plagued the Manx GP and associated events for almost the entire week. Regardless of this, the lads took the Phantom out for a variety of rides to events across the island over the course of the GP week. On the plus side, the public response was once again extremely positive. On the negative side, the lads got extremely wet and miserable on an almost daily basis. And the damp weather made riding on the public roads slow going by their standards.
But there were exceptions of course. For instance, on one morning the sun came out and the wind decreased and Frosty took Phantom EG 001 up the mountain and gave it a good thrashing in the rare, clear air of that day. It turned into a day the likes of which I will never forget, the day I met a spectral motorbike...
Later that day though, as the weather deteriorated, we found ourselves cooling our heels at Sulby Bridge. The rain came in waves, heavy at times. Racing was once again postponed. As the lads prepared to take the Phantom and some other machines back to the compound near Andreas, I heard a voice saying, 'what once was yours is once again...but just once.' Aside from not having the foggiest idea what was meant by this, I also had no idea where the voice was coming from. Some people have this idea that once you are dead all is revealed. I am sorry to have to disavow you of that notion. In fact, I would say that in many ways I am more confused by certain things now than I ever was when mortal. It's not as though they hand out instruction manuals at the pearly gates!
I walked around the corner of a house nearby as that seemed to be from where the voice was coming. And there, dry as a bone and shiny as new, was Phantom FH 017, my own personal FH from 1927! I tried to recall the last time I saw the machine but could not. I believe I had left it parked in my coach house at home and had assumed it was sold off over the years by my progeny.
So you can imagine my shock to see this machine with which I had enjoyed so much highway mayhem so many years ago! I walked around it a few times to be sure it was indeed my old mount. And then, as if expecting disappointment, I reached out and touched the saddle. Normally, this would result in the discomfort of watching one's hand pass through the thing one intended to touch...such is the nature of being a spectre. But this time my hand actually touched the seat...I could feel the smoothness of the leather! I put my hands on the grips and could wrap my fingers around them and take hold of the controls and actually feel the machine in my hands. I recoiled in surprise as I had not expected this. And when I did so, I was able to take in the whole of the machine. It was at this point that I could see a faint glow emanating from it. Of course the machine was the usual Phantom blue colour of all factory machines. But it was as if the paint exuded a cool, smoky light. It was at this point that it struck me that what I was looking at was a true spectral Phantom motorbike! It was at that moment that I realised that inanimate objects can be spectral also, as long as they are imbued with soul. It was also at that moment that I understood the meaning of the words of the voice I had just heard moments before. I was being given a chance to ride a machine that was once mine....for just one moment.
I took the opportunity greedily and pushed the machine off its stand and wheeled it over the bridge and face it south, in the opposite direction to that which the racers normally take. A brief run, a jump, and the machine burst into life. I had forgotten what a din the FH generated! I had started her in second gear but was quick to shift to third as the FH does not lack in the torque required to pull from any gear at almost any speed. The thump-thumping of the massive single cylinder engine was bone shaking. My hands felt numb on the handlebars within seconds. I looked up from them and found myself flying south on that main road towards Ballaugh and Kirk Michael. As I passed through Ballaugh I notice something strange – I could swear that some of the old men watching old bikes drive by were turning their heads and following me with there eyes. To you this may seem normal, but to a spirit, having mortals appear to see you is quite unnerving. My suspicions seemed confirmed when, approaching Ballaugh bridge, I noticed an old gent in a wheel chair, wrapped in a blanket and slicker, who looked up from his lap as I approached, looked right at me, smiled and waved as I went past. Strangely, none of the others around him seemed to notice me at all. I continued at great and wonderful speeds through to Kirk Michael which I passed through at ra tremendous pace, and then along the coast road to Peel where I met up with the rest of the lads who were there for an event with The Phantom EG.
I parked up across the street from the pub and walked over, excited to have the lads view a finely fettled example of an FH, (a machine they had never seen but in photographs) but when I turned around to make sure they could get a clear view of the machine, it was gone. I was hopelessly deflated. I so wanted them to see an FH in full glory, if not on full chat. I was just about to shuffle off when what appeared to be some sort of Viking on a motorbike appeared and yelled, with great excitement that a ghost had been spotted flying through Kirk Michael on a ghostly blue machine that made such a roar that every car alarm in the town had gone off when it flew through town. His name was John and he turned up all the way from Denmark on a rather fascinating machine that was an amalgamation of many others, all of which had been Nortons at one point in their past. He saw the Phantom EG parked up and assumed it was the ghost machine. The lads told him they had not ridden the EG through Kirk Michael and that it must have been someone else. Frosty jokingly suggested that “perhaps it was Erasmus or Enoch?”....I blew on the back of his neck to let him know I heard him. He shuddered and went inside to order the Viking a drink.
To this day I do not know from where the FH appeared to to where it had gone. All I do know is that I experienced the most amazing sensation as I flew down the road on the old Fanny Hammer – perhaps it was the sensation of speed, or the terrific noise of the thing. Perhaps it was sensing, in some strange way, that for a brief moment, the ride on that spectral FH transported me into the world of the living. I was there, and then gone, just like the FH. No doubt it reminded those who saw me that there are many of us ghosts on that isle – some ex-riders like me, and others ex-Vikings like John.
So next you visit the Isle of Man, if you set yourself down by the main road through Kirk Michael, listen for the sound of a large-bore single, and keep an eye out for a thin man on a pale blue mount travelling at speed through the town...it might just be me and FH 013....
 |
Subscribe to this comment's feed
