Ian Hutchinson - Hutchy--Miracle Man: The Autobiography

J ust to compete in the Isle of Man TT has to be one of the most exciting challenges a professional motorbike racer could ever face.

To complete the Snaefell Mountain course and overcome and outsmart the ever-present risk factor to say nothing of the hundred or so committed rivals and cross the line to finish in one piece is a triumph in itself.

To stand garlanded on one of the three platforms on the winners podium opposite the main grandstand is a mind-blowing and memorable achievement. To win is, of course, every competitors dream, unbelievably gratifying, wonderfully extra-special, a reward to cherish.

To do it fourteen times, with five victories in one week, as I have, is sheer unadulterated joy, an unsurmountable peak of satisfaction when you have readily and eagerly accepted and faced up to the perils of racing in all manner of difficult weather and in ever challenging and unpredictable track conditions, on the very brink of survival at more than 200 mph, often brushing shoulders with an equally determined, cold-eyed rival unwilling to surrender one inch of road and hell-bent on defending his hard-earned position in the race.

Let me set the scene that has historically intrigued, mesmerised, defeated, scared, tested to the extreme, and covered in glory legions of racers of all levels and standards, unbeatable world champions and no-hopers and also-rans alike, professional works riders with millions of pounds-worth of backing, teams of engineering expertise and mega sponsorships and, in complete and cruel contrast, the necessarily penny-careful privateers, who often have to stay up all night doubling as their own mechanics, tuning and tweaking mounts that they can only pray will at best complete at least one lap of the worlds riskiest (but most rewarding, in terms of self-satisfaction) motorcycle racetrack.

Midway between England and Ireland in the Irish Sea, 80 miles from Liverpool, 66 miles from Belfast, is the self-governing British Crown dependency Isle of Man, Ellan Vannin, with a population of about 85,000 and inhabited since 6500 BC . The Queen is Head of State.

It is 30 miles long, 16 miles wide, 221.54 square miles in total, with as centrepiece Snaefell Mountain, measuring 2,034 feet, the high point of the circuit, taking in 688 miles of public roads, 37 of them making up each lap of the race, with 264 corners a circuit, forming the TT stage, and skirting the four main Manx towns: the capital, Douglas, Ramsey, Peel and Castletown.

The mainly holiday islands famous symbol is a triskelion, depicting three joined legs; its motto Quocunque jeceris, stabit, which, translated from the Latin, is Whithersoever you throw it, it will stand.

That could well have been fashioned as the TTs very own upbeat message of defiance as it has survived triumphantly more than a hundred years of just about every drama and potential setback you could imagine could be hurled at it, with never a moments doubt about its attraction as a challenge completely irresistible to fearless two-wheeled road racers who revel in its risks and the 50,000 or so enthusiasts who, rain or shine, make the annual pilgrimage to the island motorsport mecca. There, they watch for free from the closed public roads the daredevilry of TT legends, world champions and top-flight winners Mike Hailwood, Geoff Duke, Giacomo Agostini, Mick Grant, Phil Read, Roger Burnett, Alex George, Joey Dunlop, Charlie Williams and more lately the Morecambe Missile John McGuinness, another multi-winner and as formidable a rival as it is possible to face.

There is never a moment of boredom either for fans or for us riders facing unnerving tests at every turn and hairpin, over every jump and switchback, hurtling at top speed along every hedge, pavement or wall-lined straight, while the roadsides are packed with viewers jostling for a close-up view of their favourites as they roar by.