After a smooth boat journey from Liverpool, we arrived in Douglas, capital of the Isle of Man, quite late in the evening. The ferry terminal is at the southern end of the huge sweep of promenade that follows the shore of Douglas Bay. It is lined with an almost uninterrupted terrace of tall, elegant white and cream Victorian hotels stretching for nearly two miles along the sea front. We had wisely booked to stay the night at one of these nearest to the ferry, so within minutes we were settled and I had a pint of a Guinness in my hand. The hotel was busy with motorcyclists over to see the Manx motorcycle Grand Prix, which takes place on the island’s mountain roads. There would be several days of practicing and the place was gearing up for action.
After breakfast we went our separate ways: Jenni to explore as much of the island’s heritage transport as she could in a few hours, and me to Peel, on the opposite coast. However, I began with a quick ride right around Douglas promenade and back, with various photo stops that included the life size statues of the Bee Gees, who were born here. I was then able to follow my WNW straight line almost exactly across the island along the main road. It is part of the Grand Prix circuit and every lamp post and item of street furniture was wrapped with the kind of protective padding you get at the bottom of rugby posts. It was an odd sight, but perhaps it saves a few lives in this dangerous sport.
A couple of miles short of Peel is the village of St John’s, and here, next to a pretty church of the same name, is the open air meeting place of the island’s ancient parliament, called The Tynwald. It is made up of five stepped, concentric grass circles – supposedly made from soil taken from each of the island’s ancient parishes – that rise to around 12 feet, with a tall flagpole planted in the centre of the top circle. According to tradition, parliaments have been meeting here for around a thousand years, dating back to Viking times, and it is one of a few different places that make a claim to being the world’s oldest. Until 1265, the King of Man would sit in royal state at the top of Tynwald Hill, facing east, surrounded by barons, judges and high officers. Since the death of the last king, his place has been taken by the Lieutenant-Governor. The ceremony occurs every year on Old Midsummer Day, 5th July.
From here it was a short ride to the coast at Peel. It is a pretty little town, with a maze of narrow streets spilling down to the beach, sheltered from the open sea by St Patrick’s Isle. This is now reached from the town by a causeway, forming a large harbour. On the small island are the ruins of a castle, the cathedral of St German, and – oldest of all – a rare example outside Ireland of a round tower. It all makes for a dramatic setting.
I met Jenni off a bus from Ramsey, in the north of the island. She had already been enjoying horse drawn trams and electric trains with open sided cars. We ate lobster salad by the beach and then visited the ruins. The wind blew hard off the sea across the castle ramparts; but in the shelter of the bay it was much warmer. She took a bus back to Douglas in time to see the steam railway that runs across the south of the island, and complete her full set of heritage rail transport. I cycled back along a much quieter route over hills and through quiet villages. It felt quite like the more affluent parts of Cumbria or North Wales, with slate the most common building material, while people spoke with a faintly Liverpudlian accent. It may not strictly be a part of the United Kingdom, but this self-governing British Crown Dependency is very much part of the British Isles in character.
With only an hour of official WNW cycling to complete, this was a flying visit, and we collected our bags and headed to the ferry terminal. There is only one ferry a week to Belfast, and the impressively large Manxman ferry was pretty quiet tonight. It was advertised to arrive at 2359; but it was well over an hour later when we got off the boat opposite the Titanic Quarter in Belfast docks. I got Jenni an Uber and then cycled through surprisingly lively city streets to our hotel to grab a few hours of sleep. I needed it. In the morning I would be riding right across Northern Ireland.
