One week in June. One small island. 40,000 annual visitors. Raw speed. Numerous annual deaths. The Isle of Man TT motorcycle road race. Five minutes to go. The claxon sounds, harsh as an air raid siren. Television crews attempt last-minute interviews with riders. The thousand yard-stares give it away: they''re really not listening now. Four minutes to go. The grandstand is packed. Some racers tell their mechanics, ''I''ll see you later for a pint'' - just to make themselves believe they will. Three minutes to go. For the first man on the road, hidden dangers exist. He will have no-one to follow. And he is the hare that the greyhounds will be chasing. Two minutes to go. By the end of the first lap, riders will be howling past faster than a bullet from the barrel of a gun. A full 160pmh. And that''s not even the fastest part of the course. One minute to go. The atmosphere is palpably tense. It''s like no other sporting event on earth. Formula 1 drivers can crash spectacularly and just wa
