For 51 weeks out of the year, the tiny Isle of Man (221 sq. mi.) sits placidly in the Irish Sea, a quaint clinker of Celtic culture, noted mostly for its kippers and cats. But once a year the Isle is hell on wheels. Sandbags guard the sidewalks, the blat-a-tat of racing engines shatters the quiet, and gravediggers thoughtfully lay out new plots in Borough Cemetery. "Tourist Trophy Week" is at hand—and thousands of motorcycle riders arrive for a five-day carnival of racing over one of the world's most perilous courses.
Suicide...
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