Sad to think, but the Joey...
Sad to think, but the Joey Dunlop Memorial will now likely be joined by one for his brother Robert, who was killed mere minutes after this photo was taken.
They say the only difference between an Irish wake and an Irish party is one less drinker, but the drinker missing from this wake is making his presence felt. Just a day after Robert Dunlop died during practice for the Northwest 200, hundreds of people from the family's tiny hometown of Ballymoney are gathering to toast his memory.
The 19th century bar was bought with the winnings of Ireland's most famous -and now fabled-"real roads racer," the late, great Joey Dunlop. Robert's older brother amassed a record 26 wins at the Isle of Man TT and the loving sobriquet Yer Maun for becoming Northern Ireland's best-known and best-loved sportsman before being killed eight years ago in a racing accident in Estonia.
Joey's widow Linda is speaking with a group of relatives in an empty corner of the bar when I arrive, and her face shows the worry-lines of a roadracing wife, made more severe by the news of her brother-in-law's death. She's downright disinterested in speaking with a reporter, but after realizing how far this visitor has come, she lightens up-a little.
"There's no way you can prepare yourself for something like this. Poor May [Dunlop family matriarch] is just in pieces. I'm pleased so many have shown up to celebrate wee Robert, but I can't stand another camera shoved in me face," she says, then storms off. The Northern Irish have a reputation for strength under pressure, but with her two nephews slated to race in the very event that took their father's life, it's not hard to understand how she feels. Still, she's decided to keep the bar open because the place has become a living, 60-proof shrine to one of motorcycling's most beloved athletes. She knows the faithful come to Joey's to smile, not mourn. As if on cue, pints start to flow and tongues start to loosen. The regulars who stared at me as if I had three heads a few minutes earlier are now inviting me to their tables for a chat, eager to share with this stranger their favorite Dunlop stories. And although we're here to remember Robert, most of the yarns are about Joey.
There are lots of them, handed down like local folklore from grizzled old-timers with sun-faded Norton tattoos to their grandsons and nephews, who sip pints of murky stout while dressed in dayglo race leathers. Cousins James and Enneas Henry have been drinking at Joey's for two decades, long enough to recall the quiet, unassuming man who tended bar and washed his own glasses, even while the place filled up with fans from all around the world.
"He didn't care about being famous, that was for other people. After he finished working, he'd sit down with some of them and maybe do a photo, but he always bought his own drinks," Enneas says.
"And he could buy quite a few," laughs James.