Clean-Emissions, Carbon-Free International Racing Competition - Rebooting Racing

The TT M.D.
Discussing life-and death-with the doctor who tends to the world's bravest bike racers.
By Mick Phillips
Photography by Fabiano Avancini
The late, great Isle of Man TT specialist David Jefferies once reportedly answered, in response to a journalist questioning the lack of armor in his racing leathers, "All the armor in the world won't help me if I fall off here." Apocryphal or not, that story is haunting: Jeffries, a nine-time TT-winner, was killed instantly after impacting a stone wall at 170 mph during practice for the 2003 Senior TT. Though there was nothing he could do for Jefferies, Dr. Peter Moran has saved countless other lives during his near-three-decade tenure as the TT's lead medical authority. And while he knows-perhaps better than anyone else in the world-the true dangers of TT participation, he doesn't even try to explain or excuse the famed event's fatalistic appeal:

"I can think of at least 20 people who never went home after their first TT," Moran says. "The TT is just one of those things you have to observe. It's like Michael Dunlop racing at the TT just after his dad was killed [in practice for the North West 200 in 2008]. There's no answer to that at all; it's just an enigma and you have to respect it. I remember thinking when David Jefferies was killed at Greeba, 'Thank God the others don't have to go that fast, because he was clearly ahead of them.' But within a year they were going quicker than him in any case. It's enigma upon enigma upon enigma. I observe it and don't come to a conclusion."

Moran is originally from Clifden, Connemara, on the western coast of Ireland-"the next parish to New York," he says. He's one of those tall Celts. "Most Celts are squat, short and stocky," he says, "but the Morans are great, tall beanpoles." He originally came to Noble's hospital on the Isle of Man as an anesthetist in the late '70s, fleeing a woman, and never left. He now resides in a parish called Lonan, up in the hills, and he lived on the Isle for almost a decade before he saw his first TT.

"I could never get the time off," he explains. That changed when he was drafted for helicopter duty, as the doctor who is rushed to the site of race crashes. And while his work during the races centers around the riders who have crashed, he remains as philosophical about the crashes as the racers themselves.

"An awful lot of racers aren't bothered by a crash at all. Milky Quayle broke his femur on the Mountain. He went off the road after Brandywell and was lying out of sight and no one knew he was missing. So, cool as a cucumber, he realized he'd been missed and waited till he heard the next bike coming and threw his glove up in the air. He was a bit late so tried again with the next bike and the rider noticed it and we got the shout and scooped him. And after that crash we thought, 'Well, we'll see what he's like now,' but it didn't touch him at all. In fact, Milky was an absolutely beautifully smooth rider, till he had his horrendous crash in 2003. [Quayle clipped a rock face with his shoulder at 160 mph and lost control, hitting a wall. He suffered internal injuries and retired from racing.] Joey Dunlop had a very bad smash in '89 [Easter, Brands Hatch] and he was off for a couple of years. But bloody hell, he went an awful lot quicker after that. Robert Dunlop was virtually paralyzed down one arm when the back wheel collapsed at Ballaugh Bridge, but he came back and was quicker than ever."

The exposure has given Moran a strong sense of what it takes to race the Isle of Man, and to be part of the larger event. It's this insight and appreciation that fuels his love of this place he calls home. "The Manx produce extraordinarily good roadracers for such a small population. It's an ancient race and it's a classic sign that people have been there for thousands of years and have learned the score. They're life affirming, without a doubt, but there's a maturity toward death. They don't rate life so highly that they won't take a risk, and that's key to their ability to be able to face a challenge. They're up for anything: a really good laugh or a really good fight.

And while TT racing is quite likely safer now than it's ever been, the event still offers up its share of blood, bone, drama and gore. Moran, however, sees the bigger picture in all of it: the connection and draw of a dangerous event. When the riders succeed, it's breathtaking. When they don't, they can still say they've attempted something that few would dare.

"How do I remain enthusiastic, having seen the things I've seen?" Moran ponders. "They're not connected. Gore is only emotion; emotion is nothing to do with it. It's just what you're used to."