World View

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The Manx "triskelion" is embedded as a street mosaic in Peel.

In 2004 I visited the Isle of Man, a Mecca for motorbike enthusiasts. Thrill-seeking motorcyclists venture to this island in the Irish Sea every summer for the same reason the gentlemen of 1907 did: the Tourist Trophy, more commonly known as the Isle of Man TT motorbike races.
 
I could bore you with countless tales of my motorbike adventures there, but a particular series of mishaps while trying to mail a package still brings a wry smile to my face.

I had decided to do some shopping for some unique IOM gifts for family and friends back in the States. One of my guidebooks mentioned the Tynwald Mills, a picturesque retail center along the River Neb, once home to a thriving woollen mills industry. I rode to the mills on the Kawasaki 636 sportbike I had hired in London. I found a sweater, some crystal and glassware that was to my liking, but not wanting to schlep it around the Isle I had asked the proprietor of the shop if she could ship it back to the States for me. A look of serious dismay came over her face, and she explained that she would have to close the shop to take my items to the local Post Office. I asked her where that might be, and she replied, “Just down the road and over the A1.” This seemed simple enough, so I thanked her and left the shop with my merchandise.

As I approached my motorbike, I realised that I did not have the bungee cords and nets that I normally carry in my backpack, so I improvised with some twine. I was only going down the road a bit – what could possibly go wrong?

I putted along, carefully, holding the package in place behind me with one hand. As I got to the A1, a single-carriageway, I realised I would need both hands on the handlebars to navigate the steep and busy approach. Balancing my package on its precarious perch, I rode up to the A1 and sped across at the first clear opportunity. Once across, the steep downgrade on the other side caused the package to start slipping off the pillion. The Post Office was just ahead, so I turned left into the gravel parking lot, causing the bike to fall down in slow motion. The motorbike, the package and I all touched the ground in a gentle and unspectacular fashion.

I couldn’t have asked for better luck: the enclosed sweater had provided sufficient padding to prevent the crystal and glassware from any breakage. I walked into the local Post Office to take care of the matter.

This Post Office was in the style of a classic general store, with basic groceries, an ice cream counter and a Post Office counter. I placed my package on the postal scale, where the screen momentarily read “10.2kg” and then went blank. A muffled, “Uh oh,” came from between the proprietor’s lips and I knew my shipping experience was not going to be a simple one.

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"geese" in the town of Douglas on his rented Kawasaki 636. Photo / Chris and Michelle Davey.

He explained that they had recently installed a new web-based mailing system that weighs the packages and automatically calculates the shipping costs and prints out the necessary postage.
“Great!” I said, “so what’s the problem?”
“Ah, the scale’s down,” he said. “It’s been happening periodically all this week.”
“Well,” I countered, “we both saw the weight – 10.2 kg. Let me give you my postal code back home and we can sort out the shipping costs using your mailing guidebook.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said the proprietor. “They took all the books away once they installed the system; said we wouldn’t need them anymore.”
“Well, that worked out well, hasn’t it,” I wearily replied. “Any suggestions?”
They suggested I move on to the Post Office in Peel, just a few miles down the road.
I explained my trepidation at hauling a delicate package without the proper restraints. The proprietor pulled two bungee cords out from under the counter and said, “Here, use these! Just bring’em back before you leave our island.” I thanked him and readied the package for the journey to Peel.

Upon arrival, I rode around looking for a town center where I assumed the Post Office might be. There I came upon two old geezers who, at a few minutes past noon, were already three sheets to the wind. I pulled over and asked where the local Post Office might be. They pointed down a side-street where I could see the distinctive IOM Post Office logo in the distance.

Once there, I dismounted, vertically this time, and removed my package. As I approached the door, I saw the lights were off and the door was locked. A sign stated that this branch was closed for lunch from half past 12 until half past one. It was now just 12:33 p.m.

“BOLLOCKS!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. A sweet old woman appeared from behind the building.

“I’m sorry, dear,” she said. “Is something wrong?”

I said I was having a hell of a time just trying to get this package mailed back to the States and now I had to wait an hour for this branch to re-open.

“I’m the Post Mistress here,” she said. “Give me a minute and I’ll open back up for you.”

Once inside, she weighed my package and said, “That’ll be 40 pounds please.” I handed her my credit card and she said they only took cash. I felt the steam rising in me again, but held it together as she could not possibly know of my earlier predicament. I  pulled my last 40 pounds out of my wallet. After a successful transaction, I asked if there was a nice local restaurant where I could get a pint and a bite.

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Peel Castle and Fenella beach. Photo / Michael j "geese" graphix

She mentioned a restaurant down on Shore Road and I thanked her and sped off. Of course, as this day would have it, that restaurant had a sign in the window, “CLOSED ON WEDNESDAY.” But I ended up just down the street at another establishment, Harbour Lights Café, and dined on some amazing “queenies,” or queen scallops. After a lovely lunch and a pint of Okells, I ventured over to Peel Castle for a bit of IOM history – the day now resuming some sense of normalcy.

It wasn’t until later that evening, after a lovely ride along the west coast of the island that I came to realise that every moment in life is an adventure, but when you’re far away from home, little things can feel quite a bit more daunting. I had many, many wonderful experiences during my visit to the Isle of Man that year, including running ten laps of the TT circuit at speed, but I’ll always remember that particular day and the joy that memory brings me.

As to my package – it arrived safely in San Francisco, crystal and glassware intact.

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The famous Creg-Ny-Baa corner along the TT course. Photo /Michael j "geese" graphix