1989 and four of us are going to the TT, meeting up at sunny Hammersmith before heading for the Island.

Ken is mounted on his 'racing' Honda VF1000R, the one in Honda Britain colours with the 16" front wheel and which proudly proclaimed "Gear Driven Cams" all over the fairing. Now the 1000R was a seriously heavy old shed even in 1989, with an enormous wheelbase but weirdly quick steering, due in part to the small front wheel.

The combination of weight, length and steering gave the thing the most odd handling and always felt like it was about to lose the front at any time. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your viewpoint) Ken had owned the thing for some years and was quite used to it. However, to anyone used to a more normal handling bike the VF1000R was dead scary.

I am on my shiny new low mileage, never seen rain GSXR1100J, absolutely bog standard and in pristine showroom condition with ne'er a mark on it. Now the 1100J was a fabulous bike for its day - it was the last of the line of the proper 1100s (before they got all fat and heavy), much the same as the G and H before but with stronger wheels and a larger tank. They made the tank larger by simply sticking a bit on top, so it became that much higher, and this, combined with the vent tube coming out of the top, made the thing feel like a right dangerous animal when you sat on it - it's why I bought it. And the rev counter didn't start registering until 3000rpm! Hard or what?

The only drawback was the 18" wheels, which meant the bike didn't like turning that quickly at speed - didn't matter at the time really because every other bike was so awful by comparison. Apart from that the 1100J was the ultimate sports bike - light, good handling and loadsa grunt, putting out a heady 105 bhp on a sunny day ...

Craig is on a Yam FZR600, but he's not been riding long so it's not that much of a handicap. And due respect to him for even coming; he'd been on the back of a mate's the year before who'd had a classic IOM crash, hitting an oncoming bike mid-bend. Craig wound up in a field, but his mate was totalled. Not sure I'd want to go back after that ...

Richard's on a ZX10, the mightiest bike in the land. It could shunt on a bit but was a bit portly for backroad scratchin'. Or was that Richard?

The TT was brilliant, with all the top runners taking part (Hislop, Fogarty, Joey, Trevor, etc.) and the weather was tops, sunshine most days, allowing the traditional trip down to Cregneish on non-race days for cream teas.

We stayed at some self-catering chalets in Douglas, which could have been a nightmare in the breakfast department but luckily Richard knew all about bacon and eggs and rather decently put himself in charge of fry-ups. The 'chalets' looked rubbish but were fine inside and the bikes could be parked right outside so they afforded first class bike tinkering opportunities. The owners knocked all the chalets down after the TT so we couldn't stay there again. Rotters!

Anyway, on to 1990 and three of us decide on a revisit to the TT. I've part-exchanged the 1100J for a Yamaha FZR1000 Exup. I'd tried a mate's and after the Suzuki it felt like a GP bike! - all sort of front-endy and quick steering. And it had 5 valves per cylinder, a water cooled engine, 17" wheels, a 170 back tyre .... this was a must-have bike to trounce Ken over the Mountain.

Ken meanwhile had been to Frontiers a couple of weeks before we left and chopped his Honda 1000R in for a GSXR750 - what a dope! I mean, a puny 750 and me on a 1000cc GP bike. He was dead meat once we got to the Island.

Craig's also on a 750 Gixer, but for him this is a big improvement on the FZR600 he had the year before.

We had a hilarious run to Liverpool, with Ken wobbling about all over the place in top gear, getting in the way and generally being useless. This was great, as he was a good rider and I'd had a job keeping up with him before. Now I could blast past him and make rude gestures whenever I felt like it.

Of course I was a prat and should have realised it at the time, especially as I'd had a warning of my total foolishness. On the morning of departure I'd checked my tyre pressures like a good boy scout and the little poky-out bit shot out to the end of its travel. "Bugger", I thought, "my pressure gauge has broken". The bike had felt a bit odd on the way up to Liverpool, but I thought it was because of the panniers slung over the rear seat. Anyway, I was having so much fun abusing Ken I didn't really think too much about it.

So we arrive at Liverpool, a little early and we stop off for tea and buns. "Can I borrow your tyre pressure gauge, Ken?" So I duly check my tyres again. "Boing!" out shoots the gauge to full travel. "Blimey, Ken, your gauge is broken too!" "Whaddya mean, broken? Of course it isn't, I used it this morning and it was fine." Sure enough, there's nothing wrong with Ken's pressure gauge. Now my bike had been into Frontiers for a service the week before and instead of putting 35psi in the front and 40psi in the rear the plonker who'd checked the tyres had read the "bar" gauge instead, and put 3.5 bar in the front and 4.0 bar in the back - that's 50psi in the front and an outrageous 60 odd in the rear! No wonder it was steering quickly ...

After much laughter at my expense we boarded the King Orry or some such ghastly old cattle boat and sailed off to the Island.

The first few laps of the circuit were great fun, Ken being completely hopeless and me well able to keep up with him, if not pass him. On a run out through some twisty back roads I nearly crashed big time on an S bend over a little bridge. I was following Ken and he simply flip-flipped the 750 through the bend without really slowing down. Being in confident mood I gaily followed him, and the old bus of an Exup wouldn't flip-flip like a 750, it kinda yaw-yawed. Somehow I managed to miss the bridge wall and stay on the road, but it taught me something that I forgot all about until I bought my Gixer.

Suffice to say, by day 3 Ken had stopped moaning about his useless Suzuki and quite suddenly mastered the art of riding a light, quick-steering, peaky 750 .... and I spent the rest of the week watching him disappear off into the distance.