Gladiators, ready? This is what it's like trackside at the Isle of Man TT

I'm lying on a mattress in Ros's front garden, arms folded over her garden wall. Half a mile away the first bike leaves the line. Before it gets to us in about 13 seconds time it will already have had to negotiate the jump at St Ninian’s crossroads, the steep plunge down Bray Hill, the kink by the traffic lights in the dip and Ago’s Leap, a practically invisible crest that’s significant enough to make the bikes wheelie and jump. But then they are doing 185mph.

Nose poking tentatively out over the pavement, I’ve got a view down to the kink and have heard every single gearchange. They’ve all been screaming flat upshifts. I wait for the first bike’s arrival. It turns out there are some things you can’t prepare for, no matter how many TT onboards you’ve watched. I might be able to hear them coming, but being this close as they flash past like fireworks my response is entirely involuntary, entirely primeval: it’s a jump scare.

The Isle of Man TT is the most intense spectator experience I’ve ever had, way beyond F1 or a football stadium. It’s the knowledge of what the riders are battling. I look at the street furniture, an unforgiving forest of lamp posts, traffic lights, driveways, kerbs and stone walls, everything hard, sharp and edgy and my brain says 30mph. Not 185mph. The speeds are so disproportionate, the closeness so visceral, it’s a struggle to comprehend what I’m seeing.

Photography: Huckleberry Mountain

Now imagine what it’s like for the men and women on the bikes, 168kg machines boasting upwards of 250bhp yielding power to weight ratios that would make an F1 car blush. Imagine the nerve, skill and courage required to face down this 37.73 mile road circuit, and beyond that to know it so intimately that you can pick out every draincover, pothole, camber and crosswind point. All while accepting the risks you can’t control: the falling tree branch, the stray rabbit, the mechanical failure. No race on Earth puts you at more instant risk of death or serious injury. No race on Earth does more to try and mitigate those risks with exceptional emergency care and support.

The start line marshal rests his hand on the shoulder of every rider to leave the line. It’s a calming, fatherly gesture before the light goes green and the gladiators set off into their arena. “There’s nothing quite like this course, or this event,” Peter Hickman told me. “For us it’s the peak of what we get to do, the adrenaline rush here is like no other.”

^ Lap record holder Peter Hickman prepares

His current record stands at 16:36.115 – an average speed of 136.358mph... “But for the first two thirds of the lap until we get to Ramsey, the average is up over 150mph.” This year, a 140mph accident during practice puts him out of contention.

^ Ros's garden

Don’t think spectating is completely ungoverned though. Some areas are designated off limits and over 520 marshals provide line of sight support around the entire course.

^ Nerve centre

A team of over a dozen people run the race from the control tower on Glencrutchery road in Douglas. Everything from emergency service liaision and clerk of the course to an incident officer and sector controllers. Screens show live camera views and links to filming. Every single support car, race bike, sidecar and medical vehicle involved in the racing has live feed GPS.

We are now able to bring the whole hospital, the resuscitation team, the emergency theatre, to the patient’s side

^ Side car

There are four classes for bikes, just one for sidecars, although they can be powered by anything from a 600cc 4cyl to a 900cc twin. A new lap record was set this year by Ryan and Callum Crowe at an average of 121.021mph.

^ The approach to Hillberry Corner

One of the most intense places to spectate, a low wall is all that separates you from bikes coming past an arm’s length away at nearly 200mph.

^ James Mylchreest

The fourth generation of his family to drive support cars at the TT. They have over 100 years of association with the race. BMW is now the vehicle supplier, providing course cars, medical vehicles and fast bikes for the travelling marshals.

^ Road racing isn't flush with money

Outside the top few teams, racers rely on local sponsors and even cash donations to be able to race.

^ Jumping bike

Airborne over Ago’s Leap. “Any time there’s a junction with another road, you’ll get a jump,” says Hickman. “The tiny changes of angle and camber are enough to lift wheels or pop the whole bike into the air when we’re going so fast.”

^ Medics

It’s tempting to assume that the TT, the last bastion of motorcycle road racing, plays fast and loose with safety. Wrong. Instead it’s at the cutting edge of what’s medically possible. “If you look at most circuits, even F1 or Moto GP, they will stabilise [the patient] and evacuate,” says the TT’s chief medical officer, Dr Gareth Davies. “But we are now able to bring the whole hospital, the resuscitation team, the emergency theatre, to the patient’s side and stop the dying process at that point.”

The MRMS (Manx Roadracing Medical Services) trauma team for the TT includes 80 paramedics, doctors, nurses and ambulance technicians, seven kitted out BMW X5s, at least two helicopters and a dozen fast response medibikes. The aim is to be on the scene of any accident in two to three minutes. A historic heat map of crash data helps them predict where accidents might happen, and there’s now a research programme that monitors riders during the race.