There was a time in human history when a person knew everything there was to know. Not that there was as much for man to know back then… just what was important, as in how to survive and procreate. These days, we are much more “compartmentalized” in our knowledge, to the extreme really, as there is so much to know in our overcomplicated lives. For example, many would be lost with the most simple household plumbing or electrical problem. The same can be said nowadays about motorcyclists, although not being able to commit to memory the available color options of a 1984 Honda Ascot is far from problematic. It is however, a little annoying.

What this rider has noticed over recent years is a lack of general motorcycle knowledge, or rather the development of a very specialized form of it. Case in point, if one were to engage in a conversation at one of the many cruiser-oriented charity/poker/benefit/feel-good/raise awareness rallies/runs/rides, and bring up the company and model that pioneered the transverse four-cylinder motorcycle engine, blank stares would abound, more often than not. Mention the latest chrome trinket added to the flamed skull signature special limited edition series line of “custom” accessories, however, and you will often get a response that could be mistaken for a PhD dissertation.

Now, I’m not saying that all motorcyclists should be required to write a history exam as part of the licensing process, though if the government could impose this and raise the cost in doing so, I’m sure it could happen. Call me what you will, but I often enjoy talking about things other than how great a vacation ride was, or how much you paid for your new bike. As is the case with our cultural past, there are more and more of us here, but many are unaware of so much motorcycling history.

I mentioned in a column last spring my purchase of a bright yellow helmet onto which I painted black racing stripes alá a famous road racing legend. I can’t recall a single person (that felt the need to comment on the loud lid) actually indicating any recognition of this little homage. In light of this I suppose that maybe I’m the oddball here, expecting others to share my enthusiasm for the rich history of our passion. If so, you may stop reading. If not, I’ll share a little history lesson here.

At the bottom of Snaefell Mountain on the Isle of Man there is a bronze statue of Joey Dunlop. During his racing career, this humble Irishman won 26 races on this legendary road course, including three ‘hat tricks’. This feat, along with 24 victories at the Ulster Grand Prix in his home country, earned him the rank of fifth in Motorcycle News’ list of greatest motorcycling icons. Not that Dunlop would have cared. In fact, the modest man would have more likely been embarrassed with the accolade, shying from the limelight as he did. The specific details surrounding the achievements in his remarkable career are too numerous to mention, though his last TT victory in the Formula One class in 2000 exemplified his skill on the track. In his 32nd year of racing, competing against riders half his age, the quiet Irishman known as “Yer Maun” won, while riding a poor-handling, minimally tested Honda VTR SP1, a bike he had barely ridden before the race.

What has endeared the man to the hearts of so many, however, was the way he was off the track. There is a story that typifies this, from the previous year at the Isle of Man. Joey was scrambling frantically to make repairs to his bike between practice sessions, and was quickly running out of precious time, when he was approached by a man with a young son of about four years old, asking for a photograph. Dunlop smiled, dropped his tools and picked up the boy, sitting him on the fuel tank and sitting himself on the seat, smiling while the father took the photo. Following this, he picked up his tools and continued to work like a madman to be ready for the practice race laps.

When he wasn’t racing, Dunlop undertook his own brand of charity work, very quietly and without a hint of grandiosity. At his own expense, he would drive around the area of his hometown in Northern Ireland in his beat up van, collecting donations of clothing and food. When full, he would head to Eastern Europe, to places such as Bosnia, Albania, and Romania; wherever there was need, and people less fortunate. Guilelessly and without fuss, never seeking recognition, publicity, or benefit for himself. In Tallinn, Estonia, barely a month after his crowning final Formula One win at the Isle of Man in 2000, Dunlop was racing in the 125 cc class in the pouring rain when he crashed and hit a tree, killing him instantly. Northern Ireland television carried live coverage of the apolitical 48-year-old’s funeral, which was attended by 50,000 people from across the UK, both Catholic and Protestant.

Anyone familiar with the man also known as “King of the Roads” will also know that he was very superstitious, usually wearing a red t-shirt and always a black-striped, yellow helmet. If you were previously unfamiliar with the man, consider yourself now a little more knowledgeable about motorcycling in general, and about this humble and selfless example of humanity. He’s worth knowing about. Yer Maun indeed. MMM