In the Irish Sea, midway between Great Britain and Ireland, there is an island 32 miles long by 14 miles wide. By a quirk of history, the Isle of Man is neither part of the United Kingdom nor Ireland but operates as a self-governing dependency of the U.K.

Self-governance brings responsibilities and opportunities. In 1904, the government of the Isle of Man weighed one against the other and made a decision that could be considered irresponsible. But, from that moment on, this obscure little island became the mecca for a particular subset of the world’s population.

The people in question are motorcycle enthusiasts, and the fateful decision was the granting of official permission for the Isle of Man’s public roads to be used for motorcycle racing. In 1907, a race series for the Tourist Trophy was inaugurated. The legendary Isle of Man TT was born.

More than a century later, the TT remains one of the most hallowed events on the motorcycling calendar. Early each summer, riders and spectators converge on the island for a week-long frenzy of two-wheeled speed.

It is far from harmless fun. In the course of its history, 237 racers have been killed. The course is considered so dangerous that, in 1977, it was stripped of its Grand Prix status. Yet the racing continues and is as dangerous as ever. Barely
a year goes by without new names being added to the grim roll call of fatalities.

So, with that in mind, can I tempt you onto the back of a bike for a lap around the course, along hilltop roads with sheer drops to one side, along rural lanes fringed with lethal stone walls and through tranquil villages which, in an instant, can be transformed into a scene of motorcycle carnage?

You can experience it all
without leaving your seat, thanks to a recent 3D documentary movie, TT3D: Closer to the Edge. As the opening credits propel you around the island at an average speed of more than 100 mph, you begin to understand the spellbinding lure of the TT.

In our increasingly mollycoddled world in which any perceived risk is usually a target for prohibitive legislation, there is something to be said for an event that remains a genuine life-or-death challenge. In the words of one of the documentary’s interviewees, an American spectator, “The Isle of Man TT represents the last bastion of the freedom of choice.”

The riders themselves are a breed apart, exemplified by the documentary’s charismatic hero, Guy Martin. We follow his preparations for the 2010 TT as he puts his day job as a truck mechanic on hold in order to continue his pursuit of his first TT victory.

His obsession is contagious. We ride every twist and turn with him, and we share the horror when, during the final race, he fails to reach a checkpoint. (Guy was lucky. He had crashed in a fireball at one of the trickiest corners but survived with relatively minor injuries.)

Each June, the guttural echo of the racing bikes fades, and the TT packs up for another year. Yet, during the hiatus, the Isle of Man’s 688 miles of paved roads continue to draw the speed freaks. This is one of the few places in the world in which, beyond the towns, there is no speed limit.

You arrive at the capital, Douglas, and rent your transport (two or four wheels). As you accelerate on the famous roads, perhaps you recall the words of that spectator in the documentary: “Life isn’t a dress rehearsal. You only get one lap; why not make it a good one?”