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The Isle of Man TT is the most dangerous race in the world, with more than 230 people killed on this 37.75-mile route along roads lined by walls, telegraph poles and trees. In this second extract from Rick Broadbent’s new book That Near-Death Thing, the rising star of road racing, Michael Dunlop, recalls how he rode to astonishing victory at the North West 200 just two days after his father was killed in practice.

The bike was not running well as it neared Mather’s Cross. He had complained about it to John, his sponsor, saying it only felt right in top gear, that the rest was a fight. It might even be in danger of seizing. It was that fast section where it all went wrong. The inquest would hear that Robert Dunlop had inadvertently hit the front brake instead of the clutch. Darren Burns had just been overtaken by the Mighty Micro and would tell how it was as if Dunlop had hit a brick wall such was the force with which he was thrown from his bike. Burns could not avoid running over him. William Dunlop arrived quickly on his bike. He saw his father, crumbled and rushed nearer. He was restrained by Mervyn White, the clerk of the course. That was Thursday.

On Friday Stephen Davison, a photographer who had got to know the Dunlops over the years, went up to the house to pay his respects. It was a striking building on farm land gathered around a grey turret. It brought back memories of the night they had brought Joey Dunlop, Robert’s brother, back from Estonia in a hearse. “I remember it being deathly quiet and then suddenly as the hearse turned the last corner there was a rising wailing.” That was the family. And now the family, the most fabled in Irish motorsport, was dealing with further tragic consequences of life-affirming rushes.

On the Saturday, William and Michael, two of Robert’s three sons, left their father in his coffin at home and went back to the paddock. William was in his leathers. He had made his mind up quickly that, less than 48 hours after the death of his father in practice for the North West 200, he was going to compete in the race. Davison saw him walk out of a room at the track and move towards a fence. Then it was as if the bones had been sucked from his body and he slumped against it. Davison assumed the emotion had caught up with William, but he was wrong. The boy was distraught because he had just been told that he was not going to be allowed to race.

“They voted three to two against,” William would tell me. “Well, the first thing was these people didn’t know what they were talking about. They were all about saying how much they would help us after my dad, but when we went to the meeting they did that. I was devastated. I could not believe it. I was determined to ride, but thought that was that. And then the boy who sponsored me said they were ignorant pillocks and took the bike down anyway.”

Back then, in the Spring of 2008, Michael was 20, three years younger than his brother. More bullish and belligerent, he made his mind up to race too. “I said to the boys, ‘Let’s get that thing out’. I went down there. William’s bike was already there. They didn’t have the balls to take us off “I saw the boys who’d made the decision looking at each other, thinking to themselves, ‘We’re screwed’.”

Dunlop would win that race. John McGuinness, the favourite after qualifying on pole position, could only look at the two young Dunlops and wonder whether it was right. Life always carried on after racing tragedies, but this was something else. This was near to the bone, a 200mph wake rather than the grief by proxy that was the ordinary way of moving on.

(Image: Getty)

“It was one of the ballsiest things I have ever seen,” McGuinness said when we discussed it. “I was behind Robert when he had his accident. I could not really see what happened, but there was a puff of smoke, another lad involved. I always remember Robert looking over his shoulder and winking at me; three minutes later he was dead. Now for Michael to come back and do what he did…incredible.”

When the grandstand saw Michael's white bike with its black No 3 draw into focus on the last lap, the noise was thunderous. He crossed the line and then collapsed in a heap, an epicenter for back-slappers and those whose mourning had been momentarily suspended by sporting gold. That was Saturday. The funeral was Sunday. “Some dickhead in a suit said I wasn’t mentally right to race,” Michael would tell me. “I said I’d never been mentally fit.”

He has since become bright new thing of the TT, but there is still a wildness about him. “I am wild. No doubt about it. I will do anything. I will climb that lamp post naked if you want. I’ll steal a police car. I’ll rob a taxi. Anything for the craic. I ran down the street naked at the TT one year.”

It could boil over as happened with another rider, Cameron Donald, at another race. “He was giving it all that so I punched him a couple of times. Then I gave him a couple of slaps. I would just smash his face in, but they wanted solicitors. It’s getting like that now. You can’t punch anyone.”

At his core, though, he was a racer, like his dad and uncle and brother. "After Joey's accident, people asked my dad why he was letting his son go racing. He said, 'What's your son doing on a Saturday night? I know where mine is'. It's what we do. I mean, what else would I do? There isn't anything."

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Extract taken from "That Near-Death Thing" by Rick Broadbent (Orion £16.99)