Humbling bravery of Robert Dunlop

The most courageous sportsman on this island was in Kells, Co Meath 10 days ago. You probably news that night or read much about in your newspaper the next day. Publicity was the last thing on his mind. These were private, personal occasions.

Was this a footballer making an unexpected return from serious injury? A boxer overcoming two dogged opponents so that he could taste victory? A jump jockey conquering some demons after a nasty fall and hopping straight back on to the saddle? The truth is nowhere near so mundane because over the past two weekends Robert Dunlop has begun to piece his life back together less than a month after the death of his brother, Joey, in the only way he knew how. By riding a motorcycle.

The stark bravery and mental strength that were bound up in Robert's return to competitive racing just three weeks after the accident which killed Joey in Estonia is almost beyond our comprehension. Road racing may have been stripped of its pivotal, inspirational figure but the Dunlop family also lost a son, husband, father and brother. That is the ultimate tragic reality of a fatal motorcycle accident on a racetrack hundreds of miles from home.

As the spotlight fell on the sport of road racing in the aftermath of Joey's death, Robert found himself under inestimable pressure. In contrast to his brother, he has always been a more outgoing and gregarious character and very comfortable with media attention. The strain was there for all to see. Joey's accident had coincided with the first of this summer's major stand-offs at Drumcree and as Robert escorted the body home from Dublin Airport they were forced to divert away from the main route north because of road protests. The indignity of all of this clearly affected Robert deeply and the next day he gave a series of emotional radio and television interviews pleading for some degree of civility so that mourners could travel to Antrim for the funeral and the day could go ahead unhindered. That it did was due in no small measure to Robert Dunlop's pleas for decency and respect.

During this time he was clearly a man under terrible internal and external pressure. He and Joey had grown up together with motorcycles and now the sport which had evolved inexorably into their way of life had killed his brother. The shock of that prompted a succession of family friends to suggest that the time had now come for Robert to consider retirement. Although it was never referred to specifically, the subtext was that it was something he should consider while he still had the chance.

Among those who made their feelings known was Liam Beckett, Robert's mechanic and someone who had stood by him through all the peaks and troughs of years of road racing. Beckett was close to tears as he spoke about the void that Joey's death had left and, as he told interviewers, he felt the time had come for Robert to consider seriously what carrying on racing could mean.

Robert was well aware of what everyone thought he should do. He had, after all, heard similar appeals after the crash on the Isle of Man six years ago which almost killed him. Joey is recognised as the greatest rider the TT races on the island have ever seen but Robert was just as much at home on the famous circuit. But as he pushed his bike out of a corner the rear wheel developed handling problems and he was propelled into a wall at around 100 m.p.h..

Dunlop sustained severe arm and leg injuries and, by common consent, was fortunate not to have been killed. But within a year he was back on a race bike and competing again. The accident had left its mark. Nerve damage to his right, throttling arm and hand meant his machine had to be specially modified so that he could accelerate and brake. Off the bike he also walked with a pronounced limp.

In interviews at the time Robert appeared vaguely bemused by all the attention. This, of course, was to an extent a defence mechanism and a way of protecting himself from the potential ravages of self-doubt. But his decision to return to racing was also a pragmatic one because without the money it generated he knew no other way of supporting himself and his family. None of that had changed with Joey's death. Who can say what thoughts have been tumbling through his head over the past few weeks? Losing a brother at such a young age is traumatic enough in itself. But when the circumstances of his death are so tied up with thoughts of your own vulnerability and mortality, the mental pressure must be all but intolerable.

But somehow Robert coped. On the Friday afternoon of the funeral he was there at the centre of those incredible scenes on that narrow country road outside Ballymoney helping to shoulder his brother's coffin into the small church. All through the days that followed he turned it all over in his head again and again. And all the time he must have been aware of that same pull, that inescapable impulse that kept Joey racing long after he had secured greatness.

In the end, it was simply too strong to ignore. Totally unheralded, Robert raced first at Kells and then last Saturday in Dundalk. At the weekend he was on local radio outlining his schedule for the rest of the road-racing season including a return to the Ulster Grand Prix later this month at Dundrod. The short Q&A exchange lasted little more than two minutes but there is unlikely to be a more remarkable sporting interview anywhere this year. Robert spoke openly about Joey but in that touching present-tense way people use in the weeks and months just after they have been bereaved. There was no sense of Joey having left Robert and the overall effect was singularly moving. "This is what me and Joey do, ride motorbikes," he said in response to the inevitable query about why he had decided to keep on racing. By the end, we were no closer to a rational explanation for that decision but this was no time for logic. Far better just to be totally humbled by the bravery.