Wounds in road racing heal quickly. It is a genetic thing. The greater the tragedy the stronger the chromosome expresses itself. Simple.

For those people unfamiliar with the paddock at an Ulster Grand Prix or an Isle of Man or a North West it comes across as brutal and insensitive.

Racing between the hedges belongs to a small cult of people who have learned to forget, a pragmatic, alluring, conservative, wild people.

They swallow danger in mouthfuls because they believe they can digest any tragedy that befalls them. They watch as their colleagues die and then shy away from talking loud about it because it . . . well, it happens.

Robert Dunlop, after his emotional 125cc win in Dundrod, was hesitant and mildly shocked. Seven weeks ago he lost his brother, Joey, in a fatal crash.

That and the death of two other riders in Monaghan, he admitted, was going through his mind.

"But once you get your helmet on it goes away," he said.

The racing from Dundrod was broadcast on Tuesday in that shaky camera sort of way by Ulster Television. Indecently quick, many would have thought the death of three racers, amongst them Dunlop, the greatest motorcycle rider in the history of the sport, would have tempered speeds.

Where soliloquies were expected, there was a hastily taped and gratuitous one-minute voice-over about "recent events" which "questioned the existence" of what is "Ulster's sporting heritage."

But, it continued: "The magnificent spectacle of man and machine at Dundrod continues." It always does.

It is difficult to forget the death of Dunlop, for the reason that, if it can happen to a rider so blessed with ability, it can happen to anyone. Every turn and aggressive move brought about a queasiness. Around the country roads the racing is a patchwork of such events.

At Dundrod, unlike the Isle of Man, the riders start at the same time as in Grand Prix circuit racing with the sprint to the first bend crucial. From there is a series of dry stone-walls, barbed-wire fences, Yield and Give Way signs, leaves, hairpins and illogical cambers.

One strength of Joey Dunlop was that he could memorise every course in extraordinary detail. He lined his bike up for turns according to the steeple on the Methodist Church on the horizon.

He knew he should be in third gear 10 seconds after the big chestnut tree in the field by the postoffice.

He remembered the slow corners where leaves might blow on a windy day and where the white line marking the centre of the road might throw a back wheel in the rain. He was good in the wet and he was easy on his machine and he fatally hit a lamp-post.

Like all the riders he used a machine that was temperamental and dangerous. Pull too much throttle and it would launch into a back somersault, hit something and it would disintegrate, give it everything and it would hit 180 m.p.h. purring.

Down the straight, the leader in the production race, Adrian Archibald, was touching his rival at 150 m.p.h. diving into a bend. Archibald's nerve held and he eventually won the race.

"This is scarcely quick on a superbike," declared the commentator.

Archibald is a young, fair-haired, ruddy-faced Scot with a ready smile. With his helmet on he is anonymous, an appendage to the machine, a piece of leather and a helmet tucked away and faceless.

Oddly, the lasting image was of Robert Dunlop (39), taking his left arm off the grip and resting it behind his back like a speed skater tearing along the straight.

Badly damaged and weakened when he hit a stone wall in the Isle of Man at 100 m.p.h., Robert had to fight the sport to be sanctioned to race again. His arm is a mess.

The coverage, as a coincidental tribute to Joey Dunlop was perfect. Nothing was really said. The event took place and finished on a beautiful summer's day with little to see but the breathtaking choreography of the riders. There was no fuss from the oily-fingered mechanics and riders, their leathers stripped to the waist, their noses buried in back sprockets and engine casings, the thick Antrim accents at home with their Hondas, Yahamas and Kawasakis.

Dunlop's people.

Quite a change when you dip into F1 in Belgium where the rain was pelting down on the millionaire drivers. Mika, Michael and the extravagantly named Jenson Button dominated UTV's coverage with a brief turn coming from Eddie Jordan before the race began.

Jordan promised the best party in town next week for the 10th birthday of his Jordan racing outfit. Eddie, in fact, is almost as famous for his parties as he is for his racing.

"I'm not particularly perturbed about the weather," he said refusing to allow anything to interfere with his upbeat mood. Button then made sure that Eddie should have been perturbed about him as he almost trashed one of the Jordan cars.

"The move was always going to end in tears," offered Martin Brundle as the teenager dived into a corner where there no space except into the back of the Jordan.

"Fortunately for Jenson not his tears," he added.

A little bit faster than the bikes (the cars touch 205 m.p.h., the bikes around 180 m.p.h.) and infinitely safer, Jenson, as UTV told us, was right on the button (mmm) finishing in fifth place in his McLaren.

But guess who's not going to get invited to the Jordan party next week. Got it in one.