What it's like to pull a 201 tonne Locomotive

Although it’s over 25 years ago, I clearly remember my time at the inaugural Weet-Bix World Series Strongman competition at the Sydney Royal Easter Show. With former World’s Strongest Man winners Magnus Ver Magnusson (Iceland), Jamie Reeves (UK) and Garry Taylor (Wales) competing I was certainly in esteemed company. Also add, my former University of Hawaii football teammate, Joe Onasi (Hawaii), Wayne Price (South Africa) amongst others I felt like the rookie on the job for the first day. The event was put together by Harry Mitchell and David Huxley of the Tartan Warriors and news of what we were achieving quickly travelled around the world. The British television program Record Breakers . . . which was a BBC 1 institution co-founded in 1972 by Ross McWhirter before he was assassinated by the IRA three-years later . . . sent Cheryl Baker and a production crew to Sydney in the hope they’d capture for their 25th anniversary program some vision of new world records being created for such things as pulling the 386-tonne replica of William Bligh’s HMS Bounty on Sydney Harbour; the Manhood Stones or some big, boofy blokes dragging a 201-tonne steam train complete with the coal and water trucks over 14 metres.

It was exciting stuff, and when it came time for me to pull the train I was in the mood to rip the pilot – which is also known as ‘the cow catcher’ because it’s mounted at the front of the locomotive to deflect objects which would otherwise derail it – from the body of the train. I was frustrated because after setting a new world record the day before by dragging the timber ship which was built for the 1984 movie Mutiny on the Bounty starring Mel Gibson and Anthony Hopkins across the 25m course in 2 minutes 16 seconds l lost my place in the Guinness Book of Records when the last competitor bettered it by less than a tenth of a second. So, I descended upon Thirlmere, a quiet semi-rural town about 90 kilometres south-west of Sydney’s CBD which is home to the NSW Rail Museum, with the intention of doing something special. The event was held during the school holidays and an army of school kids The Record Breaker’s producers bussed into the township to add atmosphere to the local kids were bussed in to add some atmosphere to the event. I heard the director prep the kids on when to cheer by saying: “If anyone gets near the world record mark of 14-metres I really want you kids to go berserk!” and when the time came, those kids cheering almost broke my heart – and ripped my stomach muscles. While I’d left Sydney’s CBD for Thirlmere with intentions to destroy the museum’s pride ‘n joy, I couldn’t help but to think as I stood next to the mighty wheel and piston of the old puffing billy that perhaps the director’s request for the kids to go crazy may have been nothing more than wishful thinking because I realised the 19th century locomotive was such an imposing piece of machinery I wondered how anyone would be able to move the giant . . . let alone break the world record.

As I was mentally and physically preparing to move his train, the engineer climbed down from the locomotive’s cabin and I needed no time to realise the reason for the concerned look on his face. He addressed all of the competitors and said he was terrified if anyone slipped he ‘d run them over because the nose of the train was so long he couldn’t see too far ahead of it. “Boys,” he gasped. “Mark my words, this baby will destroy you.” I told him not to worry because as part of the record attempt we had guides walking on either side of us and they’d alert him if one of us fell over, but I couldn’t help but to notice he was still nervous when he climbed back into his engine. I was first off the rank and after fitting into my parachutist like five-point harness attached with the wire that connected my blood, bone and spirit to 210 tonnes of heavy-duty steel, I positioned myself on the five-rung (Guinness Book of Records approved) ladder that was laid flat on the ground to allow for us to literally kick off our challenges from. When the whistle sounded for me to start the event, I remembered the advice Ver Magnusson had shared with me during the bus trip from Sydney because he’d said to “caress” the train gently as though it was my lover. He said rather than being crude or forceful I needed to instead treat it tenderly because the train would respond more favourably to a gentle touch. I knew it was left-field thinking, but because of Ver Magnusson’s standing in the sport I was all ears. That chat confirmed everything I’d heard about him because while he was extremely strong, he wasn’t the biggest competitor in the strong men’s world. He stood 190cm and weighed 130 kilos, but an important reason for his outstanding success was he employed both an intelligent and scientific approach to the sport, which, as I discovered included the philosophy of ‘caressing’ a monster steam train. However, almost a quarter of a century on I don’t mind admitting, that as I strained and then started to pull the locomotive there was nothing in the world that made more sense than the Icelandic warrior’s edict for me to make love to the piece of historic machinery . . .

I employed Magnuss’ theory and asked that the train be first all ‘warmed up’ as it would assist in lubricating all the important components and hopefully allow me to move them easier. My second request was to have the massive engine piston drive attached to the wheels placed at 12 o’clock. It didn’t make sense to me to have it sitting at the 6’oclock position where I would be pulling against the gravity of the piston rather than have it moving down and assisting me.

I used the strength in my buttocks and legs to move the train for the first inch, and as I continued to strain and pull forward it moved a couple more . . . those inches slowly but surely turned into a foot and I built up momentum by utilising my height to grab each rail track to keep me low and to to pull the train with my arms. Each foot became a metre. Once I clawed my was past the last rung of the ladder I found taking little steps was the best way to keep going. On one side of the track I had Ver Magnusson offering me his sound and solid words of advice of, “caress it, Grant” and on the other was the television show’s host (most people of my vintage would remember Cheryl Baker from the 1980s English band Bucks Fizz) and with each step I heard her scream encouragement. The organisers had clearly identified the world record mark and while I occasionally looked up and saw it was getting closer I forced myself to remain focussed . . . I continued to be the tender lover . . . keeping my head down and concentrating on every small step. I had another quick peek ahead and I could see the record was now within my grasp, all I needed to do was get the front of the engine over it and it was mine. When the kids and curious locals who’d turned up to have a sticky beak started to cheer my effort to break the record it felt awesome to see them raise their arms above their heads as one to celebrate. Inspired, I felt as though I could pull the train to Coridjah, the next station on the disused Picton-Mittagong loop line, but the train came to a sudden halt. ‘What the hell has happened?’ I drove my leg forward again, but, nothing. ‘Come on lover, I was so tender!’ I tried and I strained and I pulled, but Thomas the Tank Engine refused to budge. I wondered if perhaps there was a small rock on the track and if that was what had stopped my progress. I strained again . . . nothing . . . and again. In my bones I felt as though I needed to keep going further to ensure I’d prevent any of the other seven competitors from bettering my effort. I desperately gritted my teeth and gave another mighty surge. Nothing! The crowd was screaming for me to dig even deeper, but had I gone any further I would’ve struck oil! It was at that point The Record Breakers producer finally yelled for me to stop pulling, and with the sound of blood rushing in my ears, he explained the driver had applied the brake. I was crushed, through absolutely no fault of my own my assault to create as big a world record distance as possible was over . . . and it felt cruel. My sense of outrage eventually turned to understanding when the driver apologised as he explained the reason why he’d stopped the train. It turns out in ‘rail speak’ when someone raises both their arms in the air it means to stop the train because of an emergency, so when the poor bloke saw a few hundred arms shoot up into the air his safety-first instinct kicked in because he feared I’d fallen over. It was an honest mistake, and while I was bitterly disappointed because I just knew someone was going to better the new mark I’d set, I told the engineer it was OK because he had made it clear before the competition started that our well-being, and not world records, was his only priority.

I watched as the other competitors took their turn and while I happy to see them give up before reaching my mark. I asked the organisers if I could have another crack because I still had a bit left in my tank. I was annoyed when they told me that was dependent on whether the other competitors gave me their thumbs up; annoyed because it was through no fault of my own that I stopped. It says a lot about the character of the other competitors because they agreed to my request and I was given another crack after the last of the contenders, Wayne Price, a powerful 150 kilo South African, flexed his mighty muscles as he dragged the train 28 jaw-dropping metres to double the distance of the new world record I’d established earlier in the day. It was a massive effort and as I prepared for my second go, I again digested the meaning of Ver Magnusson’s words as he yelled at me to be the perfect lover. I smile these days when I wonder what on earth other people must have thought as he yelled for me to “treat her tenderly, Grant?” I was more comfortable with what I needed to the second time due to my previous effort and by the time I collapsed face-first into the dirt with Cheryl screaming into the television camera “I can’t believe what I have just seen!” it had taken me 1 minute and 16 seconds to pull the train 36.8 metres. It was ratified by Guinness as a world record, but at the time I had no idea what that record would become and how it would define me as an athlete and a person.

That record remains today and although many have tried no one was able to pull that weight beyond my distance in under the time I set. I’m glad however that another great strong Jordan ‘Biggie’ Steffens pulled a 203-tonne locomotive 5 metres last year and set a new gluiness record which is featured in the 2021 Guinness Book of Records book.