On The Pull

Vernon Sports v Westhoughton 

North West Tractor Pulling

August Bank Holiday weekend means an absolute highlight of the sporting year.  No I'm not talking about the Test Match at Headingley or the old bloke and the Irish lad slugging it out in Las Vegas.  I am of course talking about the UK leg of the European Tractor Pulling Championships.  I lived in Holland for a year and got quite into tractor pulling as it is almost a national sport out there, so this is the annual opportunity to reacquaint myself with the most powerful of all motor sports.

I'd intended to go straight to the racing, but was rudely awoken at 0600 by an old bloke in a mini failing to spot the large town hall opposite me, and driving straight into it.  The police obviously could not believe someone could be so incompetent, so were treating it as a possible terror event, because the way to bring down the Western world is to ram raid an empty provincial municipal building in the early hours of a Sunday.  

So to escape the hullabaloo, I headed down to the station for a train to somewhere near the racing, to see if I could get in an early game of football.

This was a Blackpool bound train, but was rammed full of families heading out for the day.  Passing through Accrington, and I was surprised to find that it has either declared itself a 'Floral Market Town', or else has bought some planting beds off somewhere that more appropriately calls itself that.

My first thought for a game was in the Blackpool area, however there were only a couple of games on in their Sunday league.  With all the rampant commercialism in the professional game, it is always heartening to see the untouched Corinthian spirit of the amateur game.  Such an example is 21st Century Windows v Exceptional Kitchens in the Bathrooms Solutions Blackpool and Fylde Sunday Alliance.  A veritable battle of the various strands of home improvement.

However, the Lancashire Sunday League was to be my host and as we approached Preston, I spied my willing victim.

So I was off my train, with half of Dumbarton waiting to get on it for the sectarian bigotry roadshow that is modern day Blackpool.

I headed off through what can only be described as a nice part of Preston.

And on through an even nicer park.  

This took me up to the old railway that heads south from the city.

Crossing the Ribble with the active railway bridge adjacent.

Dropping down beneath the railway embankment and my first stop off the day led beyond.

This was the reverse view I'd had from the train earlier, but this was actually some kids football training.

But shouts from the opposite corner alerted me to a goal in the actual game I was looking for.

Which was being played on the main pitch here.

Vernon Sports 10 v Westhoughton 0, Lancashire Sunday League

Vernon Sports, well, you're guess is as good as mine.  There badge has a red rose and a football on it, which confirms they play football in Lancashire, but then also what appears to be a viaduct, and whilst the railway passes close by, there is no viaduct.  Well, that's wasted three lines.

Westhoughton is located between Bolton and Wigan and it seems its prime occupancy is people from the latter who want a postcode of the former, and this is where the transition lies.  That is the height of aspiration in the north west fringes of greater Manchester.  The football team were founded in 2012 and they have teams in the Bolton Sunday League but this is the first team who play in the Lancashire Sunday League, which is based around Preston.

Vernon Carus are a manufacturer of medical supplies.  They have been around since 1915 and there major contribution to the world has been the production of boracic lint, a phrase which is at least fifty percent of Del Boys dialogue in Only Fools and Horses.  This was the location for their works and Sports ground, though the former was vacated in 2006 when they moved to new premises in Leyland.

The main building block is a very strange recreation of a game of portacabin jenga, but is actually in concrete and appears to be some sort of 1950s architectural wet dream.

The dugouts answer the question 'did the bloke who designed pill boxes get any further commissions after the war?'.

The ground is also home to Penwortham Town, who have a multitude of kids teams, as well as adult teams in the Preston & District League.

Though I still don't believe they have the need for four car parks.

I immediately witnessed another goal, which apparently made it four nil.

But this is what I was here for, starting with a Pendolino working a very strange headcode of 9G52 1117 Preston to Birmingham New Street. 

Five nil.

Next was some big yellow plant with a dynamic track stabiliser working back from Lancaster to Guide Bridge Brookside Sidings.

Another goal.  With the keeper now shouting, 'we've won nothing yet', which can be paraphrased as 'we've pissed this already'.

A parcel delivery van then turned up and the driver wandered around looking for someone to sign for something.  However, he didn't return...

...his services being required here.

Seven.

The goalie retrieves the aftermath of the eight as a class 156 fest passes on Northern's 1N59 1029 Manchester Airport to Blackpool North.

A lull in the scoring sees a double Voyager on 1S37 1056 Crewe to Glasgow Central, the engineering work at Euston meaning these were only running to Crew.

In the interest of balance, Westhoughton did get into the Vernon penalty area.  And here is that one moment.

Anyone in West Lancashire who sat in awaiting a parcel yesterday morning, here is the reason why, as the friendly delivery driver stayed on to officiate the second half as the back working of the set I'd got over, heads back to Yorkshire on 1B19 1111 Blackpool North to York.

Only the crew of the empty stock 5S11 1104 Leyland to Preston shunt move got to witness the very delicate chip for the ninth goal.

The final train action was Virgins 1S50 1020 Birmingham New Street to Edinburgh.

Though the scoring hadn't finished, as the game finished a decimally pleasing 10-0.

I took a slightly different journey back, through a particularly enticing nature reserve, where the only un-graffitied part of the sign depicts police murder scene body outlines of the type of family that they show a blurred picture of in the background on the news, whilst presenting the latest statistics on the national obesity crisis.

Passing the former home of the works reserve side, which used to be railed and the building on the far side was open as a cover, but fell foul of ground grading as it could only be accessed via footpaths so no emergency vehicles could get to it.  It was also permanently waterlogged, and had a higher postponement rate than the Manchester leagues, which is some achievement.

Back to the station, with an army of buses outside as the three week blockade of the Bolton line to install electrification masts, had successfully ruptured a water main so the line remains closed.

I was onto a Glasgow bound Virgin service, starting from Crewe today as Euston is shut all weekend for HS2 works.

As usual, Viz top tips nails the HS2 debate.

The Pendo was taken one stop up to Lancaster.

No time for a trip around the castle though.

Instead, this was the stronghold of Stagecoach Lancashire, as they valiantly fought against those wanting to actually use their buses, and on time.  We awaited our bus at the appointed stand at the appointed time, but with no signs of life.  After about ten minutes a bus driver emerged who looked equally exasperated at the lack of a vehicle.  He contacted his control who gave him a description of what bus he should be taking.  This was relaid to the passengers and we set off for all points of the bus station looking for an Alexander Dennis Enviro 400 fleet number 15821 registration PX12EEZ.  This was eventually found by an intrepid teenager, lurking in the Heysham bay, and off we went, about twenty down.

This was route 42, which heads down to Garstang and then across to Blackpool.  However, first port of call was Lancaster University, which despite being set in acres of open countryside south of the city, has decided to model its bus interchange on Cumbernauld, as for reasons unclear, it is a series or lay-bys off the main road through the site, situated in a tunnel.

We emerged into daylight and headed southwards on the A6, with the Pennines to our left and Morecambe bay to our right.

We were also paralleling the West Coast main line railway, as the 1200 Manchester Airport to Edinburgh passes 31 minutes late awaiting a driver at Preston.  They were probably sat in the Heysham bay at Lancaster bus station.

After Garstang, we neared right and onto the flatness of the Fylde.

Where I was off at Great Eccleston, and the strangely named White Bull pub, but more of that later.

Making my way through the village and passing the sort of display that is normally seen in the long grass behind a shipping container at a non-league ground.

And here was the reason for my visit.

North West Tractor Pullers – Eurocup Finals

Tractor pulling has its origins in the days of horse drawn ploughs.  Farmers would argue about who had the strongest horse, so competitions were arranged.  The horses would drag barn doors, which more and more people would stand on, until the horse could no longer pull it.  Whichever horse pulled the most people the furthest distance was the winner.

To race tractors you need a 35 foot wide, 330 foot long track.

The modern day version of barn doors with people stood on them is this sled, whose weight transfers forward as it moves, making it steadily harder to pull.

The tractor then couples to it.

And off they go.

Trying to make it as far down the course as possible.

While the sledge gets harder to pull.

All the time trying to keep within the width of the course.

Once it can move no more, it is either declared a full pull of the length of the course or the distance is marked.

A variety of tractors then turn up, firstly to drag the competing one away.

Then to set about repairing the track.

A series of brushes, scrapers and waterers are involved.

This one doubled up by advertising Perfect 10s, which apparently is 'Preston's Premier Nightclub'.

The tractor and its driver then get to lap up the adulation of people in folding chairs.

And the sled drives itself back to the start line.

If you didn't fancy watching the racing, there were various other activities.

Go and inspect some of the entrants.

Buy an actual tractor.

Buy a set of tractor racing overalls.

Or just some spanners.

Or take a ride on the only train operator who had full driver availability over the weekend.

My Newport Transporter Bridge cap is still drawing admiring glances whenever I don it, but decided I'd freshen up the look and I am now also the proud owner of  North West Tractor Pulling Club cap.  Any blokes in the Yorkshire area who haven't yet got hitched, had better do so soon, as when the ladies knew there is an available man wearing me of these, you won't get a look in.

The dress code for the rest of the crowd seemed to be a Jackimo polo shirt with a strange slogan on it, of varying taste, wit and sense.


Like this.

This one I actually like.

This one requires too much research about Land Rovers.

This one I felt too circumspect to go and take a photo of her tits to get the full appreciation of the first part of the slogan.

The one refers to the god like status of the British tractors Red Fever and Red Alert.

This one I kept going back to to find out what I always need to protect.  However, inconsiderately the fucker never moved.

In the camping area,  a popular move was to drive your motor home to the entrance, and set up a viewing area on the roof, as can be seen with these two and also the camper to cross to right.

The premier event of the weekend is the superstock class, which I'd come to see. These are over 5,000 horsepower from a single engine but with up to four turbochargers using methanol fuel.  A line up of some of the competitors in the pits.

And some of the competitors

SøMælk D'n Aerdvruter are from Deurne in the Netherlands.   Like a lot of the tractors, it uses an International Harvester 1066 as a a base

The Rabbit G'n team are from Hjallerup in Denmark, and had two tractors racing in the superstock.  This is their second entrant, Rabbit G'n Mad, which was the highest ranked diesel entrant, at 95.54 metres in the pull off after clearing the course in the 100 metre pull. 

Red Alert is an absolute legend in British tractor pulling.  The International Harvester machine dates from 1996, just as the tractor pulling world was turning to alcohol fuelled machines, this remained diesel and the four charger and differential set up blew away the rest of the field and dominated the Eurocup scene.  It is run by Buckinghamshire dairy farmer Peter Clarke, who is at the forefront of the British tractor pulling scene.

Incredible Deere is another one of the ten Dutch entries.  As the name suggests, this started as a John Deere 8520.  It finished fourth with a pull off of 98.24 metres.  A bloke in an animal hide waistcoat looks on adoringly.

  
Third was Norway's You Never Know Norway, who's 7.6 litre engined Ford pulled 33cm more than Incredible Deere.  Strangely, the tractor used to be named after disgraced ice skater Tonja Harding.

However, the winner was another from the Danish 'G'n Wild' team, with Rabbit G'n Wild, current second place in the championship, clearing 100.35 metres in the pull off.

Maximum Risk is another Netherlands entrant and is leading the European championship.  This is quite an achievement as it suffered a major engine explosion at the start of the season.  However it could only manage second place, a full two metres behind the winner..

With the excitement drawing to a close it was time to head off.  Back to the bus stop with a rather more in keeping floral offering.  Remember earlier where I got off outside the White Bull?  Well this is the other side of the road where the Black Bull is located.  Bovine apartheid apparently alive and well on the Fylde.

I was on to the relatively short hop into Poulton high street.

And then to the picturesque station.

My York bound 158 can be seen arriving through the bridge arch, in front of the soon to be demolished signal box as the line is shortly to be electrified and resignalled with colour lights vice the current semaphores.

Retracing my steps and passing the venue of the earlier football.

It was off at Hebden.

The town was besieged with the cream of society on drinking trips from Manchester and Leeds.  After we'd had the pleasure of watch a girl have a piss on the platform in front of everyone, I was grateful when the Manchester - Leeds rolled in.

Which was taken back to Sowerby, where most of the drinkers also alighted, the six Guide pubs being such an attraction  But predictably, they all headed for the Wetherspoons instead.  I headed home, to find that the mini had been removed from the front of the town hall, but I'd had a note from the police put through my letter box enquiringly if I was able to give any details on how the person may have been driving at the time of the incident. The joys of Happy Valley.