On a dusty field in Ohio, a green tractor pulls up to the starting line.
Calling this vehicle a tractor is something of an understatement: Its proportions are comically exaggerated, featuring two massive tires on the back and two tiny tires up front. Even more exaggerated is its powertrain, a 680-cubic-inch hunk of metal putting out thousands of horsepower at an ear-shattering decibel level. The most tractor-y thing about it is the John Deere logo featured prominently beneath a center-mounted exhaust pipe that juts out from the hood.
The tractor’s driver, enveloped in safety harnesses and a roll cage, watches for the drop of a green flag that tells him that it’s time to go.
The crowd gets louder. So does his engine, billowing smoke while the tires remain motionless. Suddenly the back tires jolt forward, propelling the tractor and the thousands of pounds of moving weights it is pulling. Fifteen seconds later, the tractor’s tires dig into the ground. His run is over.
This is a tractor pull, a blunt and descriptive name for a motorsport that has captured the attention of Midwesterners for more than 50 years. What was once a county fair competition between farmers now attracts tens of thousands of fans, millions of dollars and top engineering talent.
On the surface, the tractor pull doesn’t seem to be a very complex motorsport. The basic rules are simple: competitors build their tractors to a specification based on their class, with a variety of limitations on their size, weight and powertrain. On the day of the pull, the tractor is attached to a weight sled. During the pull, the effective weight of the sled gradually increases; the pull ends when either the weight of the sled overcomes the tractor’s ability to pull it, or when the tractor runs out of track, also known as a full pull.
But this level of competition represents a significant evolution from where the sport began.
“Tractor pulling started in the Midwest with a bunch of farmers saying that ‘My tractor can pull more than yours,’” Jim Ault, board member of the National Tractor Pulling Championship, said.
The tractor pull bears many similarities to horse pulls, an earlier competition where multiple draft horses compete to pull a steadily increasing weight. As farmers transitioned from horses to tractors, so too did their battles for strength. The first organized tractor pulls were held in 1929, just as tractors were gaining popularity as an essential farming tool.
The initial pulls, held in Bowling Green, Missouri and Vaughnsville, Ohio, were basic by modern standards, featuring un-modified tractors and stationary weights. They were also small and organized by rural communities. Tractor pulls continued to grow at this community scale throughout the mid-1900s until their popularity demanded something more.
According to Ault, the first national tractor pull was held in 1967 at the Wood County Fairgrounds in Bowling Green, Ohio. The competition brought pullers from various regional competitions together for one display of power and innovation.
One innovation became fundamental to the future of the sport: the mechanical weight sled.
“Tractor pulling started with step-on sleds,” Ault said. “As the tractor came along, [people] would step onto the sled and increase the load and the weight, making the tractor stop that way.”
But as tractors became more powerful, the sled needed to accommodate more weight — not to mention the safety concerns of multiple people hopping onto a moving sled. The weight-transferring sled was created to provide mechanical increases in weight as the tractors pulled the sled along the track, marking a series of advancements that continually changed the sport.
“They were starting to evolve from more than your average farm tractor and starting to develop into competition vehicles,” Ault said. “And it was during the late ‘70s and the ‘80s that the horsepower just exploded: multiple engines, drag racing, supercharged V8 engines. It just went from there into a pure horsepower sport.”
Thus the modern sport of tractor pulling was born, and these tractors shed the guise that they were used for anything other than competition: While most tractors retained the general looks and logos of farm equipment, the popular phrase “pull on Sunday, plow on Monday” no longer reflected reality. Modern pull tractors require precise engineering to eke out the most horsepower, with some utilizing multiple engines, jet turbines, or a combination of both.
This added complexity has not come without cost. Tractors can have price tags that reach hundreds of thousands of dollars and require well-staffed teams to support them. While tractor pulls started out as a hobby sport, getting into pulling now — on a hobby budget — is not as feasible as it once was.
“I mean, you could go hobby pull at different county fairs and have fun doing it … But to get involved now at a hobby level, it still takes funding,” Ault said. “It’s turned into a big business operation.”
Big business brings with it big economic impact, broadening the appeal of large tractor pull competitions, even if not everyone is a fan of the tractors themselves.
“Some people hate it, some people love it, but the ones that hate it typically tell me they like the revenue that it brings in for the city of Bowling Green and the surrounding area,” Keith Seiler, director of the National Tractor Pulling Championships, said.
One thing that hasn’t changed about the sport, though, is fans’ fervent dedication to their favored tractor brand, despite the move away from authentic farm equipment. Spectators continue to scream for “red” or “green,” standing in for Case IH and John Deere, respectively.
The world of tractor pulling may have grown, but it hasn’t abandoned its roots; Ault’s continued passion for tractor pulls comes from fond memories of participating in tractor pulls with his dad, “carrying on a heritage.”
As the sport continues to evolve in both power and appeal, it retains the community bond that keeps competitors fighting to see who can pull the most.
“The best part is it’s a family. I mean, they travel a circuit, and it’s a family. You go [for] a weekend or whatever, and you see your family,” Seiler said.
