Commuting to Work in an Agco Challenger MT875B

Toast in my mouth and one shoe missing, I stumble along and realise I’m late for work. The postman waves while the local radio reports traffic chaos ahead. It is merely another Monday morning.

Then, as though a War of the Worlds assault has descended on a tranquil village in the Hertfordshire countryside, a devastating eruption of noise tears through the calm.

The windows rattle and doors burst open. John, my normally unflappable neighbour, races past in a frenzy, waving his arms and silently mouthing words that cannot be heard. A 22-tonne tracked agricultural machine has pulled up outside his front door.

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• Words: Peter Grunert

• Images: Lee Brimble

This feature was originally published in Issue 147 of Top Gear Magazine (2005)

Agco Challenger MT875B arrives in Hertfordshire

The arrival of an Agco Challenger MT875B - the largest and most powerful tractor in the world - has destroyed both his tranquillity and a sizeable portion of his drive. Its exhaust pipe rises from the engine bay like a lamp post afflicted by elephantiasis, and it is almost certainly the noisiest machine of its kind, too.

Perhaps it is an overblown act of self-preservation prompted by the incompetence of the drivers I encounter on my 30-mile daily journey into London. Or perhaps it is a trousers-down, arse-against-the-glass salute to political correctness. Either way, this £226,000 agricultural giant is my transport to work today.

One major problem is immediately apparent: there is every likelihood that the Challenger will get stuck before I can even set its enormous mass in motion.

After making myself presentable and heading out into the uproar, simply getting aboard is an achievement. I have to climb a set of steps to reach the cab, then adjust the air-suspended seat in every possible direction to accommodate my size and weight. In front of me lies a huge spread of controls, enough to induce outright panic in anyone accustomed to a car.

There is no accelerator pedal; in its place sits a sliding hand throttle, last seen on the Millennium Falcon’s bridge before it leapt to lightspeed, though it is unlikely to deliver comparable results here. A button-operated Powershift gearbox replaces a conventional transmission, offering 16 forward ratios and four reverse gears. Rather than ordinary tyres, the tractor has 12 wheels enclosed by heavily treaded rubber tracks.

Absurdly, anyone holding a car licence may drive something like this alone, provided L-plates are fitted. I have instructor Richard Miller sitting beside me nonetheless; if nothing else, his additional pair of eyes should come in handy.

Escaping the lane in the Challenger MT875B

There is no overlooking the Challenger’s sheer size. I expected it to be roughly HGV-sized, but it is far larger: at 3.4 metres wide, it exceeds one by a full metre. It is like driving two Fiestas abreast, with room still left between them. My road is narrow, one-way and lined with parked cars on one side. Getting out appears hopeless.

It jerks fiercely forwards. Beneath the bonnet is a turbocharged 18.1-litre Caterpillar diesel - a locomotive-like turbo straight-six producing 570bhp and a ludicrous 1,916lb ft of torque. If it detects that a trailing plough has become lodged in the soil, it can also deliver a short-lived 42 per cent power boost.

As a crowd gathers, resembling spectators at a medieval execution, I am fighting merely to position the monster with millimetres to spare on either side.

“Steady”, Richard calls out, as the sensitive variable-ratio steering threatens to swing the rear around and cause still more damage. Because its tracks can turn at different speeds, the Challenger can rotate through a complete 360 degrees within its own length.

With the same release that follows an extended bout of constipation, it somehow breaks free from the lane. Relief spreads across my face, followed by a fleeting and deeply unwise feeling of invincibility.

There are plenty more challenges ahead. Limited to a maximum of 24.6mph, the Challenger is prohibited from using motorways. Instead, we are taking the A41, bypassing Watford before reaching North London. Potentially in the most literal sense.

At the dual-carriageway slip road, the speed difference is alarming as cars hurtle past at 70mph and beyond. Near the air-conditioning and CD-player controls, I discover the switch for the roof-mounted amber beacons. Flashing away, they offer essential warning that a moving roadblock is about to appear.

The Challenger inevitably occupies two lanes. Rather than watch the embarrassment of the queue forming behind, I concentrate on maintaining a straight line. Had I taken it off-road, there is equipment aboard that could have assisted. A satellite-navigation system can connect with the steering, making minor automatic corrections and enabling perfectly straight furrows to be ploughed across fields to within a single inch. It makes sense on a machine designed principally for tearing across the vast expanses of the US Midwest.

A 30-mile tractor commute to Top Gear

Although the Challenger is unquestionably imposing, I feel strangely less stressed than on my normal commute. There is a warped enjoyment in seeing the fear on drivers’ faces as I loom towards them at junctions. Nobody attempts to cut in front at roundabouts either - naturally, they have virtually no chance of fitting through. And, for the first time in my life, setting off a Gatso camera is physically impossible.

Yet I now have to think about dangers that would never usually occur to me. At Staples Corner, one of the busiest routes into central London, I come towards a railway bridge with a height restriction. Were the Challenger to become wedged beneath it, half the capital could be brought to a standstill. I ease back the throttle, knock the gear selector down to tenth and stamp on the enormous brake pedal, then briefly use the crawler pedal to disengage the drive - none of which feels instinctive when an urgent stop is needed. Positioned squarely in the centre of the arch, the Challenger squeezes through.

The most nerve-racking section between home and Top Gear’s White City headquarters is now in front of me. There is no possibility of being inconspicuous: every traffic queue brings dropped jaws, pointing fingers and raised camera phones. One trainee taxi driver studying The Knowledge nearly throws himself from his step-through moped while trying to take a photograph.

Further along, a white-van driver hangs out of his window and repeatedly waves his flattened hand up and down. It takes me a moment to realise he is not making an obscene gesture, but suggesting that I simply drive over the congestion ahead. The nearest I come is being forced to take the tracks over kerbs and traffic-island edges through the cramped stretches of Edgware Road and Ladbroke Grove.

In reality, there are several extraordinarily close calls. A police officer looks on in bafflement as I graze past a row of cones, perhaps unsure which of the many traffic offences to charge me with. Shortly afterwards, a group of scaffolders courteously jump into their lorry and move it well clear, opening up my route. It seems appropriate that a badly parked Land Cruiser Amazon comes closest to being flattened; the tractor’s extra downward-facing wing mirrors show just how narrowly it has escaped destruction.

Ignoring the temptation to cut directly across Shepherd’s Bush Green, I make for headquarters. After one final 90-degree turn, I stop outside reception. The Challenger’s vast body blocks the light from the building’s pebble-dashed front, while colleagues stare silently.

Getting to work has never felt so much like an expedition. Looking at my watch, I discover it is 5pm. I have arrived just in time to turn around and confront the monumental journey home.