THE IRON GIANT

‘BIG’ ISN’T A WORD THAT DOES THIS PLACE JUSTICE. THE SHEER SCALE OF IT IS BREATHTAKING

s I drive into Eisenerz, the home town of the legendary Erzbergrodeo, the vans and campers stretch almost a kilometre. Entry isn’t until 7.30am so of course these guys are sitting on the side of the road chatting and having a beer while they wait — it’s 5 o’clock somewhere, right? As I walk up the line I meet people who have come from all over the world — nowhere seems too far. Most are groups of good mates on a pilgrimage to the mountain, some with a rider but not all. I’ve travelled 16,500km to get here, dreaming since my early thirties about attempting it myself one day, but I had no idea the place was so big. I walk around for a couple of hours checking into the press office, finding landmarks and trying to wrap my head around the size of the place, wondering where to start. I hadn’t anticipated this number of entrants, or the multi-level sea of pit tents I see before me. It’s the biggest motorsport event I’ve been to by far and I haven’t even seen any of the track