Taking on the Cattle Drive Challenge (VIDEO)

Simply calling it big doesn't do it justice. 

The pile of food set before you is big, sure. Intimidatingly big. Gluttonously big. So large, you eyeball the burger and wonder what happened to the other half of the cow. 

And that's only the first leg of The Challenge.

Ramblin' Jack's Rib Eye features, on its menu, the Cattle Drive Challenge, created by Mike Fourtner — the famous assistant girls basketball coach at Adna High School who dabbles, in his spare time, as one of the stars of the Discovery Channel program "Deadliest Catch." Fourtner apparently forgot to pack a lunch one crab season and, upon returning to Napavine, walked into the Rib Eye and ordered a burger straight out of Paul Bunyan's kitchen, a mound of French fries, a cold drink and a cinnamon roll the size of a 1950s rotary telephone. 

The list of hungry diners who have taken, and completed, the challenge, according to Rib Eye manager Kyle Genin, is long. More than 175 men and women, preteens to senior citizens, have heeded the call and earned a coveted spot on the Wall of Fame, as well as a Cattle Drive bumper sticker — a sure sign to fellow motorists that if the car is spotted in the parking lot of a vegetarian restaurant, it should immediately be reported stolen.

On April 3, on the urging of Chronicle visuals editor — and my (former) friend — Pete Caster, I put on my roomiest pair of trousers and headed off to take the Cattle Drive Challenge. 

I went in cocky. "A pile of food? I love food!" I thought to myself. "Get my name on a wall, somewhere other than the 'NO CHECKS' list? I'm in! How hard can it be?"

It's hard. I have a newfound respect for the ambitious eaters out there, those born with hollow legs and the appetite of a fresh-out-of-hibernation Grizzly.

The burger, one-and-a-half-pounds of premium beef, on a custom-made onion bun and topped with lettuce, onion, tomato, bacon and cheese, is just the beginning — the messy, dripping, delicious beginning. The standard portion of fries come along with the burger, and also occupy a space on the requirement list for The Challenge. 

I felt good mowing down the burger. I said as much, to Caster, to Genin, and to the Rib Eye cook who periodically evaluated on my progress.

The cook, though, knew better, and told me as much. The cinnamon roll, he and Gemin agreed, would be my downfall.

They were right. The 1-pound Wagon Wheel Cinnamon Roll, as it's listed on the menu, is a meal in and of itself, especially warmed up and topped off with a golf-ball sized dollop of butter. Even a breakfast-pastry aficionado like myself couldn't power through, and I hit the wall with about a third of the Wagon Wheel left rolled out between myself and the finish line.

Somewhere, children were laughing. Somewhere, the sun was shining out of a pristine blue sky. And somewhere, a sensible lunchtime patron was finishing his salad.

In the back dining room of the Rib Eye, however, the only thing that hurt more than my stomach was my ego. The space I'd picked out for my name on the Wall of Fame would remain blank, and the bumper sticker went back on the shelf. 

The Challenge, conquered by so many, had conquered me. I sat and worked my way through the pile of food for nearly an hour, but came up just a few bites outside the circle of glory. 

I failed, but earned a new respect for the chosen few out there who push their bodies and belts to the limit. The Cattle Drive was fun, the food was great and, most impressively, that gargantuan burger helped me meet my own challenge over the next 24 hours: I wasn't the least bit hungry.