New documentary needs your help to tell the story of the Cannonball Run

It was an event as audacious as its founder, Brock Yates, the Car and Driver editor known for speaking his mind regardless of the consequences. Five times in the 1970s, the Cannonball Baker Sea-to-Shining-Sea Memorial Trophy Dash traversed the United States from New York City (or Darien, Connecticut) to Redondo Beach, California, with the sole rule being â€œget from start to finish in as little time as possible.â€ The slap-in-the-face to highway decorum spurred a successful 1981 comedy based on the 1979 running (and partially rooted in truth), but now a German writer and 1979 Cannonball Run participant, Gero Hoschek, is working on a documentary about the actual event.

Named for Erwin George â€œCannon Ballâ€ Baker, the intrepid motorcyclist and automobile racer whose 1933 cross-country record of 53 hours and 30 minutes would stand for nearly four decades, the race was a protest of both the federally imposed 55 MPH national speed limit and of the idea that speed kills. Not that anyone with a fast car could enter, however: To minimize the risk of accident, drivers were vetted by event staff prior to acceptance into the Cannonball. In five events (actually four, plus the May 1971 proof of concept), the sole serious incident, a rollover caused by a driver falling asleep at the wheel, resulted in a totaled Cadillac limousine and a broken arm for team member Donna Mae Mims.

The 1979 Cannonball Run even featured an entry from Hemmings Motor News, with publisher Terry Ehrich, editor David Brownell and Jack-of-all-trades Justus Taylor competing in a 1936 Ford panel truck (carrying the Hemmings logo, of course). The winning time that year came from Dave Heinz and Dave Yarborough, whose 1979 Jaguar XJS completed the journey in 32 hours and 51 minutes. The Hemmings team crossed the finish line 29 hours later, finishing 40th out of 42 entries, but met their dual goals of completing the event and not finishing in last place. Gero Hoschek, driving a 1969 Jensen Interceptor with Andreas Zoeltner and Ursula Nerger, finished in 31st place with a time of 43 hours and 47 minutes.

For Gero, then, the documentary is personal, and heâ€™s seeking the publicâ€™s help in getting as much information about the event as possible, including photographs, films and tape recordings from the event. Heâ€™s attempting to track down as many original 1979 Cannonball vehicles as possible, too, though many (including the dark red right-hand-drive 1969 Jensen Interceptor Mk 1 used by Gero and his team) have gone missing over the years.

When last seen at a Daytona Beach auction circa 1986, Geroâ€™s Jensen still wore U.K. registration plate WYF 513G, and came equipped with aftermarket black seats and a trailer hitch. Also unaccounted for are the 1978 Dodge Sportsman â€œTranscon Medi-Vacâ€ ambulance driven by Hal Needham, Brock Yates and Pam Yates; the black 1977 Ferrari 308 GTB driven by Mark Pritch and Bill Cooper; the 1974 Chevrolet C30 Silverado crew-cab dually driven by Dennis â€œMad Dogâ€ Menesini, Charlie Robison, Ken Smith and Mark Miller; and the 1979 Mercedes-Benz 450 SEL driven by Dick Field, Tom Hickey and Al Alden, which recently appeared for sale on Hemmings.com.

Do you know the whereabouts of any of these cars, or others used in the 1979 event? Do you have access to images or recordings from that particular running, or do you know any behind-the-scenes stories from participants? If so, Gero would love to hear from you, and you can contact him via his website, MotoReporters.com, or the groupâ€™s Facebook page.

UPDATE (5.January 2016): We received a note from Gero Hoschek, clarifying that the focus of the documentary will be on all of the original Cannonball Baker runs. In his own words:

Actually were looking for info, footage and cars of all years and will start with a little early Cannon Ball Baker and then proceed to feature Cannonball 1971-1979 and even the later events such as US Express of the 1980s.

The story of the Fire Am can be found here

http://www.caranddriver.com/features/the-last-cannonball-feature

As for Brennan and me, cops and convoys were the least of our problems. The Fire-Am was pumping a quart of oil onto the road every 10 minutes. The faster we tried to drive, the faster the oil pressure dropped. We limped across western Pennsylvania, stopping every 50 miles to oil up. Our average speed was sinking fast.

We pulled off I-80 into Du Bois, Pennsylvania. It was early Sunday morning, and the little town was closed up tight. The noise from the Fire-Am alone would probably get us busted for disturbing the peace. We finally found an open gas station and paid the guy 20 bucks to let us use the lift. Eventually, every kid in town showed up to take a look at the furious Fire-Am. And we had them running all over the countryside chasing down parts and tools. The leak was caused by one go----ned little bolt on the oil pan that had come loose and broken the gasket. On most cars it would have been a snap to fix, but on the Fire-Am it meant taking off the whole racing exhaust system just to get at the problem.

With the help of a little banana-pineapple-apricot nectar, I worked six or seven hours trying to fix the thing. When we let the car down off the lift and cranked up the engine, oil still sprayed all over, hitting the hot exhaust pipes and turning into ugly blue smoke. We were carrying 32 gallons of gas, and the fuel lines ran right next to the hot pipes. ;If this thing goes up; Brennan said, “they won't even find our dental work.;

So we decided to pack it in.

We found a motel. That night Brennan and I consoled ourselves with a half-dozen pitchers of Genesee Ale and came up with a new plan. We wouldn't give up.

The next morning we ripped the trunklid off the Fire-Am, swallowed the remainder of our drugs, and caught a plane to Pittsburgh. From there we flew to Houston and grabbed another flight to Los Angeles. A chauffeur-driven limo picked us up at LAX, and we sped off to the Portofino Inn. Brennan ran in carrying the time card-42 hours had elapsed since we left Darienï¿½€“and I carried the trunklid. “Where's your car?” yelled the timekeeper. “The freaking thing went up in a ball of flame,” we said, holding up the oil-smeared sheetmetal with the Fire-Am logo. “This is all that's left.”

Car and Driver had an article many years ago about Brock Yates and Dan Gurney trying to break their old record. Unfortunately, the law caught them about a mile from the beach.

Here is their arrest interview:

Police: Mr Yates, you realize that driving 109 miles an hour on a city street constitutes a serious offense?
Yates: Uh, yes.
Police: You look very tired. Have you been on the road long?
Yates: You could say that.
Police: How long would that be?
Yates: Uh, about 27 hours and 44 minutes. Up until your man nailed us.
Police: Where were you coming from?
Yates: Uh, back east.
Police: How far back east?
Yates: Manhattan.
Police: Kansas?
Yates: Not exactly.
Police: New York?
Yates: Uh, you could say that.
Police: (long pause)You are saying that it took you and Mr Gurney 27hrs and
44 minutes to drive to 190th street in Redondo Beach?
Yates: Well, we had to stop for gas.
Police: Mr Yates, are you aware that it’s nearly 3000 miles from
New York City to Redondo Beach? Are you on drugs?
Yates: Legal. All legal.
Police: Will you submit to a test?
Yates: (Subject held out a pale arm)You want blood? Take all you want.
Police: (after blood is drawn)You are suggesting that you and Mr. Gurney drove 3000 miles in less than 28 hours?
Yates: Of course not. That’s impossible.
Police: Meaning what?
Yates: Meaning that our route was only 2870 miles long.
Police: That still means that you were averaging over 100 miles an hour up
until the time you were apprehended.
Yates: I told you. We had to stop for gas.
Police: Mr Gurney told the arresting officer that you never once exceeded
175 miles an hour. Surely you didn’t run that fast on public roads?
Yates: Well, the Daytona is 20 years old. I mean, what the hell do
you expect? We could only get about 7 grand in fifth gear.
That’s barely 170.
Police: That’s outrageous.
Yates: Don’t blame the car. We thought it would run quicker too.
Police: You miss my point. Was this some kind of race you were in?
Yates: Not exactly.
Police: A test?
Yates: Not really. It was sort of a favor to an old pal.
Police: A favor?
Yates: You see, Gurney is a pal. I ran into him at a big race at Watkins
Glen. Kirk White was there too.
Police: Kirk White?
Yates: Another pal. He owns the car. The Ferrari Daytona.
Police: So?
Yates: So this is the same Daytona that he lent us in 1971.
Police: I don’t understand.
Yates: The Cannonball. Gurney and I ran the first Cannonball in
that same Ferrari. In 1971. Don’t you read the papers?
Police: I was a junior in high school. What does all this have to do
with your speeding charge?
Yates: It was like this. First I was just going to give Dan a ride to the
airport. The we got to thinking. It’d been 20 years since the 1971
run. A few guys had beaten our record of 35 hours and 54 minutes...
Which we did in a bloody snowstorm, with no CB, and no radar
detector or any other sissy stuff. (Subject showed sign of
considerable stress during this portion of the interrogation.) So
Gurney and I decided to show this new generation of weenies how to
do it.
Police: So you reran the 1971 Cannonball? Is that what you’re telling me?
Yates: Uh, you could say that. Or you could say that I was just giving
Gurney a lift home.
Police: Were you arrested at any other time during this trip?
Yates: Uh, no.
Police: Not even stopped?
Yates: Well, we had sort of a counseling session in Ohio, but the cop let
us go.
Police: How fast were you going?
Yates: We were a little nervous about being low on fuel so we were
only going about 140. The officer took that into consideration.
Police: He let you go?
Yates: Sure. Ohio troopers are real understanding. He even gave us this
little badge here. (Subject displayed miniature Ohio trooper badge).
A nice gesture from some grand guys.
Police: No other stops? No other attempts to stop this madness?
Yates: A trooper in Missouri turned his flashing lights on, but we were so
far ahead of him and so much faster that we figured he had better
things to do than to drive all that way to catch up with us.
Police: You’re supposed to pull over when you see flashing lights.
Yates: Only when they’re in front of saloons and massage parlours...just
kidding. A little joke there.
Police: Very little.
Yates: Sorry about that.
Police: Okay. So what you’re telling me is that this was the same Ferrari
that you and Mr Gurney drove 20 years ago?
Yates: The very same.
Police: Do you know that the speed limit on 190th is 35.
Yates: You’re kidding.
Police: Can’t you read?
Yates: Sure. But I thought that only applied to school zones.
Police: Did Mr Gurney do much of the driving?
Yates: If you had one of the great racing drivers of history in your car,
wouldn’t you let him drive?
(at this point, Dr Lemley Watts returned with the results of Mr Yates’s
blood test. The doctor noted a high level of fatigue, and even higher
levels of fat, carbohydrate and caffeine in the subject’s bloodstream.
Enough, in the doctor’s own words, to “fuel the Missouri in a heavy
sea.”)

The Interview was continued the following day and went as follows:

Police: Was your corrective detention area comfortable?
Yates: You mean the cell? Yeah. Except for the guy in the upper bunk who
thinks he’s Charlie Manson’s personal trainer.
Police: Do you feel remorse for what you’ve done?
Yates: Tons.
Police: For violating speed laws, humiliating police officers, endangering
the public. All that?
Yates: Uh, no.
Police: What?
Yates: I’m remorseful because we had a hell of a run going there. We’d
have broken 28 hours for sure.
Police: A hundred miles and hour. Coast to coast. I don’t know what decent
citizens are to think.
Yates: Tripped on the threshold of immortality.
Police: Look, seriously. how fast did you go really? I mean, is this a hoax
or what?
Yates: I told you. We never went over 175. It was the gas stops that killed
us. Now that I think about it, that’s a metaphor for life: every time you get up to speed, you’ve got to stop for gas. Ain’t life a #%!@?

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