California, Here We Come! My Road to the Cannonball Run

I wrote this in 2019, half-buried in tools and grief. I had just lost my uncle, Bob Burns, the kind of man who never played by the rules unless he was rewriting them. I was rebuilding his car in a cold garage, chasing clarity through busted knuckles and late-night silence. This wasn’t some polished tribute. It was survival. It was purpose.

The world had kicked me in the teeth, and I did what I always do: I built something. I wrote this while the engine was still open, the future uncertain, and the road ahead calling louder than ever.

This is what Cannonball meant to me both then and now.

Why Cannonball?

Cannonball? Why on Earth would anyone do something so crazy? Driving on public roads well above the 85th percentile of speed sounds dangerous and foolish, right? Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.

I’m not here to argue right or wrong. I'm just here to tell you how I got pulled into this madness — and how I ended up prepping for a run of my own.

It started when I was ten.

I was in bed, watching TV, when a movie came on. It opened with police chasing a bright red Lamborghini Countach. Then it cuts to a bored kid my age skipping stones with his grandfather. The Countach hits a roadblock, darts onto a dirt road, and ends up skipping across the pond where they’re standing.

I was hooked. I had no idea what I was watching but I knew it was something different. That night, I learned about something called the Cannonball Run.

A Brief History (Buckle Up)

Cannonball wasn’t just a movie. It was real. The original “Cannonball Baker Sea-to-Shining-Sea Memorial Trophy Dash” was created by Brock Yates and Steve Smith as a protest against the 55 MPH national speed limit and government overreach. The first run happened in 1971 in a Dodge van dubbed Moon Trash II, clocking in at 40 hours and 51 minutes.

More followed. Starting from Manhattan or Darien, CT, these were pure expressions of freedom, guts, and skill. They inspired spin-offs like the US Express, 4 ball rally and the One Lap of America, which still runs today.

Fast forward to the 2000s — Cannonball came back with a vengeance. In 2006, Alex Roy and Dave Maher posted a solo run of 31:04. That same year, Richard Rawlings and Dennis Collins reported a 31:59. Then in 2013, Ed Bolian and Dave Black shattered that with 28:50. Just when people thought it couldn’t be topped, Arne Toman and Doug Tabbutt dropped a jaw-dropping 27:25.

But solo runs are just one piece of it.

There are competitive events too like the 2904, created by John Ficarra, was Cannonball meets 24 Hours of Lemons. Budget cap: $2,904 for the entire run, including the car, mods, fuel, food, and any tickets. The C2C Express, started by Ben Wilson, keeps the vintage spirit alive using pre-1979 cars. Safety is taken seriously as in all of Cannonball history, the only injury was a broken arm from a limo crash.

Because here’s the thing: Cannonball is not about recklessness. It’s not about weaving through traffic like a jackass. It’s about proving that skilled drivers in capable, well-prepared cars can safely maintain speeds above the posted limits with good judgment and intense focus.

From “Someday” to “Let’s Go”

I was already into cars but the Cannonball movies took it further. Cross-country, flat-out? It captured something deep. But life throws up roadblocks. I told myself, Someday. Years passed. I stopped making excuses, and life got interesting racing, music, rallies. But none of it scratched the itch. I wasn’t dipping a toe anymore. I needed to jump.

Then life punched me in the face. The kind of hit that makes your eyes water. I realized I’d buried this dream under obligations that didn’t matter anymore. It was time to do the damn thing. It was time to cross the country.

Searching for a Car, Finding a Purpose

I dipped my toe in with a long road trip alongside one of my friends. The run wasn’t official or along the correct route, but it was the test. I needed to see if I could stay sharp behind the wheel for hours on end and stay focused, keep judgment. I passed. I was ready.

But I didn’t have a car.

I started hunting for an old Caprice I could rebuild with spare parts. Looked at several. All overpriced, or worse full of suspicious powder. Or the sellers were full of it. (“I know what I got.” Yeah, you and every sketchy Craigslist ad ever.)

Then December 2018 hit.

My uncle, Bob Burns, died suddenly. He was a force. Former mayor of Egg Harbor Township. Radio host of Your Neighborhood Garage and Bob Burns in Your Afternoon on WOND. A man who always said what he meant and never settled for the status quo. Losing him was devastating.

I went numb. I did what I always do, I buried the pain and focused on helping my aunt. But something shifted. Our relationship deepened. I told her I wanted to run the Cannonball in his Mercedes.

Without hesitation, she said, “He’d love that. It’s yours.”

Now I had a car. His car.

The Build

I dove in. Replaced far too much. OCD took over. Everything had to be perfect, not for performance, but for control. Grief was the ghost in the garage, and wrenching kept it at bay.

Finishing the build took longer than I expected and somehow, not long enough. When the dust settled, I had to sit with the grief I’d been outrunning. I did. And I found something in that space not just sorrow, but fuel.

I flipped the switch. The run was two months out. I changed my workout. Cleaned up my sleep. Reached out to Ben about running in the C2C Express. My car was two decades too new. It was a no but I had to ask.

Then I asked if I could at least come to the pre-run meetup in Connecticut. That was a yes.

Perfect.

Almost There

I was hyped. None of my close friends really understood the whole Cannonball thing. But if I went to the meetup, I’d be around people who got it. That meant something.

A few days before the event, I confirmed the location. I caught the bug, and in the frenzy of it all, Had a few drinks with some cannonballers. Day of Ben said F it, go ahead. Get you a codriver and go. I tried to recruit a co-driver on the spot.

Didn’t work out. I didn’t go.

But I’d been infected, and now I was ready.

The Road Ahead

Now it’s just a few weeks out from my own run. So many pieces are in place. So many unknowns still ahead. But I’ve got a car. A prepared car. I’ve got a co-driver I trust. I’ve got clarity, and it’s waiting out on the open road.

Now we pull the lever and see what happens.

California, here we come.