by Ed Bolian
The slowest and most impossible feeling leg of our trip was still on par with each of these. Having their chronicled experiences available to build on could not have been any more valuable. Our machine was getting tired but we were soldiering on. We were not out of the woods just yet though.
During the trip I slept twice for 15-20 minutes each time. Dave slept three times around thirty minutes each time. I woke up while Dave was driving in Eastern California. We were absolutely flying by some trucks. I couldn’t believe it but I was pleased that he had kept the pace up. The lights were streaking in a warp speed pattern. We were South of the Vegas to LA return traffic and the only other road users were trucks. The visual up ahead was surreal. There was an endless line of trucks just a few feet off of each others’ bumpers and a completely empty lane to the left. I had never seen a circumstance so densely packed with no overtaking happening. Normally it seems like truck drivers all want to travel one or two miles per hour faster or slower than the ones next to them so there is a constant passing and jockeying for position. Here they might as well have been a pack of trunk-to-tail elephants in a dust storm, never getting out of line. It was faith in that status quo that allowed Dave to barrel past them all. I wiped the drool from my cheek and started to prepare myself for the final leg.
When the truck route diverted, I remember looking at the stars. There was almost no other light visible apart from our headlights and the moon was casting an eerie glow across the desert. They were so bright and you could see every single one of them. The spectacle was truly beautiful and it offered an unexpected perspective on the undertaking at hand. We were close enough to achieving my decade long dream that I truly felt like I could taste the salty air blowing inland from the Pacific Ocean. In this big experience though, I get a chance to see just how small we are in the eternal vastness of creation. We all need significance. We all strive for greatness, excellence at a task we are qualified for. Had we found it?
I think it was Dave that alerted me that I sounded like someone enjoying a psychotropic substance while watching Fantasia. I was deliriously tired.
The first question that people ask when you talk about doing something like this is, “What about the cops?” We actually only saw four or five police parked near the road and only passed ten to fifteen police cars moving in either direction. It was a non-issue. Our detection devices worked well and the visual diligence of having three people in the car was hugely effective. Even as the police loom as the scariest boogeyman seeking to foil such a trip, they had to be treated as a simple variable in a cold and emotionless equation. The further we got into the trip, the more numb and detached that calculation became. The hard science of preparation helped save us in the trying moments. As we fatigued and found ourselves less capable of decision making, we fell back on structured procedure and established regimen to proceed.
I took over in San Bernardino. Dave had driven 214 miles and we had about 209 to go. His average for that leg was 95.82 miles per hour. It was a gargantuan effort. An average like that against the exhaustion we felt made Dave seem like Sampson, hair cut off, eyes gouged out, beaten within an inch of his life but still ready and able to tear the entire house down. He had.
I was glad to have the final leg. It felt right. Dave and Dan were all for it as well.
Chapter 21
The Final Push
As we entered the LA Basin we knew that we were probably going to break the record as long as the car didn’t break and I didn’t get arrested. We voted on whether to take it easy and cruise in with a mid 29s time or to push it with the chance to break into the 28s.
The latter obviously carried a much higher risk of accident, getting lost, or me getting arrested. Dan was pretty content to take it easy but Dave was 100% go. His decisiveness was new. A short day before he was so very along for the ride that he would hardly voice a preference of fast food establishment. 2,500 miles into the craziest game of highway Russian Roulette we had all ever played, he was ready to keep pulling the trigger!
He claimed that this all-out strategy was now the only way he knew how to operate. Sorry Lisa. I was leaning towards slowing down mostly due to the fact that I had not spent any time pondering the implications of decimating the records by more than two hours. Despite that, I agreed to push as long as the other two would stay vigilant. We pushed and I averaged around 100 through the dense Los Angeles metropolis. The traffic in LA had been an unpredictable elephant in every strategy session. There is no time where you can plan with confidence on it being easy, even in the middle of the night.
I said an out loud prayer for continued safety and to get us there without getting arrested. Dan and Dave obliged in a way that was probably beyond what their typical theology would tolerate but I appreciated their camaraderie in the moment. I do doubt God cares that much about this sort of activity but I know Megan was praying fervently that I wouldn’t have to do it again. He listens to her.
Dave did say, “You are not going to close your eyes are you?”
The route was generally down the 15, onto the 210, and then the 605 to Redondo Beach. Every navigational instruction got triple repeated and no one was annoyed in the slightest. It sounded more like fingerpainting instructions to four year olds than the last instructions of the greatest outlaw drive of all time but that was the tone the car needed.
Google, Garmin, and Waze all disagreed on the best route as we snaked into Redondo Beach . A solo driver would have to pick one. A pair of drivers might be able to weigh two against each other. Having a third person in the car meant we could look at them all and objectively decide what was best. We ended up using parts of the Google and Garmin routes but it was very chaotic. We were tired, it was dark, and we had no experience on the roads. Dan had truly come into his own in the most ridiculous role I am sure he will ever fill in his life, riding from sea to shining sea with no control and the most ambiguous set of expectations anyone could pose.
He compiled all of the data, processed the pros and cons, and seamlessly presented navigational instructions for Dave to confirm and me to execute. Late in the game, with it all still on the line, we hit a true symphonic crescendo of teamwork.
The only red light we sat at after New York was crossing the street into the parking lot for the Portofino Hotel and Marina. I forgot to use the traffic light changer and we let it cycle. The next morning I checked it when we left the parking area and it worked perfectly. Sorry Forrest.
We entered the parking lot to the Portofino at 11:46 PM PDT on Saturday, October 20th, 2013. We stopped the timers and put the car into park. Each of us grabbed our cameras and began taking pictures of everything - the Garmin screens, the stopwatches, the other phones, maps, and screens.
Our family pet growing up was a 232 pound English Mastiff named Caesar. He is the laziest, goofiest, drooliest, most gentle dog ever and his favorite thing in the world was chasing cats. One day I was out with him and he was running around. After not seeing him for a few minutes I heard a faint panicked meowing. I turned a corner to see Caesar’s eyes as big as they could get and a very confused look on his face. He had caught something he had been chasing all of his life and now he had no idea what to do next. I walked over and pried his enormous jaws open, liberating the petrified but completely unharmed kitten.
For a moment we just sat in the car looking at each other in the same way that Caesar had looked at me that day. We had chased it so hard and we actually did it. What was literally the next movement that our bodies needed to make?
The trip had taken us 28 hours 50 minutes and 26 seconds. We drove 2,813.7 miles at an average of 97.55 mph. Our moving average discounting the 46 minutes of stops was 100.22 mph. Our three fuel stops had taken 9, 12, and 7 minutes respectively. That accounted for 28 minutes of the stopping time. The other 18 minutes had been the side of the road stops for oil, driver changes, and urination.
We traveled through 13 states, 93 counties, passed 5 speed traps and 12 moving police cars using 34 devices and
countermeasures installed in a 9 year old car with over 115,000 miles. We were never pulled over and received no tickets during or after the trip. We averaged 13.2 mpg and the top speed reached was 158 mph. It required the work of 29 people in various capacities.
We parked in front of the hotel and asked the Valet to take a picture of us in front of the car. I am sure that three stinky, tired guys and a car covered in bugs having its own stench of fuel was a unique sight to him. He was by no means a wizard of digital SLR functionality but you can tell we are there. We shut the car off.
I called Megan. The emotion was overwhelming. We had the nav computers and multiple stopwatches displaying the time but I still could not believe it. We had beaten the existing record by 2 hours 14 minutes.
How had that been possible? It was just before 3 AM in Atlanta but she answered the phone on the first ring. Tears were streaming down my face and I could barely manage the words, “We did it.” She was more relieved than happy or congratulatory. She asked if I was ok and I tried to reassure her even if the composure of my voice didn’t. I was too scared that the time was somehow miscalculated to tell her what it was. Dave, Dan, and I had agreed not to tell anyone the exact time until we dealt with a press release. That boundary did not apply to her but I still couldn’t form the words.
I managed to tell her that we had beaten it by over two hours. “What?” she yelled. “Are you kidding? How?”
“I know sweetheart. I still can’t believe it. We just went really, really fast. Get some sleep and I will call you when I am up in the morning. I love you.”
We went to check into the hotel and dropped the bags in the rooms. I asked the receptionist if she had ever had anyone coming in during the middle of the night talking about Cannonball. She said that she had only worked there for a couple of months and had never heard of it. The valet had not either.
I fired them both but Dave said I did not have the authority to do that. I thought I had just earned the privilege but I guess not. One day I will have to go back there and host a quiz show competition on Cannonball Trivia.
I honestly couldn’t believe the time. The lack of fanfare at the finish made it a bit anticlimactic but I was definitely a bit sanguine about the whole thing. We had just beaten a world record that had been pursued for over forty years by a margin of over ten percent. I knew it would be unbelievable to the people I wanted to believe me. I knew that we had proof but the idea of having to prove this kind of a time felt unbelievably daunting.
I texted Adam, my parents, Chris, Ash, Danny, Tom, Jules, Nick, Charles, Forrest, and the rest of the team to let them know that we had done it. I told them that we had agreed not to tell anyone the exact time until we got home, compiled the proof, and arranged the release. We told them all we made it and we were safe. I thanked them all for coming with me on this journey in whatever way they had.
Of course they were all able to figure out that we had shattered the record by the timing of those texts.
We were as hungry as we were tired. Dan looked for nearby restaurants that were open at midnight and found a Denny’s. The irony of getting back into a car after that drive was not lost on us. I am not superstitious but it almost seemed morbidly appropriate for us to be involved in some horrific crash on the way to eat an omelet after breaking nearly every traffic law in the United States the day before.
The large Samoan gentleman that was waiting on all two of the occupied tables in the Redondo Beach Denny’s was not worried about us being secret shoppers. Dave was not thinking too well which added to the hilarity of each exchange. He put together an order of eggs, bacon, and some hash browns. The expressionless face of the waiter was difficult to read but there was a clearly condescending, “why is this idiot messing with me” guise as he pointed to the menu and said, “That’s a Grand Slam.” The most popular item on their menu.
I had an omelet. I think Dan had fried chicken fingers for the eighth time in three days but I could be wrong. We ate and headed back to the hotel.
The Portofino Hotel offers earplugs to help you sleep through the moans of the indigenous sea lions. We didn’t need them.
The next morning I woke up around nine and signed onto the hotel wifi. I went to the tracking device web site and logged in. I tried to export the data for the prior two days and the site locked up. I called their support line and asked them to perform the same export. The technician sent me the file and it was missing half of the data including the start and finish of the run.
There was not a good way to tell if the device was reporting during the drive so we never knew how accurate it was. I called them back and they confirmed that they had a server issue but assured me that it was there and that they could get it. He emailed me the full file a few excruciatingly long hours later. It clearly shows when we left, when we arrived, and how far we drove.
As I said, I was truly concerned that even with as much proof as we had, people who had any experience in this event would not believe us. If we did not have a complete set of the GPS data I did not think that we had a prayer. Dave and Dan knew I was nervous about it but the relief of finally getting the end-all-be-all of verification in my hands was unreal.
My favorite image remains one of the nav screens. They tell the entire story. Distance, average speed, moving time, moving average, time stopped, total time driving. The image of the stopwatch is great too. I have never understood how Roy and Rawlings could do this drive and not end up with pictures like that.
Dave and I had breakfast next to the marina. Dan slept. It was surreal to think about what we had just done. The Portofino Inn is now called the Portofino Hotel and Marina and has been recently remodeled. It is a gorgeous place. I had to get back to work and I hated not having a few days to enjoy it.
We drove the car to Lamborghini Newport Beach and dropped it in their service department. I told Pietro, their GM, I would send a truck for it later that week. He was happy to let us leave the car but he never looked at it. A few days later he actually saw the CL in their parking lot and he asked me in his perfect Americanized Italian accent, “What type of crazy race is this mad Batman car built for?” I told him to watch the news in a few days and it would all make sense.
We booked some flights online, UBERed a car to LAX, and flew home. When we had a few minutes before the flight left I decided to call Alex Roy. He picked up the phone, “Ed Bolian! How does it feel?” I was caught entirely off guard by the tone and the question.
“It feels good Alex, could you feel it?”
“Well I figured you had done it after the text that you sent me last week.”
“Alex, I didn’t text you last week did I?” I checked through our text log. “Yeah, I haven’t texted you in months.”
“Sure you did, some time from a random number. 31 something, just a little bit longer than my time.”
“I just finished last night Alex.”
“Really, well what was your time?”
“Honestly I can’t believe it either but I can prove it. 28:50.”
“Are you kidding me? That is unbelievable. I guess you aren’t the only person to do this in the last ten days.”
Alex was skeptical but he knew I was telling the truth. He was and continues to be a great sportsman and competitor.
It turned out that an Ohio man named Greg Ledet had been the one who had sent Alex the time by text just a few days prior.
His claim was that he had made his fourth attempt at a New York to Los Angeles drive on Columbus Day weekend, just a week before. He claimed to have done it in 31 hours 17 minutes in a BMW 335xi sedan, leaving from the Trump Hotel and finishing at the Santa Monica pier which would make it the third fastest transcontinental driving time ever. I have gotten to know Greg very well since our drive and he has never been able to show even a circumstantial piece of evidence that he actually made the drive. As I said before, I find it emotionally useless to spend time believing that people lie about this sort of thing so I have given him the benefit of the doubt.
Right before we got on the plane I made a social media post. “For those who know what I am talking about - we did it. Thank you for all of the thoughts and prayers. More to come soon.” I checked in to tag it as being at Los Angeles International Airport to offer a small clue.
Before they closed the cabin door and told us to shut our phones off I was seeing all of the congratulatory replies scroll in. People who I had not seen or talked to in years knew exactly what it was and had understood back then what it meant to me. Those who had no idea found it to be the most intriguing thing ever and begged for an explanation. A few days later they got it.
Chapter 22
Catharsis
Dave, Dan, and I settled into our three adjoining exit row seats on that plane bound for Atlanta. The catharsis of the record was still washing over me. There had been so many times in my life that I finished a task only to immediately feel the need to go onto the next one. This was clearly different. It seemed to be setting in for the other two as well. The emotional overload of falling into something significant at the last minute and then investing so much of themselves into it over the course of the prior two days was hitting the guys hard.
I loved how it meant something so different to each of them. They can speak for themselves but I will try to explain it from my perspective. Dan had enjoyed it as the adventure of a lifetime. He had risen to the challenge and added something to his resume that he had never been looking for. It appealed to the car guy in him but the idea of being called upon seemed to be the reward in itself. I think he took pride in being the kind of guy that you ask to do something like this. He should.
It has been three years now as I put the final touches on this book and I am still not sure that either Dave or I completely know what the experience meant to him. It was a new pearl in a string of personal reinvention. Leaving Apple, a new job, another new job, two Lamborghinis, a new circle of friends, and now the Cannonball had made him a person that I doubt the two year younger version of himself would have recognized. He should be proud of that. I am proud of him.
