Cannonball

You're one hell of a driver, Mr. Buckman,

just the man we need on our team.

You'd like to drive for Modern Motors wouldn't you?

Yes, sir.

There's stiff competition against you.

This race is very important to you, Coy.

You understand what I mean?

Yes, I understand.

- If I win. - That's right.

If you win.

I see you've brought a companion with you.

She wanted to come.

Aren't you afraid she might die?

That's what happens to girls who drive with you, isn't it?

Uh!

Hey, suspension is so tight man, you're

gonna look like a kangaroo leaving the line.

What the hell are you doing, Zippo?

At four goddamn thirty in the morning.

You're gonna wake Linda.

You want a good car or a great car?

4:30 in the morning.

I want a good night's sleep.

Ha! When I finish with this machine, all you gotta do is set the dial for

win and you'll wake up at the finish line.

I wouldn't let Cannonball Buckman race in anything but the best.

Hey, step on it, will ya?

And don't drop it, we want to blow up the crowd, not us.

Calm down.

Relax.

How.. Uh.. How fast is this gonna go before that thing, you know...?

Well, 160, maybe 165.

He.. uh.. won't be able to open this baby up 'til he gets way out of town.

But when he does.

Boom.

Just a minute, please.

Whoever you are, it's five in the morning. Couldn't it wait?

Mrs. Jullenberg?

Yeah.

Yes, I'm Butel Morris.

I came by to pick up your car.

You see, I want to get a head start so that I can get your car

into New York for you by next week.

Uh..

All right now. Here are the keys and here are the papers.

Now, there's no driving at night

and no driving over 55 miles an hour.

Oh, no ma'am.

Uh-huh.

So we'll see you one week from today

in New York City at the Mayflower Hotel.

Yes, ma'am.

Mm-hmm.

I didn't know he was, umm.

Who knew?

- There she is. - Yeah, only 20 minutes late.

Come on.

God, are we glad to see you!

Shake your asses, ladies.

Come on, time to change uniforms.

Come on, get ready, get ready.

Sandy honey, after hauling ass

in that Hell's kitchen for six months,

just so you could hustle up this truck for two itty bitty days,

we are ready.

Well, let's move it.

You're gonna get your suit all messed up, ya sit on the curb like that.

Well, it don't make no difference.

I ain't doing no TV spot tonight.

When this is all over, boy, you gonna be turnin' down offers

right and left.

You're going to be a star.

Uh-huh?

Hillbilly heaven with the rest of them dead old boys.

I busted my hump settin' up this ride with Cade Redmond.

And at least you could do his act a little grateful.

Holy Mother of Pearl!

Mean we goin' all the way to New York and this coon-ass Cadillac?

Hi, Mr. Redmond.

Well put her in here, boy, we got fish to fry.

Car feels like a winner, Mr. Redmond.

Thank you, ma'am. My profession.

Hi, Dennis Caldwell here at the Santa Monica pier in

in sunny Southern California.

For the last three years, the appearance of this cryptic ad in

Motorist Magazine has signaled the running of the Trans-America

Grand Prix auto race.

This underground sporting event is open to anyone,

holding a valid license, driving any kind of four-wheel land-based vehicle.

Contestants choose any cross-country route they wish,

and there's $100,000 waiting

for the sweat-drenched, high-test hot-rodder

who gets his ticket stamped first

at a certain garage on New York City's lower West Side.

Most of the drivers...

Hey, Lachar.

Hi, Brad.

Hey, Abir.

What's the TV crew doing here?

I thought this race was supposed to be a secret.

They're cool.

They're shooting a documentary on the whole race.

It won't be shown until next week.

Besides, who do you think's putting up the prize money?

Wolfe Messer, champion of countless European auto races, let him get his hat on.

What brings you all the way to LA

for a race that might land you in jail and

doesn't even officially exist?

Well, it is the spirit of ze race that attracts me.

Und, also ze fact that, uh..

anyone can participate und anything goes.

That makes for very exciting race.

I also find irresistible...

$100,000.

Now, here's an interesting entry.

You kids look more like, uh, surfers than you do racing drivers.

Well, surf's been pretty bad this year.

-Tell me, have you raced this, uh.. -Corvette. -Corvette in any other races?

No.

Well, see, it isn't exactly our car.

Daddy, if you've been watching this, everything is okay.

We'll be bringing the car back in about a week.

Tell me something. Uh.. Uh..

I, uh..

Anyway, I sure wish you luck, and I bet that $100,000

is gonna buy you a lot of surfboards.

If we win, we're going to buy ourselves a house on the beach.

In Hawaii.

Aren't they darling?

Bye, Dad. Win the race and the money.

This is from the kids and me, Dear.

We want you to drink a toast to your loving

family after you've crossed the finish line.

Bye, Daddy.

Don't forget to bring me a present.

Harriet, everything I'm doing is because of you and the children.

We're trying to get a word here

with Brad Phillips, organizer of the race.

Brad, tell me, your race has been called an outlaw sporting event.

Do you have any comment on that?

Well, the police and safety officials around the country get upset because

our drivers tend to exceed the speed limits.

Are you saying you're promoting illegality?

Well, now, now.

I didn't say that.

Sir, have you seen this?

- They're doing it again. - Well they're in for a surprise.

If they're racing anywhere, they're going to race to the impound lot.

Yes, sir?

Get me Brad Phillips on the phone

and tell him it's the district attorney.

Tell him we're entering his race.

Then get me the highway patrol.

Sand, take the detour.

Sandy do..

Don't.

SANDY!!

I'm going over it.

Ah!

You made it.

Well, I'll be dipped.

I knew you couldn't pass up this damn race.

Consider yourself busted.

Don't give me that crack, Linda.

Do you know what happens to parolees

who cross state lines without permission?

I don't give a damn about that red tape.

My brother put up $6,000 for this car.

I got a chance to win with it.

My whole future's at stake.

One speeding ticket and you're back in prison.

That's our future.

Coy, you know how I feel about you.

I've never pulled rank on you before, but I am legally responsible.

That's a technicality.

This race is my last chance to get my career back together.

Oh, face facts, Coy, you're racing career ended when that girl died.

Excuse me, Coy.

Just wanted to wish you good luck.

Mr. Hooper, this is my friend Linda Maxwell.

This is Ken Hooper, he's the manager of the Modern Motors racing team.

Pleased to meet you, Miss Maxwell.

We can use a man like Coy on the Modern Motors team.

Yeah, what about my competitor?

I'm gonna wish him luck, too.

I expect one of you will be driving for me next year.

You two gentlemen know each other, don't you?

Mr. Redmond, Mr. Buckman.

I believe we've run into each other once or twice?

Got amnesia about that cheap shit you pulled in Darlington in '72?

Well, here's a little piece of information for you.

I mean to win this one.

If you so much as come within 100 miles of me

you're going to wind up with my tire tracks right up your ass.

There goes your competition.

Guy's so mean, bet he has to jack off in the morning to get his heart started.

Attention! Attention right now, drivers.

The police are on their way to bust the race.

The post time has been moved up to exactly 60 seconds from now.

Shit!