1994 Blues Brothers Trike Race - The First Year!

by Neal Fisher

    Bob Sunderhauf had the old cop car. I think Sunderhauf and I started dressing as Jake and Elwood and then Ledoux wanted to do the trike race. The car was an old Branford Police car that he purchased from his brother at a used car dealership in Middletown. It was just like the real Blues Mobile from the movie, a black and white Ford with the logos stripped off.  Andy joined because we needed blues babes and his GIRLFRIEND Charlotte was willing to wear a black mini dress! I think the women were the best asset of our team. It was fun to have the hot babes around, all showing lots of leg, and many a participant and spectator tried to hit on our babes. Can’t blame them. I guess the bottom line, known well to marketers, is sex sells!

     Ledoux was the race mechanic, builder, main driver, and competitive force behind the team. He found the first trike; an old hot wheel on the side of the road in Manchester, CT. Bob was extremely serious about winning. He spent hours working on the trike, adding bearings, greasing, tweaking, building; he is an amazingly creative and talented builder anyway and he put his heart and soul into this trike. We spent hours in his garage and he told me stories about building his son a Soapbox Derby car and how no other kid ever had a chance. He showed me the special Soapbox wheels and said that he didn’t think we could use them because it was against the rules. “No matter”, he proclaimed, “we are going to kick their butts!” I went to work wiring up a speaker system on the top of the Blues Mobile. I used some old car speakers mounted in a huge drum that was painted black. I don’t remember if it was a tape or a CD. It was not very loud, and you could only hear it when standing in front of the car. But the idea of music as part of the act was a good one that we would improve on the next year. The Stooges team took note and did the same thing the next year but they had no idea what they would be up against.

     That first year generated much interest and excitement from the Mountain Laurel membership that had filled the lodge at the Proctorsville house and we had some fans follow us up to the Grist Mill on Sunday for the race. They were holding the race in the driveway that ran from the hotel behind the Grist Mill down to the access Road. Someone had told me that the organizers were worried about the speeds attained on the access road and were trying to slow it down, so they moved the race to this driveway. The sketchy rules that we had said that race judges could be bribed.  It wouldn’t be until next year that I would give away Goom-bay Smash vouchers to the Judges. The other teams had some great costumes and themes and we fit right in.

    We were trying to figure out a strategy and Ledoux was so serious that I took the role of manager and said I would push Andy from the starting line. (I did not want to be the driver that screwed up and incur Bob’s wrath. Sunderhauf was a grease monkey from years back so he was a natural driver. Andy is so laid back he didn’t care one way or another.) Ledoux would drive the second leg, and Sunderhauf would anchor. This took some pressure off me and I was drinking a lot of beer that morning. By the start of the race, I had a pretty good buzz going. Ledoux was listening intently, eyeing the competition, always with one eye on the trophy. Andy would have to chug a can of beer, drive down to the first station, find a colored bar of soap in a huge tub, show it to the judge, then trade off his boxer shorts and helmet to Bob Ledoux. Ledoux had to recite to the judge “In the grand tradition of the Killington tricycle race, may I please continue my downhill quest for glory?”  These stations served the purpose of evening out the competition. You could have the fastest trike, but you had to be fast in transition, or all would be lost. Many teams lost huge time chunks looking for that stupid bar of soap that was the same color as the assigned boxer shorts. There were a lot of teams, probably 4 or 5 separate heats of 4 or 5 trikes each. This allowed us to size up the competition, anticipate problem areas and hone our strategy. Ledoux was getting more serious and I was drinking more and more. I just couldn’t take the pressure! The judges were impressed by our costumes and put us near the last heat.

     The drivers reported to their assigned stations and I waited behind Andy for the start. Andy sat upon the greatest trike assembled by the greatest mechanic ever. The starting gun fired, the racers chugged a beer, Andy poured most of it over his face and down onto his Blues Brothers outfit (no problem, this is often the way Andy drinks). I pushed as hard as I could and sent Andy on his way, the race at this point being very close. Andy started the first turn and the trike EXPLODED into what seemed to be a hundred pieces! He skidded uncontrollably to a stop. The rear wheels came off and were rolling away in opposite directions (we were lucky no spectators were injured or seriously killed). Bearings, washers, bolts, technical stuff, were all over the race course. I was running hard behind Andy so that I could assist at the transition area. I stopped dead in my tracks, completely unprepared for the carnage that I was witnessing. Much to Andy’s credit, he did not miss a beat. He stood up, grabbed the largest piece of trike that still existed (the handlebars, front wheel and seat were still recognizable), and RAN down the course. When he got to the transition area, Bob’s eyes were wide with disbelief, anger, disappointment; I can only imagine what he was thinking. “Why are you running? What did you do with my trike? terrorism, sabotage, how am I supposed to ride that?” Andy thrust the destroyed trike into Bob’s arms, but there was no time for grieving. We were still racing even if we had to do it on foot.

     I am sure that Ledoux was already designing next year’s trike as he was running down toward the next transition area. He handed the wounded steed to Sunderhauf, jumped through a hoop and received a cream pie in the face (every racer had to endure this).  We gallantly finished off what we had set put to do, albeit in last place and out of advancement to the final race-off for the trophy. At least the Blues Babes were still looking great. And Ledoux was examining which parts had critically failed. I saw him on his hands and knees, searching the racetrack for that defective cotter pin, the washer that cracked from the heat, the bearing that was infected by an errant grain of sand, dooming the trike to failure. Later, after several more beers, Ledoux was as determined as ever and made up his mind that we were coming back, faster, sturdier, and smarter.