Stepping onto the Salinas Airport tarmac, amidst the opulent display of private jets flown in for Monterey Car Week, a familiar, intoxicating sensation washes over me. It’s a symphony of sensory details – the rich aroma of warm oil mingling with the musty scent of aged leather and horsehair stuffing, the reassuringly solid feel of the houndstooth upholstery. My eyes are drawn to the vertically mounted, knurled silver faceplate of the Becker cassette stereo in the center console, a relic of a bygone era. The touch of the giant steering wheel, its circumference rivaling a planetary ring, with its slick, woven-ribbed detents, completes the experience.
But it’s more than just these tangible elements. It’s the profound ability of this machine to transcend time itself, to transport you to another era.
Almost a decade ago, coinciding with the launch of The Drive, I had the privilege as an early contributor to this publication to drive and write about the V8-powered Mercedes C111 concept car at Pebble Beach. It was an unforgettable, mind-bending experience – piloting a concept car conceived in the year of my birth, a vision of a future that, in many ways, never came to pass. Now, I found myself back in the same location, behind the wheel of a different iteration of this iconic, tawny spaceship, accelerating both forward and backward in my personal timeline.
The Visionary Design of the C111
The Mercedes-Benz C111, a project limited to just a dozen examples, was conceived partly as a design study. It was a pioneering example of the “wedge” styling that would dominate concept car aesthetics throughout the 1970s and influence supercar designs for even longer. Its sharp, streamlined silhouette was meticulously crafted to cheat the wind, maximizing aerodynamic efficiency to enhance both performance and handling. This focus on aerodynamics was revolutionary for its time, pushing the boundaries of automotive design.
The Revolutionary Wankel Engine
Beyond its striking aesthetics, the C111 served as a crucial testbed for the Wankel engine, a groundbreaking rotary combustion engine invented in the 1930s. This engine, steeped in innovative engineering, promised superior power, enhanced efficiency, and reduced weight compared to traditional piston engines. Its development coincided with a growing awareness of fuel economy and emissions regulations, making it a potentially game-changing technology for the automotive industry. The initial C111 prototype boasted a 275-horsepower three-rotor direct fuel-injected Wankel engine. However, the ambition to reach a staggering 186 mph (300 km/h) target speed led to the development of a more powerful four-rotor variant producing 350 hp the following year. This was the very car I was fortunate enough to drive.
“This car was fundamentally designed around the Wankel engine,” a Mercedes Classic Center technician explained before my drive. “Therefore, experiencing this car with its intended engine, especially the ultimate four-rotor version, provides the most authentic C111 experience.”
Behind the Wheel: Driving the C111
Certain cars leave an indelible mark on your automotive psyche. Having grown up in 1970s Detroit, immersed in the world of Hot Wheels, car posters, and dog-eared magazine articles, driving the C111 felt like stepping into a childhood dream. I’ve been privileged to drive automotive icons like Gary Cooper’s Duesenberg SSJ, a Mercedes 540K, a Facel Vega, and every generation of V12 Lamborghini. Yet, sliding across the wide vinyl sill of the C111 and maneuvering my legs into the narrow pedal box instantly transported me back to my 2015 drive.
Memories flooded back – the unusual perspective over the high-arching fenders, the equally prominent rear abutments filling the rearview mirror. The distinctive, slightly vague yet precise action of the dogleg ZF transmission, with its push-button detent for engaging first gear located on the shifter knob. The weighty steering. The warmth emanating from the ventilation system.
However, the C111’s chassis balance, handling prowess, and sheer power delivery were unexpected revelations. The seamless integration of all components, the composed and confident manner in which it all came together, was truly remarkable. The power delivery was extraordinarily smooth, like flowing latex. While the car’s upcoming Concours display prevented me from fully exploring the upper limits of the rev range, the acceleration was nothing short of breathtaking. Its 350 horsepower output matched that of contemporary Ferraris, but in a chassis that was significantly lighter, offering a superior power-to-weight ratio.
Nine years prior, I had barely shifted the V8 C111 out of second gear, navigating the crowded 17-Mile Drive amidst a sea of priceless classic cars. But here on the open runway, I could finally unleash the car, experiencing its eagerness to accelerate, its balanced nature, and its insatiable appetite for speed. Of course, like all Wankel engines, it also possessed a considerable thirst for oil and internal component longevity.
C111’s Legacy: A Dream That Almost Was
“The Wankel engine ultimately couldn’t meet Mercedes-Benz’s stringent durability standards,” the technician conceded. “Consequently, the engine project was discontinued.”
Concept cars represent unfulfilled potential, explorations of what could have been. The C111 was specifically created as a laboratory to probe possibilities, particularly those offered by emerging technologies. Beyond powertrains, it served as a platform for Mercedes-Benz’s early forays into polymer body panels, turbocharging, and anti-lock braking systems. It was never intended for mass production, or even limited series production as an exclusive model. However, overwhelming customer demand, with enthusiasts reportedly offering blank checks to acquire one, underscored its desirability.
As I pressed the accelerator, I pondered the alternate reality where the Wankel-powered C111, despite its inherent shortcomings, had become a production supercar of its era.
“An engine-out service every 15,000 or 20,000 miles was typical for a Ferrari of that era,” I remarked. “Or even for cars of our current era. For a vehicle with that level of technology and performance, it wouldn’t have been unexpected, or a deal-breaker.”
The technician nodded in agreement, then simply shrugged. “Mercedes,” he stated, “is not Ferrari.”
My passion lies with cars that defy temporal boundaries, vehicles so radically different from their contemporaries that they seem to have materialized from another dimension. This includes outliers like the Citroën DS and the Dymaxion car. Even Mercedes-Benz’s own 300 SL Gullwing falls into this category. I shared this sentiment with the technician as our drive concluded – the notion that Mercedes-Benz once dared to dream beyond Teutonic rationality, that they could have built a Wankel-powered supercar, and perhaps, someday, might again. He nodded in agreement, and then shrugged once more.
