Powering down the tarmac at Salinas Airport, amidst the luxury private jets of Monterey Car Week, a familiar sensation arises. It’s more than just the classic car aroma of warm oil, aged leather, and houndstooth fabric. It transcends the vintage Becker cassette stereo with its knurled knobs and the substantial, Uranus-ring-sized steering wheel.
It’s the profound feeling of stepping outside of time itself.
Nearly a decade ago, during the launch week of The Drive, I, as an early contributor, had the privilege of driving and writing about a V8-powered Mercedes C111 concept at Pebble Beach. That experience was surreal—a moment of temporal distortion, piloting a concept car designed in my birth year, envisioned for a future that never quite materialized. Now, I was back, driving another iteration of this iconic tawny spaceship, rocketing both forward and backward through my own history.
The Mercedes-Benz C111, with only a dozen ever produced, was conceived partly as a design study. It was a pioneering example of the sharp “wedge” styling that would dominate concept car aesthetics throughout the following decade and influence supercar designs for even longer. Its sleek and angular form was engineered to manipulate airflow, enhancing both performance and handling through advanced aerodynamics.
However, the C111 was also designed as a mobile laboratory for the Wankel engine, a rotary combustion engine developed in the 1930s. This engine promised increased power, greater efficiency, and reduced weight, arriving at a crucial time when the automotive industry was facing stricter regulations on fuel economy and emissions. The initial C111 debuted with a 275-horsepower three-rotor fuel-injected Wankel engine. The subsequent year, aiming for a theoretical top speed of 186 mph (300 km/h), a more potent four-rotor variant producing 350 hp was unveiled. This was the very car I had the chance to drive this time.
“This car was engineered specifically around the Wankel engine,” a Mercedes Classic Center technician explained prior to my drive. “Therefore, experiencing this car with this engine, especially the ultimate four-rotor version, provides the authentic C111 experience.”
It’s remarkable how profoundly certain automobiles can etch themselves into one’s memory. I’ve been privileged to drive iconic cars that, as a car-obsessed child growing up in 1970s Detroit, were the legends of Hot Wheels, bedroom posters, dog-eared magazine pages, and fleeting dreams. I’ve sat behind the wheel of Gary Cooper’s Duesenberg SSJ, a Mercedes 540K, a Facel Vega, and every generation of V12 Lamborghini. Yet, as I lowered myself over the wide, vinyl-clad sill of the C111 and maneuvered my legs into the narrow pedal box, I was instantly transported back to my 2015 drive.
I vividly recalled the unusual perspective over the high-arching fenders and the rearview mirror’s reflection of the similarly styled rear. The precise yet somewhat loose feel of the dogleg ZF transmission, complete with its shifter-knob-mounted push-button for engaging first gear. The weighty steering. The warm air circulating through the ventilation system.
However, what truly surprised me this time was the exceptional chassis balance and handling. The composure and solidity with which everything operated in harmony, and the sheer power delivery—the silken smoothness of its output. While I couldn’t fully explore the upper limits of the rev range, due to the car’s impending display at the Concours d’Elegance, the power delivery was nothing short of breathtaking. Its 350 horsepower matched the output of Ferraris of that era, yet in a chassis that was significantly lighter.
Nine years prior, I barely shifted the V8 C111 out of second gear, surrounded by priceless classic cars on the 17-Mile Drive. But here, on the open runway, I could finally unleash the car and truly experience its eagerness, its balance, and its relentless desire for speed. Of course, like all Wankel engines, it also possesses a notable thirst for oil and internal components.
“The Wankel engine couldn’t meet the durability standards that Mercedes-Benz requires,” the technician admitted. “Consequently, this engine project was discontinued.”
Concept cars embody possibilities—what could have been. The C111 served as a mobile testbed to explore new technologies, particularly those associated with emerging innovations. Beyond powertrains, it was instrumental in Mercedes-Benz’s early investigations into polymer body panels, turbocharging, and anti-lock braking systems. It was never intended for mass production, or even limited series production, despite fervent customer demand and blank checks offered to Mercedes-Benz for the opportunity to own one as an exotic road car. So, as I accelerated, I pondered the hypothetical: what if the Wankel-powered C111, despite its deviations from Mercedes’ established reliability benchmarks, had become the supercar of its generation?
“Engine-out servicing every 15,000 to 20,000 miles was common for Ferraris of that era,” I remarked. “Or even for cars of today with similar technology and performance. For a car with that level of innovation and capability, it wouldn’t have been unexpected or a deal-breaker.”
The technician nodded in agreement, then simply shrugged. “Mercedes,” he stated, “is not Ferrari.”
I have a deep appreciation for cars that seem to exist outside of conventional time, vehicles that are such statistical outliers compared to their contemporaries that they appear almost otherworldly. This includes automotive marvels like the Citroën DS and the Dymaxion car. It even extends to Mercedes-Benz’s own 300 SL Gullwing. I shared this sentiment with the technician as we concluded our drive—the idea that Mercedes-Benz once dared to dream beyond its typically pragmatic approach, that it could have embraced the unconventional and built a Wankel-powered supercar. Perhaps, someday, they will again. He nodded in agreement, then offered another shrug.
