Touching down at Salinas Airport, amidst the spectacle of private jets heralding Monterey Car Week, a familiar wave of nostalgia washed over me. It wasn’t solely the intoxicating aroma of warm engine oil, aged leather, and classic wool upholstery, nor the sight of the vintage Becker cassette player, proudly positioned on the center console. It wasn’t just the tactile pleasure of the steering wheel, its substantial size reminiscent of a planetary ring.
It was something more profound: the tangible sensation of manipulating time itself.
Almost a decade ago, coinciding with the launch of The Drive, I had the privilege as a founding contributor to experience and document driving a V8-powered Mercedes C111 concept car at Pebble Beach. It was an unforgettable, almost surreal moment – piloting a vehicle conceived in my birth year, a vision of a future that, in reality, never fully materialized. Now, returning to this iconic location, I found myself once again behind the wheel of another iteration of this striking, experimental machine, propelling myself both forward and backward through my own automotive timeline.
The Mercedes-Benz C111, a project limited to a mere dozen examples, originated partly as a design study. It stands as an early embodiment of the sharp, “wedge” aesthetic that would define concept car designs for much of the following decade, and continue to influence supercar profiles for even longer. Its sleek, angular form was meticulously crafted to minimize wind resistance, aiming to extract maximum performance and refined handling through advanced aerodynamic principles.
However, the C111’s purpose extended beyond aesthetics. It served as a crucial mobile laboratory for evaluating the Wankel rotary engine, an innovative combustion technology developed in the 1930s. This engine promised significant advantages – enhanced power, improved fuel efficiency, and reduced weight – precisely when the automotive industry was beginning to confront stricter regulations regarding fuel consumption and exhaust emissions. The initial C111 debuted with a 275-horsepower three-rotor, direct fuel-injected Wankel engine. The subsequent year, driven by the ambition to reach a target 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 privilege of driving on this occasion.
“This vehicle was fundamentally engineered around the Wankel engine,” a Mercedes-Benz Classic Center technician explained prior to my drive. “Therefore, experiencing this car with its intended engine, especially the ultimate four-rotor configuration, provides the definitive C111 experience.”
It’s often surprising how deeply certain automobiles embed themselves within my automotive consciousness. I’ve been fortunate enough to pilot legendary vehicles that, as a car-obsessed child growing up in 1970s Detroit, were the stuff of Hot Wheels fantasies, bedroom posters, dog-eared magazine features, and fleeting, cherished dreams. I’ve taken the helm of icons like Gary Cooper’s Duesenberg SSJ, a Mercedes-Benz 540K, a Facel Vega, and every iteration of the Lamborghini V12 lineage. Yet, as soon as I lowered myself over the wide, vinyl-clad sill of the C111 and maneuvered my legs into the narrow confines of the pedal box, I was instantly transported back to my 2015 experience.
Memories flooded back – the unique perspective over the dramatically arched fenders, the rearview mirror’s reflection of the equally sculpted rear haunches. The deliberate yet slightly yielding action of the dogleg ZF transmission, complete with its push-button detent for engaging first gear integrated into the shifter knob. The substantial weight of the steering. The rush of warm air circulating through the ventilation system.
However, what truly surprised me anew was the remarkable chassis balance and handling composure, the seamless integration of all components, and the sheer power delivery. Despite being instructed to refrain from exploring the engine’s upper rev ranges – as the car was slated for display at the prestigious Concours d’Elegance shortly after – the power delivery was nothing short of breathtaking. Its 350 horsepower output rivaled that of Ferraris of the same era, all within a structure significantly lighter by several hundred pounds.
Nine years prior, I had barely shifted the V8-powered C111 beyond second gear, constrained by the traffic and surroundings of the famed 17-Mile Drive, amidst a staggering concentration of collectible automobiles. But here, on the open expanse of the runway, I could finally unleash the car, experiencing its eagerness, its composure, and its relentless urge for speed. Also notable was its appetite, common to all Wankel engines, for both oil and internal component replacements.
“The primary challenge with the Wankel engine was achieving the durability standards that Mercedes-Benz demands,” the technician explained. “Ultimately, this factor led to the discontinuation of the engine project.”
Concept cars are, by their very nature, explorations of unrealized possibilities. The C111 was explicitly conceived as a mobile laboratory to investigate these possibilities, particularly those inherent in emerging technologies. Beyond powertrains, it became the proving ground for Mercedes-Benz’s early forays into polymer body panels, turbocharging systems, and anti-lock braking technology. It was never intended for mass production, or even limited series production, yet customers clamored for Mercedes to produce it as an exclusive road car, some even offering blank checks in their eagerness to acquire one. As I pressed the accelerator, I pondered this very point – what might have transpired if the Wankel-powered C111, despite its deviations from traditional Mercedes-Benz durability benchmarks, had evolved into a production supercar of its time?
“An engine-out service interval of every 15,000 to 20,000 miles is typical for a Ferrari of that era,” I remarked. “Or even for certain high-performance cars of our current era. Considering the advanced technology and performance offered, it wouldn’t have been entirely unexpected, nor necessarily a deal-breaker for discerning customers.”
The technician nodded in acknowledgement, then simply shrugged. “Mercedes-Benz,” he stated, “is not Ferrari.”
I harbor a deep appreciation for automobiles that transcend their temporal context, vehicles so radically different from their contemporaries that they seem to have arrived from an alternate dimension. This category includes outliers such as the Citroën DS and the Dymaxion car. It even encompasses Mercedes-Benz’s own 300 SL Gullwing. I shared this sentiment with the technician as we concluded our drive – the notion that Mercedes-Benz once dared to dream beyond conventional boundaries, that they could have abandoned their ingrained Teutonic rationality and produced a Wankel-powered supercar. And perhaps, someday, they might rediscover that visionary spirit. He nodded in agreement once more, followed by another knowing shrug.
