Master restorer David Grainger
undertook an astonishing project: to recreate Bugatti's 1935 Aerolithe show
car, prototype for the legendary Atlantic. In his own words, this is his story
The first time I was asked to build a
Bugatti I said: 'Sure - it's just a car, how hard can it be?'
That turned out to be one of the most
stupid things I have ever said. The Bugatti was a Type 59 3.3-litre Grand Prix
car and I had little more than half the original parts. It proved to be quite
an education, not only in the complexity, elegance and sometimes stupidity of
Bugatti engineering, but in the politics of highly valued cars too. That
project took about three years and the result was agonizingly beautiful. It was
also the bane of my existence.
With the Type 59 GP parts came an original
Type 57 chassis with the correct engine, transmission, rear axle and most of
the original mechanical components. The only major component missing was the
front axle, although the axle stubs, brakes, steering and suspension parts were
in place.
With
the Type 59 GP parts came an original Type 57 chassis with the correct engine,
transmission, rear axle and most of the original mechanical components.
The chassis turned out to be pretty special
on its own: chassis no 57104, the fourth Type 57 produced, appears to be the
oldest still in existence. I have heard rumors that an earlier chassis is still
out there but I have not yet been able to find it, or even documentation to support
the rumors.
Chassis 57104 was originally delivered to
Lamberjack, a Parisian dealership, in 1934. It was probably bodied as a drop
head by Van Vooren and then went through a string of owners. It appears to have
lost its coachwork during the Second World War or shortly after and a
replacement body was never mounted but the chassis and mechanicals remained a
cohesive flock of parts.
Post-war and without coachwork it went
through another string of owners and was eventually purchased by Tom Barrett,
co- founder of the Barrett-Jackson auction house. He wanted to put an Atlantic
body on it and to that end it was sent to Bugatti restorer Ray Jones. Jones
replaced 57104 with an SC chassis replica which was correct for the Atlantic;
the standard 57104 chassis was deemed surplus. I acquired it in the mid-1990s
and was tempted to restore it as a fully running chassis, but then what do you
do with it?
I began poring through books for
inspiration. My focus had been on racing cars but my heart found a home as I
became aware of some of the dramatic Bugatti road cars produced during the
1930s. One page became increasingly dog eared. I kept straying back to pictures
of Jean Bugatti's masterpiece, the Aerolithe.
My original partner on the Type 59 had no
interest in building another Bugatti (he used to say some very uncomplimentary
things about Bugattis, usually while he was signing another cheque) so I
tendered the project. I had numerous replies and some very serious interest,
including a certain Nicolas Cage of California. Despite his own best intentions
a couple of years went by and nothing happened, and then I got a phone call
from another gentleman who was interested in the project.
Not a Hollywood A-listed this time, nor a
car buff. He was, however, an art aficionado with strong ties to the world of
architectural restoration, and was familiar with how inexact that science can
be. His greatest passions extended to the saving and preservation of historical
monuments and buildings around the world, a passion that still seems in no
danger of abating.
His
greatest passions extended to the saving and preservation of historical
monuments and buildings around the world, a passion that still seems in no
danger of abating.
He was perhaps the best possible patron for
this task. He wanted us scrupulously to adhere to the crafts and methods of the
1930s and for the star of the 1935 Paris auto show car to be recreated with no
modern liberties taken. Our shared vision ensured that we would be as faithful
to the original Aerolithe as it appeared on the Bugatti stand at the Palais
Royale as was humanly possible. With those rules established we set about the
task of building the crown jewel of Bugatti's 1935 salon collection.
Very little of the enormous research
involved centered on the Aerolithe itself. There are only about 11 meaningful
photographs of the car and no specifically Aerolithe blueprints or plans, aside
from that of the radiator and another of a foot pedal. These, according to the
Bugatti Trust at the time, were all that survived. What writings exist are
sketchy, many are contradictory, and some older essays have been the subject of
prejudicial editing over time, especially in the last decade or so.
One thing we did know. When Ettore Bugatti
came under fire from critics for the spine like fins that ran along the wings
and centerline of the car, he stated that the coachwork had been made from a
new wonder metal called Elektron. As it could not be welded, the fins allowed
the major sections to be riveted together. Elektron is a magnesium alloy
consisting of around 97% magnesium, with the remainder aluminum. The press
dubbed the car the Elektron Coupe.
It was decided even before the project
started that to create the Aerolithe coachwork in anything but magnesium would
be inexcusable. That decision made life difficult and costly over the next six
years.
Magnesium is hard and light: its only two
redeeming qualities. It is also brittle, almost unbendable, and dangerously
flammable. If that weren't enough our bodies absorb it in great quantities,
which can lead to uncomfortable symptoms. The solution is to dress like a
spaceman, especially when welding, heating or cutting it. The solutions to the
other problems are a little more difficult.
The
solution is to dress like a spaceman, especially when welding, heating or
cutting it.
When you bend it, if it doesn't crack it
will soon be reassuming its original shape. When we first bought the 8ft by 4ft
sheets each one about $3,000 - We were told it could not be hand-formed or bent
on the English wheel, especially into the tight compound curves we required.
The manufacturers advised us to cast the shapes, but this was not an option; we
had to find a way to shape it by hand.
We discovered that if we heated the
material to around 850°F it became plastic enough for us to shape on the wheel,
but at around 1150°F it starts to burn. Suffice it to say that specialized fire
extinguishers were at hand.
Once an apprentice unfamiliar with the
material thought he would help out by grabbing a burning bit before the welder
could get his helmet off. With the sputtering magnesium part in hand he raced
across the shop with my welder in hot pursuit, carrying the extinguisher and
yelling at the top of his lungs. With a gasp of relief the apprentice hurled
the flaming torch (moments before, it had been a headlight pot) into the sink
and turned the water on full. The result was an odd explosion that saw the
entire shop waist-deep in a seething cloud of magnesium fog followed by a mass
exodus of all staff. It looked like a Hollywood horror film set. All employees
were then trained fully in the vagaries of magnesium handling.
