Bugatti Aerolithe Recreation - Mission: Improbable (Part 2)

After months of trial and error the material was finally mastered and the build began in earnest. The chassis itself was so complete that it was a very easy process to restore it, even to the high level that I demanded of my staff. We knew that the Aerolithe's engine was a basic non-supercharged 3.3-litre straight-eight that, in order to allow for a lower bonnet profile, had been moved about 90mm rearwards from the standard position of the radiator hovering over the front axle. This meant the radiator and cowl could be positioned behind and lower than the front axle, something quite visible in pictures of the Paris show car. Apart from a need to create two new rear engine mounts the job was accomplished with no fuss. But then some discoveries put us in hot water with members of the old guard.

We told all concerned that we really did not care what the chassis of the original car was, as we were building the non-supercharged shortened-standard-chassis number 57104 and mounting Aerolithe-style coachwork on it. The actual Aerolithe became one of the great automotive mysteries after it disappeared sometime after a visit to England in 1936. I have always harbored the suspicion that, as an ageing and useless design prototype, it was probably torn down for its valuable mechanical bits and pieces at the factory, which was financially stressed at the time.

The actual Aerolithe became one of the great automotive mysteries after it disappeared sometime after a visit to England in 1936.

The common understanding, which I shared until I built the car, was that the Aerolithe, while not supercharged, sat on an S chassis, the one common to all three Atlantics for which the Aerolithe was the prototype. Some go so far as to maintain that the car was built on a T57 S gondola chassis, which curved to a point at the back. That chassis was built to accommodate a car that resembled a T59 GP car called the T57 Torpedo TT, which was being built at the same time. We checked this theory very closely, as its supporters were strident, and came to the conclusion that the coupe's body would not sit on a gondola chassis and allow space for the fuel tank and spare tire, nor would the steering box require the clearly photographed bulge in the coachwork that was dictated by a standard chassis. It would have also needed some very odd outriggers to support the coachwork at the rear, which were totally impractical.

What we found was that a lot of armchair theories were not viable in the real world of building a car, either now or in 1935. In fact the Aerolithe coachwork sits very comfortably on a shortened standard chassis with virtually no modifications. An S chassis would have called for an unlikely amount of unnecessary engineering. The last coffin nail, I believe, is that the SC chassis was not developed until the Aerolithe was almost complete. It would have taken the coachbuilders months to wrangle the magnesium alloy into the Aerolithe and I am sure they would not have dismounted the exhibition coachwork to plink it onto a brand new chassis that was not featured anywhere on the 1935 Paris Salon Bugatti stand.

The storm of controversy that these discoveries created was mystifying, as we were not trying to prove anything but rather just reporting what we were finding.

That chassis was built to accommodate a car that resembled a T59 GP car called the T57 Torpedo TT, which was being built at the same time.

Another point of contention was our choice of color for the car. Along with everyone else I had always assumed that the car was silver. Mind you, in those days, silver was the German national racing color. Once, at a Concours where I was displaying the T59,1 spoke to an elderly Frenchman who had served his apprenticeship with Bugatti. We chatted through an interpreter and I told him my next project might be the Aerolithe recreation. He recalled sweeping up around the car and that it was codenamed Crème de Menthe.

A couple of years later I came across a 1936 painting by one of Bugatti's designers that was given to Jean Bugatti as a gift. In it the Aerolithe is represented flying down a springtime road surrounded by fields of flowers and blossoming trees. The color? A delightful green, like a mixed crème de menthe.

It would be hard to believe that the painter would present this painting to the car's creator in the wrong color, so I tested it by taking a photo of a bent spray-out and transferred it to black-and-white. It looks exactly like the color in those photos taken back in 1935.

A major feature of the Aerolithe and all the cars on the 1935 stand were the two-sided whitewall tires, unusual in Europe. We tried to find a set, as to create the car and not have the right tires on it would have driven me crazy. The only solution was to make them.

After a month's pursuit of Goodrich and Goodyear (who share the old Dunlop rights) we finally got permission to recreate the tires with the same markings, lettering and script. All the markings were created in white rubber for application on the tires; Goodyear had insisted that only vintage-style Dunlops be used, so we had to get the correct size and have the white area carved out on both sides so that the whitewall could be vulcanized and the markings and lettering then vulcanized in place. Recently I bought a Delahaye from Spain and it had one original series-90 Dunlop black wall on it. When we compared our markings to the originals on the black wall we were absolutely exact. It was quite an accomplishment for our project leader, who spent almost a year on the tires and did all the scaling and template cutting.

A major feature of the Aerolithe and all the cars on the 1935 stand were the two-sided whitewall tires, unusual in Europe.

Now the project is winding down and the car's future is being mapped out. To my delight, the reception we're getting is absolutely wonderful. The car is one of the main stories in the first season of a major TV series being shot at my premises and we are entertaining requests to exhibit it from museums all over the world. It has been an idea, an obsession, a business proposition, a controversy, a headache, a constant irritant and finally a magnificent cooperative work of art that I have had the pleasure and honor of building with a team of gifted individuals.

I had no idea when I was staring at those grainy black-and-white photographs so many years ago that this day would be so long coming or, indeed, if it ever would. Looking back there is very little I would change; even the disasters were sort of fun and I love nothing better than a good fight. The car itself, I expect, will outlast me and, while I have my name on more than 1000 restorations so far, I think this is one I will remember as a high point.

The realization of what had been accomplished didn't sink in until recently. We were in the middle of a photo shoot with the Bugatti; and the photographer, who was also the director of the pilot for our TV series, walked around the car in some wonderment, then turned to me and said: 'You made this.'

Yeah, I guess I did.