Collection Classics: Blue Atlantic
June 1, 2008
In the course of two-and-a-half years, with over 8,000 hours of meticulous effort, Stranberg and Sargent stripped the car of its aluminum skin and disassembled it. By dissecting the Atlantic, they were able to see where the rear window and headlights had been altered, as well as where the original "Trafficator" directional signals had been fitted.
Fortunately, the restorers located an elderly man in the UK who
had seen the car before World War II and had saved vintage photographs. Using
these pictures and factory records as a guide, Stranberg and Sargent carefully
refinished the Atlantic’s shapely aluminum body and fabricated new rivets, while
maintaining the faint hammer marks and other material evidence of its creators.
Paint samples from inner panels were used to recreate the car’s original hue.
Although metallic finishes were uncommon in the 1930s, Bugatti expert Julius
Kruta had a factory record book that authenticated a gray-blue metallic finish,
complemented with a dark blue leather interior.
The pair also rebuilt the aluminum straight eight, scraping and
damascening its surfaces by hand. On close inspection, slightly irregular
decorative swirls in the alloy look just like those created by Bugatti
apprentices so long ago. With this attention to detail, it’s little wonder that
the Atlantic won Best of Show at Pebble Beach.
Last year, when the Saratoga Automobile Museum featured the Williamson Bugatti collection, Sargent kindly gave me a ride in the restored ex-Rothschild Atlantic. Soon afterward, I drove Williamson’s 1938 Type 57SC Atalante, a slightly larger and heavier—but still-elegant—cousin of the Atlantic, of which just 17 were built. Mindful of this coupe’s immense value (Type 57S Atalantes are worth $2 million, perhaps more; a true Atlantic is simply priceless), I hesitated at first, but on the assumption that the restless spirits of Ettore and Jean would object if I simply pottered along, I depressed the throttle and the elegant coupe responded with the abrupt willingness of a thoroughbred horse to a skilled jockey’s whip.
In fine tune, Bugatti’s supercharged inline eight was good for between 200 and 220 hp. You can feel that power. The long shift lever moves deliberately with surprisingly short travel. As you make your way through the four gears, the tachometer’s long, slender needle flutters like a conductor’s wand. There’s barely a hint of vibration from the straight-cut gears. Throttle response is immediate, and the gear-driven overhead cams whir and click with a delightful metallic cacophony. The 57SC’s basso-profundo exhaust note bbbbrrrraaaaaaps with authority through a curious five-pipe exhaust outlet, and—despite its advanced age, skinny tires and stiff suspension—the low-slung Type S chassis accelerates briskly and corners smartly.
Several Atlantic replicas have been built on genuine or reconstructed Bugatti chassis. Jay Leno owns an exact copy, as does Erik Koux in the Netherlands. A German enthusiast, meanwhile, replicated the Aérolithe last year. You can’t blame them. Ahead of its time, a thinly disguised racing berlinetta for the street, the exquisite Bugatti Type 57SC Atlantic remains a sports car for the ages.
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