Blitzen Benz Top Speed: Burman’s 141.7 MPH at Daytona and the Beach That Chased Speed

The Blitzen Benz’s fastest recorded speed was about 141.7 mph. Bob Burman drove it over a flying mile on the sand at Daytona Beach, Florida, on April 23, 1911, covering the mile in 25.4 seconds. His celebrated flying-mile mark remained a benchmark until DePalma’s 1919 Packard run. A year earlier, Barney Oldfield had run the same car at about 131.7 mph on the same beach. Neither run was ever recognized as an official world record, because both were made in one direction only, but in 1911 the Blitzen Benz was the fastest car on earth, and it helped turn a stretch of Florida beach into the place the whole world went to chase speed.

I’m Jay, and the Blitzen Benz is one of those cars that sounds made up when you first read about it. A four-cylinder engine with more than 21 liters of displacement. Chain drive. A pointed nose that looks like a bullet with wheels. Two guys from the Midwest taking it to a beach and going faster than anything with wheels ever had. All of it’s true.

What Was the Blitzen Benz?

Benz & Cie built the car in Mannheim, Germany, in 1909, starting from its Grand Prix racer. The big change was the engine: an inline four of 21,504 cc, about 1,312 cubic inches, with a bore of 185 mm and a stroke of 200 mm, making around 200 horsepower. For a sense of scale, that’s roughly four 327 small-block Chevys’ worth of displacement in four cylinders. The body was narrowed and pointed to cut through the air. Power went to the rear wheels by chain.

Benz built six of them. Only two survive. Mercedes-Benz owns one, and the other belongs to a collector in the United States.

The car proved itself in Europe first. In early November 1909, at Brooklands in England, Victor Hémery averaged 202.7 km/h, about 126 mph, over a kilometer.

How It Got the Name

In 1910 the car came to America. Ernest Moross, a promoter who also managed Barney Oldfield, bought it from the Benz importer and called it the “Lightning Benz.” The German-sounding Blitzen name stuck instead, and it’s been the Blitzen Benz ever since.

Barney Oldfield at Daytona, 1910

Oldfield was already a prominent American racing driver and exhibition star. A car capable of headline speed gave him both a competitive tool and an attraction people would pay to see. The later AAA suspension and sale to Moross changed who would drive it, not the significance of the machine itself.

In March 1910, on the beach at Daytona, he took the Benz through a flying mile at roughly 131.7 mph. Newspapers called him the Speed King. The Europeans who kept the official records didn’t count it, because he ran one direction only, so any help from the wind couldn’t be canceled out.

That Bain News Service photo of Oldfield is dated May 26, 1914, the week of that year’s Indianapolis 500. He finished fifth in the 500 in a Stutz, the best of the Americans in a race the Europeans dominated. By then the Blitzen Benz was somebody else’s problem.

Bob Burman and 141.7 mph

Bob Burman took over the car for Moross. Burman had come up as a Buick factory driver alongside Louis Chevrolet, and he’d won the Prest-O-Lite Trophy race at the brand-new Indianapolis Motor Speedway in 1909 (the story of that terrible first meet is in our piece on why Indy is called the Brickyard). If you want to know more about that Buick team, I wrote about Louis Chevrolet’s racing career too.

On April 23, 1911, his 27th birthday, Burman ran the Blitzen Benz on the beach at Daytona. According to the Mercedes-Benz archive, he covered a flying mile in 25.4 seconds, 141.7 mph, and a flying kilometer in 15.9 seconds, about 140.7 mph. Like Oldfield’s run, it was one-way and the international governing body never recognized it. Ralph DePalma subsequently took a Packard down the same beach at about 149.9 mph over the flying mile in 1919.

It wasn’t just cars. Burman’s run also topped the unofficial mark Glenn Curtiss had set on a V8 motorcycle in 1907, which had been the fastest anyone had traveled by land, sea or air.

Burman ran the Benz at Indianapolis in 1911 too, making exhibition runs ahead of the first 500. The car changed hands after that. It went to Stoughton Fletcher in 1913 and in 1915 to Harkness, who ran it at Sheepshead Bay as the “Burman Special.” In 1914, another Blitzen Benz driven by Lydston Hornsted set a record of about 124.7 mph at Brooklands under the new two-direction rules. The Burman car itself ended up with Count Louis Zborowski in England, and according to the Mercedes-Benz archive it was broken up in 1923.

Burman did not live to see DePalma’s faster mile. The Mercedes-Benz biography records his death in a Peugeot at Corona, California, on April 8, 1916. His birthday run at Daytona outlived him.

Why Daytona Beach?

Racing on the sand from Ormond south to Daytona started around 1902. At low tide the beach was wide, flat and packed hard, and it went on for miles, which was a lot better than any road in America at the time. The AAA brought timing equipment in 1903, and the area picked up the nickname “the Birthplace of Speed.”

Records followed. On January 26, 1906, Fred Marriott drove a Stanley steamer called the Rocket to 127.66 mph there, a recognized world record and the fastest anyone would go in a steam car for more than a century. Louis Chevrolet ran a 200-horsepower Darracq on the same sand that month. Then came Oldfield, Burman and DePalma.

Malcolm Campbell’s Blue Bird

By the 1920s the land speed record had become a British obsession, and the British came to Daytona. Henry Segrave went 203.79 mph there on March 29, 1927, in the Sunbeam “Mystery,” the first car over 200 mph.

Malcolm Campbell answered with the car in the photo above, the Napier-Campbell Blue Bird, rebuilt for 1928 with a Napier Lion aircraft engine and a tail fin for stability. On February 19, 1928, he set a new record of 206.956 mph at Daytona. It didn’t last long. Ray Keech went 207.552 mph in the White Triplex that April.

Campbell kept coming back. He set five land speed records at Daytona, ending with 276.816 mph on March 7, 1935. Then he moved to the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah, where on September 3, 1935, he became the first to go over 300 mph, with a run of 301.337 mph. The cars had simply outgrown the beach.

The engineering job behind the enormous engine

The 21.5-liter displacement was not a case of Benz simply ordering a larger version of an existing road-car engine. Mercedes-Benz’s detailed history of the six 200 hp cars identifies the people and the changes. At the beginning of 1909, works driver Victor Hémery, designer Louis de Groulart and assistant Hans Nibel set out to exceed 200 km/h. They began with the successful 150 hp Grand Prix car rather than an empty drawing board.

The original engine did not have enough power for that target. Benz retained a 200 mm stroke but enlarged the bore by roughly 30 mm, to 185 mm. The cylinders were still cast in pairs, but the increased size and moving masses called for reinforcement. The archive describes longitudinal ribs below the cooling jackets and twelve studs fastening each cylinder pair to the crankcase. These are substantial structural changes, not just a carburetor adjustment.

The crankshaft changed too. The previous three-main-bearing arrangement gave way to five main bearings to deal with the loads. Mercedes-Benz gives the finished engine’s weight as 407 kilograms, its compression ratio as 5.8:1, and its output as 200 hp at 1,600 rpm. I find that last figure more revealing than the horsepower alone. This was a huge, comparatively slow-turning four-cylinder being developed to propel a very narrow car at a speed roads and tires were barely ready to accommodate.

My usual small-block comparisons need a little restraint here. Four-cylinder does not mean small, and 200 hp in a 1909 record machine does not mean the same engineering exercise as extracting that output from a later production V8. The Benz’s displacement, reinforcement and low engine speed explain the particular solution its builders chose. They do not establish that any modern engine with the same advertised horsepower could reproduce the whole car’s performance.

Why its first events did not all look like speed records

The new engine was ready in late summer 1909 and initially tested near Mannheim. Its early competition included the Semmering hill climb near Vienna. That event covered ten kilometers with about 400 meters of elevation change. With Fritz Erle driving, the enormous Benz was beaten by the 150 hp Mercedes cars of Otto Salzer and Willy Pöge. The archive’s account is a useful correction to the idea that the biggest engine automatically won wherever it went.

A hill climb and a flying straight-line run ask different things of a car. Semmering did not give the Benz the same opportunity as a long approach to a measured straight. That is an explanation of the different tasks, not an excuse to invent a hypothetical winning time. The documented result is more interesting because the engineers had built a tool for a particular speed objective, then had to discover where it could demonstrate it.

Hémery subsequently recorded 115.4 km/h over a standing kilometer at Brussels in mid-October. The distinction between standing and flying starts matters: a standing-start result includes acceleration from rest, while the flying measurement begins after the car is already moving. Comparing those two numbers without the start condition can make a perfectly real record look inexplicably slow.

At Brooklands in early November, the archive gives 205.7 km/h over a flying half-mile and 202.6 km/h over a flying kilometer. Those were different measured distances in the same general program, not competing estimates of one run. Keeping the distance beside the number is part of telling this story accurately.

The body was an engineering component, not just a costume

The characteristic pointed Benz body was extremely narrow. According to the manufacturer history, driver and mechanic could barely sit beside one another. The radiator’s upper water box resembled a bird’s beak; the rear tapered sharply; and panels covered the front axle and front frame crossmember. Even before wind-tunnel development became familiar, the team was paying attention to the resistance created by exposed parts.

That does not mean every photograph of a pointed 1909 Benz shows the same engine or the same finished record car. Mercedes-Benz specifically disputes the often-repeated identification of a Frankfurt/Main appearance in August 1909 as the first competition outing of the 21.5-liter machine. Its contemporary-source research indicates that the streamlined car there probably still carried the 15.1-liter engine.

I like that correction because it explains why a photograph is not a complete specification sheet. A distinctive body can be moved or altered, an engine can be changed, and a caption written years later can flatten those stages into one event. The manufacturer does not pretend that the early 200 hp car arrived in exactly the same configuration at every appearance. Neither should I.

Oldfield bought a machine and a business opportunity

The detailed archive says Oldfield acquired the first car through Benz importer Froehlich, trading his 150 hp Grand Prix Benz and paying an additional $6,000. The car was shipped in January 1910. That is a period transaction amount, not an inflation-adjusted valuation or a modern auction estimate. It indicates a serious investment in a vehicle that could draw crowds as well as produce timing figures.

Oldfield initially called it the Lightning Benz. The manufacturer account credits him with adopting the German-sounding Blitzen Benz name before the car passed to Moross. Other summaries emphasize the promoter’s role, which is easy to understand because a memorable name was part of selling the spectacle. The safe point is the documented sequence, not a claim that one English phrase literally translates word for word into the later nickname.

The American Automobile Association barred Oldfield from racing in October 1910 after a bylaws violation. Moross then acquired a car that needed an overhaul, had it repaired for the 1911 season, and entrusted it to Burman. The famous Daytona run therefore followed preparation work and a driver change. It was not simply Oldfield handing over an untouched car at the beach.

That commercial side belongs in the technical history. A very specialized European racing machine needed suitable places to run and people willing to pay to see it. The American exhibition circuit gave the Benz a career beyond its original factory tests. The spectacle was real, but so was the mechanical preparation required to keep that spectacle from becoming a stranded giant beside the timing equipment.

What the stopwatch actually measured at Daytona

The Mercedes-Benz event record for April 23, 1911 gives the flying mile as 25.4 seconds and 141.7 mph. The arithmetic is transparent: 3,600 seconds divided by 25.4 seconds per mile is about 141.73 miles per hour. The quoted figure is the average through the measured mile, not proof of an instantaneous maximum captured by a modern speed logger.

The kilometer entry is 15.9 seconds and 226.4 km/h, or about 140.7 mph. It is reasonable for separately measured distances to give slightly different average speeds. It is not reasonable to swap the mile’s time and the kilometer’s distance to manufacture a third record. When sources round a number, retaining the original timed distance helps make the comparison intelligible.

A one-direction result also leaves wind and surface effects uncanceled. The event archive says the A.I.A.C.R. did not recognize Burman’s performance as a world record because it was not an average of opposite-direction runs. That does not mean the stopwatch result was imaginary. It means the requirements for a particular official record and the question of how fast a car demonstrably traveled are not identical.

There is an additional reason to avoid saying nothing on wheels went faster until 1919. The same manufacturer history documents a later half-mile result by another Benz at Bonneville. The defensible comparison in this article is Burman’s celebrated flying-mile mark and the subsequent mile performance of DePalma’s Packard, not an unrestricted claim covering every timed distance and vehicle.

There was more than one Blitzen Benz

The second 200 hp car was built in 1910. It first used a conventional Grand Prix-style body and wide radiator, then received a narrow streamlined body during the winter of 1910–1911. The archive connects that work with displaying and publicizing the American speed successes. It later returned to a broader Grand Prix arrangement for other competition. Body style was something the factory changed to suit the job.

That second car went to the United States in 1912 as Blitzen Benz No. 2 and competed with Eddie Rickenbacher. In August 1914 it took part in record attempts at Bonneville with Teddy Tetzlaff. Mercedes-Benz distinguishes claims of speeds up to 250 km/h in testing from a documented 229.85 km/h over the timed half-mile. I would retain that distinction rather than promote the larger number as a proven record.

The Bonneville appearance is particularly valuable context for the later beach story. Campbell’s move to the salt in 1935 did not mean no record car had been there before him. Another Benz had already demonstrated the site’s appeal two decades earlier. These are related chapters in the search for suitable running space, not one continuous campaign by a single surviving chassis.

Hornsted’s car explains the apparently slower official record

The third Benz 200 hp was built in 1912. It competed in France with Erle before being sent to Britain for Lydston Granville Hornsted. Hornsted requested real mechanical changes: the archive lists revised intake valves, reinforced piston crowns, frame stiffening, altered exhaust and seating, and a revised body. It was a developed member of the family, not necessarily the exact vehicle Burman had driven in Florida.

Between December 1913 and January 1914, Hornsted set nine records over distances from half a mile to ten miles, using opposite-direction runs. The highest two-way average in that series was 199.3 km/h over the flying half-mile. In June 1914, the archive records a 199.7-km/h flying-mile result. That is why a lower-looking number can belong to a significant official record without disproving Burman’s earlier one-way performance.

The third car survived the First World War at Mannheim and was overhauled when Benz resumed competition. Its later specification included aluminum pistons and changed exhaust routing. It was subsequently damaged at Brooklands in 1922 and returned to Mannheim to be dismantled. A caption that simply calls it the Blitzen Benz can hide a very different life from the first car’s.

What the museum survivor can and cannot tell us

The fourth 200 hp car began competing in 1913 with Franz Hörner and later returned to events after the war. Mercedes-Benz traces its further life into exhibitions and commemorative appearances. In 1934 it was rebodied to resemble the earlier record car, using the narrow radiator and certain body pieces from the remains of the third vehicle. That is important provenance, not a reason to dismiss the survivor as uninteresting.

The archive says the rebuilt car appeared publicly in Berlin in 1935, was later painted silver, and returned to white in 1976. Its account places it on museum display in that white scheme from 1985. A present-day museum photograph therefore documents a preserved and historically altered member of the six-car family, not an untouched view of the first chassis frozen on Burman’s birthday.

The remaining two examples were customer cars. One went to Barcelona in February 1913; the archive says its later story is not known. The other was delivered to Brussels as an extended-wheelbase chassis and received a four-seat touring body from D. & E. Snutsel. After competition and ownership changes in Britain, that car entered an American collection in 2002.

For me, this is where the Benz becomes more interesting than a single giant speed number. Six cars could share an engine family while acquiring different bodies, drivers, records and afterlives. Burman’s 141.7-mph mile remains the headline, but the engineering changes and the surviving evidence explain why that headline still deserves to be read carefully.

Reading the numbers without moving the goalposts

One easy mistake is to remember the original objective as 200 mph. It was 200 kilometers per hour, about 124 mph. Burman’s 141.7-mph mile exceeded that already ambitious metric target; it did not put a 1909 car over 200 mph. The later Segrave chapter concerns a substantially higher speed and a later generation of machinery.

Distance matters just as much as units. A short flying half-mile can produce a different average from a flying mile, while a ten-mile run adds a different sustained-performance demand. The Benz family accumulated records in several categories, so a list of numbers without distance and start conditions can appear to show the same car alternately getting faster and slower for no reason. The archive makes those categories part of the result.

Direction is another independent condition. Averaging opposing runs addresses wind and other directional influences; it does not turn an average through a measured section into an instantaneous top-speed reading. I would keep all three labels beside a historical figure: distance, start condition, and whether the result is one-way or an opposing-run average. That small habit prevents a great deal of accidental exaggeration.

The same care applies to the name on the engine. Benz and Mercedes were competing manufacturers during the car’s original career, not simply two spellings of the same 1909 team. The archive describes Benz losing at Semmering to Mercedes cars. Reading the modern Mercedes-Benz archive is entirely appropriate, but moving the later combined company name backward into every early race would erase an interesting part of the competition.

Those distinctions do not make Burman’s achievement less dramatic. They make it possible to understand what actually happened: a prepared Benz, a flying mile, a timed average, and an official-record question that cannot be answered by the speed number alone. That is a much sturdier story than claiming every impressive figure belongs to the same chassis and the same set of rules.

FAQ

What was the top speed of the Blitzen Benz?

The fastest recorded run was about 141.7 mph, a flying mile in 25.4 seconds by Bob Burman at Daytona Beach on April 23, 1911.

Was the Blitzen Benz the fastest car in the world?

In practice, yes. Burman’s flying-mile performance remained a celebrated benchmark until DePalma’s faster mile in 1919; keep the timed distance and direction rules attached when comparing results. Burman’s run wasn’t an official world record because it was made in one direction only.

How big was the Blitzen Benz engine?

21,504 cc, or about 1,312 cubic inches, from an inline four-cylinder making about 200 horsepower.

How many Blitzen Benz cars were built?

Six. Two survive, one owned by Mercedes-Benz and one by an American collector.

What does Blitzen mean?

The car was called Lightning Benz in America and then became known by the German-sounding Blitzen Benz name. The detailed Mercedes-Benz history credits Oldfield with that sequence.

Who drove the Blitzen Benz?

Victor Hémery in Europe, then Barney Oldfield and Bob Burman in the United States. Lydston Hornsted drove one at Brooklands in 1914.

Sources

• Record runs at Daytona Beach, Mercedes-Benz Classic archive
• Bob Burman, Mercedes-Benz Classic archive
• Blitzen Benz, Wikipedia
• Bob Burman, Wikipedia
• Barney Oldfield, Wikipedia
• List of land speed records, Wikipedia
• Ormond Beach, Florida, Wikipedia
• Napier-Campbell Blue Bird, Wikipedia
• Malcolm Campbell, Wikipedia

Featured image: Bob Burman driving the Blitzen Benz. Bain News Service, George Grantham Bain Collection, Library of Congress, no known restrictions on publication. Photos in this article come from the Library of Congress and the Bibliothèque nationale de France via Wikimedia Commons, are in the public domain or carry no known restrictions on publication, and are credited in each caption.

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