The Bahnburner and The Wasserwagen

By Charles S. Clark

Lieutenant Clark gets discharged from the Air Force and 35 years later is traveling with his wife Sara from his daughter’s home in Berlin to make a sales call in Munich for his medical electronics company. Just south of Nuremburg, he is passed by a S600 Mercedes doing 150 mph. The Mercedes hits a BMW and causes it to have a fatal accident but it keeps going on like nothing happened.

Later that evening, while drinking in the Hofbrauhaus with Jurgen, his German son-in-law, he learns by accident it was an old Nazi who did it. A desperate ill-conceived challenge is accepted by Clark and a $35,000 bet is established for a race on the Autobahn. The ’40 Ford appears almost by magic and is converted to the fearsome BAHNBURNER by a team of BMW engineers. They want revenge for the BMW engineer who was killed by Hienz, the nasty old Nazi.

Bobby Unser, three time Indy winner, is met by chance and gives Clark some driving lessons. The race is wild and disastrous. The Ford is lost forever ...or is it? ... and the rest of the story is ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles S. Clark
• Release date: Sep 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9780990352662

Charles S. Clark

I am a retired instrumentation engineer specializing in medical electronics with a lifelong interest in hot rods and high performance cars. I do total restorations of rare classic cars. I currently have restored a 1940 Lincoln Continental convertible which is one of 300 made. Proud to say that it took First place Concourse at the Early Ford V8 Club 50th anniversary meet. I also have restored two 1955 Chrysler C 300 both to factory original specs including the dual four barrel hemis. In my book you will read about the 1940 Ford coupe that I own. I leave it to you to sort fact from fiction as the six stories that you read involve a lot of very authentic action with this car passing from owner to owner each time with a special adventure. Be prepared to run bootleg whiskey in North Carolina and race an old Nazi on the German autobahn. (disastrous result). You will discover that I know a lot of authentic details about the flathead Ford engine and I have been to all the places mentioned in the book. So join the old engineer and go back in time for reading adventure. (Women like the book)

Book preview

The Bahnburner:

The Strange Odyssey of a $500 Car

CHAPTER ONE

The Unfortunate Incident

In the Spring of 1996, Sara and I were visiting our daughter in Berlin when we decided to rent a car and travel to Munich to visit a doctor who is a customer of my Colorado-based company just south of Denver. The drive from Berlin to Nürnberg was interesting but slow because of all the construction going on in the old Eastern zone. At Nürnberg both the autobahn and the pace changed dramatically. The road is three lanes wide and glass smooth. At 90 mph, the VW Golf I was driving could barely qualify for the center lane. The fast lane, the one on the left, is the province of BMW, Porsche and Mercedes.

We were just buzzing along when out the corner of my eye, I caught a quick glimpse, in the side mirror of a big black Mercedes coming up at an ungodly velocity. It went by us so fast that it shook the poor little VW like a leaf. I recognized it as a Mercedes 600 S Class with the ultra-powerful V12 engine. Although a BMW 535 up ahead doing a normal 120 mph in the fast lane, the Mercedes drove up onto its rear bumper pushing it out of the lane. A horrible skid ensued that caused the BMW to blow a tire and roll many times like a NASCAR stocker on a bad day.

I couldn’t stop, but dodged the wreck and kept going, knowing there was nothing I could do except cause another wreck. The emergency radio came on shortly announcing the accident and the fact that there was now a 20 km stau on the autobahn. A stau is what we call a traffic jam, adding that there were two fatalities in the BMW. I backed off the gas as I could see Sara was very nervous and, truth be known, I was shaky myself. Who was that bastard in the Mercedes?

In Munich we met my son-in-law, Jürgen, a molecular physicist, who was there on one of his periodic visits to the OSRAM home factory, a global lighting company. We both helped Sara calm down and put her to bed in our host’s house to rest. Jürgen thought I needed ein maß (a liter) of Maibock beer to settle my nerves rather than bed rest. So we took the U Bahn to the center of Munich and found a comfortable booth in the original Hofbrauhaus. I recognized the interior as similar to old newsreels recounting Hitler’s beer hall putsch.

Midway through the second liter, in storms this slender, mean-looking, older man and three loud buddies. It was obvious that this was not their first beer hall of the night. They sat in an adjacent booth where, in an aggressive, hawkish tone, the guy blew cigar smoke while extolling something in a Bavarian dialect to his drinking buddies. I asked Jürgen what the guy was talking about. Although born in Bavaria, even he had trouble understanding their drunken speech. He said he was telling how he taught some auslander a little respect on the autobahn today. Maybe next time the driver would move over when seeing his Mercedes coming.

That son-of-a-bitch, he was the one who spun out the 535!

The Gauntlet is Thrown

One and one-half liters of 12 percent Maibock beer wasn’t doing my judgment any good. I normally am not very confrontational but this guy infuriated me. I could see that Jürgen was wishing we had gone to the movies. I leaned over and shouted. Hey you—loudmouth—you speak English?

Ja, what’s on your mind little man?

I know all about you and your big Mercedes. You almost ran my wife and me off the road today.

Ja, too bad you Americans don’t have any fast cars. You can’t appreciate a machine like mine, so you better just take a tour bus like the rest of your countrymen. You have no place on the autobahn.

That did it. Listen you arrogant, kraut bastard, I’ve got a fifty-year-old American car that will blow the doors off that stupid, over-priced Mercedes of yours.

So aren’t you the brave one; let’s just see how serious you are. I have $50,000 DM (deutsche marks) that says you can’t beat me from Nürnberg to Munich in your great old American car. Now take my offer or shut up so I can eat this sausage, as he poked the sausage at my face in an obscene manner.

I’ll take that bet. Have your money in an escrow account in the Dresdner Bank on Monday. We meet at the Nürmberg McDonald’s in thirty days.

The next afternoon I woke up with a throbbing head. That Maibock is wicked stuff. No wonder they only make it once a year. Sara sat on the bed with a cup of coffee in her hand and a scowl on her face. Where were you last night? You shouldn’t act like this. Do you think you’re a young college boy at Oktoberfest? What will Jürgen’s friends think? That his wife’s father is a drunken bum? Act like the business man you are!

Honey, back off a little. It was kind of strange last night and I don’t feel too well right now.

No wonder, you stink like the inside of a beer bottle. You’d better take a shower and get dressed; Jürgen is due back from work soon. At least he was kind enough to drag you home.

After I showered, got dressed and ate a pretzel, in walked Jürgen. He joined me for a cup of coffee. Charlie, I think you got a little crazy last night. I hope you weren’t serious about what you told that man.

Yeah, I was crazy but I was also serious. I’m going to do what I said I would do.

"Charlie, listen to me. That guy you insulted last night—

I did some checking around; he’s dangerous. His name is Heinz von Braunschweiger and he’s a very rich guy. They say he was in the Waffen SS during the war. Such men are not to be fooled with. Soon they will all be dead, and Germany will be rid of their stink. But right now he is still dangerous. If you know something about what he did, I will help you contact the police and they will take care of him."

Come on, Jürgen, what am I going to tell the police? A fast Mercedes passed me and hit another car on purpose and kept going. You think I saw a license plate on a car going over 150 mph? He would squirm out of that in an augenblink ... No, for better or worse, old Heinz and I have a date with destiny. I’m not backing down and I don’t think Heinz will either!

CHAPTER TWO

Commitment

On Monday morning I called the Dresdner Bank and asked if a Heinz von Braunschweiger had made a deposit in an escrow account. They said yes; they were holding a deposit in something called the Nürnberg Meisterschaft account. With a big lump in my throat I called Mitch Moore, my broker in Denver and told him to sell the Ford stock in the IRA and wire $35,000 to the Nürnberg Meisterschaft account in the Dresdner Bank in Munich. No turning back now. In my very conservative life, I had just committed to a very rash and foolish undertaking. If my guts still didn’t hurt from the Maibock, it would have been an excellent time for a double schnapps.

OK, bright boy, you don’t have a car and you don’t know how to drive really, really fast. Just what are you going to do now that you are about to piss away thirty five grand? Jesus-h-kerist, you even had to shoot off your big mouth and say a fifty-year-old American car. In Germany? You IDIOT! How could I race against a mega horsepower Mercedes, probably the best car in the world? Upset gut or not, it was time for a double schnapps.

It’s very interesting that when you get fully committed to do something, your brain shifts gears. Negative thoughts are put in the background and you focus on the problem at hand. First—I need help. What about my friend, Andreas Schoenfeld, in Karlsruhe? A great engineer with an adventuresome outlook on life. If I can figure out how to work this stupid pay phone and debit card, I’ll talk to him. If anyone can come up with an idea, it will be him.

Charlie, great to hear from you. How are things? I didn’t know you were in Germany. Visiting the grandchildren?

Yes I am. They are wonderful; we just wish we could see more of them. Berlin is so far from Denver.

So you are going to come over and visit me and see our new factory? You won’t believe it. We have really grown.

Perhaps Andreas, but I have a little problem now and I need your help.

What little problem? What help?

I told him the story and could hear him go silent on the other end of the phone. After a pause he came back on line with a low whistle.

Charlie, you amaze me. How did you get yourself into a mess like that? But you know that I am on your side. I’ll help you in your crazy race. That 535 could have been me. I know these guys; they are the people who make me feel sad for Germany. If we had stood up to them before, a great deal of suffering might have been avoided. I think I have some friends who will join us. Call back tomorrow morning.

What Shall I Do?

It was going to be a very restless night; there were many more problems than there were solutions. In my nine years as a reluctant student in college, as an engineer and starting a small business, I learned that when you are overwhelmed with problems, you must slow down and think them through—one thing at a time. Then attack the problems in the order of priority, and only act on those where a feasible approach can be addressed. It accomplishes nothing to agonize over what ifs and if onlys.

So what are the problems that must be addressed NOW? The first one is Sara. No way could she find out what was going on, but after 35 years of marriage she could read me like a book. There was only one honorable approach to solving this problem—lie my ass off.

Honey, I just got a call from Denver and there is a big problem with the Superlogger design that is scheduled to go on the Space Shuttle. We must get it straightened out immediately. Andreas did the original design so I called him last night and he said I need to come to the factory and help him. We only have a month left; I must go right now.

Oh no, not again! Every time we come over to Germany for a vacation you get wound up in business.

I tell you what—let me get this thing cleared up and then I will extend the vacation and I promise—no business. In the meantime, you can go back to Berlin with Jürgen and enjoy the grandchildren.

No, I want to go with you to Karlsruhe.

Honey, I don’t want you there. This will not be any fun. Andreas is a maniac when he is working on a tough design problem. We may work all night and eat at strange hours. You would only get upset and I would worry about you. Better you enjoy yourself in Berlin.

Oh all right, but I’m going to hold you to your promise about the vacation, and I want you to call often. I gave the assurances ... and one problem was solved.

Next problem—How to keep Heinz and his henchmen from reneging on the bet. No question—there was obviously not going to be any trust in this deal.

Jürgen, before you and Sara go to Berlin, I could use your help.

What’s up, Charlie?

I told him about my concerns and asked him to go to the bank and negotiate the terms of the bet, including the particulars of the payoff. After some protestation concerning his ability to handle the negotiation, he reluctantly agreed. A few phone calls later and he was off to the bank. Upon his return, I quizzed him about the negotiation. It seems Heinz sent his pug-nosed, shrill-mouthed lawyer buddy, Wolfgang von Herbst, to represent him. The guy is a crook, but he knew how to skillfully negotiate. It was a good thing that Jürgen had Vicki’s young lawyer friend, Michael Reibel, with him; he caught onto and reversed the tricky stuff the other lawyer tried to pull.

The deal is this: Heinz has to drive the same car that he drove on the autobahn that fateful day. The identification number was recorded. I have to drive an American car that is as at least fifty-years-old and has the original frame, body and engine block. The race is called a reliability run and is to start at precisely 06:00:00 Sunday morning July fourth at the E45 on-ramp in Nürnberg. The winner will be determined by a Price-Waterhouse observer at the exact point where the speed limit control zone goes into effect north of Munich, a total distance of close to 90 miles.

Jürgen, I asked, Who from Price-Waterhouse will agree to such a thing?

I had our lawyer call and talk with an account executive by the name of Reiner Kraska who agrees to be the official observer. Their lawyer consented and so the deal is set. The bank will only pay upon certification by Reiner.

Jürgen, you son-of-a-gun. You got our host and your buddy, Reiner, to be the judge ... and the other guy didn’t catch on?

Sure, why not? You are going to need every break you can get.

Jürgen I’ll let you negotiate my way into heaven, you sly devil. Another problem solved.

It was interesting that Reiner was now part of the deal. He and Iris are good friends of Vicki and Jürgen. Sara and I had met them on several occasions. The most notable was at the 1992 Oktoberfest where, after a few beers, we were all dancing on top of the table to the happy rhythm of the omp-pah band. All of us, except Reiner, ate some of the roast ox that was a specialty of the Oxenbrau beer tent. A whole ox is put on a spit and roasted inside the tent. The tent held several thousand people, all of them going somewhat crazy. It was only the third night and seventeen oxen had been consumed, a plate at a time (Just like that old joke, How do you eat an elephant?)

Reiner preferred the roast chicken, but only the right side of the bird; he made the waitress take back the left side. This was a gutsy move, as Reiner is not a big guy and Brunhilde, the waitress, outweighed him. But he gave her a nice tip and she smiled rather than drop a heavy mug of beer on his head. Reiner’s neighbor, Thomas, was also with us. He was a pleasant guy, but said very little. His eyes always seemed busy as though he were constantly looking for something. I asked Vicki what he did for a living and she said he was a professional bodyguard who took care of industrialists and high government officials. That explained a lot.

When the tent closed, we walked the huge, boisterous midway and tried the spectacular rides. The girls stayed on the ground and watched while we macho guys proceeded to scare the pee out of ourselves. After a couple of liters of beer, there was plenty of pee available. As we strolled past a shooting gallery, Iris teased Reiner that he should win a Teddy bear for Vicki to give to her daughter, Anita. He was being coy, so I said I’d do it.

You get five bullets in a 22 caliber rifle with which