Brazilian mystery: driving the pre-ace AC once mistaken for a Ferrari
Lost to a Brazilian graveyard for decades, this one-ofone AC ‘Barchetta’ racer has since been resurrected. We kindle its São Paulo spirit with a post-resto drive
It’s not often that I get to drive the only example of a car built. But while that attribute is certain to get my attention, being unique doesn’t automatically make a machine inherently special. After all, its maker may have made one and deemed the result so awful that it’d be a crime to inflict any more upon the world. Thankfully that’s not the case here, but before I get into why that is, I should tell you what this is. You could be forgiven for thinking it’s an early-fifties Ferrari, perhaps a 166 Barchetta. That was the assumption this very magazine made back in July 1997. In the car’s only other magazine appearance, Michael Ware in the Discovered section showed a teaser shot of this sports car languishing in a São Paulo graveyard. The caption for the image credited its creation to Maranello, but what Michael – and much of the motoring world – didn’t know then, was that this was in fact an abandoned AC. A former racer that for nearly three decades had been quite literally left for dead.
Its journey to Lazarus-like reawakening has plenty of turns to it, though the tarmac twists near Sibson Aerodrome in Cambridgeshire are presently of more concern. Parts of this well-known local route form a playground for enthusiastic drivers and motoring journalists alike and it seems plenty of both types are out to play. A stunning, unseasonably warm early-spring day is no doubt the only excuse needed.
Gazing at this curvaceous aluminium-bodied beauty in the sun brings to mind its halcyon days back in early Fifties Brazil. LIFE magazine titled its 1957 profile of this rapidly modernising country ‘Growing Pains’, an apt description for a nation whose populous was becoming ever more economically polarised. Few places better illustrate this divide more starkly than the urban sprawl of São Paulo, and this metropolis was where this AC called home for much of its life. My thoughts can’t help but turn to its first South American owner, begoggled and hurtling through the streets of that exotic city on his way to Interlagos for a weekend of racing.
Back to the present and daydreams of an exotic past begin to fade as I’m overtaken by a pang of concern. Two-seaters of various vintages are being hurled through the bends before me with gleeful abandon. Roaring past, their drivers grinning from ear-to-ear – no doubt like that former Brazilian custodian – but a little voice in my head reminds me that this car is irreplaceable. It’s currently for sale at Lincolnshire-based classic specialist Horsepower Hangar at a considerable £250k. It’s a difficult one to value because there’s almost nothing out there to base chassis LX820’S value on.
‘Astonishingly, it was fashioned in a backstreet garage in early Fifties São Paulo’
Originally a low-chassis 2-Litre model, the 20th post-war example manufactured by Thames Ditton-based AC Cars in February 1948, LX820 took the form of a black two-door saloon; the voluptuous bodywork it wears today was nowhere to be seen. The first custodian was export merchant Knowles & Foster in East London, which sent it to Brazil shortly after delivery. There was a near-insatiable hunger for sporting vehicles in the Americas post-war and, like many other British firms, the outfit made good money catering to these desires.
After a few years spent driving the streets of Sao Paulo, the car’s saloon body was removed and this comely open two-seater was fashioned by a mysterious Brazilian fabricator for its equally mysterious first owner. Whoever they were, their vision and level of skill was tremendously high and the end result is breathtaking. Drawing stylistic influence from the AC Ace and period Ferrari Barchettas (hence its adopted name) is one thing, but achieving a result as effective and unique as this – in a back-street garage in early Fifties São Paulo – is an astonishing achievement.
Yet there’s precious little time to take in the work of this long-gone fabrication genius – I deactivate a (clearly) non-standard immobiliser and bring the 2.0-litre AC six-cylinder engine to life via its discreet little starter button. It’s obvious that since emerging from its latest round of restoration, the character of this AC has evolved in a much more user-friendly direction. It even has discreetly hidden, heated seat elements. Understandably this will jar some purists – yet this car has seen continuous tweaks from just a few short years after it left the factory right up to the present day, so it seems fitting.
Settling into a mildly awkward position having secured the harnesses, I attempt to find first on the long-throw, four-speed pattern to my right. It’s a long way to the left and up and as I secure it and pick my moment to join traffic, right away my senses are bombarded. Building a few revs – but respectful of the freshly rebuilt engine – there’s a lurch as the upgraded racing clutch takes up drive. The engine nearly stalls but I recover in time and an instant later I hear a steadily increasing clockwork-like ticking sound. As its paces increases with road speed, I realise it’s the drive for the speedo. Its needle climbs steadily from its stop as I bask in the charm of this original and attractive AC instrument. It’s one of the few survivors from this car’s saloon ancestry.
One of the other remnants from its more staid origins is the engine, the same one fitted by the factory. A rarely-sung hero of
automotive design, this alloy cylinder block, wet-lined, overheadcamshaft engine was designed by John Weller back in 1919. At that point, and for much of its production life, it remained ahead of the curve thanks to steady evolution, serving its creators well until it was eventually discontinued in 1963 with the demise of the four-seater Greyhound and transformation of the six-cylinder Ace into the V8-powered Cobra. A little throttle sees this AC pick-up keenly, just off idle. There’s a fabulous accompanying whine from the gearbox and rear axle that instantly places me in period.
In short order I find my right arm once again having to transcribe a long line (down this time) to feel for the reassuring clunk of second gear slotting home. Shifting on the move proves to be much smoother, both clutch and transmission eager to find a higher ratio and get things moving. Gripping the vast steering wheel, I turn in with what transpires to be far too much gusto. The AC darts at the corner in a fashion more akin to contemporaries like the Austin-healey 100. Because of its saloon underpinnings, I misjudged this special – its worm-and-sector steering turns out to be an accurate, play-free delight.
Negotiating a long meandering set of open curves, I find I’m leaning slightly over the door, keeping an eye on each apex and judging the angle of the front wheel. That steering wheel, canted back and up – another tall-body saloon legacy – combines with a low-slung seating position to make visibility tricky. At an aboveaverage 6ft 2in I’m also placed above the tiny fly screen that might scream race-car, but without any face protection, it’s enough to provoke a scream from this driver. Where did I put my goggles?
‘This machine doesn’t pander – it punishes sloppiness yet recognises precision’
Stretching my legs to operate the attractive bulkhead-mounted alloy pedals I find I have to balance dancing over these with hauling through that long-travel gear pattern. It’s becoming quite the workout. Add keeping an eye on engine speed and rev-matching on downshifts through the synchromesh-free gearbox and it’s safe to say I’m keeping busy. Grabbing a breath in between all these spinning plates, I comprehend with a grin how integral to the process of driving this unorthodox two-seater I really am. This isn’t a machine that panders; it punishes sloppiness yet recognises precision and getting it right proves enormously rewarding.
However, increased confidence – and therefore speed – means more speed to lose as those curves approach. The stoppers have been upgraded with a servo, powering a Wilwood aftermarket setup. Their braided steel lines result in a solid-feeling pedal, but there’s still some fine-tuning to be done to the balance of the quad drums. An exploratory press sees the wheel tug to the right, dragging me towards the road’s midline. Pounding a few cat’s eyes, feeling every impact through the base of my seat, I quickly learn my lesson. I’ll steer into the brakes from now on…
The chassis is of a simple ladder type with suspension via semielliptic leaf springs front and rear. The springing is pretty stiff and the travel fairly limited, though the hydraulic Woodhead-monroe dampers (a first for AC) do a fine job of ironing out any oscillations. As I push harder the car seems perfectly happy to back me up with confidence-inspiring grip and surprisingly taught body control.
Holding second gear that little bit longer, a crisp and intoxicating roar begins to emerge from the tip of the straight-pipe
stainless-steel exhaust. It’s a soundtrack that evokes daydreams of flickering Pathé news clips of gentleman racers going wheel-towheel. Not too far-fetched, as it turns out – a photograph on the internet, dated December 1955, seemingly shows it crossing the start line at Interlagos, three abreast with two cigar-shaped Formula cars.
It’s easy to envisage, having experienced the road manners of this AC – the incisive steering, stiff springing and surprisingly high levels of grip would have made it quite the contender around that southern Brazilian circuit. Especially because the rebuilt engine now develops around 90bhp, up from the 74bhp it left the factory with. That sonorous and torquey old six doesn’t have to work too hard either. The original AC 2-Litre Saloon weighed around 1300kg, so this chopped-down, aluminium-bodied special must barely nudge a ton. The result is effectively brisk performance.
At some point in the Fifties the car’s first owner stopped racing it and a decade later, this unique slice of Anglo-brazilian motoring passed into the hands of the Marx family. A well-known Sao Paulo dynasty, over three generations the Marxes amassed a 500-strong collection. It was here that we assume our AC Barchetta remained for more than three decades, quietly resting in a corner of the family’s vast storage warehouse.
As I begin to bask in the heady glory of the wind-in-the-face, hot oil and unburntfuel motoring experience that epitomises this AC special, I start to wonder how this old racer could have fallen on such hard times. As with all the very best interactions between man and machine, LX820 has a character all of its own. It’s full of nuance and physicality that makes driving it real theatre. I can’t imagine anyone tiring of it. Heed its subtle signals and learn its manners and you’re rewarded with an invigorating, evocative and still surprisingly capable sporting experience. Despite all its charms, this unique car was reduced to a wreck by the time it resurfaced in Classic Cars in the late Nineties.
That photo, in which it lay in the grounds of a graveyard among other abandoned cars pulled from the streets of Sao Paulo and Rio De Janeiro, was to catalyse the car’s eventual return to glory. By 2002 it had been rescued and returned to road-worthy condition; several years later it was repatriated for the first time in more than 60 years. Back in the UK in the custody of its current owner, who began to piece the car’s history together with the assistance of the AC Owners’ Club, it was consigned to the care of ASR Motor Body Engineering near Wellingborough in 2011. As is so often the way with these things, an initial inspection and quote for minor cosmetic work snowballed into much-needed restoration work.
Seeing it gleaming, resplendent in the late-afternoon sun, my magical day with this special car nears a close. This AC isn’t perfect, it needs you to give as much as you receive. Though the sense of achievement that comes from a perfectly judged, rev-matched down-shift, or an apex clipped with millimetric accuracy is all the reward needed. With the last glimmer of daylight remaining, I can’t help but give those bends one last go. Descending through them in the golden light, Sibson doubles as the ‘S do Senna’ and Curva do Sol and Cambridgshire melts away as I’m transported back to Fifties Interlagos, where this car’s spirit will forever remain.