AllRacing

Blackbird 66 Mk.1: the racecar reimagined, by JR Hildebrand

The last time I spoke with him on the record, the Big Eagle said it best. “Take the wings off, and give them an engine that sings.”

It’s an idea that is both obvious and familiar, yet totally revolutionary in the modern age of motorsports, which is precisely why it deserves a moment of our undivided attention. Dan Gurney didn’t make this statement haphazardly; he knew he was going to be asked what he thought about the future of the sport and had ample time to prepare a response. Other titans of our sport have voiced similar points of view. This project is a provocation to give the reasons behind those comments their due breathing space, and to steer the conversation beyond a simple thought experiment.

Dan’s point of view didn’t come from a desire to return to the past. He fundamentally looked ahead – perhaps better than anyone else in the history of the sport. It came from going through it and, later in life, having the space to zoom out. It came from knowing that the motorsports of today is a completely different animal than in any previous era. It came from a recognition that, yes, motorsports – mainstream motorsports in particular – is about entertainment; that its success revolves around evocatively engaging a broad and captive audience and generating a compelling reason to dig in and continue to follow. The key distinction lies in what the word “entertainment” really means.

To Dan, and to me, as a racer, a fan, and someone who cares deeply that this thing we have such passion for has a deeper meaning into the future than the weekend results alone, entertainment is not simply about how close the finish is, or how many cars are on the lead lap.The ultimate entertainment comes from witnessing humanity.

When we can tell that we’re witnessing a person doing something remarkable; when we can distinguish the style of one individual from another while recognizing greatness in both; when we intuitively understand the human experience on display, it creates a magnetic attraction that cuts deep. No amount of data or analytics can give you this feeling; you must be able to connect with these things using the naked eye.

And behold, the car itself – not in how it looks sitting still, but in how it dynamically behaves – is how this primal humanness is communicated to the audience. Horsepower, motion and yaw reveal it. Downforce, in contrast, suppresses it, and while we’ve spent the last 20 years reducing power outputs to contain outright speed over a lap while the unstoppable hum of science, engineering, technology and design continues its relentless march toward refinement, it’s spread like a virus across the entire motorsports landscape.

Downforce is not only masking the essential humanness that anchors motorsports’ very reason for being, but in a wild twist of fate it’s actually holding it back from safely going faster.

Wingless wonder… Stripping downforce from the  Blackbird 66 Mk.1 – a lot of downforce – is central to the concept. All images: Patrick Faulwetter

So while I’ve got your attention, let’s dig a little deeper. And this design project is an excuse to do exactly that. I’ll put some data behind the what and the why, and hopefully inspire this conversation to continue beyond these pages alone.

Here’s a basic truth: the margin between how top-tier mainstream racecars currently perform and how fast they could be is at an all-time high. Save for, let’s say, Can-Am, Group B rally cars, and the early ’90s version of GTP – all regulated with such a degree of openness that the margin between what was actually on track and what was possible with no rulebook whatsoever was razor-thin – the gap between regulated performance and potential performance has always existed in racing as we know it. But that gap has grown. As noted above, most all of mainstream motorsports has been up against a particularly rigid artificial barrier from going faster for more than two decades on the grounds of safety, while the science and technology that dictates what could be happening continues to advance.

But that’s not what I’m interested in discussing. Instead, it’s what it means for how we can move forward, which is simply this: we have more options than ever, and they deserve to be explored.

In any given mainstream motorsports vehicle formula, there’s some combination of weight, size, general shape and dimensions, mechanical grip via chassis and tires, power output, and downforce and drag. But few, if any, of these sliders are maxed out. In fact, there’s so much room to play on so many of these sliders that even radical changes would have little to no impact on the difficulty or expense of design, engineering or operations. Consider even Formula 1 – undoubtedly the pinnacle of technology, engineering, and performance across the sport. How much more power would F1 cars generate if you just gave them all an extra liter of engine displacement to play with?

We just gave them 62.5 percent more engine displacement and it’s still only a 2.6-liter engine. Hundreds of extra horsepower, tomorrow, without any added technical difficulty and without any meaningful negative impact on performance in other areas.

I’m a believer in the idea that in order to really understand the domain of your problem, you must explore the extreme edges of it. I’m also a believer in the idea that if you’re to produce something truly compelling, it needs to be sufficiently radical. We know that motorsports has lost some of its primal magic due to an over-downforcification and refinement of the basic vehicle formulas we use. We know there are safety implications to exceeding a certain degree of outright speed, specifically on the grounds of containing high-speed crash energies. We know that there’s now ample room to move the vehicle formula sliders around in a variety of directions and magnitudes.

In the end, we must acknowledge that we’re not just guiding the same old ship; we are making a choice, and there’s a lot to choose from. How radical could you get while still producing something viable within modern constraints? This is the conversation I’m here to have, and the basis for the Mk.1 project you see here.

I want to know two things: how excessively evocative can we make the driving/viewing experience, and how fast can we go with a formula that’s built for that? The answer to both is very, and we shouldn’t shy away from that. Let’s use a very general comparison between the current IndyCar and the current F1 car as a basis for this discussion. At COTA in 2019, these two formulas produced lap times roughly 13 percent apart, so for the sake of the thought experiment, let’s first consider how we could bridge that gap as a means of understanding a few sensitivities.

On a road or street circuit, a 20 percent increase in power is worth something like a 2-2.5 percent increase in lap speed. A 10 percent increase in tire grip – softer or bigger tires – is worth something like 2-2.5 percent as well. A 10 percent reduction in weight also has roughly a 2-2.5 percent effect. So, from its pre-hybrid 2019 spec, make the IndyCar ~850hp, reduce its weight by ~200lbs and increase its tire size by 10 percent and you’re already halfway there.

Now let’s reduce the weight again, because a non-hybrid IndyCar that weighs 1,600lbs is not absurd at all. This was the DW12 chassis’ original weight. That’s another 2-2.5 percent. Add power, 2-2.5 percent. Then add some more. 2-2.5 percent. Yes, I’m talking four digits and then some for qualifying trim. Honda, Chevy, Cosworth, anybody could make this reality, they just need their hands untied. We’re now talking about something that, in all likelihood, is faster – possibly by a chunk – than a contemporary F1 car, without doing anything revolutionary.

That’s exciting, but still isn’t the point, because speed alone isn’t the goal. Speed alone has consequences that I don’t want. Have we achieved the most excessively evocative version of this make-believe vehicle? No, not yet. It’s got the juice, now for the squeeze.

Guess how much laptime you lose by reducing downforce by a full 20 percent? 1-1.5 percent, and that’s on the high end. This is so totally inconsequential to remove if we’re willing to move the other sliders even remotely.

“Take the wings off, and give them an engine that sings.”

Strip it all the way back. We must at least entertain a willingness to do so. I want to see something new and wild. I want to see human individuality, style and exceptionalism on display in the most in-your-face way. I want to feel that there’s fresh room to grow, with respect to both performance and relevance. I want to feel like we’re approaching the future with a sense that today is the beginning of what’s ahead, rather than part of the endgame.

There’s a racecar out there that should exist but doesn’t. All by itself, it can transform the sport. I’m not here to dictate an exact prescription, I’m here to suggest we should do the work required to figure out what that is. But let me share what one particularly radical version of this paradigm-shifting racecar is and why.

Blackbird 66 Mk.1 (left) compared for size with an NTT IndyCar Series car (center) and a current-spec, ground-effect Formula 1 car.

THE BLACKBIRD 66 Mk.1 is a manifestation of the idea that speed can be achieved in many ways, so why not do so in the way that most radically amplifies the man or woman in the cockpit? In the world of my own imagination, this car already exists. It’s designed with excess in mind at every opportunity, a wild stallion taking on the spirit of whichever outlaw dares to strap in and grab its reins, like any great racing machine should. It’s simple, light, analog, and devastatingly ferocious to drive.

In the future, this is a more generalized vehicle platform upon which teams, OEMs, builders and designers are given novel ways to layer their own unique attitude, character and way of doing things onto how this vehicle fundamentally behaves and performs. This is a vehicle platform designed not with the intent to showcase the smallest and most efficient powertrain possible; this one’s for enabling manufactures to build their own personal Greatest Engine of All Time. In prototype form, its twin-turbo, 3.5-liter V10 can be turned up to 1,250hp-plus for road or street course qualifying trim, with a requirement to function as low as 850hp should it be utilized in superspeedway oval racing.

Aside from the possibility of turning power down to, say, 850hp, the Blackbird 66 Mk.1 in superspeedway spec isn’t very different from its street/road course guise.

Small children run for mommy when it lights off in the garage area. Its renewably-fueled idle is vicious, like a Top Fuel hemi that just switched to nitro. It’s a little bit scary. Rolling down the pitlane it has an uncontrollable lurch like a bull stuck in its buckin’ chute. At low speed it may appear to have a certain elegance, but make no mistake, it’s ruthlessly angry underneath.

Inside its IndyCar-like FIA safety cell for maximum driver protection, it has no driving aids and only the most basic necessities on its artfully bespoke, intentionally simple steering wheel. This car is made for becoming one with the experience, not being distracted from it. Drivers use an exceptionally crisp and precise hand-crafted shifter that requires them to take their hand off the wheel to select gears. I want to see you at work

. Its software includes a shift-cut for upshifts, but is without auto-rev-matching for downshifts or over-rev protections. This vehicle is designed and built to create the most extraordinary driving experience a racing driver has ever had, but a foundational skill in simply operating the machine is required and its respect is earned.

Upon releasing the Pitlane Speed Control, the turbo V10 mercilessly rips to a 14,000rpm redline up through the gears with a violent roar that turns into an explosive scream as all hell breaks loose. The car’s 500mm-plus (20in.) rear tires can’t harness all the power all at once, but their sheer size and soft construction, made possible by such a massive reduction in vertical load demand from weight and downforce reduction, make it possible to dig in enough to give the car guided-missile exit velocity. It’s faster from 50 to 200mph than anything that doesn’t use staging lanes, all while laying rubber through fifth gear. Mark Donohue, wherever you are, we remember what you said.

At full-kill on track, its high-speed cornering minimums are slightly lower than its current counterparts and its peak deceleration energy is less, but you’d think it was the opposite from watching it. It enters braking zones still accelerating like a bat out of hell at 200mph-plus, then pitches and squirms all the way to the corner as lightning-crack V10 downshifts and anti-lag cackle create a sweet cacophony of chaos.

From the outside you’re holding your breath wondering whether it will ever get whoahed up, but in the cockpit it’s all just part of the dance. Through a slow corner the car is visibly nimble and compliant, instantaneously responding to every input, accepting of being provoked and manipulated into rotation and reaction. At high speed, its low downforce, lightweight, big-tired combination gives it a yaw spectrum to operate in that’s more akin to a non-winged sprint car than its current open-wheel counterparts – one in which the limit of grip is not an all-or-nothing cliff, but a rounded, gradual slope to be flirted with. Some drive in deep with understeer, some rotate and drive off the outside rear. Either way, you can get into trouble, gather it up, and lay in the throttle with commitment.

Those 20 inch rear tires can’t harness all the Blackbird 66 Mk.1’s power – but that’s the point…

A car like this ensures that courage, style and the fundamental difficulty of the task at hand will always be on display. A car like this makes it easier for cars to follow each other closely at any speed, making the one-on-one combat that defines racing’s greatest moments that much more likely and incredible. A car like this may also be the unexpected answer to unlocking outright speed, should we decide that’s important to us.

Safety is a function of crashing energy, and crashing energy is essentially a function of cornering speed. We keep that part of the equation in check with this formula and additionally give drivers a chance to bleed off more speed before hitting a wall with its greater reliance on tire grip. It’s not about any one of the parts, its about a holistic shift toward something that’s far more powerful than the sum of the individual parts.

The reasoning I’ve laid out here is not without a considerable amount of thought. But that said, that’s all it is, for now. My ultimate provocation here is, to all of you across the motorsports landscape, that exploring this kind of thinking more deeply deserves some dedicated time and resources to understand what is truly required to make it feasible. We’ve talked about it long enough.

Don’t you want to know?

It’s time to find out.

The Mk. 1 project is a collaboration between JR Hildebrand and concept designer Patrick Faulwetter, with influence and support from numerous members of the motorsports community who have added to and helped guide the process. To find out more about the Blackbird 66 Mk. 1, or to reach out and move the the conversation on, head to blackbird66.com.

Check out the Blackbird 66 Mk.1 in the new issue of RACER magazine, out this week. Whatever your motorsports and performance automotive passions are, you can choose how you enjoy the RACER experience with RACER magazine, the RACER+ App and RACER All Access. Whether you love flipping through pages or streaming exclusive features, we’ve got the perfect plan for you. CLICK HERE and subscribe now for the ultimate motorsports fan experience.