"Motors smell differently"
A lively bunch of enthusiasts in the United States builds cars of the other
type: instead of lame ecomobiles they screw together high-speed vehicles and test
them at a completely unreasonable recreational activity, the drag race.
There is no escaping, the noise is everywhere. On the speedway every 30 seconds
two cars start, engines roaring, at the lineup behind the grandstands vehicles
sputter warming up.
Seasoned assistants sweep up pieces of metal and oil puddles some vehicles leave
behind on the course when they take off. Small heaps of burned rubber collect where
the drivers spin the wheels during burnouts in order to warm up the tires.
According to the rules, the goal of drag racing is to cover the quarter mile as quickly
as possible. Such drag competitions are a favorite type of recreation in the United
States, and bragging about horsepower and noise is an indispensable part of the ritual.
But on this weekend in May, the competitors at the outskirts of Denver (Colorado)
suspiciously size up the small crowd of racing enthusiasts whose vehicles roll almost
noiselessly through the camp of drivers: owners of electric cars that gathered at
Bandimere Speedway.
These electrovehiclists don't look like ecopacifists. For instance, Roderick Wilde,
50, had "Born to be Wilde" embroidered on his black beret. And on his T-shirt
we read, "We don't need no stinkin` pistons."
"Electric vehicles have been in the wrong hands for a long time," explains
John Wayland, 47, "they are usually driven by people who actually don't like
cars and who would never admit that driving can be fun."
Wayland pulls up at the start line with "White Zombie," a rather well-worn
Datsun. "I've always wanted a car that could blow away a Corvette," he
says. His electric motor puts out approximately 240 horsepower. Wayland's trademark
is his spectacular burnout. The enormous biting cloud of smoke from burned tires
never fails to elicit applause. "Of course I'm an environmentalist," Wayland
insists, "but must an electric car behave like a golf cart?"
Wayland has been active in the electric car scene since the eighties. He taught himself
anything he needed to know about electrical engineering. "I don't need a degree.
People with degrees have been telling me for years what we're doing here cannot be
done at all."
The high-voltage fanatic got his nickname "Plasma Boy" when he accidentally
dropped a copper bar on his battery pack. The short circuit ignited an arc that evaporated
the massive metal piece with a deafening bang into a glistening cloud of gas.
Next to this scene lovers of large-caliber gasoline engines strut their stuff: chrome
flashing Cadillacs and Corvettes whose souped-up race engines bulge like tumors from
openings in the hood, road cruisers disfigured beyond recognition by modifications
and additions, or packets of power reduced to engine and chassis whose exhaust pipes,
thick as an arm, roar directly from the cylinder head into the sky.
Nevertheless, electric cars are anything but tame. Unlike gasoline engines, electric
motors develop such a tremendous torque, especially at low RPM, that conventional
transmissions and drive shafts are brought to their knees.
This time it happens to a vehicle that seemed the most rugged of all, an electric
Land Rover. Only a few yards after the start, Bob Rickard has to stop his off-road
vehicle: the gears in the rear differential said goodbye with an awful crunching
noise.
Some manufacturers discovered that electric racing cars were ideal for experimentation;
thus the expensive batteries usually come from sponsors, providing them with an inexpensive
way of testing.
Wilde has filled up the entire trunk of his "Maniac Mazda," a red RX-7,
with unmarked black blocks - still secret prototypes from a battery manufacturer
who in the future intends to use these compact power packs for electric power tools.
Carefully Wilde pushes the last copper bars into the contacts making the energy storage
hot. Connected in series, these cells supply 216 volts, a peak current of
up to 2400 amps is supposed to pass through the metal bars.
Theoretically this provides a maximum of around 700 horsepower. "The front wheels
will lift off," boasts Wilde. After all, even with the old, much heavier batteries
he has covered the quarter mile in 12 seconds.
But then, a little later, there are long faces: a mere 13.9 seconds, less than 100
miles per hour top speed. "The motor doesn't get enough juice," grumbles
Wilde and stares helplessly under the hood at the cables as thick as a finger.
As a matter of principle, electric race cars are always driven at the limit. Hints
about Kostov motors are passed on secretly. These forklift motors from Bulgaria have
the reputation of being as primitive as they are sturdy. Race car drivers beef them
up with especially robust contacts and push between 200 and over 300 volts through
these machines actually designed for only 32 volts.
"10x" is the going shorthand for this kind of operation - tenfold overload.
Some have built in electronic protection switches to limit the maximum speed of the
motors. If, for instance, the drive shaft breaks and the motor suddenly runs without
load, within a split-second it would race up to several ten thousands of RPM, a process
that, according to the laws of centrifugal force, would end in a rain of shrapnel.
To tame the raw power of these e-motors is an art that only few master. Race car
controllers that regulate the flow of the current from the batteries according to
demand in either small or brutally strong doses are small masterpieces.
Otmar Ebenhoech, 32, developed the "Godzilla" controller. The device, the
size of a shoe box, chops the DC voltage of the battery into approximately 16,000
impulses per second. A microcomputer controls the pulse width and thus regulates
the speed of the attached motor. In the EV1, the most progressive electric car mass-produced
by General Motors, the controller is the size of a child's coffin, scoffs Ebenhoech.
"They just don't get it."
A high school dropout from Palo Alto and the son of Austrian immigrants, he developed
the Godzilla after studying the wimpy circuits used in industry. Whenever he got
stuck, he called his father, an electrical engineer. Some blown capacitors and burned-out
motors later, his ingenious construction of this water-cooled transistor armada was
finished.
For his rival Damon Crockett, it turns out to be a black Saturday: Not only one but
two of his "T-Rex" controllers are installed in the brand-new race car
from NetGain near Chicago. The pros had the body of the car custom made by the renowned
dragster specialist Spitzer.
According to "conservative estimates," two Kostov motors were supposed
to transmit around 900 horsepower to the wheels. During some fine tuning operations
on the eve of the race the first T-Rex bursts into flames.
When the race car starts with half its power, it stops after a few yards enveloped
in a cloud of smoke. Bill Dubé, the technical director of the National Electric
Drag Racing Association, NEDRA (www.nedra.com), sniffs like an expert. "Motors
smell differently," he comments. And indeed, it isn't the motor but the second
controller that has exploded. A thick layer of soot covers the electrical equipment.
The long-bearded Don Crabtree, 62, ("Father Time") remains unfazed. An
engineer from Seattle, his profession is to design huge saws that turn whole tree
trunks into boards within minutes. His true passion, however, is the electric motorcycle.
The "Dragon Parade" has strange outriggers reminiscent of a hydroplane's
skids - they house the 144-volt battery packs. "If I mount them a bit higher,
I could even make turns," says Crabtree.
At first try he bests his own world record in the class MT/E according to the NEDRA
regulations to 16.1 seconds and leaves the clearly stronger Kawashocki II in the
dust.
Meanwhile Bill Dubé sadly checks his "Killa-Cycle" motorcycle. It
bucks like an obstinate horse. Evidently some contacts of the 320 batteries got loose
in transport - intermittent connections. They are brand-new cells made by so-called
thin metal film technology. About the size of flashlight batteries, they are supposed
to supply 200 amps for a short time - ideal power packs for short races.
On first sight, such new devices seem to be pure playthings, yet in some ways these
ampere enthusiasts consider themselves pioneers of the everyday electric car. "The
big car manufacturers have turned electric cars into luxury items few can afford,"
explains Dubé, "we backyard mechanics show the big ones that it can be
done cheaper."
In fact, all designers face the same problem: batteries as energy storage take up
considerably more space and are heavier than gasoline. Basically we have a choice
between two compromises: either to build a car with shorter range that has to be
recharged every 50 to 60 miles or to extend the range with exotic electric storage
devices, costly lightweight chassis, and weak drive systems.
Industry decided to go the second route. Thus impressive prototypes that never reached
mass-production stage or hardly affordable prestige projects were developed.
General Motors, for example, doesn't even sell its futuristic EV1 with its price
tag of over $42K, they only offer a three-year lease. With its exorbitantly expensive
nickel metal hydride batteries and its aluminum body, it has a range of about 100
miles.
The hobbyists, on the other hand, convert mass-produced cars into vehicles with a
range of 50 miles that leave any gas guzzler in the dust when the light changes to
green. And that at a cost of a couple of thousand dollars. There's a lot happening
in this field, especially in California, where all kinds of cars, from cabriolet
to pick-up, are liberated of their combustion engines. Activists estimate that this
range suffices for 90 percent of everyday driving.
"If the automobile companies gave their customers the choice of either buying
a car with a range of around 60 miles at the current price of gasoline cars or paying
an additional $53K for sophisticated versions, it would be clear beyond the shadow
of a doubt where the real market is," says Dubé.
Above all, it is important to free the electric car from the intellectual baggage
of ecological rationality and to stir up the emotions of the horsepower fetishists
- as shown at the drag race at Denver.
Undisputed star of the scene is Dennis Berube, 46. His electric race car "Current
Eliminator III" is a purebred dragster with an extremely elongated body, small
wheels at its nose, and bulging big wheels directly behind the cockpit.
Since 1991 Berube has raced the quarter mile 3000 times. So far nobody has yet claimed
the $1000 prize advertised on the tail of the car for the first electric vehicle
that beats him.
"Every weekend I'm at some race," says the entrepreneur who runs a repair
service for industrial welding equipment. "I win half of the races against gas
guzzlers."
Somewhat diva-like Berube distances himself from the hobbyists who are busy with
last-minute preparations on their vehicles. With him, every move is routine. Charging
the batteries on the mobile generator takes exactly 15 minutes, then on to the race
track.
A microcomputer controls the acceleration sequence. Berube presses a switch on the
steering wheel. When the starting tree counts down, the electronics take over.
There exists no word in the racing vocabulary that describes the aggressive whirring
of the electric dragster shooting forward. A high voltage sewing machine might perhaps
sound like that. The arrow-like vehicle has no gearshift and accelerates smoothly
without interruption to the finish line.
The scoreboard shows 10.23 seconds and a top speed of 124 miles per hour - Berube
has again beaten his own world record by a few tenths of a second.
For a few minutes the drag racing fans are irritated by the silence on the race track.
Some have removed their ear plugs and listen with fascination to the eerie silence.
Then the traditional heavy racers are roaring at the start line and their world is
once again whole.
-- Jürgen Scriba
Captions
Electric race car "Current Eliminator III," driver Berube: Whirring
like a high voltage sewing machine
Designer Crabtree with his electric motorcycle: "We don't need no stinkin`
pistons"
"White Zombie" at the start line, drive system (with controller): Cloud
of burned rubber
Electric motorcycle "Killa-Cycle": Outrageous torque
Translated by Hannah Liebmann and Peter Zeller
Click here to download the original
German article with pictures in PDF format. 213K