Arfons vs. Breedlove: The Bonneville Speed War

Art Had a Jet Engine and Very Few Reservations

Breedlove’s Spirit of America looked like a proper record car. It was sleek, purposeful and shaped by the sort of people who understood aerodynamics well enough to own slide rules without using them as straightedges.

Art Arfons came from Akron, Ohio. His Green Monster looked like somebody had found a military jet engine and decided the wasteful part was everything the government had originally attached to it.

That was pretty close.

Arfons bought a surplus General Electric J79 turbojet, the same basic sort of engine used in an F-104 Starfighter, for about $600. General Electric was not eager to help some fellow in Ohio stuff one into a homemade land-speed car, so Art did what fellows like Art do when the factory says no.

He rebuilt it himself.

Then he constructed enough car around the thing to provide wheels, steering and a place to sit while a military jet engine tried to shove the whole arrangement toward the horizon. There are people who worry about installing the correct spark plugs. Art was sitting a few feet from an engine designed to propel a fighter plane.

Bonneville used to attract that sort of fellow.

Everybody Wanted Craig’s Record

By October 1964, Breedlove’s 407-mph record had attracted company. Tom Green, driving Walt Arfons’s Wingfoot Express, raised the mark to 413.20 mph.

Three days later Art Arfons climbed into the Green Monster and ran 434.02 mph. Just like that, Craig Breedlove was no longer the fastest man on earth.

Art got to enjoy his new title for about a week.

That was going to be the problem with this whole business. Nobody was merely trying to break a record anymore. These fellows were watching each other, and every new record arrived with an invisible note attached:

Beat that.

Craig Answered With Five Hundred

Breedlove came back with Spirit of America and did not fool around trying to edge past Art by two or three miles per hour. His next two-way average was 526.28 mph.

Five hundred.

The first man through 500 mph had just jumped Art’s record by more than ninety miles per hour. That should have been enough excitement for one afternoon, but Spirit of America still had to stop.

Then the parachutes failed.

Breedlove was moving at several hundred miles per hour with the useful portion of Bonneville rapidly disappearing. The car went through telephone poles, sailed over an embankment and finally ended nose-first in a saltwater pond.

Craig climbed out alive. Spirit of America had developed some serious cosmetic issues, but the clocks had already recorded 526.28 mph.

So the official results were simple enough: world record, first man through 500, race car in a pond.

Land-speed racing has always used a generous definition of a good day.

Art Still Had More Throttle

Twelve days later, Arfons was back. The Green Monster had more power available than Art had used during his previous record run, which left him with the sort of decision most of us are fortunate enough never to face.

He could leave well enough alone.

Or he could push the throttle farther open on a homemade jet car.

Art chose 536.71 mph.

The record went back to Akron, and the 1964 season ended with Arfons holding the world land-speed record while Breedlove owned a damaged machine that had recently tried to become a boat.

A normal person might have taken the opportunity to reconsider the entire operation.

Breedlove built another car.

Now Both of Them Had J79s

The new Spirit of America Sonic I was bigger, enclosed, four-wheeled and powered by a General Electric J79. Craig had returned with the same basic family of jet engine Art was using, because evidently this disagreement had progressed beyond anything likely to be settled with ordinary automotive equipment.

By November 1965, both men were back at Bonneville. Breedlove went first and raised the record to 555.485 mph.

At this point the pattern was getting a little ridiculous. Craig went faster, so Art needed to go faster. Art went faster, so Craig needed to come back. There was no championship finale where somebody waved a flag and told everyone the season was finished.

You were the fastest man alive until the other fellow decided you weren’t.

Art finally walked over to Craig and asked a question that should probably have been printed on the entry form.

Are We Going to Keep This Up Until Somebody Gets Killed?

Arfons wanted to know exactly where the rivalry was headed. Craig would break Art’s record. Art would come back. Craig would return after that. The cars were getting faster, the numbers were getting larger and neither fellow showed much interest in being the one who quit first.

Were they going to keep doing this until one of them got killed?

Breedlove considered it. Yes, that seemed to be what they were doing.

Art was satisfied. He just wanted the rules of the game properly understood.

There are rivalries where two golfers agree to buy the loser dinner. These two had reached an understanding that involved jet engines, Bonneville and the possibility that eventually one of them might not come back.

Five days after Breedlove’s 555.485-mph run, Art strapped himself into the Green Monster again.

Art Broke the Record While the Car Tried to Break Itself

During Arfons’s November 7 attempt, a rear tire failed. At ordinary speed, a flat means getting the jack out of the trunk. At more than 500 mph, the jack can wait.

The Green Monster was damaged. Smoke filled the cockpit and Art was having trouble seeing, which is inconvenient when the scenery is passing at nearly ten miles every minute.

He punched out the canopy and fought the car to a stop.

Then somebody checked the clocks.

576.553 mph.

Art Arfons had become the fastest man on earth while the Green Monster was trying to scatter itself across the salt.

That may not be the preferred procedure, but the record book only wanted the numbers.

The problem was that Art’s car had finally absorbed enough punishment to prevent an immediate return engagement. Craig still had a functioning Sonic I.

And Art had left one very tempting number sitting in front of him.

Six Hundred Was Too Close to Ignore

The record stood at 576 mph. A cautious fellow might aim for 577, take the title and head for breakfast.

Craig Breedlove wanted 600.

On November 15, Sonic I rolled onto the salt. Breedlove’s first timed pass averaged a little over 593 mph. That was already fast enough to threaten Arfons’s record, but it left Craig seven miles per hour short of the number he had come to collect.

Imagine running 593 mph and being disappointed because the car was too slow.

That tells you everything necessary about where this contest had gone.

Breedlove turned Sonic I around and made the return run. This time he went through the measured mile at 608.201 mph.

The two-way average was 600.601.

Six hundred miles per hour.

On tires.

Across salt.

With a man sitting inside.

For the first time in history, somebody had officially averaged more than 600 mph across the ground.

This time Art did not have a healthy Green Monster waiting to answer. The record finally got to sit still for a while.

They Finally Ran Out of Somebody Else’s Record

In barely more than two years, Craig Breedlove became the first man through 400, 500 and 600 mph. That alone would have made him one of the giants of land-speed racing.

But the better story is what happened between 400 and 600.

For thirteen months, Craig Breedlove and Art Arfons treated the world land-speed record like two neighbors arguing over whose lawn mower was faster. The only difference was that nobody had surplus fighter-plane engines strapped to a lawn mower.

Art took the record from Craig. Craig took it back. Art answered. Craig built another car. Art answered again and nearly dismantled the Green Monster while doing it. Then Craig finally put 600 on the board.

Every one of those numbers required another trip onto the salt and another run at speeds where a failed tire, parachute or steering component could turn a record attempt into something nobody wanted to remember.

They both knew it. Art even asked Craig whether they planned to continue until one of them got killed.

Then they kept going.

That is the part a record book cannot explain. The book gives you 434.02, 526.28, 536.71, 555.485, 576.553 and 600.601. Nice neat numbers in nice neat columns.

The Geezer translation is simpler.

One fellow went faster.

The other fellow couldn’t stand it.

Then they found another hundred and sixty miles per hour.