Long before racing circuits, luxury sedans, and million-dollar dealerships, there was one woman who quietly steered the Mercedes-Benz brand into the world’s imagination. Her name was Bertha Benz, and she was the first person to attempt a long-distance drive in a motorcar.

Bertha Ringer was born on 3 May 1849 in Pforzheim, in what was then the Grand Duchy of Baden. She was the third of nine children in a wealthy household. Her father, Karl Friedrich Ringer, made his fortune through carpentry and real estate speculation, while her much younger mother, Auguste, managed their bustling home.

As such, Bertha grew up surrounded by comfort and opportunity. She attended boarding school for a decade (an unusual privilege for girls at the time), where she developed a sharp mind and a keen curiosity about science and technology. Yet, like so many ambitious women of her time, her path was limited by law and custom. Universities were barred to her, and engineering was a closed door.

Still, Bertha was determined to be more than a housewife or a pretty society ornament. And while that determination was frowned upon at the time, it would later prove to be historic.

Enter Carl Benz

On a summer excursion in 1869, Bertha’s brother introduced her to a man named Carl Benz (his preferred spelling of Karl). He was five years older than her, penniless, and obsessed with machines. Bertha fell in love immediately. While Carl wasn’t smooth with words of love, he could talk endlessly about engines and mechanics. Where others saw a dreamer on the verge of failure, Bertha saw a man that she wanted to build things with.

In 1870, before they were married, Bertha invested part of her dowry into Carl’s struggling iron construction company. At that time, German law allowed an unmarried woman to make such decisions, but once married, she would lose that right. The investment kept Carl afloat and gave him room to pivot toward his true passion, which was building a “horseless carriage”.

When the two married in July 1872, they became more than husband and wife. They became co-inventors and business partners.

A dream in motion

The Benz’s early years were anything but easy. As their family grew, the couple lived under constant financial strain. In 1875, when Bertha was pregnant with their third child, debt collectors emptied their workshop overnight. Yet they persevered, and on New Year’s Eve in 1879, the breakthrough came when Carl and Bertha managed to get a two-stroke engine running. After years of tinkering, trial and humiliation, they were finally closer to realising Carl’s dream.

By December 1885, the first Patent-Motorwagen was complete – a three-wheeled contraption with a single-cylinder engine, spoked wheels, and a folding top. Carl secured a patent the following year for what would later be recognised as the world’s first automobile.

But there was a problem: nobody cared.

Carl Benz was an inventor, not a salesman, and his car looked fragile, noisy, and impractical. Wealthy Germans preferred their elegant carriages, pulled by reliable horses. Meanwhile, Gottlieb Daimler was emerging as a competitor with his own designs.

Carl was discouraged. Bertha, however, was not.

The forbidden journey

On 5 August 1888, 39-year-old Bertha quietly rolled the Model III Patent-Motorwagen out of their workshop in Mannheim. She set off at dawn without telling her husband, with only her two teenage sons, Richard and Eugen, to accompany her. Their destination was her mother’s home in Pforzheim, 106 kilometres away.

Officially, she was visiting family. Unofficially, she was staging the greatest marketing stunt of the century.

Up until that point, motorcars had only been tested in short loops, always close to workshops and with mechanics on hand. Bertha’s audacious idea was to prove the Motorwagen could handle a real journey through towns, over hills and across the countryside, and that it could be operated by anyone – even a woman (a big deal in those days).

Of course, the going wouldn’t be easy, but fortunately Bertha was a top class problem solver. Instead of a fuel tank, the Motorwagen had only a tiny carburettor with a 4.5-litre capacity. When it ran dry, Bertha stopped at a pharmacy in Wiesloch to purchase ligroin, a petroleum solvent. The apothecary that sold it to her unwittingly became the world’s first petrol station. When a fuel line clogged, Bertha unclogged it with her hat pin. When wiring needed insulation, she used her garter. A small-town blacksmith was enlisted to mend a broken chain, and when the wooden brakes wore thin, she persuaded a cobbler to nail on strips of leather, thereby creating the world’s first brake linings.

The car’s two gears weren’t enough for steep inclines. On hills, her sons had to get out and push. The engine’s cooling system demanded constant refills, so they collected water at every stop.

On top of all of that, the roads themselves were hostile. Designed for four-wheeled wagons, they rattled the Motorwagen’s narrow front wheel over stones and tufts of grass. With no road signs in place, Bertha navigated by memory and instinct. The trip was technically illegal, since she had no permit to test the vehicle, and incredibly dangerous.

And yet, after a full day’s journey, Bertha and her sons arrived safely in Pforzheim at dusk. She promptly sent her husband a telegram announcing their safe arrival. Days later, they drove the Motorwagen back to Mannheim, triumphant.

A turning point

The impact was immediate. Newspapers both local and international picked up the story, and crowds gathered wherever the Motorwagen appeared. Suddenly, people could imagine what this noisy, smelly machine might mean: a carriage that didn’t need horses, a vehicle that could carry families across distances, a new era of mobility.

Bertha’s field test also revealed a host of practical improvements. She had made detailed notes during her journey, and assessed that more gears, better brakes and more durable materials were required. Carl took Bertha’s suggestions seriously, and the car evolved. Most importantly, sales began.

Within a few years, Benz & Cie. was the world’s largest automobile company. By 1926, it merged with Daimler and Maybach to form Daimler-Benz, home of Mercedes-Benz. The global automotive industry owes much of its existence to Bertha and her daring drive.

Recognition at last

Carl Benz lived long enough to see the success of his invention. He died in 1929, during the Great Depression, just two years after the Daimler-Benz merger. In his memoirs, he credited his wife with saving not just his company, but his spirit:

“Only one person remained with me in the small ship of life when it seemed destined to sink. That was my wife. Bravely and resolutely she set the new sails of hope.”

Bertha herself lived to the ripe age of 95. On her birthday in 1944, she was named an Honorary Senator of the Technical University of Karlsruhe – the same university that had barred her from study as a young woman. She died just two days later, in her home in Ladenburg.

It took decades for the world to fully acknowledge her role. Carl was inducted into the Automotive Hall of Fame in 1974. Bertha followed only in 2016, 42 years later. But history has caught up. Today, the Bertha Benz Memorial Route traces her historic journey through Baden-Württemberg, celebrated by motorists retracing the path where the first long-distance drive once rattled over cobblestones.

Carl Benz may have built the car, but Bertha Benz put it on the map.

On that August morning in 1888, she did more than visit her mother. She proved that the automobile had a future. She marketed it, tested it and improved it, all in one audacious journey.

In honour of International Women’s Day in 2019, the Daimler company commissioned a truly excellent four-minute film dramatising portions of Bertha Benz’ 1888 journey. You can see it here: