My trusty (or so I thought) Mercedes-Benz 190e 2.3 decided one fine day that cross-town trips were simply out of the question. It sputtered, coughed, and generally refused to cooperate more than a few blocks from home. Portland, Oregon, is a great city for cars, but not so much for broken-down German sedans. So began my saga of expensive repairs at top-rated Mercedes shops around Portland.
I won’t bore you with the grim details, but let’s just say a lot of new parts were “thrown” at the problem, along with a hefty bill for diagnostic labor and towing fees. Around $1950 later, my beloved Benz was still sulking in my garage, refusing to budge reliably. Frustration levels were high.
Then, as fate would have it, I met a mechanic at the local liquor store. These are the kinds of Portland connections you just can’t put a price on! We struck up a conversation, bonded over shared car stories, and it turned out he used to own the very same model Mercedes. He listened to my tale of woe and, with the confidence of someone who’d been there, declared: “Fuel pressure regulator. Classic problem.”
Could it really be that simple? After all the fancy shops and expensive diagnostics? Skeptical but hopeful, we hopped on Amazon and ordered the part he recommended. To my astonishment, it arrived promptly, and even more astonishingly, my Mercedes actually started and ran well enough for me to drive it – albeit nervously – the eight blocks to his apartment. Baby steps, right?
I left the car with my mechanic friend for the weekend, crossing my fingers and toes. That afternoon, I got a call from my girlfriend who lived nearby. She sounded… odd. “Maybe hold off on coming over for a couple of hours,” she suggested. My mind immediately jumped to the worst-case scenario. Was there another guy? In Troy’s neighborhood? It seemed out of character, but still… “Why?” I asked, my voice betraying my suspicion. “Um, there are, like, five fire trucks, ambulances, and cop cars all over the street.”
Okay, definitely not another guy. But what on earth…?
The real story unfolded around 10 pm when I got a call from Troy. He was crying. “Axel,” he sobbed, “I fixed your car!” Relief washed over me, quickly followed by confusion. “Then why are you crying?” “Because,” he wailed, “after I put in the fuel pressure regulator, it ran like a dream! I drove it around the block twice! Then I came inside to tell my wife about my triumph and grab some lunch. And then… then I heard the sirens. The engine caught fire, Axel! Burnt to a crisp! The whole front of your car is gone! Melted plastic, rubber, ash… everything!”
Silence. What do you even say to that? “I… see,” I managed. “I am SO incredibly sorry, man. How can I possibly make this up to you?” Troy was clearly devastated. “Sounds like a freak accident,” I offered, trying to downplay the disaster, at least for his sake. “I’ll give you my guitar and my bike,” he pleaded, desperate to make amends. “Okay,” I agreed, feeling a strange mix of sympathy and disbelief.
Then came the next bombshell. “One more thing,” Troy mumbled, “the shade tree your car was parked under? It caught fire too. Flames were, like, ten feet high.” “I see,” I repeated, my vocabulary failing me. “So, the apartment manager is beyond furious. He wants the… remains… of your car gone. Yesterday. He’s talking ASAP.” “Okay,” I said again, numbly. “He’s also hinting my rent might go up because of the tree, but honestly, Axel, you’re lucky the whole row of trees didn’t go up.”
At this point, I needed a professional. And that’s when I remembered Joe at Old Car Parts Portland Oregon. I’d heard about them as a reliable place to get rid of junk cars and salvage what’s left. I called Joe, explained my unbelievably bizarre situation, and bless his heart, he came through. He arranged to haul away the smoldering shell of my Mercedes, salvaged the rims (a small victory!), and even paid me $200 for the scrap.
In a twisted way, I almost wished I had bought that fuel pressure regulator a year earlier. It would have saved me $1950 in wasted repairs. Although, arguably, it might have just led to a slightly earlier, equally dramatic, fiery demise. Not exactly a win-win, and I’m definitely a cyclist now.
Copyright 2024 Axel Oberg
05/27/2024 19:26:45
