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I apologize in advance for the quality (or lack thereof) of my photographs. I sold my camera to buy this fucking car.
Flashback - Summer, 2013.
Just broke up with my alcoholic/sociopath (ex)girlfriend, with whom I shared a room in an apartment. Rent was paid up, had to be out for the end of the month, and I was not about to spend another night anywhere near her. Easiest solution? Grab the keys to my C230 coupe (who whined louder than my ex) and go for a night drive.
Now, I'm a crafty fella. I've got a lot of pride, and I've worked hard for myself to reach where I am. I greatly dislike feeling as though I'm a burden on someone, so crashing on couches wasn't even on my mind. I had offers from family, friends, and coworkers for a place to stay, but I'm a goddamn adult. So I called Domino's instead.
Sitting in the parking lot of a building my family owns, inhaling that bacon pizza, I whipped out my top-of-the-line iPhone 4 and started cruising Craigslist. Lounging in my underwear in the backseat of my bastard coupe, I came across a 1984 190e 2.3 8v 5spd. about 30 minutes south of me. It was probably 2AM at this point, so I decided to open the luxurious pano-roof, and contact the seller the next morning. This car, at this building, is where I'd end up staying for the next few months.
Called the guy, shot the shit with him for about 30 minutes, and we immediately hit it off. He was an aircraft mechanic, and had owned the car for 8 years. He was the 3rd owner, and had taken it off the road the year prior for minor repairs. He was selling the car (listed for $1000 OBO) to fund his personal business, and appease his wife's wishes to, "get it out of the fucking driveway".
Later that Saturday, a buddy and I went to take a look at the car. Got there to find it wasn't running, wouldn't start, and the interior had been (mostly) disassembled. However, the body was pretty straight, and he said he had "some extra parts" that would go with it.
We negotiated quite a bit. I channeled what I learned from Hebrew School and got him down to a cool $two-fiddy if I could have it out of the driveway by dawn on Monday.
I made some calls, tracked down a trailer to tow with our dump truck, and embarked on an epic journey to the forgotten land of Springfield, Massachusetts.
Long story short, getting the car on the trailer was a bitch since it was inop, and didn't have a battery. And the winch on the trailer died. After two hours of loading and cramming every cubic inch of the interior/trunk with said "extra parts", we were good to go.
Getting the car off the trailer should be easier, right? Well, the steering column locked up in transit, and it came off slightly crooked, leaving a beached Benz on the ramps. Towed the bitch straight out with my coupe like a boss
.
And then, it sat. Yep. Just like that. For pretty much two years, I hardly touched it. Every once in a while I'd tinker with it, and had it sputtering on carb cleaner a few times, but never more effort than that. I'd found a place to live, but my job(s) had consumed my life. So naturally, I quit.
After having worked 50+ hour weeks with no consistent schedule for the last two years, I had no idea what to do.
I got sick of looking at the car on blocks, and the weather was getting nice, so I put my idle hands to work.
First, tore all the extra parts out of the car. Seriously, I thought I had two of EVERYTHING. Relays, window switches, antennae assemblies, center consoles, you name it. And an Eaton M90 blower?
After about two full days of solid work, I had the interior mostly buttoned up. Current state:
I had my doubts on the condition of the car, but the interior (aside from brittle trim pieces, no radio, a cracked dash and one broken visor) was largely complete and immaculate.
Called a buddy the next weekend, bribed him with blunts and beer, and convinced him to help me get the car running.
We narrowed down the issue to fuel delivery; replaced the pump (with a BNIB spare that came with the car
) and we had a sign of life. It was a coughing, wheezing, awful display of livelihood, but life nonetheless, until burping clouds of unspent, who-knows-how-old fuel and puttering out.
Upon a closer inspection/test romp, we found that the fuel pump relay was also shit. Tossed a new one in (also had a spare or 4) and it was idling smoothly. Exhaust was shot, cat was clogged to the point where eventually the car was spitting flames, so I cut it off right after the O2 sensor.
Next on the list was brakes. Previous owner had done the rear caliper/rotor conversion from a 400E, so I wanted to finish that with the parts provided. New pads/brackets/refurbed calipers/slide pins. Old rear vs. new front:
Finally, with the help of those awful universal AutoZone Special spacers to clear the calipers, the ol' bish was back on all fours.
Now, the clutch had been sitting on the floor for, well, years. Not entire sure how many, to be honest. I got bored one day, and decided to start fucking with the pedal and pumping the bejeezus out of it. MY FUCKERY WORKED. Regained (some) pressure behind the pedal. The car moved under it's own power. Obligatory first wash:
Then I tossed some plates on it and felt confident enough to rip around town in it. It was pretty loud, so we pieced together a half-assed exhaust for it and dumped it out right before the passenger rear wheel. Sound is much better, I'll post a clip if anyone expresses interest.
Oh, and I put most of the trim back on, too. As it sits currently:
Clutch pedal is apparently still very sleepy and wants nothing more than to stay on the floor like a touring band, so I ordered a new clutch master cylinder off eBay ($30ish shipped
) and received it last week. Progress updates may be few and far between, but I hope to have it registered and on the road within the upcoming month. I just moved to New Hampshire and the car is back in MA still.
TL;DR: Homeless man buys old Mercedes while living in newer Mercedes, stares at it for two years, and it's still not on the road.
Flashback - Summer, 2013.
Just broke up with my alcoholic/sociopath (ex)girlfriend, with whom I shared a room in an apartment. Rent was paid up, had to be out for the end of the month, and I was not about to spend another night anywhere near her. Easiest solution? Grab the keys to my C230 coupe (who whined louder than my ex) and go for a night drive.
Now, I'm a crafty fella. I've got a lot of pride, and I've worked hard for myself to reach where I am. I greatly dislike feeling as though I'm a burden on someone, so crashing on couches wasn't even on my mind. I had offers from family, friends, and coworkers for a place to stay, but I'm a goddamn adult. So I called Domino's instead.
Sitting in the parking lot of a building my family owns, inhaling that bacon pizza, I whipped out my top-of-the-line iPhone 4 and started cruising Craigslist. Lounging in my underwear in the backseat of my bastard coupe, I came across a 1984 190e 2.3 8v 5spd. about 30 minutes south of me. It was probably 2AM at this point, so I decided to open the luxurious pano-roof, and contact the seller the next morning. This car, at this building, is where I'd end up staying for the next few months.
Called the guy, shot the shit with him for about 30 minutes, and we immediately hit it off. He was an aircraft mechanic, and had owned the car for 8 years. He was the 3rd owner, and had taken it off the road the year prior for minor repairs. He was selling the car (listed for $1000 OBO) to fund his personal business, and appease his wife's wishes to, "get it out of the fucking driveway".
Later that Saturday, a buddy and I went to take a look at the car. Got there to find it wasn't running, wouldn't start, and the interior had been (mostly) disassembled. However, the body was pretty straight, and he said he had "some extra parts" that would go with it.
We negotiated quite a bit. I channeled what I learned from Hebrew School and got him down to a cool $two-fiddy if I could have it out of the driveway by dawn on Monday.
I made some calls, tracked down a trailer to tow with our dump truck, and embarked on an epic journey to the forgotten land of Springfield, Massachusetts.
Long story short, getting the car on the trailer was a bitch since it was inop, and didn't have a battery. And the winch on the trailer died. After two hours of loading and cramming every cubic inch of the interior/trunk with said "extra parts", we were good to go.
Getting the car off the trailer should be easier, right? Well, the steering column locked up in transit, and it came off slightly crooked, leaving a beached Benz on the ramps. Towed the bitch straight out with my coupe like a boss
.And then, it sat. Yep. Just like that. For pretty much two years, I hardly touched it. Every once in a while I'd tinker with it, and had it sputtering on carb cleaner a few times, but never more effort than that. I'd found a place to live, but my job(s) had consumed my life. So naturally, I quit.
After having worked 50+ hour weeks with no consistent schedule for the last two years, I had no idea what to do.
I got sick of looking at the car on blocks, and the weather was getting nice, so I put my idle hands to work.
First, tore all the extra parts out of the car. Seriously, I thought I had two of EVERYTHING. Relays, window switches, antennae assemblies, center consoles, you name it. And an Eaton M90 blower?
After about two full days of solid work, I had the interior mostly buttoned up. Current state:
I had my doubts on the condition of the car, but the interior (aside from brittle trim pieces, no radio, a cracked dash and one broken visor) was largely complete and immaculate.
Called a buddy the next weekend, bribed him with blunts and beer, and convinced him to help me get the car running.
We narrowed down the issue to fuel delivery; replaced the pump (with a BNIB spare that came with the car
) and we had a sign of life. It was a coughing, wheezing, awful display of livelihood, but life nonetheless, until burping clouds of unspent, who-knows-how-old fuel and puttering out.Upon a closer inspection/test romp, we found that the fuel pump relay was also shit. Tossed a new one in (also had a spare or 4) and it was idling smoothly. Exhaust was shot, cat was clogged to the point where eventually the car was spitting flames, so I cut it off right after the O2 sensor.
Next on the list was brakes. Previous owner had done the rear caliper/rotor conversion from a 400E, so I wanted to finish that with the parts provided. New pads/brackets/refurbed calipers/slide pins. Old rear vs. new front:
Finally, with the help of those awful universal AutoZone Special spacers to clear the calipers, the ol' bish was back on all fours.
Now, the clutch had been sitting on the floor for, well, years. Not entire sure how many, to be honest. I got bored one day, and decided to start fucking with the pedal and pumping the bejeezus out of it. MY FUCKERY WORKED. Regained (some) pressure behind the pedal. The car moved under it's own power. Obligatory first wash:
Then I tossed some plates on it and felt confident enough to rip around town in it. It was pretty loud, so we pieced together a half-assed exhaust for it and dumped it out right before the passenger rear wheel. Sound is much better, I'll post a clip if anyone expresses interest.
Oh, and I put most of the trim back on, too. As it sits currently:
Clutch pedal is apparently still very sleepy and wants nothing more than to stay on the floor like a touring band, so I ordered a new clutch master cylinder off eBay ($30ish shipped
) and received it last week. Progress updates may be few and far between, but I hope to have it registered and on the road within the upcoming month. I just moved to New Hampshire and the car is back in MA still.TL;DR: Homeless man buys old Mercedes while living in newer Mercedes, stares at it for two years, and it's still not on the road.
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