It all started with my beloved Mercedes-Benz 190e 2.3. A classic beauty, but she was getting temperamental. Couldn’t even make it across town without sputtering and giving up. Portland is a pretty drivable city, but not when your vintage ride decides it’s had enough. So, like any responsible car owner, I did what you’re supposed to do: I took it to the “best” Mercedes repair shops Portland had to offer.
I’m not going to name names, but let’s just say my wallet got a whole lot lighter. Diagnostic labor, towing fees, and a mountain of new parts later, I was staring at a $1950 bill and a Mercedes that was still very much parked in my garage, stubbornly refusing to move. Frustration doesn’t even begin to cover it. I was starting to think my dream car was destined to become a permanent garage ornament.
Then, fate intervened in the most unexpected place: the liquor store. Chatting with a fellow patron, who happened to be a mechanic, turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to my ailing Benz. We bonded over our shared appreciation for a good drink and, as it turned out, classic cars. He mentioned he used to own the exact same model Mercedes. When I described my car’s symptoms, a lightbulb went off for him. “Fuel pressure regulator,” he declared with confidence. “I bet that’s your problem.”
Now, after all the expensive “expert” diagnoses, the solution was suddenly coming from a casual conversation at the liquor store? Skeptical, but desperate, I figured it was worth a shot. We hopped on Amazon right there and then and ordered a fuel pressure regulator. The part arrived quickly, and with a glimmer of hope, I managed to coax my car the eight blocks to his apartment. Eight blocks! Further than it had gone in months!
Leaving it with him for the weekend, I actually felt optimistic for the first time in ages. Maybe, just maybe, this was the fix. Then, my girlfriend, who lives near Troy Street, called. “Don’t come by for a couple of hours,” she said, sounding flustered. My mind immediately jumped to worst-case scenarios. Was she seeing someone else? “Why? What’s going on?” I asked, a knot forming in my stomach. “There are like, five trucks and ambulances and cop cars all over the neighborhood!” she exclaimed.
Later that evening, around 10 pm, my mechanic friend Troy called. He was crying. “Axel, I fixed your car!” he sobbed. “Then why are you crying?” I asked, completely bewildered. “After I installed the part, it ran great! I drove it around the block, twice! Then I came inside for lunch to tell my wife. I came out and heard sirens. Cops, firefighters everywhere. The engine caught fire, bro! The whole front of your car is burnt to the ground! Even the tires and interior are a melted mess of plastic, rubber, and ash!”
“I see,” was all I could manage to say. “I’m so, so sorry, bro. I don’t know how I can possibly repay you,” he wailed. “Sounds like a freak accident,” I tried to reassure him, though inside I was reeling. “I’ll give you my guitar and my bike,” he offered, still choked up. “Okay,” I agreed, numbly.
Then came the kicker. “One more thing,” Troy added hesitantly, “the shade tree I parked under? It caught fire too. The flames were like ten feet high!” “I see…” I repeated, the absurdity of the situation starting to sink in. “So, the apartment manager is furious and wants the smoldering remains of your car gone ASAP. Like, yesterday.” “Okay,” I said again, feeling strangely detached. “He’s talking about raising my rent because of the tree, but honestly, you’re lucky the fire didn’t spread to the whole row of trees.”
At this point, laughter was the only sane response. My car, finally fixed by a chance encounter and a cheap part, had spontaneously combusted and taken a tree with it. Talk about mixed blessings.
That’s when I remembered Joe at Old Car Parts. Old Car Parts in Portland. I gave him a call, explained my, uh, situation, and bless his heart, Joe came through. He hauled away the smoldering shell of my Mercedes, salvaged the rims, and even paid me $200 for the scrap. In a bizarre twist of fate, Joe from Old Car Parts Portland was the silver lining in this whole fiery mess.
Looking back, there’s a definite lesson here. Maybe I should have started with a fuel pressure regulator and a chat with a knowledgeable friend before dropping nearly two grand at fancy repair shops. Maybe I should have considered old car parts Portland sooner. Who knows, maybe finding used Mercedes Benz parts in Portland in the first place could have led me to the right, and cheaper, diagnosis faster.
In a way, I almost wish I had bought that fuel pressure regulator a year ago. It would have saved me $1950… and possibly a car. It’s definitely not a win-win, and I’m definitely riding a bike now. But hey, at least I have a good story, and I know who to call for old car parts in Portland next time – Joe is the man.
Copyright 2024 Axel Oberg
