Break Of The
Edgecrusher
"The purist, non-conformist, jaded, subhuman terrorist..."
- Edgecrusher, Fear Factory
Make: Buick
Model: Electra Wagon
Year: 198?
Engine: 307 w/4bbl
The 1999 season was a season of change. I had purchased my first home, I took on a better job, things were generally looking up. We found the need for a second vehicle, so I bought a truck, complete with a towing package and I got my hands on an ancient super-lowboy car trailer that I rebuilt. So now I had the means to transport my vehicles around myself. I wasn't sure how the season would turn out as I had a majority of my resources tied up elsewhere. I was hoping to have more than one vehicle available to me, but with rebuilding of the trailer, various maintenance of equipment, it was impossible for me to pick up a more than one car.
I did have one car, however, a big Buick wagon. The story of this car actually started in 1998, just after the '98 season ended. My dad owns a vending route and has contacts with a couple of service stations and towing companies. Normally, I would never ask my dad to use his contacts for my entertainment because I don't want him owing anyone any favors, but one day in the end of August '98 he told me that one of the guys he does business with had this big old wagon that might be available. So I told him to use his best judgment. About a week later a flatbed shows up at my folks house with this hulking station wagon on it and the guy just drops it off and leaves. From what my dad told me, this car had been sitting at a service station for over a year. Apparently, the owner had brought it in to do a bunch of maintenance done to it and the garage did the work only to find out that the owner had committed suicide. So, I guess the title transferred over to them as payment for services rendered and the car sat in their lot for a year. Then, they decided to derby it themselves, but they were slow on the draw and started stripping the car, but stopped building it when they realized that they had missed Brockton. Honestly, they didn't try too hard. So the car now sat, half stripped, for about a month. From what I was told, the local authorities started giving them trouble over keeping the car on the lot, as it had been there over a year. So, enter my dad who told them that he had a son that did derbies and I would be more than happy to relieve him of his wagon. So they agreed to give the car for free and only charge me for the tow, which came to be around $40.
The wagon itself was probably the ugliest car I'd ever owned. It had peeling wood siding and the grey paint was just about faded to the sheet metal. The roof was very rotted, so much that in a lot of spots they had used some form of rubber compound to seal the holes. The car was solid where it counted though, with no bad rot on the frame and bumpers. They had already stripped all the glass out of it, so at least that was done. When I dropped my rusty trusty marine starter battery in it, it started up with no problems. Hell, it ran better than my dad's 1990 Caprice wagon. It had brand new brakes up front, new plugs and wires, and 4 brand spanking new tires.
As the '98 season had drawn to a close, it was decided that this big wagon would see action in 1999. The only two issues we had with car was a gas leak that mysteriously appeared one day from the tank (which looked horribly beaten)and where to store it. There was no place to store the car for the winter so I cleared out a berthing area in the woods beside my dad's house and we parked it there over the winter.
The only before picture. Believe me, the wagon that ugly that you didn't want to see it anyway. That is me behind the wheel and this was taken after I had transported the wagon to my garage in at the new house.
A few things happened over the winter and spring. I don't think a day went by that there wasn't a foot of snow or water or leaves in it. We also took to using the back of the car as a trash storage area and it really started to look as though the car was starting to sink. Also, I lost the keys. Apparently when we moved out of my folks house and into my own, they just took a walk. My dad's van also needed a good set of tires and it just happened that the wagon's new tires fit, so I was asked if he could have them. Of course he could, so long as he left me a set to use. So, he took the tires off the wagon and swapped them with the tires from his van. The only problem was that he left the wagon, now tireless, on the ground to sink even worse. To alleviate the lack of a key, I cracked the column with my wrecking bar and set the shifter to work without the car having to be on and the ignition to work with the key from my brother's Caddy from '98. My son and I had a swell time punching holes in the floor to drain the 1/2 foot of water on the floor. The worst part was trying to get the car out of the quagmire so we could slap some tires on her. The jack was sinking with the weight of the car on it. We finally dug holes to wedge the tires on that way. Finally we were able to get the car on it's own four wheels and we were able to start it up and move it out of the woods. It was like waking an ancient beast from it's long slumber. The car was having the hardest time staying running, which turned out to be an extremely clogged fuel filter. The car also sprung yet another fuel leak. The fuel problem with this car would haunt me all the way.
Transporting it home was a trip and a half. I have never driven a trailer before so I was kind of crappy at it. The car was just about too big for the trailer and we had to shoehorn it on. We also blew a tire pulling it onto the trailer which wasn't a good thing because it seriously threw the weight on the trailer off balance. The end result was a slow, hellish drive back to my home. To put icing on the cake, I had to park the truck, car, and trailer in front of my house as it was midnight and my driveway is far too short. The next morning a cop was at my front door yelling at me that his street wasn't a junkyard and I was to move the car/trailer or else. So, without wasting too much time, I swapped the bad tire off for a non-flat one and quickly move the car to my garage.
The car was actually rather easy to build. The fuel problem remained constant and everytime I thought I had it fixed it would come back to get me. The rear of the car was nice and high after it had lost all that excess junk. There was plenty of room under the hood for the engine, the car had serious promise. There were a few humorous moments in Edgecrusher's construction, namely when I was doing some painting on the front quarter and one of my sons was one the roof painting it and my youngest boy, Andy, was playing 'vroom vroom' (pretending he was driving the car). Now my driveway is at an angle down facing the street. My wife kept warning me that he shouldn't be there and that an accident is going to happen. Nonsense, I say. As I mentioned earlier, I had modified the gears to be shifted while there is no key in the ignition and take a wild guess what happened next. That's right, my little guy decided to drop the car into drive. The car wasn't running, but started to roll downhill nonetheless. It took every ounce of strength I had to keep it from rolling into the street. My sneakers were digging trenches in my driveway. My son on the roof scrambled quickly to the windshield area and quickly put it back into park.
On the day of the race, I had made sure that the car was running in tip top shape, but that seed of worry was implanted in the back of my mind.
Click to enlarge.
Edgecrusher sitting on the trailer on race day. She was a formidable looking beast.
Edgecrusher's business end.
Waiting to unload Edgecrusher at the track.
Your's truly about tp sign the car in.
Me pulling Edgecrusher up to the inspection line.
'Sup dad. The man's a genius.
There were a large amount of cars on race day. There was almost a demolition derby in the pit! There were supposed to be four heats, but in light of all the cars they added a fifth heat for which I was in. It was truly a good day. Morale was high, everyone was in a good mood. I talked with a lot of the guys in my heat and answered a lot of questions about the IDDA, whose URL I had written down one of Edgecrusher's considerable rear quarters. As well as getting to know my competition I scoped their cars out as well. The majority of the cars in my heat were of the smaller variety, cutlasses and what not. There was two other wagons there as well, a big Ford and a Chevy. Since we all drew the last heat, the majority of us, with our crews gathered by the track to spectate. The action was extreme and viscous, and it promised to be a roller coaster ride.
So when it was time to mount up, I was pleased. The car was running strong and steady. Success was just 15-20 minutes away. I pulled the car onto the line. The car behind me was in a Ford sedan it looked like. To me it looked like he was victim #1. Half way through the countdown the car stalled! I tried refiring it but it wouldn't turn back over! They were down to the last two numbers and I looked back again, the sweat of frustration really starting to pour from my brow. I moved the gear to neutral as the count ended. I figured to take one hell of a punch just sitting there, so I would roll with it rather than take it on the chin. The initial blow knocked me around a bit but my plan worked. Meanwhile, I kept trying to turn the car over and suddenly Edgecrusher roared to life! I immediately kicked into reverse and shot backwards, making a solid connection on somebody that got in the way. Shifting into drive, I then used my front end to good effect by slamming into a the business end of an old Dodge Diplomat. I took a nasty shot to the rear and that pushed into the Diplomat again, where his bumper got caught on mine.
It's almost night time, hence the dark picture. Edgecrusher is smack in the middle of the track.
I'm trying to mix it up the best I can.
The end came for Edgecrusher in short order. The Diplomat and myself were trying to break free of each other when my big wagon stalled for the last time. It just would not refire. The Dip tried valiantly to release himself, but his car was as doomed as mine, or even more so. I knew that he had his accelerator pushed to the floor, because I could hear it and was getting sprayed with dirt from his tires. I then heard this loud crunching sound and a bang and smoke started pouring from his car. The Dip died instantly. So, I was stuck wondering what exactly went wrong. The car was running in tip top shape and then it was running like junk or not running at all. The race around me was the most spectacular of the night and I, once again, had the best seat in the house. The guy in the Ford wagon was killing people. That car was dominating the whole heat. He didn't win though. In his parade of putting cars out of their misery, he parked his car on someone's roof and got stuck there. The eventual winner was a fellow Buick, in the form of a Riviera who knew how to survive.
They towed the car off the track and left it in line to be towed up to where the rest of the wrecks were. I think my wife was more pissed than I was. As soon as the car was taken off the track, she ran over to it and jumped through the window (an awesome sight to be sure!) and tried starting it. Would you believe that that rotten car fired up!!? Unbelievable! However, it didn't stay started for long as it stalled about half way to where the cars were to be, so we pushed it the rest of the way.
The car had received very little damage. The rear looked like it was starting to angle up, which made me happy. Mechanically it looked ok, but we couldn't get the thing to start. It was now time for a decision. Do we try again, or do we give up? I wasn't going to let Edgecrusher slip away that easily. The derbies were being run throughout the week, so the next morning, my wife and I would drive to Everetts (where the cars are brought after the derby, it's an insurance thing I think. There's a lot of pedestrians at the fair) and pick the car up and find out what was wrong.
This was a new experience for me to actually get to try to salvage a car. The next morning was a raining mess. The way Everetts coordinates the recovery is insane to say the least. Plus you have to have your acceptance letter and picture ID. They let only one guy in at a time to back there trailer in and a front end loader drops the car on the trailer. If you don't get there by 9am, you don't get to get your car back and it becomes the property of Everetts. So, when I got there, there was about ten or so trucks ahead of me, combined with the fact that it was raining, early, and most of these guys were post race sore. As you can imagine, everyone was in a grouchy mood. My wife dozed in the truck as I got to talk to some of the guys and swap stories. Apparently, everyone thought my big black wagon was 'the' big black wagon that was killing everyone. It was depressing to correct them, but I was not going to take some other guy's success away from him. We did get the car and brought it to my folks house. We had a week to get the car ready, as I intended on driving on the 11th with my brother Jim and his crazy little Regal.
My dad actually did the most work on the car. We tweaked with the carb and set the idle higher. We could find no evidence why the car inexplicably died. Our theory was that maybe the idle was too low, but we were reaching. We really didn't know what happened. But the car was now (again) running strong. In fact it was running stronger now than before, which gave me high hopes. The other damage to the car was merely a bunch of flesh wounds. The rest of the week I assisted my brother in prepping his car.
On the day of the race, Edgecrusher was running stronger than ever. A fresh recharge and she was ready to go. I drove my wagon up and went back to my folks and drove my brother's car up. Everything was going smooth, or so I thought.
Edgecrusher before the second race. This is the relatively undamaged side. That is my beautiful wife Tina standing next to the car. #40 in the background is my brother Jim's '86 Buick Regal.
Another view of Edgecrusher. You can see some of the dings that I acquired last week. The car was bending according to plan.
Brother Little Tim is the cockpit of Edgecrusher.
Another shot of Edgecrusher's Buisiness end.
The person taking the pictures loved the doodling that I put on the car.
My wife's favorite saying.
Once again, due to a large number of cars they created a 5th heat which I again drew. They lumped all the big cars into this heat. The scary Ford was back. Also there was a mint '74 Impala. We never see these cars and as it turned out it was hauled up here by a guy from Ohio, I guess to show us Northerners how it is done. He was a nice guy though. Also, the crazed little lady that almost killed me back in '97 was there driving another big Lincoln. We were being hailed as some of the best drivers and indeed some of the better drivers were present. The car stalled in the pit and wouldn't refire! I thought that t might have been out of gas, because regassing it was something that I had forgotting to do. So Tim, the brother-in-law, got some gas and refueled the old car. She refired right back up, so I must of been right. When the time came and went that we supposed to drive onto the track, I rounded the last corner to pull in and the car stalled again, before I could get it onto the track. It would not refire this time, so I had the nutty gal push me out of the way with her Lincoln. So I ended up sitting the heat out, feeling fit to be tied. I must admit, the frustration level came to it's pinnacle during that moment. The announcer also pointed that fact out kindly to the crowd. Also, I really started to believe that the car was haunted by it's former owner. The Howe brothers did really horrible that night with my brother being DQ'd for attempted murder (see Jim's Dedication Page ) and myself absolutely doing jack. I really wanted to be alone that night. I was mad and I needed some time off, so I gave the car to Jim (his was worse than dead) and I told him to take my entry money (I was owed a refund since I didn't compete) and if he can get the psychotic car to run than he's more than welcome to run it tommorow. The officials later tracked me down to find out if I was sandbagging my way out of the race because I didn't want to race against the big cars. I was mildly insulted, but I could see his point. I calmly told him that sandbaggers ought to be skinned alive and rolled in salt. I brought my car to put on a show, not for something to sit my duff on. I am one of their regulars so he didn't say anything more. Besides, he knew I was pissed. The only guy out there that did worse than me was the dude from Ohio with his big bad Impala. The first hit popped his distributor cap off and killed his engine. A 1200 mile round trip just to be taken in one hit. That had to have sucked.
I'll bet you're wondering if Jim ever got Edgecrusher running and did he win. No, Edgecrusher would never drive again. Something in the fuel system was hopelessly compromised. To make it worse, the big wagon's coolant hoses were all pinched. All of them. I guess somethings just weren't meant to be.
