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Before I start this story, I feel like I should at least lay out what's going to happen here.
I bought this car with the idea of keeping it true to it's roots, a driver's car if you will. This will be a true "function" car, with some form. OEM+ is the name of the game.
Pending upgrades & repairs include, but are not limited to:
-Turner or H&R sway bars
-Transmission mount bushings
-Tune (Utilize the Dinan chip already there, or possibly a Turner/Comforti)
-Replacing the Reverse/5th gear shift bushings
-Cold air intake, or drop-in filter
-Euro header
-Cat-back exhaust
-OEM 3-spoke steering wheel
-A lot of paint work
So, after months of looking for another daily car to buy, and countless hours of scouring craigslist locally, I finally stopped searching for another car before winter. Depressing. Feel like Rudolf on Christmas.
Alas, what is this? A wild Apine White E36 M3 Sedan appears...
I think about it. For about 5 seconds. Then fire off an email to the owner of the car, stating I'm interested.
I get anxious that I don't hear back from him immediately because I'm a spaz.
Picked up the phone at EXACTLY 4:30pm and gave him a call, he wasn't there. Left him a message to call me back, or I kill his family.
He does. Says the car is still available, and I can look at it the next day (friday). Checked the Carfax, came back spotless, and showed a ton of record for services. Sex.
The night I'm supposed to go look at it, I have to stay an hour late to finish up test reports, lab reports, ect. Freaking the fuck out like the Hulk inside. I just want to go test drive the car.
FINALLY get out of work at 5:00, and haul ass to go look at it. I get there 10 minutes early and drive around the block like a creeper lol.
I get there, meet the guy. Super nice, middle-aged dude with a (living) family. Looked like Lt. Dangle from Reno 911.
He has ALL the records for the car, including those from the original owner. Hop in the car, go for a ride around Webster. Try to deter all women within a 5 mile radius to keep their panties on and not to breath heavily on the glass. 15 miles later, I'm fucking hooked.
We get down to brass tacks. We stare for an awkwardly long time. He goes high, I go low with cash. He sees my beard. I work my beard magic. He accepts my offer of cash money and we strike a deal. I pick it up at the break of dawn.
Go home. Go to bed. Can't sleep worth a shit because I'm shaking with excitement.
Get up the next morning. Literally show up at the bank as they're unlocking the doors. Took out a pile of cash from my Swiss bank account. Turn and leave like a person of high establishment. I don't think I touched the ground driving to the guy's house. Forked over enough cash to feed a small African village for a while. Get in, turn the key, and drive it home.
Halfway home, I realize that I didn't get on it hardly at all test driving it. So, I slip my peni... shifter into first gear, turn left under a light, and roll on the throttle to the floorboards.
Shit in pants.
Get it straight. Get the car home. Parked it next to the Prelude. Shed a manly tear.
And this is how this story starts.
Here she is in all her glory. Plans are to fix the minor surface rust before it gets worse, find anything that needs to be done and do it, and drive it. No cutting the car up, no serious fucking with it- I want to preserve it. Little things include drop-in K&N filter, re-flash the Dinan chip, and maybe a 5mm spacer up front.
Which means I'll probably cave in a week, and start buying more go-fast parts for it.
The car already has H&R springs, Bilstien struts, all new front and rear bushings, new brakes, all new cooling system, new-ish tires, a complete set of snows on Milli Miglia wheels, and a stack of paperwork so thick it would kill a small child if it fell on them.
Pics.
Next to my hooptie.
My fiance standing next to it, after she regained consciousness.
I bought this car with the idea of keeping it true to it's roots, a driver's car if you will. This will be a true "function" car, with some form. OEM+ is the name of the game.
Pending upgrades & repairs include, but are not limited to:
-Turner or H&R sway bars
-Transmission mount bushings
-Tune (Utilize the Dinan chip already there, or possibly a Turner/Comforti)
-Replacing the Reverse/5th gear shift bushings
-Cold air intake, or drop-in filter
-Euro header
-Cat-back exhaust
-OEM 3-spoke steering wheel
-A lot of paint work
So, after months of looking for another daily car to buy, and countless hours of scouring craigslist locally, I finally stopped searching for another car before winter. Depressing. Feel like Rudolf on Christmas.
Alas, what is this? A wild Apine White E36 M3 Sedan appears...
I think about it. For about 5 seconds. Then fire off an email to the owner of the car, stating I'm interested.
I get anxious that I don't hear back from him immediately because I'm a spaz.
Picked up the phone at EXACTLY 4:30pm and gave him a call, he wasn't there. Left him a message to call me back, or I kill his family.
He does. Says the car is still available, and I can look at it the next day (friday). Checked the Carfax, came back spotless, and showed a ton of record for services. Sex.
The night I'm supposed to go look at it, I have to stay an hour late to finish up test reports, lab reports, ect. Freaking the fuck out like the Hulk inside. I just want to go test drive the car.
FINALLY get out of work at 5:00, and haul ass to go look at it. I get there 10 minutes early and drive around the block like a creeper lol.
I get there, meet the guy. Super nice, middle-aged dude with a (living) family. Looked like Lt. Dangle from Reno 911.
He has ALL the records for the car, including those from the original owner. Hop in the car, go for a ride around Webster. Try to deter all women within a 5 mile radius to keep their panties on and not to breath heavily on the glass. 15 miles later, I'm fucking hooked.
We get down to brass tacks. We stare for an awkwardly long time. He goes high, I go low with cash. He sees my beard. I work my beard magic. He accepts my offer of cash money and we strike a deal. I pick it up at the break of dawn.
Go home. Go to bed. Can't sleep worth a shit because I'm shaking with excitement.
Get up the next morning. Literally show up at the bank as they're unlocking the doors. Took out a pile of cash from my Swiss bank account. Turn and leave like a person of high establishment. I don't think I touched the ground driving to the guy's house. Forked over enough cash to feed a small African village for a while. Get in, turn the key, and drive it home.
Halfway home, I realize that I didn't get on it hardly at all test driving it. So, I slip my peni... shifter into first gear, turn left under a light, and roll on the throttle to the floorboards.
Shit in pants.
Get it straight. Get the car home. Parked it next to the Prelude. Shed a manly tear.
And this is how this story starts.
Here she is in all her glory. Plans are to fix the minor surface rust before it gets worse, find anything that needs to be done and do it, and drive it. No cutting the car up, no serious fucking with it- I want to preserve it. Little things include drop-in K&N filter, re-flash the Dinan chip, and maybe a 5mm spacer up front.
Which means I'll probably cave in a week, and start buying more go-fast parts for it.
The car already has H&R springs, Bilstien struts, all new front and rear bushings, new brakes, all new cooling system, new-ish tires, a complete set of snows on Milli Miglia wheels, and a stack of paperwork so thick it would kill a small child if it fell on them.
Pics.
Next to my hooptie.
My fiance standing next to it, after she regained consciousness.
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