I was driving to a conference in Santa Maria with Mike, a fellow shop teacher, in his old diesel Mercedes in 2004. He explained he had converted it to run on waste vegetable oil. Fascinated, I asked him to demonstrate. He smiled and simply flipped a little switch; we were now driving up Gaviota Pass powered by vegetable oil.
Mike explained most restaurants with fryers paid to have the used cooking oil hauled away. He collected it and ran his Mercedes on free fuel. With fuel prices climbing to an “astronomical” $2.27 a gallon, and supporting our two little kids on a teacher’s salary, I wanted a veggie car like his!
Finding the Veggie Mobile
I did some research. Rudolf Diesel unveiled his revolutionary engine at the 1900 Paris World’s Fair; he fueled it with peanut oil. Diesel envisioned farmers growing their own fuel. Using waste oil as fuel proved doubly renewable: The plant grows, oil is extracted, it’s used for cooking, filtered, used to fuel the car, and the resulting carbon dioxide is absorbed by the plants to start the cycle again.
I first bought a non-turbo diesel that proved to be about as fast as a tortoise. Merging onto a freeway was an act of faith. I learned how angry Californians can get when following a car belching French fry fumes at 45 mph.
It wasn’t long before I upgraded to a green 1984 turbo Mercedes wagon. Now I could keep pace with most traffic. Even better, with the rear seats folded flat I could haul things! “The Green Machine,” as we came to call it, became part truck, part surf-mobile, and part dependable, if imperfect, friend.
Fueling a Family
Collecting veggie fuel became a weekly ritual. I lowered a hose into restaurant oil bins, and thick, golden oil would slowly flow into five-gallon containers as I cranked a pump.
Even the car’s exhaust was unique. Sometimes, when parking, people would hungrily scan the area for a taco truck nearby. Their disappointment was palpable when I explained the “delicious” smell coming from my tailpipe.
Soon, my wife bravely agreed to purchase a second veggie wagon. As our kids started driving, they too became humble members of our veggie fleet.
Car Adventures
From driving home with a door stuck wide open, to a muffler falling off and dragging behind during a school drop-off, to running out of gas on the side of the freeway due to a broken fuel gauge, life with the veggie fleet was never dull.
Perhaps my most memorable experience occurred on a family road trip to Mexico. Halfway through, the engine shuddered — a sign of a clogged fuel filter. This meant the car had mere minutes before the engine stopped.
We sputtered off the highway and coasted into a luxury shopping plaza where Jaguars and Porsches gleamed. Well-dressed shoppers browsed boutiques. I popped the hood. My kids gathered tools and new filters with the speed of a pit crew. In short order, we drove off to our vacation with fresh fuel filters installed, laughing and feeling pride to drive a car that was ridiculous, embarrassing, yet refreshingly authentic.
We began to call these unpredictable breakdowns “car adventures.” Looking back on our time with the Green Machine, those moments taught our family patience, resilience, and the ability to find humor when facing adversity.
The Weight of Fuel
The endeavor of fueling our family also revealed a sobering reality of internal combustion cars. Every week, the kids and I hoisted heavy veggie oil containers, pouring the thick liquid into the ever-hungry cars.
Most drivers never think about the weight of what they burn in a week. They swipe a card, squeeze a nozzle, and drive away. We felt each gallon through our backs with the heft of the oil we would convert, mile by mile, into carbon dioxide exhaust. That weight changed our perspective. It stripped away illusions about fuel feeling abstract, and it made our contribution to climate change palpable.
A Farewell
Since that first veggie car in 2004, the world has shifted toward affordable renewables. I installed rooftop solar panels in 2020 — silently, reliably, and economically, they power our home.
Our kids departed for far-flung universities. My wife happily purchased a dependable, used EV — charged by our solar panels. I held out the longest, but finally gave into a newer EV.
Selling the wagon was hard. The car had character, flaws, and a sense of humor. It stitched itself into our family’s mythology. Yet now, when I plug my Bolt into the solar charger, I marvel at the silence and ease.
No noise, fumes, or roadside chaos. Just electrons harvested from the sun, flowing into a reliable battery.
Still, I miss the years of grease and filter swaps. I am forever grateful to the Green Machine for providing a tangible reminder of how we impact the planet and for teaching my family that they can make a difference through creativity and resilience.
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