Some people struggle with drugs, alcohol, or gambling. Me? Well, I think the first step is admitting that I have a problem with cars. More specifically, project cars.
You know what I'm talking about. You’re at a party, and someone passes around an AutoTrader ad for some questionable chariot that’s well within your budget. You tell yourself you’ll just take a quick peek. No harm in that, right?
Next thing you know, you’re scrolling through Facebook Marketplace and Craigslist, hunting for your next fix. All of a sudden, you’re sending late-night messages, walking dealer lots, jonesing for that next 4-wheeled diamond-in-the-rough to park in your garage. You've got the itch, and there's only one way to scratch it.
That’s how I found myself on Marketplace in 2023—scrolling aimlessly, searching for that elusive gem to fill the void. And then, there it was. A less-than-pristine 2008 BMW 128i at a price I just couldn’t ignore.
Later that evening, I drove two hours north, hoping to cure what ails me, only to find out why the price was so low. This car was in rough shape. It seemed to redefine abuse and neglect, littered with problems galore.
The dashboard was lit up like a Christmas tree. There was a CEL for the DMTL pump, airbag and seatbelt lights, TPMS errors, warnings about various light bulbs being out, moonroof issues, and the gas gauge that wouldn’t read past about 1/4 tank. And that’s not even touching on the multitude of wide-ranging codes stored in the DME.
Inside, the car was trashed. We’re talking about long-since-expired food crumbs scattered around, wrappers, and miscellaneous trash everywhere. The car hadn’t seen a cleaning in God knows how long. Surprising, though, was that the seats and carpet showed no major damage, which suggested at least some previous owners had cared for the car at one point.
When we got around to test driving it, things didn’t get any better. There was a massive stutter at certain RPMs, a whistle from the door seals at certain speeds, and a pronounced whirring noise from the right-rear wheel or axle.
But the pièce de résistance was the car’s inability to drive in a straight line without constant, nerve-racking correction. Trying to drive it at freeway speeds felt like playing a game of Russian roulette with the Grim Reaper himself.
The owner of this rolling bucket of bolts was kind enough to share that the car had previously been involved in a rear-right side accident, even showing me photos of the carnage.
The good news was that whoever did the bodywork had actually done a pretty good job. Based on the type of damage, I suspect one of the previous owners managed to slide the rear end of the car into a wall, but without further details, I’m just speculating.
Fortunately, the owner had a lift in his shop and let me take a peek underneath the car before purchase. The frame rails were straight as an arrow, with no signs of being pulled. I later measured the rear subframe and found that all my measurements were square. The body itself had no rust or areas of concern to speak of. Despite the previous damage, abuse, and neglect, the chassis was actually in good shape.
Now, you might be asking yourself: why would a sane person ever buy such an absolute pile? Well, first off, I never claimed to be sane. Second, while there was a lot wrong with the car, there was also a lot right with it. It had a rare combination of a 6-speed manual, the factory Sport package, and an N52 engine. The transmission shifted perfectly, and none of the codes in the DME indicated any problems with the engine itself. The car also appeared to be stock, with the only modification being a set of rear adjustable toe arms, which led me to believe it had been lowered and later returned to stock.
While the list of issues was long, I could see the car’s potential. I pictured everything from a NASA TT5 time trials build to a fun street car that I could take up into the canyons during the summer. This car would be the perfect canvas to start with. While it wasn’t ideal, there was something appealing about a rougher car that gave me permission to have fun with it without worrying about every ding, scratch, or imperfection.
Before making the drive up north, the owner told me he couldn’t go below a certain selling price. After assessing how much of a project this was going to be, I politely offered him a sum lower than his "lowest price." We met in the middle, shook hands, and I spent the next couple of hours limping this rolling deathtrap back home. I’ve driven a lot of cars in a variety of precarious situations, but this was by far the most terrifying, white-knuckle driving experience of my life. The Grim Reaper was riding shotgun, staring at me the entire time. But with my wife following behind me, we managed to make it home well past sundown.
The car was home, but the real work was just beginning.
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