3500 miles in this ?

Perry Pillard, accompanied by his lovely and tolerant wife Stephanie, ( still married even after the trip ! )  recently ( July 2002 ) completed a 3500 mile journey in the Diesel Chevette pictured below. Pulling a 600lb trailer !

Perry's story will be added later, when he recovers from the trip, and finishes his Story. Over 1500 miles of the trip was on vegetable oil that Perry hauls in a 25 gallon tank in the rear of the car. This car has been converted to run on used vegetable oil, or whatever else he decides to throw in there. Note that the paint has been peeling off due to the high velocities achieved by Perry using SVO !

Editors note:  The following is a compilation of excerpts that Perry Pillard wrote for the SVO Forum. It's a fabulous story written by a gifted writer about his trials and tribulations during a trip in his SVO Chevette to acquire a Diesel Chevy Suburban. It's a great read, and well worth the time to sit back and enjoy.

For more about the World of Greasel, go to the SVO Forum and click around. It's a fascinating topic, and worth a look.

The Saga.....

OK folks, time to take a stab at the road-trip documentary thing (yeah, following in the footsteps of the learned Peacenik!). I'll give you all the juice of my cross-country, veggie-burnin', quest for the diesel Suburban. I had good, and I had bad. The bad kept me from seeing most of the people I had planned on seeing. To you guys, I apologize for missing you, but circumstances wouldn't allow otherwise. As you will see later in this doc, not everything worked out the way it was supposed to. The good, however, made the entire trip worth while!

The plan was simple: I had found a good deal on a diesel Suburban, but it was all the way in Elkton, Maryland. That's a pretty good trek from Dallas, Texas (my home). I had looked into plane, train, and bus tickets up there, and my wife jokingly mentioned that I should take the 'vette. Within ten minutes I was convinced that this was a great idea! I would borrow my dad's tow-dolly, pull it all the way up there, and use it to tow the Chevette back home behind the newly acquired suburban. Simple, right? My wife, Steph, decided she had to go to, despite the prospect of traversing the country in a tiny, dilapidated Chevette with no A/C. She insisted that since we were gonna be only three hours from New York, then we might as well drive in and see the sights. It would be a grand adventure!

Day One: It was Friday, June 28. I bailed out of work early and rushed home. The wife and I had already deposited two of the kids with one set of grandparents, and we still had to drop off the other two with the other set. I still had lots of work to do to prep for the trip, as I was unexpectedly sick the previous day and that seriously cut into my prep time. I got home and started pumping oil into the mighty veggie 'vette. I filled the 12 gallon tank (I had to chuck my old 25-galloner due to rust inside it), and then 3, six-gallon cans, giving me a total of 30 gallons to take with me on the road. By my estimations, this should take me all the way to Virginia, where we planned to stay a night at my aunt and uncle's place. I started to load all the stuff my wife had packed. Wait a minute, here! This is just a tiny Chevette, and I have tools and filter equipment (in case I need to re-fuel on the road) to load still! Steph was well on the way to filling up our little transport! Granted, most of it seemed pretty necessary; sleeping bags, tent, food and the like. And she didn't take an overwhelming amount of clothes. All in all, I didn't see a lot of stuff I could trim out.

I thought about it long and hard, and decided to leave the filter equipment behind. I should have enough oil to make it the brunt of the trip, and when I ran out, it would only be another 200 miles till the suburban destination. I could drive on diesel that far. Mistake number one.

Once I was confident that all was prepped, Steph loaded the two remaining kids into the mini-van to take to my parents. I was gonna follow her there in the 'vette(we were to leave the van there and head off in the 'vette). Off we went, and in an hour, we were at my parent's house, and I was hooking the car dolly up to the 'vette's trailer hitch. I slapped the hitch in place, hooked up the chains and lights, and stood back to inspect the whole rig. Hmmmm, that damn dolly is almost twice as wide as the 'vette, and weighs 600 pounds to boot. I didn't think of that in my mileage estimations ....Mistake number two.

My dad and brother came over to investigate the stability of the mighty 'vette.
"She runnin' okay?" Dad inquired, somewhat dubiously I might add.
"Purrs like a kitten", I replied, with a proud smile.
"Pop the hood and fire 'er up", he looked speculative, like I was tryin' to sell him something he really didn't wanna buy, but was too polite to just walk away from. I eagerly slid into the driver's seat, yanked on the hood latch, slid the clutch down and hit the key. She popped right off, just like always. I had shut down on pure SVO, and the smell of french fries and free travel wafted over us. Dad hefted the hood up, and looked down at that Isuzu diesel, 20 years old and idling smooth as silk on recycled, restaurant leavings.
"She shore does sound good. You think it'll make the trip?"
"I don't have a doubt. But I did pack tools, just in case. She's got new tires, shocks, timing belt, alternator, alternator belt, oil, etc, etc, etc". Dad listened to the long list of restoration equipment on the 'vette.
"Got A/C?"
"Nope".
"That'll be fun".
"Yep".

Mom came out at this point. She reminded me that we had a perfectly functional '99 Ford Minivan, complete with front and rear A/C. Why couldn't we take that?
"That's not the point, mom. I want people to see that there are better ways to get down the road. I plan on tellin' everyone that I have to swap some words with about how this machine runs perfectly on free waste veggie," I waved at the big graphic on the back window that stated 'This diesel engine runs BEAUTIFULLY on Straight Vegetable Oil', "I wanna be able to say how I just cruised a thousand miles on veggie and how much cleaner for the environment it is. I think it'll be fun!". I thought I seemed pretty emphatic, and surely mom would be won over to my noble cause...
"It'd be more fun with A/C and a bit more room to stretch out in", mom returned, with a smile.
"That's what the Suburban's for", I replied.
They told me I was crazy, that I was always taking some ridiculous road trip for whatever excuse I could cook up, to be careful, and that they loved us. We love 'em back.

With all the goodbye's and be-careful's said, the children hugged and lectured about minding Gramma and Grandpa, Steph and I finally jumped into the mighty veggie 'vette, slid her into gear, and eased down the rock driveway, the tow-dolly bouncing and clattering behind us. This was it. We were officially 'off'. Into the big unknown. Regardless of how solid the Chevette seemed (and she did drive perfectly), I'd only owned it for a whopping two months. Regardless of how well it sounded (did I mention it sounded perfect?), it looked like it'd been run thru the ringer a few times. Somewhere in it's history, it had picked up a bullet hole in one of the rear doors. The light blue paint was badly faded and cracking in spots, with a nice rust film on the roof. The interior matched the exterior, with a cracked dash, a shredded drivers seat, and door panels that looked like they'd wintered directly on the surface of the sun. One of the headlight casings was cracked in half. I can't deny that the mighty veggie 'vette looks a little less than mighty.

But hey, she's a diamond in the rough! She doesn't leak or burn any oil. Idles perfectly, even better on veggie. I'd put a lot of work into this lovely lady, and she's ready for this trip!

It was 9:30 pm. We were hoping to put most of the southern heat behind us in the night. My parents live way out in the county, down bumpy, dirt, country roads. We had to take our time just to get to the main highway. Once there, I opened up the throttle and the 'vette slowly started the ascent to highway speed. It took a lot longer to do so with that tow-dolly back there. I could already tell that I was gonna regret not bringing the filter equipment. Oh, well, I still have a plenty of miles I can hammer out with the 30 gallons I have with me.

I had already determined that I wasn't gonna go any faster than 60 miles per hour. That's the prime speed for my diesel. Optimal operating range. 60 keeps the engine from working too hard. 60 yields the best fuel economy. 60. No prob. 60 it'll be. We got on I-30 and started heading east, towards Little Rock, Arkansas. The miles started rolling by (60 of 'em every hour, in fact). Texarkana got closer, and the engine was chugging merrily away, eatin' up that veggie like a starved dog. I couldn't help but marvel at the fact that we were tooling down the road on a clean, vegetable-based, fuel alternative. I mean, sure I'd been driving around town and the like for two months now on veggie, but I still haven't gotten used to the coolness of it. And taking a long road trip on it really slams it home. I was on cloud nine and three quarters.

But, I had to think of other things as well. I had recently installed an aftermarket temp gauge, and I was watching it like a hawk. I wasn't entirely sure how the 'vette would react to pullin' this 600 pound tow-dolly all over God's creation. The temp stayed locked on 190, tho, and after an hour or so of constant monitoring, I started to relax a bit. Texarkana slid past our open windows, and Little Rock loomed two hours ahead. Everyone else on the interstate was flying past us at 75 and 80 miles per, but we didn't care. We'll be able to do that kinda tom-foolery in the 'Burban.

At about three AM, we pulled into Little Rock. I drove all the way thru, and hit a gas station for a pee-break and fuel check. Steph went into the rest-room while I popped the hatchback and dug thru all the gear to the fuel tank. It was a quarter full. We'd burned up nine gallons to get this far. Hmmmm, the dolly was definitely chewing into our fuel economy. Damn. Nothing for it tho, might as well fuel up while I'm here. I dug out a fuel can and started pouring veggie into the tank. It was so obviously NOT diesel or gas I was pouring. I made sure I held the can far enough away from the tank mouth that people could see this weird stuff I was filling my tank with. I mean, how many people pull into a gas station, whip out their own gas cans, and proceed to pour brown, thick stuff into their obviously aftermarket tank? I thought for sure someone would come over and say "Dude, what're you doin'?". But, no one did. I sighed.

Steph came out as I was finishing up. We hopped back in and drove another half hour before finding a motel to stay in. It was 3:30 AM, I was bone tired, and it wasn't worth the effort to set up a campsite. We crashed hard on the motel bed, the sounds of the nearby interstate floating thru the walls to bounce harmlessly off of our oblivious ears.

Day Two...

The miles were tooling past us. We had gotten up that morning, jumped into the 'vette and were off again. I was still in amazement at how well the veggie was doin' on the road. My poor wife had to listen to me over and over again. The first twenty or thirty miles:
"I can't believe how much this beast loves the veggie!", I would exclaim.
"It sure does. I'll admit to being a bit hesitant about this whole SVO thing", she had laughed at me when I told her about it the first time, "But doin' somethin' like this is pretty convincing".

Another bundle of miles rolls by:
"Man, it's just incredible! Who'd a thunk it?!"
"Yep".

And a half an hour after that:
"It just never stops! Free, eco-friendly fuel!"
"Uh-huh".

I held out for another 40 miles, before:
"I mean, it's just so amazing to me that-"
"Would you shut up about it already!?", she grinned at me and poked me in the ribs playfully. "We're both amazed, okay?".
I looked over at her, grinning back. I knew she'd eventually tire of my SVO adoration.
"Hey, you need to put your seatbelt on. Ya know, the police now have 'seatbelt detectors'", I gave her a sidelong glance to see if she was falling for it. She looked dubious. I soldiered on.
"Yeah, they just point the little gun thing at you, squeeze the trigger, and it reports how many seatbelts in the car are clasped. Then they count how many people are in the car. If they see two people and there's only one seatbelt engaged, then-"
"What-ever!", Steph smacked me in the arm, laughing, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "Do you really think I'm that dumb? 'Seatbelt detectors', really...", she laughed some more. I was cold-busted.
"Well, it was worth a try, and I gotta laugh out of you" I laughed myself. Steph, nonetheless, put her seatbelt on. It's a habit we encourage.

And that's the way the brunt of the journey went; us cutting jokes, feeling the wind and heat pound us from the four open windows (460 A/C), chewing on home-made beef jerky, and drinking way too much soda. The interstate rolled under us, and Arkansas slowly turned into Tennessee. We drove thru Memphis, and declined to stop and see the King's home, despite Steph's protests. Sorry, but we'll sight-see in New York. We don't have forever on this trip.

850 miles into the trip, the engine started to bog down a bit. No prob, the racor is just full. I swung off the next exit, spied a Jiffy Lube, and steered the car in. It was time to stretch the legs anyway. We climbed out of the cramped confines of the Chevette. One of the JL attendants came walking up, a younger kid, probably in his late teens.
"What can we do for ya?", he asked, polite and jovial at the same time.
This was my chance! "I was wondering if I could borrow one of your air hoses for about 3 minutes. This car", he was gettin' the spiel whether he wanted it or not, "runs on recycled vegetable oil and I have to clean the in-line filter every 1000 miles or so". I carefully studied his face for that flicker of amazement that most people tried to cover. I had dropped similar lines at other places and had fantastic results. A few times I had even had people go into their buildings to get the rest of the crew to see the 'vette. I loved it. It's all about promoting a better way.

This cat, however, had no such interest.
"Sure man, it's right over there", he waved towards the shop. Disappointed, I grabbed my 1/2" wrench, popped the hood, and proceeded to extract the racor filter screen. Apparently, everyone around here used SVO converted vehicles. Racor screen in hand, I walked into their shop, located the air hose, and bent over a trash can to keep my oil off of their floor. As usual, the screen came clean without a hitch. After a couple of minutes of high-pressure blasting, I pronounced the screen clean, and walked out of the shop. Crouched in the shade of the building were several of the employees, one was the kid who directed me to the air hose. I nodded to them and thanked the kid for the use of the hose. One of the others hailed my attention.
"Does that Chevette really run on vegetable oil?" a wag asked.
"Yup. Like a top"' I smiled, sweat glistening on my bald head.
"Isn't it pretty expensive to fill it up at the grocery store?", He was clearly lookin' at me like I was completely crazy.
"Nope. I get my oil used from restaurants. They usually have to pay to dispose of it, so they're more than happy to give it to me".
"Free fuel? Dude, that is sweet!" All his buddies nodded in agreement. This was, indeed, sweet.
"Yeah, and it's a lot cleaner for the air than petro-based diesel fuel," I plowed on, pushing the envelope of their attention spans. They did, after all, have only a short break and cigarettes to smoke. "And the veggie is actually better for the engine, too".
They were suitably amazed, but no so amazed that they asked for a peak under the hood, or maybe some links so they could learn a bit more about it. What did I expect? These were teenagers, with more important things on their mind than free fuel or cleaning up the environment. I wasn't gonna force anything on them. I just gave them enough to get them thinking (hopefully). So much for promoting.

Onward! While I was there, I poured the last of my veggie in the tank. Steph and I hit the road again. We chugged over Tennessee and finally slammed into the Smoky Mountains. These mountains were beautiful to look at, but hard on the 'vette, which clearly did not like toting the 600 pound car dolly up them. I watched my temp gauge start climbing from a cool 190 to a terrifying 215, downshifting to fourth, then third in an effort to find the best gear for climbing. I wasn't too sure about how hot this beast could run before damage was done, so I decided that if the temp reached 220, I would pull over and let her idle down to a more suitable temp. After several mountains, I started to relax a bit, as the temp never reached over 215, and always plummeted back down to 185-ish on the downhill side. I began to believe that this was normal for the 'vette under such load conditions.

That night, Steph and I camped in an RV park in some tiny country town off the interstate. The owner only showed a brief interest in the 'vette, but again not enough to warrant a look under the hood. What am I doing wrong? I think I would have more success showing off if the 'vette had a new paint job or was some nice new ride. Food for thought...

There was a back-woods lookin' bar and grill next to the RV park. Steph and I went over after a shower to score some dinner and maybe a beer. It was a local's hang out, and since there weren't many local's in this tiny town, the bar was less than packed. You had to press a buzzer to get thru the door, and the interior looked like a bar-fight waiting to happen. Everyone stopped what they were doing to look as Steph and I walked in. I felt like I oughta be fingering my low-slung six-shooter, but I didn't have one. All I had was some worn out shorts, some comfortable sandals, and an old t-shirt. Hardly the imposing figure. Not that I needed it. After a brief pause, they all went back to their business. We mosey'ed on over to the bar, where a polite, if toothless and dirty, young man took our orders. Burgers, fries, beer. We watched as, after plying us with beer, he wandered over to the grill and proceeded to make our order from scratch. The french fries were even made from real potatoes!

Someone thumbed some Lynard Skynard out of the jukebox, and two older ladies started dancing around and shouting at no one in particular. I looked around uncertainly, fear in my eyes; I thought someone was gonna whip out a karaoke machine for sure...

The young man/cook/bartender brought our order to us and it was delicious. Obviously, he knew what he was doing. I inhaled mine, and ordered another beer. After Steph finished hers, we relaxed for a bit, finished our brews, and wandered back over to the RV park. It was time to turn in.

It was a long night, as the interstate was pretty loud, and it was muggy. The next day we would arrive at my aunt and uncle's house in Waynesboro, Virginia. We planned to take a short break there, and spend the night. So far, we were nearing the 1000 mile mark, and we had less than a half a tank of veggie left. I knew it wouldn't last much longer. Damnit, why didn't I bring the pre-filter gear? But, the Chevette had performed wonderfully so far and given me no indication that it would do otherwise for the rest of the trip. Even if it had to be on diesel.

Day's three and four...

Day Three: A couple of hours into the morning, the mighty 'veggie vette started coughing and hacking as it tried in vain to gulp down it's vegetarian diet. Well, hell, at least I made it over 1000 miles on veggie before my stock was depleted. With a great sigh (and a few curses), I reluctantly flipped the solenoid switch back to dino and resolved myself to finishing the trek to New York on fossil fuel. Bummer...big time. Talk about pulling the wind out of my sails...

The whole righteous feeling of SVO just leaves you when you have to flip back to dino. It's such a crappy feeling to look in my rear view mirror during heavy load (like hitting a big hill and trying to find that good climbing gear) and seeing that black smoke rolling from my tailpipe. I literally felt guilty that my emissions are so nasty. Conversely, when on veggie, with next to no emissions, I feel like I have a better way, that mine is better than everyone else's I see on the highway, and that everyone else should change over to my way. I know, it's not too realistic, but I'm telling you all this so maybe you'll understand just how much it sucked to run out of veggie. I imagine that you SVO guys can relate.

Around noon, we pulled into the driveway of my Aunt Priscilla and Uncle Dick's house, in Waynesboro, Virginia. They greeted us with open arms and took fantastic care of us. They were patient enough to listen to me rant and rave about how wonderful SVO is. Both are long time diesel fans, and while they don't presently own one, I think it likely that they'll convert the next one they buy. My aunt fixed us a huge lunch, and we spent the rest of the day catching up. That night, Steph and I climbed into their nice, huge, comfy guest bed and I was passed out before my head hit the pillow.

Day Four: 6:15 AM found us rolling out of my aunt's driveway and hitting the road again. Our tummies full of the fantastic breakfast and coffee Priscilla had made us, we made our way back to highway 81 to continue our northward trek to the suburban. Today, we would arrive at Hal's house, where the Suburban eagerly awaited our arrival.

I could hear the Suburban's mournful call, begging me to pick it up and convert it to grease. I just need a family, she said, someone I can take care of, a family who'll take care of me!. We were that family, and I was almost desperate to get to her. This would be the family Greasel car, and Steph would be driving it most of the time. It seats 7 comfortably (we are a family of 6), 9 snugly. It's a 1988, 6.2 liter, 3/4 ton to haul all the loads that we somehow seem to generate. She's four-wheel-drive for those way out there camping trips that we're prone to take. All in all, she's cut out for us to do anything we might need for family, work, and fun. With the acquisition of this 'Burban, we'll be able to get rid of the minivan, which we're still making payments on. And between the van payment, the full-coverage insurance, and the fuel bill (all of which will disappear, as the 'Burban is paid in full, we'll need only liability insurance, and it's fuel is free), we'll be saving almost 600 US smackers a month. To me, that's a lot, and a major dent in our outgoing finances.

All this rolled over and over thru my mind, just like the land we were rolling over, the same gorgeous hills and scenery flowing past us, again and again. The same gorgeous thoughts rolled thru my head, again and again, showing me how we were gonna get ahead. Alas, if only it had been that easy. Every plan has it's snags, and before long, we would run into the first.

I had called up Charles Anderson of Greasel Conversions <http://www.greasel.com before I left on the trip. "Charlie," I said, "I need another kit".
"Perry", Charlie replied, with his normal cheerfulness, "I'm here for ya". Somehow, I thought he would be.
I dove into the conversation. I thought my plans would be right up Charlie's alley. "But I wanna upgrade the kit a bit. I wanna real tank for this Suburban I'm buyin'", Charlie's knows I'm an SVO zealot, and he loves every second of it, "somethin' in the neighborhood of 40 or 50 gallons. And I want a bigger filter, something more suited to the greater fuel demands of a V8 diesel engine."
"Sounds sweet!", Charles replied, "Lemme see hear..." I could hear the sound of pages flipping across the phone line, "...here's a 50 gallon, plastic, marine tank in my catalogue. Complete with sending unit for your in-dash gauge. That'll require a bigger heat exchanger, too." He did some figuring and gave me a price. It was more than fair, and I agreed to it.
"Lessee here...shipping to your house will be...uhhhh....", I could tell he was tryin' to find the UPS shipping guestimator thingee.
I interrupted him, "I don't think I'll need shipping. Whadya say to me just stopping by your place and we install it together?"
Charlie gawked "Dude, you live in Dallas! Isn't that a bit outta your way?!"
"Well, the 'Burban is in Maryland, just shy of New York, and I was plannin' on driving the 'vette up there on veggie and towing it back home via your place with the 'Burban". Whatcha think?"
"I think that would rock! The wife and I'll roll out the guest bed, you can stay for a couple o' days!", Charlie seemed very enthusiastic. I thought he'd be up for the in-house install, but I wasn't expecting such gracious hospitality. Charlie, it seems, has an honestly earned reputation for good customer service, often goin' far beyond the call of duty to ensure satisfaction. We set up some plans and I agreed to call him as soon as I was in his area, and he would instruct me from there.

OK, so enough flashback already. I was thinkin' of all this as we got nearer and nearer our destination. I also worried about the 'Burban. I knew it had a weak transmission (a 700r4, for you car buffs). This is the most improper tranny for GM to install in a 3/4 ton diesel truck (and a 4x4 to boot!). It's designed more for economy and lighter trucks, and for reasons that are far beyond my meager comprehension skills, GM decided to put them in a truck that was way too heavy for them. Would the tranny pull the Chevette thru the mountains? Could it go the distance? I knew it was somewhat of a risk, but the price was right, even with the tranny. I was prepared to get her home, yank the tranny, and install a beefier one more designed for towing (a TH350 or 400, again, for you car buffs), but would it make it that far?

I had told Charlie of my concerns regarding the transmission. His reply was "If you break down within a half day of me, lemme know and I'll come pick you up!" That guy's incredible! Now, Charlie and I have talked on the phone plenty and had tons of email conversations, but we had never once met face to face. This guy's unbelievable!

So here we are, passing thru Baltimore, or at least the refinery part of it. We never stopped, as all we could see off the highway were smoking refineries stacked on both sides, belching nastiness into the offended sky. Only one more hour and we're at the 'Burban! Yeah, I'm silly, like a kid at Christmas when I get a new project rig. We were running low on dino, and I didn't see any place around that sold it, so I took the first one that come along; Exxon. I HATE going to Exxon. Too pricey, and I've always received poor customer service. This place was no different; $1.73 per gallon, rude attendant. Never again will I darken an Exxon doorway. I'm sure Exxon has some nice employee's, but they seem content to hide from me...

Back on the road! That was a long hour, lemme tell you (but it didn't compare to the next day, as you'll understand in a while). We finally pulled into Hal's culdesac, and lo, I beheld the latest Pillard Greasel-SUV. It was so beautiful, a vision of splendor, a princess of the highway, a staggering image of loveliness to sooth the eyes. At least, it looked that way to me. Granted, your average traffic-dodger would look at it and go "ick!". At one time, the front end had taken a light hit, and the owner, who had another GM truck with a totaled rear, took what he needed off the front to replace the bad parts on the 'Burban. So now it was a few different colors. There were several small dings lacing the body, all bondo-ed and sanded, but not painted. The whole beast had been sanded and prepped for painting, but never finished (or even primered!).

But I saw past all that. I saw the beauty underneath. I had grilled Hal with all the right questions regarding fluid leakage, fuel economy, mechanical problems and the like. And I knew that, with the exception of the tranny (which I could fix), she was mechanically sound. The engine purred and was reliable, all the 4wd gear worked flawlessly. She sported front and rear working A/C (a must for Dallas living). Looking at her then, I saw her power, the 3/4 ton crouch, the 8-lug wheels, the sturdy suspension holding her almost a foot taller than your average 'Burban. I recognized her for what she was. All I had to do was swap the tranny, convert to grease, finish the paint job, restore the interior and BAM!, we've got ourselves a great family hauler, ready to cruise America on grease! Simple, right?...right?!

It was then I noticed that she didn't have any lisence plates...at all. How could I cruise across half of America with no tags?