BY RICHARD C. DUJARDIN
Journal Staff Writer

This story ran Nov. 27, 2005 in the Providence Sunday Journal. We liked it so much we brought it back as an AutoBiography.

PROVIDENCE - Steven Adler admits he was a bit disappointed when he saw gasoline prices start to drop.

But, optimist that he is, he thinks the global demand for fuel oil will only grow, making another round of increases inevitable, giving him even more reason to appreciate his 1991 Mercedes 350 SDL sedan.

His car doesn't depend on the wild fluctuations at the gas pump. It runs on vegetable oil.

The 39-year-old computer specialist said he wasn't yet thinking of cleaner air or striking a blow for national independence when, on a visit to California in February 2005, an acquaintance told him of two "crazy friends" who were filling their vegetable oil-fueled car at a Fryalator.

"I just thought it was the funniest thing," he said.

Journal / Bob Breidenbach

Steven Adler, 39, of Providence, has converted his 1991 Mercedes so that it can run on vegetable oil.

But the more he thought about it, Adler decided the idea was not just funny but wise. With gas prices hitting record levels after Hurricane Katrina, he says, "I knew it was time."

There are about five companies in the United States that produce so-called conversion kits to help transform a car's diesel engine into one that burns vegetable oil. Greasecar Vegetable Fuel Systems of Massachusetts is one.

But Adler decided to go with Frybrid, a Seattle-based firm whose prices are two or three times higher than those of its competitors, but which makes what many regard as aircraft-quality components that are more likely to last.

Adler had sold his computer-based business, Voter Activation Network, earlier this year, and spent the summer in semi-retired status at home on the East Side with his wife, Anke, and their three children, listening to music and rebuilding a motorcycle that once belonged to the late lawyer Raul Lovett. He decided that if he was going to put lots of time and energy into a car, he didn't want to start with a beatup jalopy.

He wanted a car he'd be proud to drive.

"I figured that if I'm going to drive around on free fuel, I may as well be driving the biggest, fattest, baddest sedan I could find."

Put another way, "I wanted a car that could be accepted by the rich people as I pull into the yacht club, and with the hippies because it's running on grease."

Alder's search on the Internet led him to New York City where he found the car he wanted: a 1991 Mercedes 350 SDL with a long wheelbase and a diesel engine, with enough room in the trunk for a 22-gallon tank for the vegetable oil. The purchase price was $9,800, nearly double the book value, but worth it, he says, because of its pristine condition.

He soon discovered that the "kit" that he ordered for $1,500 from the firm in Seattle was not much of a kit at all.

"Let me say this: there were some components, but most everything else were things that had to be fabricated from raw materials, literally from a piece of sheet metal. The instructions set out some general principles and some very rough loopy diagrams, but that was it."

Adler estimates that he and neighbor, Michael O'Cain, an engineer who lives next door on Hillside Avenue, ended up putting in 150 hours over about three weeks, fabricating and installing the parts. He says he doesn't think he could have done it without O'Cain's help.

"Frankly, I didn't know what the heck I was doing," Adler says. "I don't think anyone really knows either. This is such uncharted stuff."

Although there are others in New England who have converted their cars, Adler believes he is the first person in Rhode Island to have done the conversion on a Mercedes 350. "I think that because I've been getting a lot of e-mails from people all over the country saying 'I want to do it on that model car. Can you send me pictures?' "

There were some bumps in the road. During his first trial run to Boston, the car stalled. Adler and O'Cain pinpointed the problem and made the necessary adjustments. And then there was the time the Mercedes' hood flew up on the highway because Adler forgot to close the latch.

Now, as he crusies north on Route 95 into Attleboro, passing a truck at 70 mph, his sense of humor is on display -- from the VEGOIL license plate to the "Grease Inside" Pentium-like insignia on the trunk.

Inside, a homemade console near the dashboard shows what's going on under the hood. A little light with a dinosaur symbol next to it (indicating the diesel fuel system) has gone off, and the light next to a carrot symbol, indicating vegetable oil system, has gone on.

The change in lights shows that the engine has reached 160 degrees, the temperature that allows the vegetable oil to flow easily through the heated fuel filter and lines into the fuel injection pumps. Adler knows that once he stops the car he'll have to flick the switch next to a toilet symbol to purge the vegetable oil from the system [about seven seconds] to keep it from solidifying and clogging the engine.

To a passenger, there seems to be no difference in the car's operation except that the engine is quieter when it switches to vegetable oil.

Adler says he hasn't been running the car long enough to get an accurate reading, but he thinks he's getting the same miles per gallon with vegetable oil as with diesel -- 28 to 30 on the highway.

Some car historians say it really shouldn't surprise anyone that vegetable oil works, considering that Rudolph Diesel had designed his engine to run on peanut oil.

It wasn't until 1912 or so that the petroleum companies suggested using the oil from the bottom of the barrel as a less costly, and more convenient fuel, which became known as diesel fuel.

But the ramifications of the switch to fossil fuel for the diesel engine, Adler says, have now become apparent, with the country more dependent on a finite resource imported from countries "we tend to have bad relations with." By contrast, he says, vegetable oil is "domestic, renewable, sustainable, incredibly clean with zero greenhouse gas."

But where does one go, exactly, to get vegetable oil?

Adler concedes that for his first trip, he bought five gallons of pure vegetable oil from Sam's Club, paying about the same that he would have paid for diesel fuel at the pump.

Journal photo / Bob Breidenbach

A 22-gallon tank in Adler's trunk holds the vegetable oil.

But for his second batch, he went to Apsara Palace, an Asian restaurant on Hope Street, where, he says, Kim the owner has been gracious enough to supply his habit -- free of charge.

He says that given a choice, he'd stay with the Asian restaurants. Those in the know say they have the best oil because it is non-hydrogenated. But another friend has also given him oil from a fish and chips place.

"I've been a little reluctant to use it because I don't want my exhaust to smell like fish," he confides, "but we'll see what happens."

Adler, along with others around the country who have switched over to vegetable oil, recognize that restaurant managers -- once they stop laughing -- are quite willing to give the used oil away since it normally costs them $50 to dispose of it. But the generosity may wear off.

In November, New York Gov. George Pataki issued an executive order requiring all state agencies and public authorities to increase their purchase and use of biofuels for heating their facilities and fueling their vehicles. The order requires that at least 2 percent of the fuels used be biodiesel, with the percentage growing to 10 percent by 2012.

In Wisconsin, the question has arisen as to whether the state should begin to tax biofuels the same way it taxes gasoline. So far, however, authorities there have ruled that vegetable oil bought as homemade fuel from a garage is not subject to tax.

To guard against future shortages, Adler says he's trying to get prepared. He's heard that there is a process available that will permit homeowners to manufacture their own oil in garages and basements.

If he gets it, he'll use the extra oil to run the 1,500 pound generator he now has in his garage. He bought it to make electricty and has been told the machine can run continously without stop for 40 years provided the noise doesn't disturb his neighbors.

If he makes enough of it, he says, he'll sell the surplus electricity back to the power company.