I was an onsite computer tech working for Nerds On Call out of Chico, CA, using Veronica as my daily driver. I'd just recently freshened the 5.0 HO motor, and she was running better than ever, despite the brutal 117 degree heat that year. I'd driven over 250 miles that day, when I got to my last appointment. After fixing the customer's computer, I got back in my car to drive home. Oddly enough, when I started the engine, I could smell gasoline. Obviously, with fuel injection, that's not normal! That thought was just starting to register with my brain, as I started to pull away from the curb and noticed a puddle behind me, in the rear view mirror, a long trail leading toward my car.
Immediately, I turned off the ignition, and stopped the car. But when I opened the door, a huge explosion nearly blew the hood off! It shot a flame about 4 feet long out of my hood scoop, and I saw light under the car from the fireball.
I got out, ran around to the front of the car to open the hood, and sure enough, it was burning, with flames licking up under my Ford 5.0 HO intake.
"Well, it's a good thing I have a fire extinguisher in the trunk!" I thought, as I ran to the back of my car. Nope. Not there. I KNOW it's in there with the spare parts I'm hauling, but I flat out can't find it - and this car is going to burn to the ground, because I have no way to put out these flames. (I found it years later, down in the passenger side fender well, where it had rolled. *sigh*)
Never one to panic in a crisis, I called the fire department. Then I start taking the expensive computer equipment out of my car, and putting it all on the sidewalk, trying to minimize my losses, and just about then, an old man comes out of his house. He says "Would you like a fire ext..." and before he could finish his sentence, I said "YES!", grabbing the full-size red fire extinguisher from him, and using it to put out the flames - which by now are licking along the firewall, devouring all the wiring in my car, including some small flames I can see up under the dash inside. Amazingly, I notice that under my car is a veritable lake of unburnt gasoline.
A few minutes later, the fire department shows up. A young guy gets out of the truck and says "Oh man, that's a nice ride! I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to spray it, bro..." He continued to apologize, saying "I'll try to go gentle!" as he hosed my engine bay, ensuring it was out completely.
The rest of the details are a bit of a blur for me. I know I had the car towed back to my office in Chico, where I picked it up later, after some crackhead broke into it and damaged my back seat trying to get into the trunk. I think this moron was attempting to get into the engine compartment by using my parking brake, thinking it was the hood release. Talk about adding insult to injury. At least he broke in without breaking the window.
My insurance totaled the car, but at least allowed me to keep her. All the wiring was toast, the distributor melted, and most of the rubber hoses were crispy noodles leading to nowhere. But she was still mine.
The reason for the fire? I'd been working on the heater pipe coming out of my intake, which has a pretty big fitting on it. When the stubborn fitting finally broke loose, the wrench slammed into the rubber fuel rail on the front of my engine, hard. It LOOKED okay, just a bit scuffed, so I didn't worry too much about it. But in the brutal 200+ degree underhood temps on that hot summer day, driving around, the damaged section of fuel transfer hose failed, spraying gasoline into my fan at 40PSI and blowing the mix back over my engine. Some ignition source - perhaps a clicking relay? - lit off the air-fuel bomb, immolating my engine bay. Lesson learned.
