Last year, just after Mardi Gras, I turned the keys to my beautiful diesel truck over to a dude named Piper, on the premise that he would successfully convert my Gracie – a 1981 Volkswagen pickup – to run on vegetable oil.

For those unfamiliar with the subject of veggie-oil conversions, a little context: Rudolf Diesel invented the engine bearing his name in the 1890s, an engine that derives power from the compression of fuel, rather than the spark-and-explosion burning of traditional gas engines. He designed it to run on, among other things, vegetable oil.

After Diesel's mysterious death in 1913, the alternative-fuels applications of his engine were forgotten, and what we call diesel fuel – a by-product of petroleum refinement – became the standard used to power these remarkable engines.

But the genius of Diesel's original vision has not been lost. All across the country, people are converting diesel cars and trucks to run on vegetable oil. Environmentalists and social justice types love it because it's a cleaner technology than petroleum, and it reduces the harm that the oil industry causes around the world. Anarchists love it for these reasons, too, and also because it gives power – literal and figurative -- to individuals and their communities, instead of multi-national oil conglomerates. The conversion process is involved, but not too complicated for most good mechanics.

Unfortunately for me (and Gracie), Piper didn't do much to convince us that he was a good mechanic. Hired to convert my truck and another Common Ground volunteer's Mercedes, Piper spent two days getting ready, and two days actually doing the conversions. He left town before the job was done, leaving me and my comrade to fend for ourselves in a brave new world of half-assed veggie-oil conversions. The day I turned my keys over to him was the last day my Gracie would work for months, and my friend's Mercedes would never work properly again.

I personally am but a shade-tree mechanic, self-taught and fully acquainted with the limits of my mechanical aptitude. Yet even with my low level of skill, I was able to detect no fewer than nine flaws in Piper's approach, not including his unprofessional abandonment of the project prior to completion.

He used the wrong size hoses. He hooked up the fuel solenoid switches incorrectly. He didn't label toggle switches crucial to proper running of the system. He didn't seal the veggie-oil tank, so now the oil is filthy and it spills out into the bed of my truck. He placed the hoses so close to the spinning blades of the alternator that I fear any large pothole or sudden bump could cut the fuel line in two. He neglected to put in a "veggie-oil return line" to keep veggie oil out of the diesel tank. He broke a vacuum line for the windshield wipers, neglected to install a pressure gauge, and the plastic wrap around a fuel filter wasn't even removed before the filter was attached. [In the interest of fairness and full disclosure, he did apparently install the veg-oil heating system properly...no leaks and it seems to keep the appropriate hoses warm. Something of a bright side, yes?]

The last thing he said to me was, "you're gonna have to get a book and learn about the system on your own." This after he installed the system wrong! Cheeky bastard!

Eventually, I had to enlist the assistance of veggie-oil knowledgeable friends, and we decided the best way to proceed was to gut the system he installed, reconnect the regular diesel system, and try to fix it for good when the weather warms up. I am still rather excited about the prospect of having a vehicle that runs on an alternative fuel. But this time, I'm going to do it myself, and if the fates are kind, I will be able to do it right.

I would bet that if Piper had given himself sufficient time, he could have done a reputable job. But he apparently had some anarchist conference in the northeast to attend; so my co-volunteer and I were left broken down on the road to hell, with only Piper's good intentions paving the road before us.