I can’t stand Aerosmith and Steven Tyler is obnoxious. So it follows that writing about the Ford Edge inevitably pushes the internal play button on Aerosmith’s 1993 hit “Livin’ on the Edge” in my head (it was, incidentally, Aerosmith’s most successful single on the Billboard Album Rock Tracks chart, reaching #1.)
If you’re a Ford Edge owner and you ignore Ford’s recent recall on the Edge, you’ll be living on the proverbial edge, too. 5,499 2012 Ford Edges, all with the 2.0-liter EcoBoost engine, have faulty pulse dampers. (The pulse damper keeps fuel from sloshing back and forth when the injectors open and close; it regulates the liquid’s oscillation.) The metal housing of the pulse damper may crack, causing fuel odors, leakage, and, potentially, a fire. Dealers will begin replacing the fuel lines on the affected vehicles beginning on September 24th.
If you have one of these 2012 Edges, GET THE FUEL LINE REPLACED! Why? Because leaky fuel lines cause major fires! This is something that I know to be unmistakably true. Consider the following:
Way back in 1997, when I was still in high-school, we had this ride-on lawn mower. It was an older model with a bunch of quirks. One of the quirks was a faulty starter, so you had to jump start the tractor with a screwdriver by positioning the metal between the positive and negative charges on the mower’s battery. I thought I’d be a good kid one afternoon (a hero, really) after school and cut the lawn for my mom and stepfather before they came home. I threw on some ratty sweatpants, grabbed my discman (remember those?!!?) and went to work.
I finished half the yard before running out of gas smack in the middle of our paved driveway. Forgetting that the jumpstarting often involved high-charged sparks spitting away from the battery like fireworks, I dumped fuel into, on, and over the fuel tank, letting the fuel spill everywhere under the tractor’s hood. (I was very impatient in high-school.) The first screwdriver placement was clean (no sparks!), but the engine didn’t catch. The second wasn’t. One beautiful, majestic orange flare leapt from the battery directly into a pool of petroleum on the fuel tank.
I turned and ran into our house when the outside of the tank caught fire, and called the fire department (and my mother, frantically) from the kitchen. Then I went back to the burning tractor and tried extinguishing the flames myself with a garden hose from ten yards away (once again, a hero). I stopped doing that when the entire fuel tank went up, sending larger flames into the trees twenty feet above. Once the fire trucks came, the tractor was a sad metal carcass in the middle of the driveway. The tires and seat melted away. Even the driveway pavement dissolved where the temperatures peaked. Early autumn leaves fell from the tree, surrounding the four-wheeled effigy. Mercifully, the firemen and women dragged it from the driveway with a chain while wearing hazmat suits (I’m from a very small town in Connecticut, so any occasion to put on a hazmat suit is embraced by local authorities.)
Moral to the story? Don’t mess with the fuel line in your car. It can and will burn if you tempt it.
And don’t listen to Aerosmith. (With the one exception being “Dream On.” That song is fine.)