The Rise and Fall of a Custom Performance:

My Story of Ecotec Power and Passion

In the world of motorsports and custom engine performance, few names were as quietly respected and tightly woven into the fabric of the enthusiast community as the small but formidable shop as known as FMSR. It wasn’t a household name, nor did I try to make it one. But among those who understood the value of tight tolerances, lightweight forged components, and the thrill of extracting every last ounce of performance from an engine, to me, it was hallowed ground.

The first shop was originally a transmission repair shop, which I rented to see if it made sense to start actually manufacturing custom engine components in small batches. It was where I spent a large chunk of my life tuning, tweaking, and perfecting the art of Ecotec combustion. Though I put up the company sign up, I took it down a year later after folks thought it was a basic auto repair shop. After a while, I got the shop to the way I wanted it, a simple shop façade, nothing special, plain as Jane. I tell you the scent of race fuel, the sharp clank of pistons being carefully lowered into their cylinders, and the polished gleam of hand-machined Ecotec parts that lined the walls like trophies is what made me happy every day, walking through the shop doors every morning.

I began my career as a street racer on the outskirts of NYC, and it was there that I laid the foundation for the first of the four FMSR shops. Over time, and with a reputation that grew almost entirely by word of mouth, the brand expanded into California and Florida. These weren’t just satellite garages, they were full-scale engine labs, parts manufacturing, research, and development shops, each one humming with fab equipment, CNC milling machines, and the echo of dreams being built in steel and aluminum.

But the story of FMSR wasn’t just about machines. It was about the vision I had. I saw potential in a platform most others overlooked: the GM Ecotec engine. Originally developed for economy sedans, the Ecotec was an unlikely candidate for performance greatness. But where others saw limitations, I saw possibility. With the right internals, boosted air, and a precise map, the Ecotec could rival, it even outperform engines with much larger displacement or more prestigious pedigrees.

That’s where the genius of FMSR shined brightest. The shop didn’t just modify parts, I designed and hand-made them on the bench. I designed custom crankshafts, high-strength connecting rods, bespoke cam profiles, and even reengineered intake manifolds were all fabricated in-house. Clients from across the country, and even some international race teams, sought out the rare ability to coax mind-blowing horsepower out of the humble four-cylinder engines I’ve built.

Pennsylvania was where the roots held firmly, but California and Florida gave the operation its wings. The West Coast shop was my favorite among the tuner culture crowd in LA and San Diego, especially those who wanted to do something different than the endless parade of K-series and SR20 builds. In Florida, with its flat roads and strong street scene, the shop was well-positioned to serve the Gulf Coast’s rowdier clientele. Each location had its own flavor, but they were all tethered to the singular philosophy of precision performance I had envisioned.

At its peak, FMSR was turning out engines capable of 700 to 1,000 horsepower on stock block cores, feats that were once thought impossible for the Ecotec platform. My engines powered drag cars, time attack monsters, and even daily drivers with more power than practicality. But what made the brand special wasn’t just the output; it was the craftsmanship. I treated every build as if it were for my car. There was no “cookie-cutter” option. Every engine was a handshake deal, a personal relationship built on trust and shared obsession. And then, like many great stories, the momentum shifted for me.

In the late 2010s, General Motors announced that it would eventually be phasing out the Ecotec platform in the early 2020s. With the industry marching steadily toward electrification, internal combustion was losing ground. The Ecotec, for all its achievements and loyal fan base, had run its course in GM’s future lineup.

At first, it seemed like an obstacle, not an ending. The shop still had stockpiles of blocks, parts, and loyal clients who would never consider another platform. But slowly, I saw the writing on the wall, it became too bold for me to ignore. Demand began to soften. New clients were fewer and further between. And I started to feel a pull; I’ve ignored for decades: the desire to step away.

The sales of the company came as a surprise to many in the community. A corporate engine repair chain based in California offered to buy the shop and the other facilities and brand outright. The deal was generous, and it offered me something I hadn’t had in many years: freedom. No more late nights blueprinting motors, no more last-minute dyno sessions before a big event, no more supply chain frustrations trying to source discontinued parts. I took the offer.

When I broke the news to friends that the shop had been sold, the reaction was split. Some friends mourned to me about what they saw as the end of an era. Others were happy for me, understanding that I can only carry the weight of a legacy for so long. The new corporate owners repurposed the facilities into more standard engine rebuild shops, catering to high-volume, high-margin services instead of niche performance builds. The artistry of performance Ecotec’s was gone, but the lights stayed on.

I disappeared from the scene almost overnight, I was done. A few years later, I built a tiny workshop where I can still tinker on old Ecotec cores in solitude. Whatever the truth, the custom Ecotec scene, once vibrant and growing, has dwindled. Without new engines coming down the pipeline and without the guiding hand of the master builder, few shops have been able to maintain the same level of quality or innovation. It’s as if the soul of the scene, just left into the wind.

But the legacy of my shop hopefully endures, there are some YouTube videos still out there of record-setting passes with the engines I’ve built with my two hands, in the engine bays of cars that still roll and roar. Every time one of those engines fires up, it’s a tribute to what passion, precision, and pure mechanical artistry can accomplish.

FMSR may no longer exist as it once did, but for those who knew what it was and what it represented, it was never just a shop. It was a movement. A belief that greatness didn’t require a famous name or a million-dollar budget, just vision, grit, and a refusal to accept limits.

And sometimes, that’s enough to make history.