Photography by Tom Deachman
In Southern Ontario’s Honda scene during the 1990s, few cars turned heads quite like Anthony Pedatella’s 1990 Honda CRX Si.
Painted in a saffron orange that was inspired by a Volvo wagon spotted on the highway, Pedatella’s Honda was more than just a car. It was his signature.
“Everyone knew it was him on the road,” says Marisa Pedatella, who started dating Anthony as a teenager and was married to him until his passing in 2011. “It had this sound, the lowered stance and those Eibach Spring decals on the windows. It was subtle, but unmistakably his.”
For a tight-knit circle of import enthusiasts, Anthony’s CRX was unforgettable. Light, efficient and endlessly modifiable, it became the ideal canvas for the mechanic’s creativity. As a Honda fan and co-owner of B-Line Mechanics in Mississauga, Anthony poured himself into the car. His CRX was one that turned heads. And eventually, one that vanished.
Twenty-five years later, though, it came back.
Anthony bought his CRX in the late-90s and was its second owner. “It was black when he got it, but he wanted it to be different,” says Marisa. That search for individuality led to the saffron paint job, turning a modest Japanese hatchback into a local legend.
“No other CRX looked like that on the road,” she says. “We even did a photo shoot at Centennial Park in Etobicoke after he had it painted. That car meant everything to him.”
But life started to change and Anthony and Marisa were planning a future—marriage, kids. The two-seater didn’t quite fit the picture. “It was a hard decision to let it go, but we couldn’t afford multiple cars back then,” she explains. “He sold it to a friend, so it stayed in the circle. That helped.”
Because Anthony had handed the keys to someone he trusted in his network and continued working as a mechanic, he still got to see the CRX now and then—change the oil, stay connected to the car that had once been his canvas.
But then the years passed.
Anthony was diagnosed with liver cancer and died at just 36 years old. Marisa was left with three young daughters, a garage full of memories and no sign of the CRX.
A decade later, Anthony’s younger cousin Julia, who had grown up watching the saffron CRX roll down her street, reached out to Marisa with an idea: what if they tried to find it?
“I told her, ‘Good luck,’” says Marisa, laughing. “I thought there was no way. CRXs are rare now, and even back then most got parted out or rusted away, but she was really determined.”
Julia posted to a CRX Ontario Facebook group with an old photo of Anthony and the car. Enthusiasts from across North America lit up the comments section, offering tips and even recognizing the vehicle. “It was wild,” says Marisa. “There’s this unspoken brotherhood in the CRX community—once you own one, you’re part of the club for life.”
Through a stroke of luck and memory, they tracked down the VIN. The last known owner had painted it electric blue and sold it in 2008. From there, the trail fragmented. One owner remembered selling it to kids who were likely parting it out and the hope began to flicker.
But then someone else chimed in online: he remembered seeing a blue CRX sitting behind a mechanic’s shop in Vaughan. They pulled up the address on Google Street View. There it was, a pixelated screen shot of what looked like it could be Anthony’s car—rusty and fading, but present. “We couldn’t believe it,” says Marisa. “I thought, What are the odds?”
A friend went to check it out in person. “He FaceTimed me and as he got closer, I saw those same Eibach decals on the windows. After all those years, they were still there,” she says. “That’s when I knew—before the VIN was even confirmed—that it was Anthony’s car.”
The man who owned the shop had planned to restore it himself but hadn’t touched it in years. After hearing Marisa’s story and watching the Global News television segment that followed their search, he handed her the ownership paperwork.
“He gave us the car,” she says, still amazed. “No strings. Just because he was moved by our family’s story and the connection to this CRX.”
What Marisa received, though, was little more than a shell: no engine, not much of an interior. Just the original dash, two weathered seats, and a legacy, of course.
“The restoration was overwhelming,” she admits. “We had mechanics look at it and tell us it wasn’t salvageable.” But she and her new partner Pat Fiore—himself a former CRX owner—pressed on. They towed the car back to B-Line Mechanics, Anthony’s old shop, and got to work.
“We quickly realized we needed a donor car,” she says. Through the CRX community, they connected with a Honda collector in Hamilton, known across Ontario as the go-to guy for rare Honda parts. “He had the perfect donor vehicle for us and after selling it to us, he then donated all the proceeds to charity.”
From there, the build became something short of a miracle.
Parts began pouring in from around the world, each one a testament to the generosity and passion of the CRX community. The taillights came from Germany, while the sunroof was sourced closer by from St. Catharines. The intake pipe arrived from British Columbia, and the interior carpet was tracked down in Germany. A range of rare components came from San Francisco, sent by a well-known CRX enthusiast. Even closer to home, local hobbyists across Ontario contributed a steering wheel and other accessories, each piece helping bring Anthony’s car back to life.
“We’d put a request out on Instagram for something we needed, and people would reply within hours. Everyone wanted to be part of it,” she says.
A specialist took on the metal work, rebuilding entire panels from scratch. As the layers of blue paint were sanded away, the saffron began to reappear. “It was like unearthing history,” Marisa says. “First blue, then saffron, then black underneath it all.”
Once the metal was complete, the car was then resprayed in Anthony’s original saffron orange.
Pat, on his one day off each week, worked to assemble the car mechanically, leaning on the team at B-Line for tools and encouragement. “He built it from scratch,” Marisa says. “And every time he was about to give up, someone from Anthony’s past would walk into the shop. It was like Anthony was sending people to remind us why we were doing this.”
The entire project took about two years. Today, the saffron CRX lives in Marisa’s garage on a dedicated hoist, preserved and driven only in summer. “It’s bittersweet,” she says. “Seeing it again brings me right back. Sometimes I get in the car, roll the windows down, and play Counting Crows. I feel Anthony with me.”
The car has become something of a celebrity in the scene, appearing at automotive shows like Oblivion, an ’80s and ’90s car festival, and the Midland Honda Show, where it won Best in Show after being personally invited. “People come just to see it,” she says. “But it’s more than a showpiece. It’s a piece of him.”
Its personalized plate reads ANT 333, a tribute to Anthony’s nickname that Marisa coined all those years ago as teenagers, and a number that has become symbolic to the family. “If this had just been about owning a CRX, we could’ve done that years ago,” she says. “But it was never about the car—it was about his car. And now it’s home.”