The most stubborn thing I ever hauled back was an old scout car from the front lines. It wouldn’t start, wouldn’t even idle. Every screw was loose, the battery was dead, the carburetor clogged with grime. I tore it apart piece by piece, and even after reassembling it, it kept on “talking” like it was alive—spitting out sparks and a sigh of relief when I finally got it to turn over. It was like coaxing a stubborn mule that’s been in a dust‑filled stable for decades.

I’m not one for the limelight. The car’s more a curiosity than a trophy, but if you’re going to pull it into the rally, I’ll be there with a wrench and a grin. It’ll make people stop and say, “What’s that?”—and that’s all the fame it needs.