Built in a garage, like everything good.

Nothing fancy rolled through his shop. Daily drivers, work trucks, family cars, whatever needed fixing that week. I grew up handing him tools, watching problems get solved, and learning that every car mattered to somebody.

My dad passed when I was 21. That is when I started getting my own hands dirty. Pulling brakes. Chasing problems. Swapping engines. Bringing dead cars back to life.

Somewhere in there, it clicked. A car is never just a machine. It is somebody's money. Somebody's weekend. Somebody's memory. Somebody's story.

Then I caught the bug myself. My first MR2. Then another. Now I drive an MR2 Turbo. So trust me, I get it. The obsession. The late nights. The way you can talk for an hour about a car most people walk right past.

But there are still cars I may never own. An air-cooled 911. A GT3, if I ever get the chance. An old-school Land Cruiser. A '69 Camaro. An '85 Toyota pickup. A Model T, just to feel where all of this started. A Supra. A Triumph. And I have a serious soft spot for old Datsuns, a 510 especially. Honestly, the list never ends. There are too many beautiful cars out there to name.

For most of us, those cars stay on the other side of the glass. You see them. You hear them. You admire them from a distance. But you never get in.

That never sat right with me. You should not have to own a car to know what it feels like. And honestly, the passenger seat is where a lot of the magic happens. The sound. The road. The details. The person next to you who knows the car better than anyone and loves telling the story behind it.

That is why I started Shotgun. Because nobody really owns these cars forever. You are the caretaker for a while. You keep it right, pour your time and money into it, and eventually pass the story on.

And it goes both ways. The people who own these cars want to share them just as much as the rest of us want to get in. That is what makes it work. Shotgun just opens the door from both sides.