DRIVE MORE -- An Automotive Film

From late nights in the garage and last-minute fixes to the roar of engines and the beauty of Michigan’s backroads, DRIVE MORE captures the raw passion, dedication, and camaraderie that define the vintage car community. It’s a story of friendship, perseverance, and the joy of the drive.

Join them for a journey where the cars are more than machines, and the miles are more than just numbers.

Watch DRIVE MORE now and experience the thrill of the open road, the struggle of preparation, and the unbreakable bond forged by a shared passion.

The TTAC Creators Series tells stories and amplifies creators from all corners of the car world, including culture, dealerships, collections, modified builds and more.

A transcript, summarized by AI and edited by a human staffer, is below.

[Image: YouTube/Michigan Automotive Relic Society]

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Transcript:

I got into MGs because that’s what was available. I bought my first one from my uncle. It sat in storage for a long time, and when I had some money left over from selling another car, I figured it was time to try something new. I brought it up at a family Christmas, and when both my dad and my uncle said, “Yeah, you probably don’t want to get into those,” that somehow made me want it more.

Coming from owning Volkswagens, I thought, “It can’t be much worse.” This one’s far from perfect—there’s a lot wrong with it—but that’s part of the appeal. I don’t have to worry about beating it up. I’ve learned a lot from these cars—not just about the cars themselves, but about working on them. They’ve taught me plenty of lessons.

Dan Cole once walked up to me in a parking lot, handed me a business card, and said, “Hey, your car’s really cool. You should check out this rally,” then just walked off. I had no plans to run a rally; I barely knew my car and had only owned it for a month. A thousand-mile rally wasn’t in the cards.

You have to be a little crazy to hop into an old, unreliable car and drive that far. You need to care enough about your safety to know your car can make it—or at least that you can get home if it doesn’t. Because once you’re out there, you’re mostly on your own.

Jagger is a great example of the kind of person who belongs on the Round Headlamp Rally. He showed up last year in a Beetle with the original 40-horsepower drivetrain and just went for it.

My parents’ garage, the shed, even my grandma’s barn are full of old car parts. I’m not sure where the fascination started, but it’s always been there. My first car was a 1972 Super Beetle. I tried restoring it, but it was too far gone—too much rust. I learned a lot, though, and before I turned sixteen, I bought a blue one that ran and drove. I daily-drove it for two years, even through the winters.

When I met John, I didn’t realize who he was. I was teaching two friends how to drive stick in my bug when I spotted his MG. I thought it was cool and followed him to a church parking lot to talk about it. He came up to me and said, “Hey, I love your bug.” I didn’t know him—just another guy with an MG who liked my car.

Newton’s sister married my cousin. They went to a car show together, and I thought he was a total nerd—camera around his neck, awkward, the whole thing. Turns out he’s an airplane mechanic. If we weren’t friends, I’d still call him a nerd, but in a good way.

The MG I have now was my dad’s car first. He bought it for $800. When we got home, I asked if it was mine. He said, “If you can pay me for it.” I surprised him by paying in full right there.

I had been looking for an Austin-Healey Sprite but couldn’t find one at the right price, so I ended up with this MG. It’s comfortable, stylish, and has a great engine. It’s not an expensive car, but it’s well-designed—classic Italian lines, race-bred power, just a solid machine.

We all seem to enjoy taking things apart more than putting them back together. It’s therapeutic—keeps the mind busy and the hands occupied.

The rally runs mostly through Michigan. There are checkpoints, but we don’t know where we’re headed until the morning of each day. It’s all about the adventure—avoiding highways, finding forgotten back roads, and relying on a co-driver to navigate. It’s not as simple as punching directions into Google Maps.

Our rally cars are all mass-produced, but each one has its own temperament. That’s what makes it fun. It’s just a group of random European cars, some half-finished, all full of character.

Jagger planned an engine swap to get ready for the next rally—a Porsche 914 engine going into his Beetle. We had a few months to get everything together, and of course, nothing fit the way it should. There was a lot of cutting, hammering, and improvising.

When it finally ran, it wasn’t perfect. Loose end links, sketchy mounts, and two and a half times the power—it all added up. Problems you could ignore with 40 horsepower suddenly mattered.

Preparation always spirals. Fixing one issue leads to discovering five more. Newton’s brake job turned into a full system rebuild. I’ve been there—changing fluids, doing gaskets, tightening bolts I forgot months ago. You never stop finding things to fix.

The night before the rally, we were still changing oil and checking vibrations. We even caught a glimpse of a map of Illinois in the Round Headlamp Rally’s Instagram story, so now we’re all convinced we might not even stay in Michigan.

Driving in these rallies isn’t just driving. It’s the friendships, the problem-solving, the long weekends in the garage. Sometimes your car breaks, sometimes you tow it home, but it’s always worth it. You meet people who get it—people who love old cars, adventure, and the chaos that comes with both.

When I’m out driving, I think about all the time spent fixing these cars—the long nights rebuilding Newton’s brakes or swapping Jagger’s engine. Even the breakdowns are part of it. Every one of those moments adds up to why we do this.

You can spot the other Round Headlamp cars out on the road—stickers on the doors, a wave as you pass, that instant sense of camaraderie. It’s not just about the destination. It’s about the whole journey.

After the rally, Dan told me, “You’ll drive your car more.” He was right—not necessarily more often, but farther, longer, and with a lot more purpose.