On a humid July morning at Schenley Park, the Pittsburgh Vintage Grand Prix feels more like a neighborhood festival than a motorsport event. Families wander the hillsides with lemonade cups, children climb over hay bales, and the scent of fuel blends with kettle corn. Spectators drift between polished British roadsters and brass-era antiques. But tucked between the hillside trees and the makeshift paddock, the heartbeat of real racing still pulses.

Jacob isn’t your average young enthusiast snapping photos at Cars & Coffee. He’s the one under the hood, the one welding a cracked frame back into shape, the one who learned to rebuild fiberglass panels not because it was fun but because no one else would touch them. He is, in every sense of the word, a craftsman — one forged in grease, patience, and trial by fire.

Mike Brooks never imagined he’d see his truck again. He had accepted it, moved on. But sometimes, fate works in mysterious ways. It all started on what should have been an ordinary weekend at the Good Guys show in Columbus. Mike had parked his beloved 1986 Chevy C10 outside his hotel, never thinking twice about it. The truck had been with him for years, a labor of love, meticulously maintained and customized to perfection. It wasn’t just a vehicle—it was part of his identity…then, it vanished.