28/07/2026
10227 isn’t Waiting for the Next Owner
Every time I fill up my DeLorean or return from another road trip, someone eventually says the same thing.
“You really drive it that much? It’s a rare collector’s car. You should preserve it.”
I understand where they’re coming from. There aren’t many DeLoreans left, and every mile adds to the odometer instead of the resale value. To many people, that seems almost irresponsible.
But I see it completely differently.
Imagine applying for a job. Your résumé lists your experience, but right in the middle there’s a two-year gap with absolutely nothing. No projects. No job. No work. No stories. Just… empty space.
It raises questions.
To me, a classic car is no different.
A car with decades of life but no miles, no adventures, and no memories feels like a résumé with blank pages. It existed, but what did it actually do?
Who took care of the car?
Cars were built to move. They were designed to carry people somewhere, to become part of stories, not to spend their lives hidden under a cover in a climate-controlled garage while someone worries about future auction prices.
My DeLorean has one job.
Drive.
And that’s exactly what it does.
I don’t spend much time thinking about what someone might pay for it twenty years from now. The truth is, I don’t even know if I’ll be around in twenty years.
None of us do.
So why would I sacrifice today’s experiences for a future that isn’t guaranteed?
I’d rather wake up early on a Saturday morning andgo for a road trip.
Or spend a day searching for the place in the Netherlands where the legendary Van Halen brothers spent their childhood before their family emigrated to America.
I’d rather cross Germany with no destination other than a good road and a magic can of Red Bull. Wander through Austria, cruise across Belgium, get lost in rural France, or chase the sunset through the Ireland countryside roads.
Those miles aren’t destroying the car.
They’re becoming part of its story.
Every scratch tells me I actually used it (until Chris Nicholson fixes it😂✌🏼). Every bug on the windshield means I went somewhere. Every extra digit on the odometer represents another memory that would never have existed if I’d decided to keep the car “perfect.”
One day, someone else may own this DeLorean.
If that ever happens, I hope they don’t inherit a museum piece that barely left the garage.
I hope they inherit a car that has seen Europe and the US in the last 45 years.
A car that has crossed borders, climbed mountain passes, sat outside tiny cafés, survived unexpected rainstorms, attracted curious strangers at petrol stations, and created conversations that would never have happened otherwise.
Because that’s worth far more than a lower mileage figure.
Until then, the odometer isn’t counting down its value.
Alexx Michael ✌🏼
