Merry Christmas, [__] pole—boogity boogity boogy. This year’s annual “abandoned camper to NASCAR” trip got real spicy because we had less than 24 hours to find a rig, make it survive, and point it at Kansas Speedway. We stumbled onto a big ol’ Fleetwood Bounder (34 feet of questionable decisions) owned by Ethan, and somehow it fired right up like it wanted to go racing. Big block Chevy, decent oil pressure, and an interior that was honestly way nicer than it had any right to be—right up until we started finding the usual “ran when parked” surprises. We did what we always do: test drive it, then test drive it more… and then “accidentally” keep going because turning around is hard, apparently. Along the way we fought an exhaust that was literally falling apart, a fuel leak that turned into “shove a bolt in it and ignore it,” brake lights that didn’t work until we fed power to the switch, and an engine that wouldn’t shut off because it was dieseling like crazy. The camper even tried to self-destruct with a tire that started delaminating and throwing tread—wires and all—yet it still held air, so obviously we kept driving. By the time we limped it back, got fresh tires on it, and loaded it up with the whole circus, it was time for the ultimate test drive: a 250-ish mile shot toward Kansas. Speedometer? Optional. Common sense? Also optional. But that’s the whole point—drag home forgotten iron, get it running again, and see if it’ll survive the drive.