Today I dragged home a big brown 1970-ish Oldsmobile 98 we snagged for 800 bucks, and we knew basically nothing about it besides the fact it’s been sitting in a barn for 25–30 years. No keys, flat tires, locked steering, stuck in park—the whole “why do I do this to myself” starter pack. I got the hood popped and immediately started wondering the worst: is this 455 actually seized? Spoiler: the starter would engage and just sit there… not cranking. So the mission turned into: get access, get a key made, and get this aircraft carrier ready to actually move under its own power. We tore into the steering column to pull the ignition cylinder and code, then went after the trunk lock too—except the trunk release is vacuum actuated, so Angus literally sucked on a hose and popped it open (rubber air tastes terrible, apparently). The trunk was watertight… which meant it was also full of water, plus a bunch of random “what season was this parked in?” junk. From there we got serious: unstuck the drums, pressure washed the underside, hit rusty spots with reformer, and undercoated it to preserve how shockingly solid this car is underneath. Then it was drum brake time—new wheel cylinders, turned the front drums on the lathe, cleaned and lubed the contact points, and started replacing lines and hoses as needed. It’s the unglamorous stuff that makes a barn find survivor actually survive the drive.