By: Preston Young
I’m not sure how many people know this about me, but I own (and absolutely love) my 1999 Jeep Wrangler. It was my first big “grown-up” purchase when I was 17, and at the time, it was mostly stock. Over the years, though, I’ve poured countless hours, plenty of sweat, and (let’s be honest) more money than I’d like to admit into making it my own. There’s something special about looking at it now and knowing every dent, every upgrade, every little quirk is part of the story I’ve built with it.
Owning an older Jeep is kind of like signing up for a lifetime of learning — and breaking things. I’ve fixed my fair share of parts that naturally wear out after 20-plus years, but I’ve also replaced things I’ve broken just by taking it off-road or having a little too much fun. It’s part of the deal, and honestly, it’s part of the joy. I’ve learned so much along the way, and a lot of that comes from working side by side with my dad. He’s been there for just about every project, every “this should only take an hour” repair that somehow turns into an entire weekend. It’s something we did together — a mix of problem-solving, storytelling, and maybe a few beers. Now that I live on my own, most projects have shifted to solo missions, but I still find myself calling him for advice or running through ideas before I start tearing things apart. Those early days of wrenching on the Jeep together are a big part of why I love it so much.
During the summers, there’s nothing like driving with the top and doors off, wind whipping through, and Mason’s ears flapping in the backseat. It’s the kind of simple freedom you can’t really explain — you just have to feel it. In the winter, it’s the total opposite. The Jeep thrives in snow. No matter how much piles up, it gets me through it, and I’ll admit… I still find it kind of fun to throw it into four-wheel drive and just go.
Of course, owning a 25-year-old vehicle means the fun sometimes comes with frustration — like what happened just the other week. I was on my way to golf one Saturday afternoon when the Jeep suddenly started to die. I turned around, limped it home, swapped cars, and spent the next week troubleshooting what went wrong. After a lot of trial and error, I figured out the alternator was the culprit. I ordered a new one, waited for it to come in, and then spent hours in the garage replacing it. I charged the battery overnight, woke up the next morning ready to fire it up… and nothing. No power.
So, I hauled the battery and old alternator to AutoZone, where they told me the battery was fine, but the alternator (the old one) was definitely shot. The new one was already in, so that wasn’t the issue. Last night, I dove back in, tracing wires and connections until I finally realized the problem was with the wiring itself. I pulled out all the battery cables and ordered new ones, which are currently on the way. It’s one of those moments where frustration turns into curiosity — a “what’s next?” challenge that I kind of love.
That’s the thing about this Jeep. It’s not just a car. It’s something I’ve built, broken, fixed, and learned from over and over again. It’s something my dad and I have tackled together for almost a decade now. It’s Mason’s favorite ride in the summer and my go-to snow tank in the winter. It’s a constant work in progress, but honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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