The Bibbster Was Never Just a Car Build
When most people look at a long-term project car, they see unfinished work. They see delays, unfinished panels, scattered parts, and years passing without a “final reveal.” In today’s world of overnight success and fast-paced content, there’s almost an expectation that every build should move quickly and end with a polished cinematic payoff.
But the truth is, the Bibbster was never really about getting finished.
Somewhere along the way, it became something entirely different for me. It became therapy.
When I first started the build, I thought the goal was the same as every other project: create something unique, push my fabrication skills further, and eventually drive the finished product. And while those things still matter, over time I realized the build itself had become far more valuable than the destination.
The shop became a place where the noise of the world quieted down.
There’s something deeply therapeutic about working with your hands. Cutting metal, fabricating parts, solving problems, stepping back and staring at an idea until it finally makes sense. In a world where so much of life feels digital and disconnected, building something tangible grounds you. It forces you to slow down and focus completely on the task in front of you.
The Bibbster gave me that.
Some nights I’d go into the shop with a clear goal. Other nights I’d just stand there thinking, cleaning, mocking up ideas, or changing directions completely. Looking back now, I realize many of those nights had very little to do with the car itself. The build simply gave me a reason to keep creating, thinking, and moving forward during different seasons of life.
People often ask why projects like this take so long, but I think long-term builds are misunderstood. Not every project is meant to be rushed to completion. Some builds evolve alongside the person creating them. Your skills improve, your ideas change, your priorities shift, and the project becomes a timeline of your own personal growth.
That’s exactly what the Bibbster became for me.
If I had rushed to finish it years ago, it probably would’ve just become another completed build. Instead, it became part of my life’s story. Every modification, redesign, setback, and breakthrough reflects where I was mentally and creatively at that point in time.
There’s also something freeing about allowing a project to exist without pressure. Once I stopped viewing the Bibbster as something that needed to meet a deadline or satisfy outside expectations, I started enjoying the process more than ever. It became less about proving something and more about experiencing something.
That shift changed everything.
Ironically, the longer the project has gone on, the more meaningful it has become—not less.
The build has also allowed me to document years of life through The Fab Forums. Looking back through old footage, I don’t just see a car changing over time. I see my kids growing up in the shop, different phases of life, evolving ideas, friendships, and memories that otherwise would’ve disappeared with time.
The Bibbster became more than fabrication. More than horsepower. More than content.
It became a place where creativity, therapy, problem-solving, and life itself all collided together.
And honestly, I think there’s value in that lesson beyond cars.
Not everything meaningful in life needs to be optimized for speed. Some things are valuable precisely because they take time. Some projects exist not to be completed quickly, but to shape us while we work on them.
The Bibbster may eventually be “finished,” but in a strange way, I almost hope the process never fully ends.
Because somewhere along the line, the build stopped being something I was trying to complete—and became something that was helping shape me in return.