Why I Built Vintrak
There's a Porsche commercial from 2005 that I think about more than I should. A kid is sitting in class, staring out the window, and a 911 rolls past. That's it. That's all it takes. The moment the bell rings he's on his bike, riding straight to the dealership. They let him sit behind the wheel. He asks for the salesman's business card and says, "I'll see you in about 20 years." And every time I watch it, something catches in my chest, because I remember. I remember the exact car that did that to me. The one that stopped me on the sidewalk. The one on the poster. The one that made me decide, before I could even drive, that this was going to be a part of my life forever.
If you're reading this, I probably don't have to explain it to you either.
You know the car you drove across the country with nothing but a duffel bag in the back. The one you bought when you finally had a real job and couldn't believe the keys were yours. The project that sat for three years while you told everyone it was "almost done." The one you sold and immediately regretted.
We remember these cars the way we remember people. How they sounded. How they pulled. What was wrong with them. What we fixed. They were there for first dates and last drives and long nights with the windows down and nowhere to be.
But here's what kills me: when you sell that car, it's gone. All of it.
The maintenance records you kept. The mods you installed. The money you spent. The photos. The receipts. The story. Everything disappears. There's no permanent record of what you built, what you fixed, what you loved about it. When the next owner takes it home, they get a car, not a history. Not a biography. Just a vehicle.
And there's no good solution for this. I've looked. There are maintenance apps. Modification trackers. Valuation tools. Document storage. But nothing that actually gets it. Nothing that understands what it means to own a car you care about, to document it, preserve it, track its value, and carry that story forward when you pass it on to the next person.
So I built one.
Vintrak is the operating system for your garage. One place for every part of ownership: maintenance history, mods, costs, documents, photos, value over time. It's elegant. It's built for people who actually care about their cars, not casual owners checking their tire pressure.
But more than that: when you sell your car or pass it on, Vintrak transfers with it. The next owner doesn't start from zero. They get the full story, every service, every upgrade, every moment you documented. Your car's biography stays with it.
That changes everything. It means the care you put in doesn't disappear. The value you built doesn't vanish. The story you created doesn't get erased.
For the first time, there's a permanent record of what your car meant to you.
A Note to the People Who Know Me Through RavenRock
Nothing's changed. I'm still running the fund with Yuri. But Vintrak is the project I've been wanting to build for years, and I finally had the tools and the time to do it right. Part of RavenRock's thesis is that SaaS isn't dead — modern tooling is just rewriting who gets to build it. Vintrak is me stress-testing that thesis in the most direct way possible: by building one myself.
Consider this going back to my roots, not away from them.
I'm opening the waitlist today at vintrak.io. We'll be letting people in on a rolling basis, but we'd love to have you in line. If you've ever loved a car the way I'm talking about, if you know what it means to care about ownership, to document it, to preserve it, come join us.
Your cars deserve better than a shoebox of receipts and a fading memory.