I know it sounds weird fellas, but bear with me. About a year ago I was visiting my uncle in Mandan, ND on a trip to get a '64 Chevy van from my other uncle. My best friend from high school, Andy, was out to visit as well, and when we get together we tend to just go for a drive and catch up with each other's lives, etc. We had just washed his car, and decided to go for a cruise in his black sedan. We headed out of town, following the main highway until we tired of it and had to hit some gravel. This is where the adventure begins. I said "Let's find the first abandoned farmstead, and if there's no signs saying we can't explore, let's check it out". We go down the gravel road, and it comes to the inevitable "T". My senses tell me to go to the left. We do, and at this point I'm starting to get a feeling. A nudge from the COSMOS or something. "Further, young man, further..." We head about 10 miles down the gravel road and notice an old F-1 pickup turned on it's side next to the railroad tracks. It's pointed in the direction we're going, and I'm reaffirmed in our path. "It's only a couple miles that way", I say, weirdly confident in where we were going. It was almost like I had already been there in a dream... A mile and a half down the road, we spot the farmhouse. "This is it!" I said, butterflies starting to well up in my chest. We pull into what used to be the driveway. No signs of signs. The house is 1/4 mile from the road through a field, and we're in a (now very dirty) late model Chrysler 300. Around the corner from the house was a '50's Lincoln and a '50's Cadillac. I could see the tops of fenders and a pair of wishbones sticking up in the air 100 yards to the North. I hurried along to inspect them, and noticed the roof of what looked to be an old '50ish Mopar above the tall grass about 50 yards to the left. We were in a low area, and headed towards a hollow. We got over the knoll, and wood ticks started climbing our pant legs. As we crested the hill, I could see a LOT of cars. There must've been 15-20 of them. We stopped to pull off some ticks and then we each went our separate ways, I went to the old Fords, and Andy went straight for the Cadillac. There was a whole line of them! A '53 Mercury convertible, a handful of '46-'48 Ford sedans, a couple old jail-bar trucks... AND A '49 MERCURY! My heart nearly stopped as the information clicked in my brain, much like watching a slot machine hit the jackpot in slow motion. Holy SHIT! The cherries are all lined up... Then I climbed all over the car and checked the floors, the dash, under the hood... Shoot, I've seen worse! My phone was dead, nobody would believe me! I went back in January to scout things out again. Now it's time to find the owner... And I did just that! After a trip to the county courthouse in a nearby small town, I found that the previous owner was deceased and that the land now belonged to his son, who owns the shop right across the street. The rest of the story is pretty boring, but long story short, I made a deal on the car, and the last day of May, after 6 hours of getting stuck and un-stuck and almost giving up and prayer and answered prayers, the old Mercury came loose and we got it on my trailer. SO, I know I'm pretty blessed to have found the car, but I truly believe someone was pointing me in the right direction; that it wasn't all just luck. Have you had a similar experience?