Petrolicious, the creator of high-quality, original films and articles for classic car enthusiasts, has released its latest video showcasing the air-cooled world of Verve Vintage Motorworks.
Celebrating the inventions, personalities and aesthetics that spark a collective appetite for great automotive machinery, Petrolicious aims to inform, entertain and inspire its community of enthusiasts and capture the interest of those who have missed it.
Today Petrolicious picks up the story…
At the foot of the Wasatch Mountains in Orem, Utah, 30 minutes from endless asphalt, the roads turn into dirt roads, and from there you can drive to California without touching asphalt. Such a landscape favors people who build rather than wait. Cole and Franz, the two co-owners of Verve Vintage Motorworks, both fit this profile.
They are long-time friends and approach the cars from different angles, but with the same drive to get them moving. Cole didn’t grow up in a store, something he learned out of necessity while keeping old buses afloat during his college climbs. Franz, meanwhile, spent years in business in Colorado, living in the same air-cooled world that would later define their partnership. When something broke, neither man called for help; They reached for a manual, some tools, and time to figure it out.
Cole had a degree but couldn’t sit behind a desk. “I couldn’t sit at a desk any longer,” he said. “I wanted to work with my hands.” This realization comforted him and gave him meaning. He left to work for Jack Morris, a Porsche mechanic who became more of a mentor than an employer.
Cole followed him north to Spokane and appeared there until he was useful, sweeping floors, passing tools, and learning by doing. “He taught me so much,” Cole said. It was an education that few people received, and he treated it like a gift.
When his mentor left town, Cole returned to Salt Lake without a plan. He started repairing cars in his father’s garage. His father parked outside until there wasn’t even room left and told him it was time to find a place to park. It was big, quiet and intimidating at first. Then Franz joined him.
Franz had been a close friend long before Verve existed. He had worked in workshops in Colorado for 15 to 20 years, immersed in the same air-cooled Volkswagen and Porsche world that had attracted them both since high school. Their partnership was natural, one man was restless in building it, the other brought decades of quiet experience.
They called the shop “Verve,” borrowing a word that means “doing something with spirit.” Cole didn’t want to use his name. Together they built a business focused on air-cooled Porsche and Volkswagen cars, with the occasional Mercedes or vintage racing car. From manufacturing to engine building, they handled almost everything in-house.
The work found its rhythm through use, not perfection. “You finish a restoration and sometimes it ends up in the garage,” Cole said. “It’s hard to watch.” So they built cars that were supposed to come back dirty. They’ve been driving in Baja long before the shop opened, and those miles have shaped the way they build: cars as tools for experiences.
In the middle of the shop is a Porsche built for Baja. It is not a raised tram; It is a basic technical exercise. Knowing the disadvantages of the Porsche suspension on rough roads, they reworked the geometry to move it rearward and made a full-tube chassis. The reinforced cab is designed to withstand accidents and all major suspension points are attached to the chassis rather than the body. The design is not theoretical; It is a direct response to the punishment they experienced in the desert.
This approach makes sense here. There’s only one track near Salt Lake, but there’s endless open land. Within half an hour you can hit a dirt road and never see asphalt again. This is the terrain Verve is building for.
Their philosophy reflects the decisions that built the business: they pave a safe path for something unknown, learn through teaching rather than theory, and take the risk of renting a space that’s too big and filling it with ideas. “People talk about the separation of work and life,” Franz said. “Ours is mixed, and we like it that way.”
Three years later, the space is full but not yet finished. Cars come and go, sometimes back again. Cole stays in constant contact with the owners, sending photos and text messages about every decision, even down to the deadbolts. This shared responsibility expands on the old mentorship model, where knowledge is passed on through action rather than talk.
Both men see old cars in the same way: as an extension of human capabilities. “They’re easier,” Cole said. “If something breaks, you can see it. You can fix it.” The new ones don’t inspire that trust.
At the base of the Wasatch, this thinking makes sense. Nearby, the sidewalk ends, the street turns to dirt, and the spirit that built Verve moves on.
