Kissimmee 2026

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Thursday, Jan. 15 - Mecum Kissimmee Auction Arrival

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As I approached the gate, I felt the dull and persistent thud of my hammering heart against the wall of my chest. It was my first time, and I was excited—or maybe nervous. Probably both.

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The attendant asked for my credentials, but I could offer only my name.

“There should be a package for me,” I added.

“Ah, yeah,” he said knowingly. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

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I tore open the paper and reached inside—six lanyards with badges: three for staff members, three for guests. I put one around my neck and shoved the others in my bag. I’d need those tomorrow.

I thanked the gate attendant, took a deep breath and got back on the move. There was no time to waste. <a href="https://www.mecum.com/auctions/kissimmee-2026/">The World’s Largest Collector Car Auction</a>® now spans the entirety of Osceola Heritage Park’s 200-acre campus. I had a lot of ground to cover and just a couple of days to do it—and I didn’t want to miss a thing.

Thursday, Jan. 15 - Mecum Kissimmee: The First Impression

Mecum Kissimmee has grown into a behemoth of an auction. The 2026 event spanned 13 days and saw somewhere around 4,500 vehicles cross the auction block, with all of them on display in neat little rows (across over two dozen designated display zones). While some of us might have the ability to conceptualize that kind of mass, I think, for most, it’s impossible to comprehend the true scale without beholding it in person.

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Those were the only words I could muster as I stood before the enormity of it all. Me: a writer and editor whose literal job it is to use words to describe things, and I couldn’t. I was at a loss.

Freestanding glass-walled and open-air tents teemed with a seemingly endless array of the world’s most celebrated vehicles, and no matter how many tents I entered, there was yet another one still waiting on the other side. Even after three days of roaming, I never did make my way through each and every one.

Still, it wasn’t only the cars that made an impression.

Countless admirers poured in and out of the display tents with eyes glistening and mouths agape. The joy was infectious. I heard lifelong fans gushing over finally seeing their dream car in person, and tales of childhood memories brought to the surface once again. People passed phones and cameras around freely to pose for photos with their favorites. They scanned the QR codes on the window stickers and took digital deep dives into the history of each vehicle, settling debates over how many were made that year and whether you could get one in green. It was a fantastic amalgam of enthusiasm, nostalgia and fellowship.

Thursday, Jan. 15 - The Private Bachman Reception at Mecum Kissimmee

Later that evening, I made my way to the dedicated reception celebrating the auction-headlining Bachman Ferrari Collection. The exclusive event was an invite-only preview, open to those niche collectors with plans to bid on any of the many cars in the Bachman group.

The air that night was cold, but the energy in the room was electric. Hundreds of<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ferrari" data-type="link" data-id="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ferrari" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"> Ferrari</a> faithfuls stood elbow to elbow while poring over the legendary cars that surrounded them. They roamed about from one to the next, enjoying drinks, hors d'oeuvres and lively conversations with their fellow Ferrari devotees.

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Despite the apparent air of reverie that hung about, something lurked quietly beneath the camaraderie and fun: an undercurrent of excited anticipation for the spirited competition that was yet to come. In just two days’ time, these same individuals who were engaging now in friendly banter would be bidding against one another in a battle to win the cars they’d come to obtain. This was an auction, after all, and only the most determined among them would rise to the occasion and leave with a Bachman beauty in tow.

A couple looked at me expectantly from their table in the hotel dining room where I was seated next to them, my coffee still too hot to drink. My Mecum jacket had given me away. I confirmed their suspicions and asked if they were here to attend the auction. While I was hoping for a friendly interaction, I couldn’t have anticipated the conversation that followed.

The couple told me they come every year and had watched the event evolve into the major production it is today. “How many would you say are on your staff in total?” the man asked. “When you count all the drivers and security people, the people working the gates … I mean, it’s got to be at least a thousand, right?”

I wasn’t actually sure. I knew there were around 250 of us in the home office, but I didn’t know how many people were needed to staff our auctions, nor how many more were needed for Mecum Kissimmee. A thousand couldn’t have been far off.

“You know,” he continued, “I used to wonder if some of the fees were a little high, until I came to the Mecum Kissimmee auction and actually saw it in person. It’s incredible what you guys have to do to make this thing come together. From transporting the cars and getting it all set up and then taken back down—even just having staff there to give people like me directions when we get lost!—I mean, wow. Now I wonder how you guys can do it all without charging more!”

I laughed, appreciative that he was single-handedly delivering me one of the best customer-service interactions I’d ever had, but I was also struck by his observation. It was something that I had long wondered myself. Because we weren’t just holding auctions nearly every month; we were putting on regular large-scale, live events for a spectating, car-loving public. I supposed the reason we were able to “do it all” was because we had such a strong community of good, hard-working people, all dedicated to their individual role in achieving our shared goal. I felt touched that this person had perceived that and told him so.

He offered a genuine smile in response. “Well, I guess we better quit taking up all your time so you can get to it!”

With my heart now as warm as my coffee, I bid the couple adieu and gathered up my group. It was indeed time to get the show on the road.

Friday, Jan. 16 - Family Fun at Mecum Kissimmee

I passed out the badges I’d picked up at the gate the day before—one for each of my fellow coworkers from the editorial department, Brian and Margaret, and one for each of my three children who’d come along for the ride—and then we were off.

I guided our group to our first stop: backstage at the auction arena. We slipped in quietly to stow our computers and say hi to a few familiar faces—much of the marketing department had been stationed there for two weeks, getting their work done amid the rolling cadence of the auctioneers.

It was early in the day, but the crowds in the Mecum Kissimmee arena were already thick, and car after stunning car sauntered across the auction block at a steady pace. I stole a glance at my children, who were all staring at the spectacle in wide-eyed wonder. A glance in the other direction at Brian and Margaret resulted in the same. The bold and brilliantly lit red-and-black backdrop, the plush red carpet, the thousands of people milling about the stands, the auctioneers’ calls and bidder’s assistants’ hand signals, and most importantly, the vehicles—it was impossible not to stop and stare in awe. But we still had so much more to see.

My son, Cecil, was the first to tear himself away, remembering he’d been promised kid-centric entertainment. The Adventure Zone delivered. Cecil dove right into the fun, piloting a pedal car before quickly racing over to the slot car tracks. After that, he was ready to paint his own mini model car and color his entry into the daily coloring contest. Even my older two children, Siena and Adalyn, got in on the coloring. Who can resist a chance to win an Amazon giftcard?

Our group then headed to the Dodge Thrill Ride. Since it wasn’t yet 10 a.m., there was hardly any wait to climb into one of Dodge’s high-performance street shredders, so we all signed up and hopped in line. I was surprised that there was no age restriction, especially when my oldest daughter Adalyn begged to sit shotgun and was given a big thumbs up.

It didn’t matter what I thought I knew about getting whipped around in a tiny little obstacle course in a vehicle with more than 1,000 HP under the hood—it was wilder than anything I could have imagined. The kids squealed with excitement as I held on for dear life, and the only downside was that it was over as quickly as it had begun.

Next, it was time for lunch and afternoon treats. With more than 20 food trucks on-site at Mecum Kissimmee in both the food court area and sprinkled throughout the grounds, the options seemed virtually endless, and we ultimately stopped at several different ones to ensure everybody got to indulge in their top choices: street tacos, barbecue-brisket-topped mac and cheese, falafel, and, of course, a selection of hand-scooped ice cream for the kiddos and decadent specialty coffees for the adults.

After lunch, we grabbed some Mecum gear—a ballcap for Brian, T-shirts for my daughters and a bucket hat for Cecil—and then we snuck backstage again for an insider’s viewpoint as the 1966 Ford GT40 MkII Factory Lightweight crossed the auction block and sold for an astonishing $12.375 million. It was by far the most money any of us had ever seen change hands before our very eyes, and our block-level view made it an especially impactful experience.

Before we left for the evening, we ran into Ben Christoffel, Mecum’s Executive Producer of TV, and he invited us over for a behind-the-scenes tour of the Mecum TV truck.

We entered what looked like a plain white semi trailer on the outside, but there was a world of action happening inside. From the children to us adults, we were all blown away by the impressive setup and the sheer size of the crew manning the truck and bringing the show to life. Countless different stations each had several screens showing various live views of the auction block and other auction scenes; even commercials were played live and had to be executed by the crew. In the main cabin, Ben introduced us to the producer, the director, assistants and editors, along with the network representative. All were deeply engaged in their tasks, calling for camera changes, inserting on-screen graphics and talking directly to the crew on stage.

In the middle and back of the trailer were even more buttons, screens, lights and sounds, along with another 10 or so people engrossed in their own important tasks. These were sound technicians and audio engineers, color correctors, control operators and more.

I remarked to Ben how impressed I was by their ability to work on the fly, making split-second decisions with apparent ease. As a writer, I could easily spend hours toiling over a single paragraph. He laughed.

“You know, it’s not so bad,” he said. “We do the best we can in the moment, as the moment is all we have, and when it’s over and we go home and head to bed at night, we can lay down and get some sleep knowing we’ve done all we can.”

While Friday unquestionably delivered an incredible experience, Saturday promised a record-setting lineup of sales, and we were all excited to spend more time seated in the audience watching it unfold. I had anticipated leaving the kids at the hotel to swim and enjoy the pool on Saturday, but they’d had such a blast on Friday, they insisted on returning.

Geared up in our Mecum best and ready for the show, we found a spot in the spectator stands and settled in for the action.

By midday, the bids were pouring in from every corner and level of the arena, from the Mecum Kissimmee auction floor to the private boxes at the top of the stands. The bids from up top were signaled by the loud blair of an airhorn, while the ones on the auction floor were received with a spirited shout and a fist in the air by bidder’s assistants. And the numbers on the screen just kept getting bigger.

A 1969 Chevrolet Yenko Nova: $852,500. A 1969 Yenko Camaro Prototype: $1.815 million, immediately followed by a Baldwin Motion Camaro bringing $1.1 million. Then came million-dollar Porsche 911s and a vintage BMW at more than $1.5 million. Even a 1971 Plymouth Hemi Cuda Convertible became a multimillion-dollar car that day with a phenomenal $3.3 million sale.

We all sat watching, dumbfounded—until my phone rang. It was time for The Bachman Ferrari Collection to take to the stage, and while it was a moment we’d all been waiting to witness, our help was needed to package up all the collection awards and trophies so they could be sent home safely with their soon-to-be new owners.

Margaret, Brian and I left the kids to enjoy the show and got to work. Luckily, we could see and hear one of the many broadcast screens posted up around the auction grounds from where we worked and were still able to witness history in the making.

A 1985 Ferrari 288 GTO: $8.525 million; a 1992 F40: $6.6 million; the 649-mile Ferrari Enzo brings an incredible $17.875 million! And it just kept going. The FXX: $6.325 million; the 1967 275 GTB/4 Alloy: $6.05 million; the LaFerraris: $11 million for the Aperta and $6.71 million for the 2015! None of us had ever seen anything like it. Even my daughter texted me from the stands: “Mom! The 2003 Enzo went for like $17 million!”

We finished wrapping the last of the glass trophies in layers of bubble wrap, taped up the final boxes, and headed back to the stands. The Mecum literature team had done an exceptional job of organizing everything, allowing us to arrive back in the arena just in time for another star of the show: Bianco Speciale.

Brian, Margaret and I—along with our entire marketing team—had all spent upwards of six months poring over this Ferrari, picking apart every single word and sentence that anyone tried to tie to it—in articles, in advertisements, in emails, in postcards. We were obsessed with ensuring its success, and now here it was: the moment we’d all been waiting for.

Almost immediately, the bid went up to $30 million, and a hush came over the massive crowd of onlookers. Then it was up to $35 million just moments later. We all waited anxiously with bated breath, despite feeling confident that the car would sell. Five minutes passed. Then 10. The crowd grew restless. People began to shout, “Sell ‘em the car!” My heart started to sink. There was no way it could end like this. It had to sell.

We could see Dana Mecum on the floor in conversation with someone. Dana and the gentleman seemed to believe they were the only people in the room, unaware of the thousands of spectators watching their every move and waiting, impatiently now, for something to give.

Then, it happened. Dana threw his fist into the air and shouted, and just as quickly, the gavel came down. Bianco Speciale was sold: $38.5 million, the most valuable car ever to change hands via the Mecum Auctions platform.

I could feel a familiar lump rise up in my throat and tears well in my eyes. We’d done it. And I was here with my team and my family to witness it in person, all of us united in this historic moment—from the people on the podium and those backstage to the ones in the audience, both there at the auction and those at home watching Ben’s broadcast.

As we got on the road that evening en route to our hotel, my mind slipped into a meditation over all that had just occurred. I had now been a part of the Mecum team for more than 13 years—more than one-third of my entire life. I’d watched this company grow in extraordinary ways and had done my personal best to help fuel that evolution. I’d told the stories behind thousands of incredible cars and the amazing people who collect them, and I’d written more press releases than anyone would ever care to count.

Still, this was the first time I had ever witnessed the live symphony of all of our team’s efforts play out in such an up-close and intimate way, and it felt like something inside of me had shifted. Where once there was perception and storytelling, now lived understanding and first-hand experience. The relationship between myself and this company had always been a two-way street, but with this trip, it felt as if our symbiotic scale was tipped out of balance, and all I could do about it was say, thank you.

If you haven’t yet had the opportunity to attend Mecum Kissimmee, I encourage you, sincerely, to make plans soon.

Maybe, we’ll both get lucky, and I’ll see you there next year with your own badge and a few friends or family members in tow.

Kissimmee, Up Close: A Long-Time Employee’s First Time

A Mecum editor’s inside look at the event she spent years promoting, but never attended