[10-15: under the hood of a car or truck]

The old Dodge pickup made a huge noise whenever it started. Not the quiet whine
of the car, barely audible from within the house, but a roar settling down into
a loud grumble. Whenever the engine came to life, that meant just one thing:
Swimming.

So we piled into the back, sitting on boards and buckets, and we'd drive out to
the dunes. Tear out over the beach, until we finally got to the ocean. The
diesel smell mixed with the fishy saltiness of the ocean.

My cousins would find a spot where they could build sand-castles, or swim out
into the ocean without any undertows, but me, I'd go head for the rocks down
the beach and end up ankle deep in tide pools, poking crabs and urchins with
sticks, and I'd pace up and down, collecting shells and bits of debris.

Mom and dad always rode up front, letting us kids hang loose in the back of the
truck, bouncing over the sand. A cousin had a bright idea of jumping out of the
truck into one of the dunes, and he nearly broke his leg doing so, saved only
by a bump of grass sticking up and breaking his slide down back toward the
truck as we drove. Mom and dad gave him a talking to for that one, but we all
got the idea to be a little more sensible.

So we'd be on the beach, dad would collect firewood and break out the cooler --
wine and salads, and we usually brought hamburgers or fish to grill on the
little charcoal barbecue.

They'd sit under an umbrella, or in the shade of the truck, and just watch us
kids.

The sun would set, and us kids would start getting cold, so dad would break off
a piece of kelp and blow it like a horn. We'd all ome running and Dad would
have us each go collect as much driftwood as we could carry, and he'd set a
fire on the beach and start dinner. 

Late one August, we were the only folks on the beach that night, and we started
to pile into the truck for the trip back home, and the old Dodge just gave up.
Engine turned over, but no roar and grumble, just a limp grind.

Dad popped the hood of the truck -- one of those old fashioned sorts that
opened from the side -- and climbed inside, or nearly so. He grumbled and
banged on things, and we all piled around the fire, trying to stay warm as the
night air rolled in.

Pretty soon we heard a yell, and dad comes walking up with a bundle of green
wires, salt air having corroded them beyond recognition.

"Well, I found the problem..."