These old school mechanics, folks who work on carburetors instead of the new vehicles—it’s what I kind of gravitate to. I think a lot of it comes back to freedom. A lot of these guys I’ve talked to, when they were 15, they got a set of wheels and they could get out. And drive. And in those days, especially for my great-uncle Harold—that’s him in the photo, with his ’56 Crown Victoria and his ’46 Ford pickup, his two prized possessions—it was like, This is my way out of here, this is my way to learn something. And if I don’t know how to put it back together after I’ve messed it up, then I won’t go anywhere else. For me, it’s that classic mantra of American freedom, the dream of getting out on the road.