The dim light of the garage is equal to the afternoon sun in the neighborhood; you hear Johnny Cash singing from Folsom Prison from a half block away..it’s vinyl and not a plastic cd; you know the difference. There is nothing but legs and worn sneakers sticking out from under the 911. “We need to change out the back-right wheel bearings.” Garrett said with the glee of a kid checking out the holiday Christmas tree. Shit, was my first thought I don’t know a socket wrench from needle-nose pliers. Great! What can I grab? I’m sure I heard a Ughhhh, when he noted my job was just to sit behind the wheel and push down on the break pedal and not to touch. He went to work as if he was on the pit row of a NASCAR race and within minutes the job was done. Hey Garrett, little problem here as I sucked in my gut? No worries just pop the steering wheel off and we’ll get you out of there! It is said that God protects children and fools; my guess is he spends ample time watching over mechanics. On his third run at the track the engine came up lame and we had to beat the setting sun home as cops frown on running lights and an engine that sounded like it was taking a pass on a runway not a city street (anytime the driver can quote the sound code, you know he has been there before.) The smell of gas, rubber and oil makes for a fine Saturday. I admire those with talent and mechanical ability…I have none!