When I popped the hood, a hiss of white steam billowed out into the cool afternoon air. Upper radiator hose had split right at the clamp. A clean, two-inch tear leaking hot coolant all over the manifold.
“Well,” I muttered, wiping my hands on a rag. “Looks like we’re staying in Oklahoma a little longer than planned.”
Jason climbed down from the cab, pulled off his jacket, and rolled up his sleeves. Without a word, he grabbed my toolbox from the storage compartment, pulled out a flashlight and a spare roll of heavy-duty silicone tape, and crawled right underneath the hot engine bay before I could even tell him to wait for it to cool.
“Careful down there,” I warned. “It’s still roasting.”
“I got it,” his voice came muffled from beneath the chassis. “Hand me the pliers and that extra hose clamp from the side bin.”
For the next forty-5 minutes, we worked side-by-side in the fading desert light. He got scorched twice, swore under his breath once, but didn’t quit. When he finally slid out from under the rig, his face was smeared with black grease and orange coolant, grinning like a kid who just won a prize at a county fair.
