Your dad spent Saturdays under a hood. Or your uncle did. Or you did, with a creeper and a socket set and a radio playing something that stopped being popular before the car was ever paid off.
You do not need it explained. You know what a '57 Bel Air sounds like turning over after forty years of sitting, and you know what a street sounds like in the half-second afterward, when everybody hears it and stops talking. Del Prado fills with three hundred and twenty-five of them: hot rods, muscle, vintage trucks, restorations that cost somebody three years of weekends and one difficult conversation at home. Registration sold out, which tells you this is the show the builders chose. Food trucks down the block, a DJ, kids behind steering wheels older than their parents.
The Lantern District in Dana Point, a Sunday morning into the afternoon, free to walk.