Jeep.

When I was young my father had a surplus army jeep that we all loved dearly. It was especially fun in the summer when the top and doors were off and we drove it out onto the beach to go fishing. It was beyond basic - the gas gauge didn't work and you had to put a stick in to check the fuel level. On chilly days warmth was provided via a piece of heater hose from under the dashboard that you stuck under your jacket. There was a piece of rope tied between the front seats that you needed to hang onto when it went around the corners to avoid being tossed out. I  often think of it as a metaphor for my childhood - hang on or fall out; it's up to you. As it rusted he replaced different parts of it with sheet metal and rivets, the tailgate fell off and was replaced with some wood. Obviously long before the days of the "safety inspection." I don't think that my parsimonious father was trying to teach us about "making do", but the lesson was absorbed all the same and I find myself strangely able to keep things working long, long after someone else has given up. All I was conscious of at the time was the wild exhilaration of feeling the wind in my hair and seeing the road whiz by through the holes in the floorboards.