Replying...
Intro. It was a scorching August 15 in Jaén. Dad had loaded the Seat Altea to the brim: suitcases, refrigerator, floats, umbrella... everything packed together. In the end the three of us couldn't fit. Mom, resigned, climbed onto my lap in the back seat. "It's only four hours to Motril," Dad said as if it were the most normal thing in the world. And so we started: her sitting on me, her back against my chest, my arms around her waist so she wouldn't fall with every curve.

The journey

@Richard