“Damn
it.”
Our
new Aegean metallic blue Honda Fit lurches and dies in an empty parking lot on
the edge of Iowa City. The early Sunday morning rain drums down the windshield
in long loopy rivulets as I grind my teeth in frustration. I drop the stick back
into neutral and giving it a shake to make sure it’s in the right place and unclenching
my jaw with a heavy sigh I push the red button on the dash, re-starting the engine.
This is day two of my manual transmission training and today’s lesson is not
going well. My wife and driving instructor, Boann, has spent the last hour instructing
me in an exercise I call “Starts and Stops.” This lesson is designed to teach
me how to find the clutch point, a magical place where the car has enough gas
and the gears are in the right place to catch, pushing the car into motion. So
far I have only found it smoothly a couple of times.
“Deep breath.
You’re doing fine.” Bo says gently placing her hand on mine.
Rubbing
the growing bruise under the safety belt, I shake my head and try again.
The
purchase of a new car was a necessity. Our previous car, a 2003 The Suzuki Aero
that we had called Bubba Sue, had come down with a bad case of transmission
grind. Bubba, also a bizarrely named shade of blue, had been a valued companion
that had taken us through two cross-country moves, numerous smaller excursions,
and countless activities that litter the medians of life. The grind wasn’t a
surprise, but my wife and I had hoped that Bubba Sue would survive one more cross-country
trip between Iowa and Portland, Oregon before being put out to pasture. We had
hoped we could get away with not having a car, since Portland has a really good
inexpensive mass-transit system.
The only sticking
point that we went back and forth on was whether or not to go manual or automatic.
I never learned how to drive manual. This wasn’t due to my driving skill or
preference, and more about availability; when I learned to drive all we had
were automatics. Boann’s training on the other hand had been just the opposite.
Over the years I
had heard from a number of different drivers, my wife included, about the
benefits offered by manual transmission like better fuel economy, greater speed
control, lower price, and cheaper maintenance. While many of them were true at
one point in the past, most of these factoids are no longer true. Many
automatic transmission cars get better or equivalent mileage, for example the
2014 Ford Focus six-speed automatic economy car gets a combined 33 MPG while
the equivalent manual model gets 31. The same for price, many of the cars we
looked at had comparable prices for either option. We only saved $800 by
getting a manual, a savings that was washed away in financing fees, taxes, and licensing.
Other than in Europe, manual transmission sales have steadily fallen across all
manufactures. Only 3.9% of cars sold in the 2013 sales year were manual
transmissions. Many vehicle fleets like cabs, police cars, and the Military
Humvee are all automatic now.
So why the loyal
attachment from so many drivers? The one consistent argument that I heard from
most sources really came down to greater control over the engine itself, which at
first didn’t make sense to me. Shifting seemed like the perfect task to turn
over to a computer. What I figured out as I learned the delicate dance between
clutch, shifter, and gas wasn’t so much greater control over the engine as it was
having an extra check when it came to speed control. Each gear only has a
specific range of speed where the engine will operate efficiently. Stomping on
the gas in the wrong gear will only serve to rev the engine and waste gas with
little gain in speed. It might also damage the engine. It does beg the question
though, are you controlling the engine or is it controlling the driver through
sound and vibration.
I also frequently
hear, “it’s just more fun to drive.” At this stage the only feeling I am
finding is a sense of joy when I don’t have to scramble to restart when I stall
the engine. A feeling I think is more akin to relief then fun or joy. I like to
go driving. I like the long deep conversations Bo and I have on the open road. There
is something about the transitional nature of a trip and the secluded-ness of
the car that allows for a level of conversation that we don’t normally have when
others are around or in other modes of transport like a train or airplane. Even
the topics stray far outside the norm, the shifting nature allowing a space for
topics that we would never consider saying elsewhere. I have even found myself occasionally
saving topics for road trips. Every trip brings us a little closer. I wonder if
that is why I keep moving the two of us cross-country every chance I get. Yet
the actual act of driving, that’s just the bread, the literal vehicle, that transports
us to this place where we can achieve this conversational state. The less
distracting it is the better.
We purchased the
Fit the day before from Randy Kuehl’s Honda, a tiny lot in Cedar Rapids Iowa
tucked between a hotel and baby supply story. The triangled lot sparkled with
new and used cars in a variety of shapes and colors in the beautiful spring
morning. We had spent the last month test-driving different cars and dealers
looking for the right mix of dealer service, price, and vehicle specifications
before unlocking the right combination at this location. What I didn’t realize
was that all of our research meant walking into this dealership was a bit of Fait Acompli.
We had intended to
give Bo the opportunity to test-drive one of the two manual Fits they had in
stock. Just like the layout of a car’s cabin, sightlines, or even the feel of a
vehicles drive, each manual transmission is a little different and Bo wanted to
make sure that this model was something that she could teach on. Her concerns
weren’t unfounded, the angle or length of the stick, the clutch point, and
peddle height can all have an effect on complexity of a car’s drive, and influence
someone’s ability to teach or to learn.
This was the only
car that I couldn’t test drive, so as we pulled out of the lot I was busy
looking in hatches, pushing buttons, opening the moon roof and windows and not
paying attention to Bo. When I did look up, the big goofy grin smeared across her
face as she shifted smoothly between gears in the short drive to the highway
exit told me this would be the car that would carry us through the next decade
of our lives. She looked so happy and I wouldn’t be the one to stand in the way
of that happiness even if it meant having to learning a process that heretofore
I had thought had dubious benefits.
It took most of
the morning to fill out and sign all the necessary paperwork before we could
drive off the lot. Several hours that were mostly wait as forms was processed,
phone calls made to banks and insurance carriers, and the new car was detailed.
I also took the opportunity to clear out the remaining dandruff from Bubba Sue.
A process that in the moment was surprisingly emotional. I couldn’t help but
wipe away tears as I dumped the contents of the glove box and trunk into a box.
It was the first real purchase I made as an adult, a physical symbol that
represented the all the labor it took to pay it off, and it was difficult to
see it go. Bubba Sue had been in my life just a little longer then my wife, and
some of Bo and I’s earliest memories could be found in the grit stuck between
the seat cushions or in the dings and scratches on the panels. Even reading
this out loud several weeks distant still makes my eyes water and my throat
constrict.
I learned to drive
on an 80’s era Toyota Corolla that started life as yellow as a banana but by
the time I got behind the wheel it had faded to almost white. Through a quirk
of timing, I was eligible to get my learners permit before I was able to enroll
in the Driver’s Education class in high school, so most of my training was done
on rural routes and dusty back roads outside of Kansas City, Kansas. To this
day I can still hear my mother say, “hugging the right!” when I drift too close
to a rumble strip or I get a horn blast from the next lane. It was a long hot
summer in a car whose air conditioning only served to make the vehicle more
humid. By the end of a training session the car turned into a damp pressure
vessel that shortened attention spans and tempers. I have a feeling I was lucky
I wasn’t left on the side of the road on several occasions.
Many of the
memories from that time period have faded so I don’t remember how long it took
me to learn how to drive, but I do remember taking that car out for an
unsanctioned, and highly illegal, sojourn to a party before I had actually
gotten my license. My parents had other activities planned and didn’t want to
take or pick me up. Permit in hand, I convinced myself that I could drive there
on my own despite needing an adult with me when I was behind the wheel. The
white-knuckled drive across town left me too exhausted and nauseous to do
anything at the party and I left not long after arriving, convinced that the
police were waiting around the corner ready to haul me away for GTA. Not long
after though, I passed my driving test on the first try and I felt the first wisps
of freedom passed over me.
“Almost there, but
next time come up slowly from the clutch and give it gas at the same time.”
“But I thought you
said, all the way on or off with the clutch.”
“Yes, if you’re
changing at higher gears. This is getting into first.”
It’s about a week
later and we are training again. In the intervening time period I have realized
something; I’m an asshole driver.
I don’t mean that
I tailgate, speed, rapidly change lanes, or drive in other driver’s blind spots
all while waving my middle finger around like a digital whip. I mean to say I
used to get very irritated with people who wouldn’t be ready to go the instant
the light turned green. I was the kind of person that would lift my foot off
the brake and count the seconds it took for traffic to start moving around me. The
wait was a timed scale that I used to measure the intelligence or attention
span of the drivers around me as. I was always diligent to make sure that when
I was the first car at the light I was always paying attention so that I
wouldn’t make the people behind me late for whatever adventures they had
planned. I considered it a courtesy. Anyone who couldn’t do this was a jerk in
my eyes. A message I futilely communicate to the inside of my car by yelling out,
“Quit playing with your phone!” or “Pay attention!” usually adding a rotating
combination of swearwords that always left Bo embarrassed if the windows were
rolled down.
Now that I am
learning this process I realize how big of an ass I have been. Even if you are
an experienced driver used to shifting out of a dead stop and into traffic it
still takes a second or two to get into gear and moving. Now that I am the one
who is taking a moment to get off the line, I am grateful to other drivers who
are patient with me as I stall and sputter at a light. I am getting better. The
exercises that Bo has been teaching me have worked and I now only stall at
every fourth light or stop sign and as I drive more even those will go away.
In Bubba Sue I was
definitely the Primary Driver, now that we have Stormy (Short for Stormeggedon,
Dark Lord of All) that has shifted. Bo is definitely the new Primary Driver but
that is more an artifact of me still not being fully confident yet. I don’t
think it will fully shift back but I hope it will equalize. In the mean time I
spend my time in the car doing something that I rarely had the opportunity to
do, be a passenger. I have noticed a whole slate of businesses, parks,
attractions and other details that I missed because they were literally out of
view or because my main focus was on the road. It makes me sad to think of all
of the wonderful things I have missed while ensconced in the driver’s seat; things
that I might now have the opportunity to see now that I can drive manual.
I can’t say that
learning to drive stick will make me a better driver, nor do I think you will
ever convince me that it’s better method overall. I still have all the old
habits like hugging the right that I had when we got started, now I have an
added process that will take some adjustment time. I will agree that it has
made me a more patient and rounded driver. Which is a step in the right
direction. At some point I might even find it a little fun. We’ll see.
I do still yell at
people who are slow to enter the intersection, but only if they are messing with
their phones.
Fuck those guys.
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