When I got my driver's licence at the age of sixteen, there was one thing that I was excited about: finally being able to drive Kathy Jurca's red convertible Miata. After years of being a mere passenger, in the summer of 1998, I took the wheel.
Looking back, it's hard to believe that Kathy would let an inexperienced driver take control of such a fancy little car, but I think that was the point. Her car was standard, which meant that I needed to first learn that precise dance that is timing the release of the clutch with the revving of the gas. Kathy took us out to a factory in the middle of nowhere on a Sunday. Huge empty parking lot. Perfect for the new driver.
We spent an hour practising. Getting used to the clutch, shifting gears. Kathy was an encouraging teacher and at long last she deemed me ready for fifth gear. The only stretch of the parking lot that was long enough to get up enough speed was the exit, so I turned the corner and went for gold. By third gear the exit lane widened and I turned slightly to align with the curb. Except that I slightly overcompensated. The front tire made contact. I stalled. sssssssssssssssssssssssssss. The front passenger side of the car slowly sank down. Flat tire.
No problem. We got out all of the gear and set about changing the tire. First step: take off the lug nuts. When we got to the last nut - the special anti-theft nut - our tired biceps just couldn't pull hard enough. It was impossible. We gave up. No problem. Call Bob (Kathy's husband) to come and rescue us. His biceps are huge. As Kathy reached into her purse, she remembered leaving her cell on the counter at home, figuring it unnecessary for this trip. And so we had no choice but to walk. It was 5km to the nearest house. When we reached civilization, we found a willing helper who drove us back to the car, loosened that last nut, and soon we were off, headed home on a donut. Kathy drove.
Despite the unpleasant end of our first driving lesson, Kathy didn't give up on me. In fact, the next time I drove the Miata was a week later, and this time in real traffic. Having someone believe in you is a powerful thing, and I eventually felt rather comfortable driving standard that summer.
I didn't touch a stick shift for years after that. Without a car to practise on (Kathy lives far, far away, in Ohio) or a coach in the passenger seat, that feeling of confidence fizzled away to the point where claimed to be unable to drive standard when asked in conversation.
Twelve years later, I dive into the farming world where being able to drive standard is important. Dreams of a horse-powered diesel-free farm aside, I realized that I would need to get back in the saddle if I wanted to be able to drive a tractor. Yet I rested happily in denial. Until Sunday night. I was reading the insurance policy on Josh's new car (a subaru legacy, standard). The agent issuing the insurance the day before had accidentally placed a restriction on the policy that reduced the price but left me as the only eligible driver. Josh needed to be at work at 7:30am in the morning and the insurance place didn't open until 9.
A trial-by-fire re-driving lesson ensued. And even though it had been 12 years, it all came back to me. I still stalled a lot and earned my fair share of honks, but I drove standard the next day - even by myself! - and arrived alive. Let's just hope I keep it up so that I can shift the gears on my shiny new tractor, if and when I ever get to that point.
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