When I learned to drive a car with manual transmission, it wasn’t a big deal. Most cars on the road in the mid-1950s were outfitted with clutches and gears that had to be manually shifted.
Stay away from automatic transmissions, Dad advised for several years, on the assumption if one went bad it would cost way more than a manual to fix or replace.
Besides, when I was young and driving for good, having “four on the floor” was the dream of every teenaged boy.
A few days ago granddaughter Alayna asked if we could take my truck — the 25-year-old Ranger that looks the worse for wear — out so she could learn to drive a stick shift. My first inclination was to come up with an excuse not to, figuring it would be an ordeal better left to her dad.
But she persisted, knowing I was easy prey.
That I am now sporting an earring is proof of the power my granddaughters hold over me. Any opposition I have to most anything they say quickly melts away when they get in that little pouty mood.
“Sure, I’d love to,” came out of my mouth before I hardly knew what I was saying.
After clearing away some absolute necessities in the front seat — none of which I’ve touched in weeks — we climbed aboard and I drove southeast of Humboldt, where there are a couple of miles of county road where traffic is minimal.
I picked a slight rise to give Alayna her first crack at manipulating the clutch and transmission, mainly so we could be sure no one was approaching from either direction.
Predictably, on her first try in first gear the truck bucked a couple of times and died. Did the same thing on the next two or three attempts.
With gravel spewing from behind — “too much gas,” I said without a hint of criticism — we finally got on our way. Shifting to second, third and fourth went fairly effortlessly. We started over several times, and each one found Alayna coordinating clutch release and foot feed better until she had it down quite well.
“That was good,” I crowed, when the truck smoothly went forward in first gear. “It was,” she exclaimed with as happy a face as you’ll ever see.
Alayna needs a bit more practice, but it won’t be long before she’ll be driving the truck as well as anyone.
“You could drive it to school later on,” I offered, which brought a “we’ll see” look.
