Stick(ing) to it

"It's perfect," I said to my mom seconds after seeing what would become my first car. I had already spent hours pouring over internet listings and reviews of different makes and models of car before settling on this one--a green 2000 VW Jetta GLX. Front-wheel drive, a 2.8L VR6, sunroof, premium sound system, leather seats, and only 82,000 miles. I had lobbied for a rear-wheel drive V8, but my dad's caution forced the V6 compromise. When you're 16, the car is the ultimate symbol of freedom (for suburbia at least.)  Few things compare to being able to go places without having to rely on another person for transportation.

My mom got the car inspected and when everything checked out, we started haggling with the man selling it, settling on a reasonable price in a few minutes. It seemed as if the stars had aligned and I was about to taste freedom, but one little thing stood in my way--I didn't know how to drive a standard.

I knew the concept behind driving a stick, but translating a mental idea into precise foot control was easier said than done. I had never needed to control anything to within a few millimeters before, especially not  with my feet, adding to the pressure for a reasonably new driver. Furthermore, when you make a mistake driving a stick, your failure is immediately and gut-wrenchingly apparent to those inside and outside the vehicle. The car will suddenly lurch forward as the momentum of the engine is transferred into the driveshaft all at once before stalling. After this, it takes several seconds to restart the engine and ready yourself for another try, just to fail again. The whole ordeal can become pretty demoralizing after missing a turn signal because of your own inability to get the car moving.

But, as with most things in life, the only way to become proficient is through practice. With this in mind, my dad took me out to a secluded industrial park the weekend after purchasing the Jetta to work on accelerating from a stop.

"Just let the clutch out slowly as you press the gas," he said. "Remember to be smooth."


Vrrrrrrrrrrrrrrklunk... Silence.

"That's okay, everyone stalls the first time. Try again," he said encouragingly.
Clutch in, put it in gear, start revving the engine... a simple checklist that kept running through my head as I readied myself for a second try.


Vrrrrrrrrscreeeech...

Too much gas. We lurched forward as the tires struggled to catch up to the now mechanically-connected over-revved engine. Not the best way to start, but at least we were moving. Except that because I had been so focused on getting going, I completely forgot how to actually drive once moving. I gripped the steering wheel tight in my sweaty hands as we trundled down the deserted street, the engine barely above idle. Aside from manually shifting, a car with a standard transmission is identical to an automatic--which I had been driving the months before--yet the whole experience seemed so foreign.

Over the next thirty seconds, my dad tried to convince me I should stop the car and try starting again.
"Starting is the hardest part, once you have that down, the rest is easy. Besides, you're going to have to stop eventually, unless you plan on driving this slow for the rest of time."

He was right. I would pass through several lights and stop signs on the three mile drive to school each day, let alone the countless lights I would hit driving anywhere else. With this realization, I became determined to master the manual transmission and gain my freedom once and for all. I came to a stop, started revving the engine again, slowly let the clutch slip...

Vrrrrrrrthuddd....


"You know, riding a bike isn't so bad. Good exercise, you don't have to pay for gas... maybe I'll just stick to that," I said bitterly.
"Try it again," he said optimistically, worried about the financial consequences of me giving up I'm sure. I restarted the car, began revving the engine again, wincing in anticipation of another cacophony of rapidly colliding metal components.

Vrrrrrrrrooooooommmmm...

Not quite perfect, but certainly sufficient for anyone. With this, I proved to myself that I could do, and that I only needed to keep practicing to get a feel for the point at which the clutch starts to bite and how much gas is needed to accelerate through the additional resistance smoothly.

We spent another couple of hours driving up and down that industrial road, pausing only for a root beer float break (my dad's favorite.) I stalled many more times, was the cause of more horrific sounds that I care to remember, but I started getting the hang of it--succeeding more often than not by the end of the day.

Today, driving that same Jetta has become second nature. I can accelerate smoother than most automatics without thinking and I enjoy the added control I have over the vehicle. Now, I can't imagine driving anything other than a manual on a daily basis. It just seems so natural. And all I needed was some encouragement and confidence in myself.