First of all, I want to say it was all my fault. My daddy didn’t raise no lazy pedal pusher. No sir! I was taught right! I was raised in the old school, learning the art of clutch-shift-gas-engage. My first car had a five speed, manual transmission – as every car I’ve had since. I went WAY old school when the synchronizer for second gear went on my ’77 Civic – exposing me to the way of the double-clutch.**
WAY!
No, it was all my lazy foot’s fault.
I stalled in traffic.
Oh, the humanity!
I don’t claim to be a great driver, but I’m pretty good in the clutch. I’m smooth as a gravy sandwich (said in an Aussie accent). I drive with pride, but today knocked me down a notch. Neither hill nor speed nor stop-and-go kept me from the true path – until today. I can’t remember the last time I suffered the indignity of turning my key surrounded by idling engines.
Please, don’t tell my daddy. I couldn’t live with the shame.
**And now for a moment of honesty: most of the time I wound out first gear, much to my passenger’s delight, and went straight to third.