Take frustration out of learning to drive a manual

I began learning how to drive a manual transmission about three minutes after I returned from getting my beginner’s permit, nearly 20 years ago.

After returning home in the (automatic) family van, I burst into the living room, collected my father, collected the keys to his five-speed-stick Honda Civic, and dragged him outside.

He was midway through a ham sandwich and I didn’t even care. He could finish it in the car.

Dad knew this would happen. I had been telling him for months how this day was going to go. I was so excited I thought I was going to burst open at the seams and leave a horrible mess all over the driveway.

“Dad, let’s go!” I shouted. Dad and me would go driving all day and I’d be changing gears like Michael Schumacher for all of it.

“Hold your horses, Justin,” Dad said between bites of sandwich.

“You’re not ready for the highway yet. We’re going to start on our street.”

What the . . .? I was devastated. Not ready? For real?!

“Dad, I’m 16! I have every racing game and Car and Driver Magazine and every model car ever built. I pretty much already know how to drive a stick!” I yelled.

Hell, I’d even spent hours sitting in his car, parked, pretending I was driving. I knew how the gear lever worked and everything.

Still, I stood in disbelief. Shattered. Crushed. In all of my 16 years of existence, I’d never felt so gutted. Dad chuckled his signature Dad chuckle. Mom smirked from the porch. My brother called me a spaz. The neighbours could probably hear the sound of my ego being shattered to pieces, and even the dog was giving me a weird look.

Then, a challenge.

“OK, if you can get the car out of the driveway without stalling more than three times, we’ll see,” Dad said. “Pffffft, Dad, please!” Confident? Very much so. About 45 seconds and four stalls later, I’d only managed to get the Civic moved about three feet. My theory? Something was horrifically wrong with Dad’s clutch.

“No, no . . . let it out easy! Easy!” Dad said, over and over.

Wham! Clunk-clunk-clunk. Stall.

“Easier, Justin! Easy on the clutch!” Dad shouted.

A crowd had gathered by this point.

Wham! Clunk-clunk-clunkclunkity clunk clunk. Stall.

I was beyond upset and here’s the reason: At this point I totally understood the concept of being in the correct gear at the correct speed.

That’s partly because I had an 18-speed bicycle and, more so, thanks to Dad’s previously communicated 20-40-60-80 rule about what speed to upshift from one to two, two to three, and so on.

But that’s only part of driving a manual transmission. Turns out I had no idea about the clutch.

That stupid little pedal was ruining my life.

Literally, I thought the clutch pedal was simply a release mechanism that made it possible to move the gear lever. That’s it. Press the clutch, move the stick, let go, repeat.

I had no understanding of what was happening on the other end of that pedal. Simply, I thought it was an on-off switch. Locked or unlocked. Two positions, and only two positions.

Dad tried to explain the mechanical workings on the other end of the clutch pedal but my eyes glazed over. His explanation that the pedal moved a disc that pressed against the spinning engine flywheel is now something I understand, but as an enthusiastic teenager it just didn’t click.

What I wish my dad had taught me, and what I’ve since taught everyone I’ve taught to drive stick, is my top tip.

That tip? The clutch is not an on-off thing. It’s not like a light switch, with two positions. It’s more like a dimmer — it can be on, off or anywhere in between.

I’ve literally seen friends and family, mechanically inclined or not, simply get driving manual almost instantly after providing this tip.

Sure, it’s a funny pedal you use with your wrong foot — but just like the other pedals, you can use it a little, or a lot, or partway, or just a wee little bit, depending on what you’re trying to do.

Telling the stick-student to release the clutch as if they’d just stepped in dog poo with their left foot also helps. Ditto starting the lesson by intentionally making them stall the vehicle a few times so they’re not horrified to stall, which can make teaching a chore when frustration kicks in.

So if you’re learning to drive stick any time soon, or will be teaching this important skill to someone else, start by understanding, or communicating, that the clutch pedal operates over its entire length of travel and can be in, out, or anywhere in between.

It might also help save you from crushing a teenage carbuff’s soul.