Where’s an automatic when you need one?
As a youngster, I was brought up on drag racing and everyone knew that automatic-transmission cars were more consistent and generally quicker than cars with manual transmissions. So why would I want to learn to drive a stick?
I was about 20 years old when I switched from having mere winter beaters to a regular 12-months-ofthe-year car that was thrifty and practical. At least that’s what my then-future wife had me believing was important.
So, it was out with the ’72 Chevelle with the two-speed Powerglide automatic transmission, and in with the fuel-injected Volkswagen Rabbit with the red plaid seats and shiny silver paint job.
That car had a manual transmission and I had never driven a stick car before. And what better way learn than by, after buying it, driving two hours home through thick-as-thieves city traffic in a trial-by-fire kind of way. I would be lying if I said it went smoothly.
But that car forged a new relationship with the manual transmission. Between then and now, I only ever owned one other automatic-transmission car and one truck. Everything else came with a stick.
I’ve driven NASCAR racers, openwheel racers and muscle cars, all with manual transmissions. Our company’s current crop of restoration projects
— a 1963 Corvette, a 1965 Mustang, a 1970 Plymouth GTX and a 1955 Chevy — are all manual-trans cars. My personal vehicles — an Audi R8 and an Acura NSX — are stick cars as well.
So you can understand the problem when the doctor’s office called to set up an appointment. For surgery. To my left knee. My clutch leg.
Yup, manual-transmission cars all over the place and at the very moment after the surgery, I could not drive them.
That didn’t stop me from trying, of course (as I’m a stubborn male), and I’m sure the sight of my R8 lurching down the street at 8 a.m. was as painful for the neighbors to watch as it was for me to execute. By the third traffic light, I was in so much pain that I was sweating and reciting pi to the 15th decimal place in an effort to distract myself.
I eventually made it to the coffee shop where I was just so ecstatic to be out of the car that I wouldn’t get back in. Seriously. I worked on my laptop from that coffee shop and never made it to the office that day.
I eventually had to leave, of course, but I managed to adjust the seat in a way such that the angle of my leg made pressing the clutch pedal more bearable. I got home and couldn’t even think about the torture of driving the other stick cars. I passed by them without a second glance.
After finding my way into manual transmissions all those years ago, embracing them for their performance attributes, there I was unable to drive any of them. And not an automatic in sight.
How ironic.
Jeff Melnychuk is Wheelbase Media’s managing editor. He can be reached on the web at www.theoctanelounge.com by using the contact link. Wheelbase supplies automotive news and features to newspapers across North America.