When I say stick, I mean stick. (Yes, it’s phallic. Let’s get that out of the way.) Real stick, real manual, means a shifter on the floor and not two pedals in the foot well but three.(… ) A stick shift does what very little new technology can: make you live fully in the moment.
In « Floor Show: Hugh Garvey defends the dying art of downshifting and double-clutching in this Sunday’s New York Times.
I’m a girl: I care only so much about cars. I have only one requirement about the vehicle that I drive: it must be a stick.
I’ll admit that I lean to Volkswagons – this comes to me by blood, as part of my hippie heritage. We had six VWs in our family, over time, while I was growing up, and one lonely Land Rover when we were living on Conifer Mountain: a grey and white number that we called Mighty Mo. All of the above were manual transmission. The Mighty Mo had four-wheel drive – the kind you had to get out of the car to flip.
I realize there’s something oh-so-girlie about driving a VW, but I suspect I could be swayed away from my heritage by, oh, I dunno: a classic Saab, a cute little Mini, a sweet little Smart Car.
Girlie cars, all.
But baby, don’t mess with my stick. ‘Cause if I’m not driving a stick, I’m not driving.
I left my car (a VW) behind in Seattle when I moved to Chicago, so once I landed a job my next line of business was to walk on to the VW lot and ask them (this was September, a month past August, which Consumer Reports tells us is the best time to buy a new car – if you don’t mind last year’s model – because the lots are willing to discount deeply to clear out old inventory) if they had anything from last year with a stick. They had three. I test drove them all and went home with one. Two hours and the job was done. I credit this to having a tight list of essential requirements.
My sweetie drives a stick. It’s nothing we ever talked about, but it was the first thing I noticed when I slid into his car. For me it was a reassurance – a “yes, this just might work.”
And he was with me on the dealer lot when I asked for the stick offerings. He made no comment at the time, but later, over dinner with some of his old friends who were new to me (it was still early and still awkward and I don't think his friends had yet decided what they thought about me) he told the story, and mentioned, "Apparently it had to be a stick." His buddy said, "Really?" Looked at me, and then back at him, and said: "So she's one of us."
2 comments:
my first car was a '76 Plymouth Duster with a 225 slant-six and a three-speed column shifted-manual("three on the tree, not four on the floor")and I had four pedals in the footwell because I had the once-traditional foot-operated parking brake. The car wouldn't start unless you were in reverse with the clutch pedal depressed. Fortunately it always started right up without giving it any gas, which was a blessing with that pedal arrangement.
I remember there was a body shop near my high school that often sold unusual automobiles, usually european imports. They knew I wasn't really interested in buying a car, a teenager with no money, but they'd let me come by and try their cars out periodically. They once had a mid-60s Saab(I think it was a 96) which had a 4-speed column-shifted manual. I'd never seen one, before or since.
great story. my sister had a classic saab. man I loved that car.
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