At our house, that’s what we called a manual transmission — a standard. As in, the norm. As in, get used to working for everything.
My first car was a stick, so was my second, third, and forth. When I bought a Jeep Wrangler with an automatic at age 33, I finally understood how someone could fall asleep behind the wheel.
I drove a stick last night for the first time in ten years (unless you count a motorcycle, which I don’t, because motorbikes are their own species). It was fun, fun, fun. You can wring a lot of pep out of a standard.
Thanks to self-piloted cars, in years to come most folks won’t even know how to use an automatic transmission, much less a standard. Except for motorcyclists. Aaaayyyyy!!!!
Mega Vega 2000 SB TT
My first car was a 1997 Chevy Vega Coupe in black. Every time it needed a major repair, I added to its name. I miss that car.
Love those custom license plates — Whoo-P!
I miss being mesmerized and falling into a trance watching the road melt into a continuous ribbon of concrete, cold patch, road snot and assorted flotsam and jetsam…granted, that was while sitting in the front passenger seat looking down where the floor used to be. But who’s quibbling?
Ah, youth!