As I sat there looking at the newly printed paper in my hand, excitement coursed through me. It was such a little paper that would one day give me so much freedom.
I was 15 years old and I had finally got my permit, and I could not wait to drive. However it was not just any drive that I was excited about. I was looking forward to driving my families bright green, look at me, V.W. bug. The only thing about this excitement was the bug was stick.
My mom sat in the passenger’s seat and I took the wheel. Having so many pedals by my feet felt very weird and foreign. The instructions replayed over and over in my head. “As you release the clutch, slowly push the gas pedal in.” After a few times killing the engine I was off. The wheels sometimes screeched as I changed gears, but I didn’t care because I was moving.
My neighborhood is not the most ideal place to drive stick however. The roads consist of hill after hill. I had made it past all of them, and was feeling pretty good until I turned the corner and looked ahead. There was one large hill that inconveniently had a stop sign placed at the top. As I halted to a stop, I nervously began to release the clutch and push the gas pedal in. Time after time the bug rolled back and died. My mom’s coxing words were not doing anything; I simply could not get over the hill. All of a sudden hot tears of rage coursed down my cheeks as I realized, this whole driving stick thing was going to take a lot of practice.
No comments:
Post a Comment