So my dad met me at the Y to run with the triathlon class and afterwards we were both going to be driving home and he said, "Hey! Why don't you try driving my car home?"
I looked at his manual transmission VW Passat and groaned thinking about all of the unpleasant memories of learning to drive in it–the stalling, the rolling backwards, the honking as angry drivers flew past me when the light turned green...
Dad smiled at me saying, "You know, if you want to learn to ride the motorcycle, you're going to have to be really good at shifting..."
Argh!!! Won over. We switched cars and he waited for me to pull out first.
Stall once.
Stall twice.
And rolling! Yeah!
Switch from reverse to first gear and stall for a third time.
Stall for a fourth time. That motorcycle better be worth it!
Stall for a fifth time!
About to just get out and switch cars back but it finally decides to cooperate with me.
Got to the street and waited for a good opening, letting several pass by that I would have gone for if I wasn't having images of stalling in the middle of the street and getting smashed into a million pieces racing through my mind. Finally got a ginormous opening and MADE IT! Giant obstacle one overcome! (Well if we aren't counting getting out of the parking space and not smashing into any cars or pedestrians on the way through the parking lot... but you know...)
Turned down the side street and then repeated the long waiting process to turn onto the next street. So far so good!
Safely onto a straight away, I started to accelerate. First gear. Second gear. Third gear. That's funny– I didn't remember the RPMs being that high and usually I could go more than 20 mph when in third gear. Oh well, time to turn onto the highway anyway.
Starting down the onramp, I shifted into fourth gear and then fifth, pushing the gas pedal further and further down. Nope. Something definitely wrong. When in fifth gear and with pressing the gas pedal all the way into the floor, I should be capable of going more than 25 mph.
I pulled over and easily brought the car to a stop, slapping on the flashers. Dad pulled over right behind me and I jumped out to explain my predicament. He came over to the offending vehicle and I slid back into the driver's seat, staring at the gages. "Are your ABS and brake lights usually on?" I asked, just now noticing the lit up symbols that I was used to having permanently decorate my own dashboard.
"No," he said, leaning in the window a little further. "That would probably be because the emergency brake is still on, which would also explain why you were stalling it so much."
My eyes widened, having forgotten that he used the emergency brake. Sure enough, it was still up, pointing at me as if scoffing at my mistake. I slid it down with no problem. "You shouldn't have much more problem with stalling!" Dad said, sliding out of the window. "It's a really strong brake."
"Is that why there's a burning smell in the air?" I asked. He nodded and I shivered, mentally berating myself over the stupid mistake. "I hope I didn't mess up your brakes!"
"They'll probably be fine," Dad said. "Let's head home."
The "probably" of "probably be fine" echoed in my head the rest of the way home, but I didn't stall it anymore and the brakes do seem to be working so hopefully it's all good! :)
