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It’s been awhile since I got to drive the Foose. Sunday was such a beautiful day that it just needed to be done. Besides, today the weather is nasty again, and even Charles says, driving the Foose on ice and snow, probably not my best move.
He came over for awhile yesterday, and Jon, unfortunately, was beginning to feel under the weather as in sick. So we ordered out for food, then needed to pick it up. I started to get the keys for the Acura MDX automatically, then Charles said, “We aren’t going to drive the mustang?”
I said, “Well, only if you drive. It’s been too long for me.” I made it sound like it was a hardship if he had to drive, so we should take the Acura. The look on his face made me realize I’d said a silly thing. Charles did not see it as a hardship to drive the Foose for the first time. Of course, he didn’t.
Jon stayed in, trying to feel better, and we went off to get the food. Beautiful day, Charles is enjoying the car. He let me know just how well-behaved Jon has been when driving with me in the Foose. Charles doesn’t quite realize how wimpy I am, and he made the car do what it’s meant to do. VROOM, is not just a word for cartoon cars. The Foose wants to go faster, it just does. It is not a car for moderation.
Charles drove it smoothly and effortlessly. But it’s my car, and I still can’t drive it smoothly or effortlessly. I was enjoying the drive, enjoying the car getting to stretch it’s legs, enjoying Charles, enjoying the car, but there was this niggling part of me that wasn’t happy. I realized, I’m intimidated by my own car. There are moments when I still wonder, what was I thinking?
Then we get passed by some other small, expensive sports car, and the driver looks at my Foose. Almost no matter what other sports car someone is driving, they give my red and black beauty a glance. Is it too teenage boy to enjoy that?
Charles just said, I had to stop complaining and just drive the car. That isn’t exactly what he said, but it was the gist of it. We dropped off a part of his own mustang that he’d taken out of the engine, so another car geek friend can weld it. It’s either the whole differential, or part of it. Either way, Charles pulls into his friends driveway. Charles opens the drivers side door but leaves the engine going. Partly, to remind himself not to get distracted talking cars, and part to simply let his friend hear the engine, I think.
His friends comment, “Do I just kill you now?”
Charles explained it was my car, and this was his first time driving it. The look on his friend’s face was a look I’ve seen on several car geek faces. The Foose is a fine piece of machinery. The errand done, we drove to the restaurant to pick up the take-out order. We’d talked about my not driving my car on the way. By the time we came out of the restaurant, Charles said, “You want to drive home?”
Honestly, the answer was, no. But it’s my car. It really is. I have to learn how to drive it. Damn it.
The car had to be backed out, and it was on a slight incline. The combination made it exciting. I think I killed the engine at least six times. Twice, had to stop backing up because Charles, yelled out, car! I managed to scare the preppy young men in the truck beside me, who were unloading some sort of large present. Charles offered to back it out for me, finally, because this was the hardest part. But, by then, I was angry, and I said, “No, it’s my car, I will back it out.”
Anger seems to work for me, because soon there after I successfuly backed out. It wasn’t pretty, but it did the job. I am happy to say I had no problem turning onto the main road. I even had a stop light and I had no problem there either. Yea!
Then there was the turn into my subdivision. I have no idea why I couldn’t get it, but I couldn’t. First, I was letting the clutch out too soon, then I was not giving it enough gas, then . . . Who knows? But at one point I killed the engine with the nose of the Foose in traffic, so that some poor driver had to stop and let me attempt to back up into the turn lane. I finally got it, lurching, and so not smooth, but by that time I was just happy to not be on a busy road with other cars.
Drove home, into the driveway, then I had Charles park it in the garage. Why? Because his motorcycle was parked in such a way that it was chancy. I didn’t want to hit his bike, or scratch my car. Also, the turn into the garage is interesting with the Foose, and the hood is high enough that it’s very hard to tell how close you are to the end of the garage wall. Even Jon has trouble and his spatial orientation is much better than mine.
I drove it home, but didn’t park it. Is that a defeat, or just wisdom? I promise to get better at parking the Foose when there is not a motorcycle in danger of being hit. Charles loves his Harley, and the Foose has let me know what it means to have affection for a mechanical device.
Charles agrees with Jon that I’m doing well. That I’m actually picking it up pretty quickly. All I can say, if this is quick, I’d hate to see slow. But then I scared myself on Sunday, killing the engine in traffic. Both of them tell me I’m being too harsh on myself. Me, too hard on myself? Never, or is that always?