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I drove the Foose to lunch today. I drove it to the restaurant, and back home again. In the past, I’ve driven either to, and let Jon drive back, or let him drive out, and I drive back. Even Charles has done that, driving out, then I drove back. But today, for the first time, I drove all of it.
Oh, and for those who seem under the mistaken idea that Charles works full time over here;nope. He’s got his own business, that takes up much of his time. Sorry, if I gave any other impression.
Anyway, the only way to learn to work the clutch and the gas, is practice. So, I’m driving to lunch this week, unless it hails again. It did that Sunday and the Foose, aka the Baby, is not driving out in hail.
I did pretty good today. I killed the engine in traffic only once. I had some trouble on a downward slope in a parking lot (slopes are the bane of all of us learning to drive stick shifts), but even that wasn’t bad. There was that one bad moment when I had some confusion between where fourth gear and second are, but it wasn’t too bad. Jon clued me that I could practice shifting with the car turned off in the driveway, so I could get the muscle memory down between shifting, steering, and the clutch.
Another first, I parked in the garage without giving the car over to Jon to park. It’s a tight fit, and I’m not as tall as Jon so I don’t see over the hood, as well. But today, I decided, it’s my car, dammit, and I’m driving it. No more cowardly giving up.
I finally realized why cars are becoming my hobby. It’s finally something that has nothing to do with my work, and the odds of it becoming a job are slim. It’s not research, it’s just fun. Almost everything else has turned into either work, or at least, research. The cars are an end in themselves. They’re just fun. I think I’m overdue to find something that was just for the fun of it. I also suspect that I will never be brilliant at it; not at the driving part, or Goddess forbid, the mechanical part. I’ll learn more, and get better, but I don’t believe it will ever be my calling. Would any of you understand, if I said, that it’s nice to have something I don’t have to be brilliant at?
I reread that last bit and had to add that, I’m still afraid of cars. I don’t like being afraid, not of anything. I don’t know any other way to get over a fear than to face it. The Foose is like sweet, mechanical proof that I’m half attracted to what scares the shit out of me. I guess my writing shows that, too. But the books don’t sit in the garage and shine in the light. The stories don’t vibrate under my hands, or growl down the street, or die in a shaking lunge when you’ve fed them too much gas. Maybe someday I’ll find something fun that is just fun, and has nothing to do with conquering yet another part of myself. But for now, there’s the Foose, and watching Charles, and others, drift. We’ll see how far I go to defeat this particular fear. We’re researching driving schools.