This column is dedicated to The Chief’s fearless pilot, Darren Roberts, who is leaving his post as our publisher this week.
He will be missed.
Like me, Darren loves to drive, and by drive, I mean piloting a vehicle that has a stick shift — manual transmission.
Automatic vehicles don’t need driving; they only require sitting and waiting to be taken, from my point of view.
Driving an automatic feels like riding a mountain bike with training wheels.
To be clear, it is evident that the days of the third pedal are done. All manufacturers are quickly discontinuing production of manual vehicles.
Case in point, there is an industry rumour that even the next Ford Shelby GT500 — the modern muscle car — will roll out an automatic version.
Egad!
And it is the twilight of the three-on-the-tree, four-on-the-floor days for good reason.
Manual transmissions are less environmental because they are less fuel-efficient.
Climate change is not cool, so go the manual must.
And fewer people want them these days compared with when I was being taught to drive by neighbourhood gearheads.
Even Ferrari’s product marketing head Nicola Boari said in a 2016 article in the Los Angeles Times that the company decided to end all manual transmission production because demand was “close to zero.”
So I am sure I will be driving an electric-vegetable oil-solar-autonomous soulless hybrid soon enough, but something will be lost.
Just like I miss downing Pop Rocks — they remind me of the freedom of childhood summers running barefoot to the candy store and back with an exploding party in my mouth.
But I no longer eat them because, well — teeth, diet, and care for my poor stomach.
Transitioning to only automatics is necessary, but the stick shift is way more fun. There’s a tangible connection between the human and car and human and road. There’s a feeling of control and yet freedom. It’s cool.
And who doesn’t love the old-school fear and thrill of balancing the clutch on a hill, terrified you will roll into the car behind you? There is immediate feedback to how a driver is performing with a stick shift. (I will never forget my boys yelling at me because the smell of a burning clutch filled the cab of our truck after I under-clutched/over-throttled on a killer hill when they were little — but we didn’t roll. Yeah, me!)
Maybe this is all just a middle-aged woman’s nostalgia for her small-town, misspent youth?
I would love to hear from others about their fondness for the clutch. Write to me at @notdrivingatoasteronwheels … just kidding, write to me at [email protected].
And Darren, good luck wherever your new road takes you.
