I was relaxing on the couch, calmly reading The Chief when I got to the column about driving manual transmissions. Suddenly, I couldn’t contain my emotion enough to remain prone; I had to reply, as requested...
Allow me to explain.
My paternal grandmother had a brother who raced motorbikes. That grandmother shared her sibling’s fondness for driving throughout her lifetime. Even long after she’d given up her licence, she was eternally excited at the prospect of being taken on a “toodle” up the Sea to Sky Highway, no matter who drove, as long as they could fully enjoy the road — meaning driving her in style, in a standard.
It seemed predestined for my dad to inherit a passion for engines and driving, which eventually led him, in his 40s, despite his career as a seemingly staid university prof, to get his motorcycle licence and ride a bike to work in all sorts of weather until he retired at 70-something. On top of that, he and mum shared a passion for Italian sports cars. So, they began “collecting” and then eventually racing vintage Alfa Romeos for years. He jokes about how much of my inheritance must have been eaten up paying for racing tires and fuel for his beloved cars.
Needless to say, driving has been a natural passion for me. For me, the joy comes during my Squamish to West Vancouver commute, but I’m still always thrilled whenever I can hug the curves throughout that stunning road in my little Volkswagen Golf Tdi.
A huge part of that joy comes from the deep connection with the ACT of driving: choosing a line through a winding section of S-bends, gearing up or down to maximize flow on a hill. None of that comes through in an automatic transmission.
Anybody can tromp on the accelerator on a flat, straight section of road; it’s a rare few who can manage the dips, rises, and corners of our highway with minimal braking, and the deft handling that a manual gearbox invites.
I’ll have to stop now, for fear of ranting much too long, but thank you for expressing exactly what I feel about the inevitability of electric “soul-lessness.” I get it, but there will be something precious lost.
Thank you for propelling me from the couch this rainy Saturday afternoon. Maybe I’ll go for a drive up to Brohm lake.
Carla Wilkie
Squamish
