Chapter 1 - Learning to Drive Stick

Picking up where things left off

I'll start off by saying, and my father and grandfather can both attest: I was never interested in their shared hobby of going to car shows when I was a kid. I don't recall outright kicking and screaming, but I certainly made it known I wasn't having fun.

A lot has happened since then, to say the least. It feels like decades have been compacted into just the last five years. Not to veer too far from the point, but it is relevant to the story: my parents have gotten divorced since then, and, of course, a lot of things have changed as a result, as I may elaborate upon further.

My father eventually moved to Florida, and consequently, him and my grandfather weren't going to car shows or trips or things of that nature. And, to complicate things further, my grandmother began developing dementia alongside her existing condition of diabetes, which from then on put my grandfather in a pretty extensive caretaking position.

By this point, of course, I still have next to no interest in participating in any car related shenanigans, but, likely wanting a break, my grandfather suggested a few years ago that we go on a trip to Bloomington, IL in his 1974 British Racing Green MGB.

Scavenger Hunt in the Rain

So I agreed, perhaps a bit reluctantly, and we traveled the 300 or so miles down to Bloomington for the long weekend. We arrived somewhat late at night and checked into our residence for the next couple days: The Chateau. I remember there were dozens of other classic British cars lining the parking lot as we arrived, checked in, and promptly found our beds.

Saturday morning began bright and early. We got ourselves showered and dressed, and we went downstairs for a breakfast of eggs, biscuits, and coffee.

A bit later that day, we gathered at the Davis Lodge for what would come to be my favorite part of the trip: the scavenger hunt. Only trouble was, the weather wasn't looking great, but that didn't stop us. And that especially didn't stop one determined soul on a motorcycle; he wound up winning the thing! He handed in a wet, crumpled sheet of paper by the end, but it was worth it, I suppose. Aside from the water pouring into our car, I think I would have even admitted back then: I had some fun.

Now, I was still bored out of my mind at the actual car show, but I was making slow progress to becoming a gearhead.

Stranded by a Roundabout

The following year, we were on our way to Bloomington for the second time. We made it about 50 miles south until we came up on a roundabout, and the car suddenly died. Now, here I was, silently smiling and hoping that this would mean the end of the trip, but with some help from kind strangers, we pushed the car off the side of the road and waited.

My grandfather had insured the car with Hagerty, and they offer towing as one of their services, but turns out that the tow truck was coming all the way from Chicago. Eventually, a police car spotted us, and the officer mentioned a tow company they know locally, so we have them a call, got the car strapped in, and the two of us crammed in the cab with the driver.

We went from shop to shop with next to no luck finding anyone who would dare work on an old car like that, until we eventually stumbled upon one in Elburn, IL. The guy tested just a handful of things and found a loose wire laying on the alternator and shorting it to ground. We're still not certain where that wire was meant to go, but he taped it up, zip-tied it to another wire, and sent us on our way, and the trip went on as normal.

"Jackrabbiting"

Now, it's by this point that my grandfather was of the mind of thinking he ought to teach me how to drive the car, either in case something were to happen, or just to switch off occasionally if these trips were bound to continue. So, he spent the summer teaching me how to operate a standard transmission.

I killed that car, rocked that car, spun tires, and rolled backwards going up hills, but after about five or six weeks in my old middle school's parking lot, I finally learned how not to dump the clutch.

Unbeknownst to either of us, that lit the spark.

My daily driver, a silver 2009 Pontiac G6, has the ability to manually shift gears despite being an automatic, so I spent the winter months practicing with it and getting an idea of how RPMs indicate when to shift up or down.

Unfortunately, of course, there is no clutch in that car, which just gave me the itch for winter to be over so I could start driving the MG again.