Young friends of mine (by young I mean 20-30 years younger) are always surprised by my comfort with manual transmissions. They (the transmissions, not my friends…) will soon become a thing of the past – they’re precipitously close now – a shame for me because, while automatics are more relaxing to drive, I’ve always loved the feel of a standard and the driving benefits it gives.

Our first family car was a British, circa 1960 Austin Cambridge. It took us on our move from Winnipeg to Calgary, it was the one I learned to drive in at 16, and it remained the second family vehicle for many years after that.

On one summer trip “home”, we sat three kids in the back, one perched on the arm rest between Mom and Dad or spread across the back window ledge, the dog on the floor on one side and a dozen litres of engine oil on the other; Mom was always wedged in her seat with supplies stuffed all ‘round. The big boxy trunk housed our camping gear including the wooden playpen!

There was no room for sleeping gear so we rolled up sheets and blankets around foam mattresses and pillows, weatherproofed them with big plastic garbage bags and secured them to the top of the car. Dad said it looked like we were carrying our deceased ancestors. On the particularly trying hot trip home, the muffler and tail pipe unhitched to drag along the road, so Dad took the whole thing off and tied it up there with the ancestors, leaving us to alternate between moving with windows closed and no air flow or windows open and the engine roar.

When the time came to learn to drive, Dad promised I’d be better than the boys –  lessons were about fluidly working the gears, but also about hills, heavy rain and snow, spinning donuts in icy parking lots, travelling on asphalt, gravel, dirt, and high speed highways. He taught me to jump-start that car with ease. He even showed me its crank for starting on the flat, more for me to impress than to actually use since I’d never have had the strength.

The 4-speed stick was on the steering column – first speed was “bull low” and we almost never used it except for difficult start conditions. But… more importantly… I remember sitting with Mom at a red light when a young man pulled up beside me and rocked his car back and forth, obviously egging me on to “race”! Really? I slipped that car into bull low; when the light flashed green I shot across that intersection like a bolt of lightning! He passed me moments later but the damage had been done and we laughed all the way home.

The feelings were somewhat different when the whole gear stick came off in Dad’s hands one day when he shifted at a stop. We hooted with laughter but I do recall the mortification of driving the few blocks home in low gear. The two of us always played the game of who could get the $5 tank low enough to force the other to fill it – luckily neither of us was ever left stranded.

I don’t know when the Austin finally gave up the ghost –  but its family entertainment value still reigns!