I’ve been driving for over 31 years. I would even argue that I’ve been a good driver for 23 years.  One of my five brothers would love to insert the story of how at sixteen, I called him to ask if he could help get the car that I wasn’t supposed to drive while my parents were out of town fixed.  I may have taken the car to run a few errands, including the drive-thru lane of the bank.  Did you know yellow poles can jump out in front of you???  

I learned the hard and expensive way with a few accidents and tickets into my early 20’s.  Beginning a career in the wine business in which driving was going to be a big part of how I did my job, required a change.  I learned to be a good defensive driver who respected the rules of the road.  I don’t want to jinx myself by telling you how long it’s been since I’ve been in an accident or gotten a ticket.  Rest assured, it’s been a long time. 

One of the first lessons to prepare me for living fulltime in an RV began last fall when we replaced Brian’s truck with a manual-transmission 2014 Jeep Patriot, a great car for towing.  The only small problem would be that I never learned to drive a stick shift.  “No problem!” I said with confidence.  I drove a friend’s manual-transmission car back from college one weekend when I really needed to get home and he was still drunk from the night before.  Somehow, I managed to push the clutch in and drive the car while he shifted gears for me.  Once we were on the expressway, he passed out.  It was only when getting ready to get off the expressway near my house that he needed to help me again.    If I was able to do that, then, of course, I’d learn to drive a stick shift. No problem! 

The first lesson, in the fall of 2018, involved Brian driving us to the church/school parking lot at the end of our block to teach me to drive. There I was in first gear pushing in the clutch, letting it out, and…stalled.  And again, I was in first, slowly letting out the clutch and pushing the gas and…STALLED.  Over and over with an occasional moment where I made it up to the next light pole about ten yards away.  I hoped the couples walking by with their children on their way to the playground didn’t notice my failures.  I prayed the parents and participants of the soccer game at the other end of the parking lot weren’t staring at me.  We laughed a lot that night.  

After finally driving a couple of circles around the parking lot, I graduated to the neighborhood streets.  More laughter, the car stalled again and again.  Thank God for Brian’s sense of humor and for my ability to laugh at my own self!  

In the months between my lesson in the parking lot and our move to the RV, I drove the car a few times, almost always with Coach Brian in the passenger seat.  He spent his time pointing out what I was doing wrong–like how I almost always was going directly from second to fifth gear. During these drives, I spent my time praying the upcoming light stayed green so I wouldn’t need to switch gears and praying for no one around me when I did have to stop. Mostly, in the months between, I continued to drive the Ford Explorer that was my company car—since gas and maintenance was paid for and because it had a heated steering wheel, heated & cooled seats, massage seats, and, of course, the ultimate comfort feature — an automatic transmission.  

Sadly, I turned over my company car on my last day – April 30^th.  A few days later, I needed to run a few errands near our old house. I also planned to stop by a colleague’s retirement party late that afternoon.  I managed to drive the 10 minutes or so to get to the highway and on to the highway without issue.  I was feeling pretty good with those well-timed lights. 

Not five miles down the I-75, a rock hit the windshield.  I ducked.  Yes, I kept control of the car, but I’m quite certain that I completely ducked.  Luckily, the rock hit on the passenger side, and my visibility wasn’t affected.  I kept going.  I was like a martini – shaken but not stirred.  There was nothing I could do to change what happened. 

I soldiered on to my first stop – The Container Store on Big Beaver Road in Troy, a very busy boulevard with stores and other businesses lining the street for miles.  I stopped at the red light.  It turned green.  The car sputtered and stalled.  I started the engine…The car sputtered and stalled…I restarted the engine…Again, it sputtered and stalled.  While my brain knew that the rock didn’t hurt the mechanics of the car, I began to doubt myself.  Horns honked behind me.  If I’d been able to look to my right, I’m sure drivers in other cars passed by cranking the heads to look to see what was wrong with the woman in the Jeep. 

“Maybe I should be in neutral?”  I questioned myself.  I restarted the engine, moved the car into first, sputtered to a slow roll, made the turnaround, and glided into the parking lot of the shopping center.  PHEW!  Stop one, completed.  Only four more stops and a party for completion.   

The afternoon continued like this.  My driving on neighborhood streets where there were very few people to witness my near-perfect gear switching and seamless stops at stop signs was countered by frequent stall-outs on major roads at intersections of four lanes each direction.  Horns honked repeatedly.  Embarrassment crept into my core.  Not understanding the balance between the clutch and gas, I left extra room between me and the car ahead.  Why didn’t the car behind me know I needed extra room too???  What if I rolled back??? How could I go to a retirement party and drive back to the RV in rush hour traffic?  I could hardly handle mid-afternoon traffic.  I needed to skip the party, avoid traffic, and get home quickly!   

I inched my way back to the highway relieved that speed limits of 70 mph would allow me to shift into fifth gear and have a break from the intensity of suburban driving.  As the joke goes, Michigan has two seasons:  winter and construction.  With winter over, the construction season was underway. I merged onto I-75 to find a sea of brake lights ahead.   I stalled, restarted, sputtered, stalled, restarted. I was beginning to feel like Phil Connors (Bill Murray’s character) on Groundhog Day with the same experience after each stop.

“Try first gear, Annie!” I coached myself.  My palms were sweating and my mouth was dry from anxiety, but I couldn’t possibly afford to take a drink of my water.  My heart raced.  Traffic broke.  With confidence missing from my emotional tool bag, I opted and even relished in driving 5 miles under the speed limit in the slow lane.  

I exited the freeway and stalled at my first turn off the exit.  More horns honked.  I managed to get going again, stalling a few more times on the drive back into the campground less than ten miles from the exit.   

Safely back at the RV, I poured myself a big glass of wine.  I didn’t want to tell Brian how bad it was.  Surprised I was back so early, I excused my early arrival by saying that I didn’t want to drive in traffic and skipped the retirement party.  

Deep down, I feared that in the decision to live a life of freedom I had given up my independence.  Would I be able to have Amazon run all our errands for us?  How would I be able to help finalize the move out of our house and off the boat?  How would I get groceries?  How would I go to my doctors’ appointments?  How was it possible that I was less fearful and seemingly more capable of driving a 45-foot motorhome than a manual transmission Jeep?  Most importantly, how could I drive a stick???  Brian drove to dinner.  I drank more wine and considered my options.   

With my independence on the line, on Friday, I ran a few errands closer to the campground where we were staying.  I stalled a few times.  Horns beeped.  The car staggered forward.  I took Skipper to the dog park that afternoon.  Should I be trusted with the life of my fur-baby in the car?  I stalled.  I started the car.  The car lurched forward.  We drove there.  Skipper seemed unphased.  We managed to get back. 

At last, the weekend had arrived.  Brian drove.  I watched and paid attention thankful for the break and for the lesson available to me as a passenger. 

The following week brought more errand running.  I was stalling less and less frequently, although still not feeling too confident.  On Monday, May 13^th, I met a colleague and his wife in town from New Zealand on business for coffee.  I had agreed to take her on a little tour of Detroit while he had meetings.  What was I thinking??  It was one thing for my fur-baby to ride shotgun with me in the Jeep and another thing to have a human who likely grew up driving a stick shift in the passenger seat.  I warned her that I was still learning. 

She was patient and I only stalled a few times that day.  She helped me understand that each time I was doing this, I stopped in third gear.   This was what was causing me to stall repeatedly.  Nearing the end of our time together, when once again stalled at an intersection, her comment was, “at least no one is honking at you.”  I explained that we were in the city and that people don’t honk like that out of fear of being shot.  OK, that’s an exaggeration these days as Detroit is much safer than it once was.  And yet, for whatever reason, it’s not a city where people honk frequently.  I ran a few more errands on my way back to the coach.  I returned with less anxiety than I had felt upon my recent return despite driving in downtown city traffic for several hours of my day.  I was making progress!

The seemingly endless errands, doctor appointments, and other stops are winding down as we get closer to leaving the Detroit area.  I have very little anxiety before getting into the Jeep these days.  I still make mistakes and find myself stalling occasionally, although it seems like this only happens on major roads in the middle of rush hour traffic.  The drivers from behind me at these moments pass as quickly as they can and stare in the window as if I have a problem. 

Little do they know my problems are far and few between these days.  Tomorrow we leave for our next stop, a month just outside of Traverse City where my biggest challenge will be finding the balance at the stop sign on top of the hill on the road of adventure.