I watched from the safety of a picnic rug as my brother and two of his friends raced around a field in my brother's black Vauxhall Corsa SRi. "That looks like so much fun," I thought. "Such a shame I don't know how to drive." I looked back down at my book and determined to content myself, but somehow the pages had lost a little of their charm.
As if he was reading my thoughts, my brother pulled up, hopped out of the car, and said to me, "Want a go?"
"Yesss...." I hesitated. "I'm a bit scared though!"
"Don't be scared. Watch closely; I'll show you everything you need to know." He then demonstrated at lightning speed the relationship between the clutch, the gear stick, and the other pedals. I got about 50% of it, just enough to make sure that I stalled half a dozen times when trying to start the car.
I also stalled the car numerous times while figuring out the brake.
And I realized that you really don't need to floor the gas pedal to make the car go.
I drifted. That was great fun, although not quite intentional.
The gear stick was the worst to get used to, though. Women might be supposed to be able to multitask, but I was a bit of a failure when it came to simultaneously dealing with the clutch and trying to remember which gear was which. "I want an automatic!" I half-laughed, half-wailed.
"Nonsense," said my brother. "My sister is going to learn how to drive in a proper car first!"
Other than that, I wasn't too bad for a first-timer. I might give up teaching and go in for a career as a race car driver.