True Chivalry

clutch

Recently there was a huge street-fair in my neighborhood. The narrow, steep hill I live on was packed with parked vehicles on both sides, forcing cars to pull over to let others pass. I was standing out front when a car coming downhill pulled over to let someone get by.

But then it just sat there. It had moved too far to the side for the driver to simply turn the wheel and continue rolling downhill. It needed to back up first. The young woman driving started talking to the guy in the passenger seat. Their car was pointing straight at the front bumper of another car — mine.

The noise of a revving engine suddenly filled the air, accompanied by the stench of clutch smoke. The car rolled six inches forward and lurched to a stop. But then the woman figured out a solution. She got out from behind the wheel and traded places with her boyfriend.

The boyfriend gave it a go. More screaming engine, more clutch stink. And six more inches lost to gravity.

I approached the pair. I drive a clutch and will reroute to avoid hills at all cost. So I knew just what this guy was going through. He was in that special place called Clutch Hell.

I peered through the passenger side window. The young pair looked up with trepidation. They probably thought I was one of those guys who like to help solve situations by saying “Don’t you dare hit my car!”

“Hey,” I said to the flustered driver, “feel free to inch up and use the bumper to push off of. It’s okay, that’s my car.”

The guy said “I think I can get it.”

Bad move. This is no time for heroics.

The guy fiddled with the ancient gear shift. The padding around the base of the shifter had long since disappeared, replaced now with potato chip shards and loose change. He put his girlfriend’s car in gear and went for it.

The car rocketed forward and slammed into my bumper.

“Okay, that’s perfect right there,” I said, “Don’t go any farther. Now, use my car to push off of.”

He moved the shifter into place, getting confirmation from the young woman that he wasn’t in First Gear like the last time. Then he went for it. The engine wailed as the last bit of clutch disappeared into a haze of acrid smoke. He zipped back two feet. Success was imminent. Relief was forthcoming.

But the car stalled, rolled forward, and slammed into my bumper again. The poor guy lowered his head into his hands.

But he was a trooper. The guy recovered, gave it another shot, and nailed it. He got back far enough back to turn cleanly into the main road. As he inched past my bumper I raised a triumphant fist and shouted “Wahoo!”

Ah, the things we do for love. But I’ll bet the next time that guy comes to the fair, he’ll be on bike. Even riding a tandem would beat making another trip to Clutch Hell.

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6 thoughts on “True Chivalry”

  1. I hate when I’m in driving situations like that. I need to pop anti-anxiety meds just so I don’t break down sobbing. Sounds like you were the real trooper though. CHEERS to that! *clink*

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