Beach Writer in the Rocky Mountains

As a teenager, in 1969 I learned to drive a standard transmission gearshift with a car's dashboard that looked like the one in this photograph. It was a challenge to do the clutch with my foot and catch the feel of it just at the right moment that I should shift the gear on the steering column. My father gave me a brief demonstration at the high school driving education parking lot, then he got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk to observe my skill level. The car lurched forward, and the engine died numerous times, but not so many that I felt I was unskilled at it. When I made it to the end of the paved course and drove the car to where my father was waiting, for some reason, he jumped up on the curb and looked like he was going to jump over the hedge. Why? I was coming to a very graceful stop right where he was standing. I thought that my goal. We never went for another driving lesson.