Stick shift dies as an art form

By Paul Ricciardi
Guest columnist

Ricciardi’s 1969 Volkswagon Beetle and 1995 C36 AMG Mercedes. He loves both cars but prefers the challenge of driving the manual transmission Volkswagon. Photo by Paul Ricciardi • ricciardip@thejohnsonian.comManual cars offer driving joy

The modern automobile is a marvel of simplicity, automation and luxury. All it takes to get on the road is turning it on, putting it in drive, and then you’re the captain of a two-ton land yacht with thousands of moving parts and dozens of computers.

Very few other devices in our modern life make such a complex task so easy.

Your average new car can do nearly everything for you.  Volvo has a cruise control system that will slow down and speed up the car based on surrounding traffic. Lexus’s self-parking system has been on the market for a few years now.
 
But the most common and most egregious attack on the soul of the car, and subsequently the soul of the driver, is the automatic transmission.

According to Ward’s Communications, in 2007 the number of cars sold with a manual transmission was only 7.7 percent.

From a logical perspective, this makes no sense. Cars with a manual transmission are generally cheaper to buy, easier to work on and return better fuel economy. But our nationwide divorce from the manual doesn’t stem from reason; it’s simply laziness.

As a country, we no longer want to drive. We want a car that drives itself so we can concentrate on our satellite radios, DVD screens, cell phones and Big Macs.

Frankly, it drives me insane.

Half of the bad drivers in this country are just idiots who don’t pay attention. Throw a stick shift into the mix, and you need to pay attention to traffic, the road and your car. Simply put, it makes you a better driver.

But my biggest reason for loving the manual is the involvement factor. Not only does shifting your own gears get you more miles per gallon, but you also get more fun per mile.

Nothing beats the satisfaction of a rev-matched, heel-toe downshift before turning into a corner, burying the throttle and then power shifting through two gears on a close-ratio gearbox. It’s exciting, fun and a challenge.
   
Driving is no longer a chore. It’s a treat.

I think this is best illustrated by looking at how differently my two cars drive. One is a 1969 Volkswagen Beetle and the other is an AMG C36 Mercedes. The Benz creates eight times as much power as the beetle, has a top speed of 180 mph (compared to the VW’s 75 mph max) and can turn the rear tires into a cloud of smoke. But despite the overwhelming power of the Benz, the little Beetle is definitely more fun to drive.
 
The reason is simple. The beetle has a manual and the Benz doesn’t. Driving the little VW puts a smile on my face each and every time. It doesn’t matter if I’m just getting groceries or headed to class. The satisfaction of driving makes every journey worthwhile.

I wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything. It’s pure joy - good, old-fashioned, mechanical joy.