It’s been a long-term project of mine to learn how to drive a manual…and when I say long-term, I mean it’s been gradually happening since at least 2016 or so, and I keep chickening out of practice because I just don’t seem to have the mental bandwidth to think about the clutch and 6 gears on top of everything else. Until this past month, the most manual driving I’d ever achieved was zigzagging a parking lot in the watchful presence of a nearby police car. A couple weeks ago, I embarked on a trial-by-fire kind of manual driving practice round and drove nearly 2 hours of winding, coastal road toward Neah Bay.
It was nerve-wracking. In a good way. The speed limit on most of those low-guardrail, curvy roads is a very reasonable 40mph, but judging from the testy tailgating I experienced, most other drivers tend to prefer 55. So I white-knuckled the entire way, trying not to think too hard about the cars backed up behind me or the mountain on one side and the sheer drop to the Strait of Juan de Fuca on the other, flat and glaring angry white in the afternoon sun.
One thought helped immensely, and it was the knowledge that the payoff on the other end would be spectacular: the distinctive wind-bent trees and sea stacks of Cape Flattery, looking like some kind of prehistoric landscape.
