movin’ and cruisin’

The first car I more-or-less owned (it was technically my parents’, but it was “my” car) was a 1986 Honda Accord LXi, and was a remarkably decent car for a teenager with a brand-spanking new license. I had grown up with it (having been born only four years before it was produced), and I was trained on it for the aforementioned license. And, most importantly, it was a manual transmission.
I say “most importantly” for one primary reason – I like manual transmissions. I will be honest, though – I absolutely, positively, unequivocably hated it when I was learning to drive (especially around hills… or stoplights… or traffic… or parallel parking slots), but, over the years, I have learned to appreciate the pleasure that comes from really driving your vehicle. In addition to its manual transmission, the Accord also had the benefits of a sunroof, and a surprisingly sports-car-like handling, for being a four-door econobox. However, eventually, the Honda went to the great junkyard in the skies.
Next up for me was a Subaru Outback wagon – all-wheel driven, dual moon/sunroofs, and, of course, a manual transmission. And, again, semi-purchased from my parents (you can probably guess where my manual-tranny tendencies originate). Unfortunately, that particular vehicle took up scuba late in life, thanks to a girl by the name of “Katrina”.
Finally, I now have a nice little Mazda 3 hatchback – and, yes, it has a manual transmission.
One of the byproducts (at least for me) of being raised with, training on, and owning manual transmissions is something of a disdain for cruise control. Much like an automatic transmission, I view it as another level of separation between the driver and the vehicle, and I like directly controlling my cars. Not to mention the fact that directly driving my car, rather than letting a computer decide when to shift and what speed to maintain, forces me to stay awake, engaged, and active, and possibly keeps me a better, safer driver.
All this said and explained, after driving somewhere around 800 miles straight yesterday, trying to manhandle a 12-foot Penske truck all the way, I would have killed for cruise control. I am not sure if my right leg is ever going to talk to me ever again…