It seems as though all of
my posts lately have been about driving. Maybe that’s because it’s the part of
Indian culture I encounter each morning or it’s the biggest challenge to me as
of late. Regardless, this post isn’t so much about India but more about my
continual evolution as a manual transmission driver.
Wednesday morning, nothing really new. I was
going to drive myself to school. Along the way I was going to pick up a friend.
Again, this is nothing new.
The only difference was that; since I knew he
was going to have at least one suitcase, I decided instead of picking him up on
the more main street, I’d turn down his lane. I thought, “No problem. I’ll just
make a 3-point turn and he’ll be able to easily load his bag into the trunk.”
I turned left onto the lane. Then I turned left
again into the start of a driveway. I pulled as far forward as I could since
the gate was closed. About 2 feet. Then I shifted into reverse, turned the
wheel to the right and reversed. Car. There’s a car. Right here. I put the car
back into first, pulled forward and tried again. Same result. It didn’t take
too long before I realized that the cars on either side of the lane with the
combination of the available driveway length, were going to make my 3-point
turn impossible.
“No problem,” I thought. I’ll just find another
driveway. So I went further down the lane, which is a big hill, and
found his apartment building’s garage entrance. I thought, “Hey, there’s lots
of clearance and no cars. This is it. This is my 3-point moment.”
I pulled into the driveway and instantly went
over a large hump. Not just any hump. I went over a huge regular sized
speed hump. “No problem,” I thought again. I shifted into reverse and found
that with the angle of the basement garage ramp, I was stuck and there was only
one way out. Down. Down into the garage.
Down into the dark.
“That’s okay,” I thought again. “I can do this.”
On my left, I saw my good friends’ driver, Hamid.
His eyes grew big and he waved at me. Not like a hello wave, a frantic, “What
are you doing?” type wave. He quickly got into the driver’s seat of their car
and pulled out of their spot thinking he was helping me to make my 3-point turn.
I looked at their spot and laughed out loud.
There was no way I was going to be able to reverse park from a steep garage
ramp.
Down again was the only option. Still not
intimated by the scary basement garage, I took a deep breath, eased down the
ramp and turned left. I again, since my car’s small, thought, “There’s plenty
of room. I an do this.” I repeated the process I explained in detail earlier.
The only difference is this time instead of quickly admitting defeat; I fought
tooth and nail to make the turn.
I’m sure I looked like this scene in Austin
Powers. I swear to god it felt like I tried
for about 5 minutes. In reality this maneuver probably only was 30 seconds of
discomfort.
Back and forth and back and forth for each
attempt. No progress.
I had a moment of worry. “Maybe I can’t do this?
Maybe I need to call him? He’s waiting outside already for sure. He’ll just get
the car out for me.”
And then I really don’t remember what I thought
other than no. I looked ahead in the garage. This time the spaces I saw were actually
big enough to meet my goal. The 3-point.
Slowly I eased further into the bowels of the
garage. I saw another friend’s car and next to it, an open space. I actually turned my head to the right for a
second glance because I thought, “There’s no way. Was this an actual open space
or a mirage?” Luckily it was the former.
So a final left. A final shift into reverse. A
final ease off the clutch and onto the gas and I was parked next to their
truck.
I took a deep breath. I shifted the car back
into first. I turned the wheel to the left and then right as I then gave it a
little too much gas as I pushed the car up the ramp and out of the garage.
Success at last. I made my 3-point turn.
I again gave a little too much gas, which
resulted in that loud revving that you hear in movie stoplight scenes or in
north central Illinois on Friday nights when the teenagers from the towns
surrounding DeKalb come into show off their rides, but I was out of the dark
and onto the tree-lined lane.
I pulled forward past his building and parked on
the right. I wasn’t quite parked as close to the
curb, if there had been a curb, as I should have been but I’d made it. I started
laughing out loud again just as he walked out with two big suitcases and a
smile. I'd earned each and every one of the 3-points I made in the turn (and for those of you who are worried, I do know why it's called a 3-point turn just felt the effort I put in means I should earn points).