Tachometers have a very special place in my life.
The first time I ever heard that word, or was in a manual transmission car, was in high school. I was in a band with David Tune. His father ran the airport and a Saab dealership. David had a Saab something or other sports car. It was his life. And he explained to me how to shift gears and how one never wants to let the tachometer get higher than 4 (x1000rpm) in normal driving. When it does, you should shift. He was kind and generous and a great drummer. We were the Electric Brains, formerly Gray Matter. We were the smart kids who had a garage band in high school. Years later, he gave me a job at his radio station and when I moved to LA, he shipped my stuff from that same Saab dealership at no cost to me.
Just after high school, I met an actor who I later married named Edward. He had wanted to drive race cars at one point and even crewed for Formula 1. He taught me how to drive manual shift. In Chicago. In a foot of snow. He yelled a lot. But I learned.
My first car in LA was a stick. A 1982 VW Cabriolet. I was clumsy at first, but loved driving Mullholland, oft the scene of car commercials for its winding, tree-lined road. My next husband has a 1970 VW bug. I don't recall if it had a tachometer. I couldn't drive that car. The pedals were strange and freaky. His next car was a Mini Cooper. That, I could drive. When he let me. Being a turbo, one has to give it a little more gas than usual.
This tachometer is Marlon's. He borrowed James' car to move stuff. James can't drive manual. So he borrowed my car. And then I had Marlon's. It was good to be back with the friendly tachometer. Not a turbo, so I didn't have to try too hard. And I never let it go over 4. David Tune would be proud.
No comments:
Post a Comment