or, Lets Not Blow the Engine in Tournament Play
The car I learned to drive on Labor Day 1954 was a stick shift. I was fourteen and had not expected it to happen on that back road; but my dad was a good guy and game for giving his kid a thrill. He stopped on a flat stretch of back road with no traffic. I did pretty well under that scenario and got the car home in one piece without much jolting. In time I learned to move the car gracefully up a steep hill