Once throbbing, the four-stroke four would smooth out with a thumb of the spark advance lever located beneath the steering wheel and opposite the column mounted throttle.
The three pedals on the floor prodded everything but the throttle.
Very few mitt-free options on the T. But then, back in the day… very few incidents of distracted driving.
Why shouldn’t drivers drive distracted? There’s nothing left to do but be distracted. Sure, the driver makes the payments, but the auto is possessed by the OBD2.
Remote this, hands free that, and powered everything else. With airbags at every turn for when the OBD2 finally drives itself off a cliff. Soon, modern conveyances will be able to wander home on their own, kick the driver off on the doorstep, and put themselves away for the night.
Technology may have advanced but mankind certainly has not.
We used to know what laziness meant, but laziness is being redefined on a daily basis. What else would you call asking Alexa to change the TV channel?
We don’t think for ourselves, so we don’t do for ourselves. But not thinking can be habit forming.
Grade school tykes, who wrote-off the rote memorization of math tables because their calculators would do that for them (today, their phones have an app for that), grew up to be forage-less nine-to-fivers foregoing a morning cup of joe when their Mr. Coffee goes on strike. Too stupid to filter steaming water through arabica beans.
Yeah, everyone’s a wiz ’til the power goes out.
A Norman Rockwell of millennial Americana would be a paint of weekend Walmart waddlers, as star travelers on the Buy N Large Axiom.
Merriam-Webster: ax·i·om | noun | (ˈak-sē-əm) a self-evident truth.
The highways would be far less hazardous, if drivers were safer than their rides. Perhaps, drivers’d be more focused double-clutching a floor mounted stick linked to an unsynch’d gearbox. And hasten a little more cautiously plucking a levered spark advance.
Automation hasn’t made us safer. Just retarded.
Corvette Summer 454
Butt-scootin’ on the black top… gear shift in one hand, fuzzy dice in the other, and the tape-eating 8 track cryin’ “Bye, Bye, Miss American Pie… .”
The Mighty Dodge
There’s something positively un-American about building any kind of truck with more comfy-cozy luxury than a typical blue-collar home.