The weekend of the 15th of August, Sant Quintí de Mediona held it’s town festival. I knew I’d meet old friends and family and it’d be great fun. I also knew I’d get there by car, only not that I’d be alone in it…
Let’s call a spade a spade, Sant Quintí is not gracefully connected with public transport and I usually get a lift from someone going there. This time my father’s girlfriend was supposed to pick me up at Vilafranca after work. However, as I waited for her in the street, my phone rang.My father was coming for me. She had a breakdown three towns from Vilafranca. The plan was to locate her and they’d wait for the tow truck together while I’d drive on my own to Sant Quintí to have lunch with my family. The fact that I drive every other year didn’t seem to worry him.
After having the identity of the pedals reminded, I sat at the wheel, closed the door and inserted the key. Then I heard knocking on the window. My father was pulling air from his shoulder down to his waist. Focusing on the pedals I had forgotten about the belt.
I fastened my belt, turned the key, stepped on the clutch and shifted into first gear. Knocking on the window. Now he was turning the key… to the end—those tiny details. But now everything was checked. With the engine running for real, I shifted into first gear again and stepped on the gas. The car stayed still.
The window again and my father miming a lever; the handbrake. Jeez! All the stuff you need to do before actually driving! Don’t worry though—just like my father—everything run smoothly on the road.