My car stopped on the highway.
It’s a fifteen-year-old manual car.
Traffic had slowed down and come to a stop.
When the cars began moving again, I tried to shift into first gear.
But it didn’t work.
Suddenly, the car behind me honked its horn and quickly changed lanes. It was a highway construction truck.
Seeing the truck move out of the lane, cars behind it began changing lanes and speeding past.
I kept trying while the turn signal kept blinking. After several attempts, I finally managed to get into first gear.
It slowly began to move, and I made my way to the far right lane.
About twenty minutes later, a highway rest area came into view. I rolled into the parking area and stopped in neutral.
I let out a long breath.
When I stepped out, my legs felt heavy.
I looked up. The sky was clear.
Yet my car had just broken down.
Oh, the gears hadn’t shifted properly on the highway before, but then they seemed fine again… and now this.
For a moment, I simply stood there, trying to calm myself.
A little later, I slowly made my way to the restroom.
After coming out, I sent a message to my older daughter.
“My car broke down on the highway.
I can’t make it today.
I’ll fix it and take the train tomorrow.”
Her reply came quickly.
“That could have been dangerous.
Please be careful on your way home.”
I felt a little relieved after reading her message.
Then something caught my eye—a rack of pants in front of the golf shop.
I picked out one pair.
Just 10,000 won.
Corduroy pants.
The fabric looked good, and the design was simple and comfortable.
“Do you have these in size 66?” I asked an employee.
A few minutes later, I was in the fitting room.
Well, the day is already ruined. I might as well take my time.
The pants fit perfectly.
“I’ll take these.”
Soon, I walked out of the shop with my new pants in a bag.
Right outside was a small coffee stand.
“Hot Americano with four ice cubes, please.”
I took the coffee to a seat by the window where I could see my Sportage.
After a sip, I sent my husband a message about what had happened.
His reply didn’t come right away.
He might be busy.
A few minutes later, his reply came.
“Call the insurance company.”
That was all.
I didn’t want to talk long with him, so I left it there.
I sipped my coffee and waited quietly for the tow truck.
The towing fee would probably be expensive, but I didn’t have much choice. I couldn’t risk driving back and having the car stop again on the highway.
My model had already been discontinued. Would they even be able to fix it? Maybe I would have to scrap it.
It had served me well all these years.
I looked out at my car, all kinds of thoughts running through my head.
The Tow Truck Driver
More than an hour later, a tow truck slowly pulled into the parking lot.
I stood up and walked toward my car.
The driver parked the truck in position to load the car and stepped out.
“It’s a manual,” I said.
“Should I load it?”
“You might want to take your bag with you,” he said calmly. “I’ll take care of the car.”
I felt a little uneasy.
I had never seen anyone drive my manual car properly. Stalling once or twice was almost inevitable.
But the driver handled it with ease.
Even with the stiff clutch and the gear that had become difficult to shift, he moved the car smoothly onto the tow truck.
Not once did the engine stall.
It was the first time I had seen anyone handle my car like that.
I climbed into the passenger seat, and the tow truck headed down the highway with my car loaded behind us.
It’s a truck, so it rattles a bit.
The seat is high. The view is wide and open.
It was my first time riding in a tow truck.
We drove in silence for a while.
Then the driver asked,
“Are you comfortable sitting there?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” I replied.
“When you drive, the most important thing is that your passenger feels comfortable,” he said.
“Drivers who speed just to show off usually end up in accidents sooner or later.”
As we continued driving, we naturally began talking.
He was in his seventies and owned the towing company. He had spent his life towing cars involved in accidents on the highway.
All of his drivers had already been dispatched that day, he told me, so he had come out himself.
“Oh, this truck is a manual,” I said, glancing at the gear stick.
“These days, even city buses are automatic.”
“I was really surprised by how easily you handled my car,” I added. “Most people stall it right away.”
He smiled.
“It’s impressive that you still drive a manual,” he said.
“I like manual cars,” I replied. “They feel more comfortable to me. I started driving one when I was twenty-five, so I’ve been driving manuals for more than thirty years.”
“I’ve had this car for fifteen years,” I continued. “It has about 140,000 kilometers on it.”
He smiled again.
“I’ve been driving manual cars for more than fifty years,” he said. “This truck has over a million kilometers on it.”
A million kilometers.
Compared to that, my fifteen-year-old car with 140,000 kilometers on it suddenly seemed young.
I found myself watching the way he drove.
At one point, as we slowed down near an interchange, he kept the truck in fifth gear.
“You’re not shifting down,” I said.
“I just leave it in fifth and go with the flow,” he replied.
“I control the speed with the accelerator. Press gently, release gently, and watch the road ahead. Use the brake only when you need it.”
I had always thought I should shift into a lower gear as I slowed down. But the tow truck moved smoothly even as the speed dropped.
Suddenly, the expensive towing fee didn’t feel like such a loss. It felt as if I had just gotten a highway driving lesson.
Before leaving the highway, he stopped briefly at a rest area.
“Would you like something to drink? I’ll get it,” he said.
“What are you having? Oh, I’ll just have the same. Thank you.”
He returned with two warm cans of soy milk.
The warmth helped me relax.
By the time we reached the repair shop near my home, the sky had grown dark.
He carefully unloaded my car.
The mechanic shook his head without even getting into the car.
“We can’t fix a transmission problem here,” he said. “You’ll have to take it to a service center.”
“My home is very close,” I said. “I think I can drive it there.”
The tow truck driver turned to me.
“Press the clutch all the way down,” he said. “Then put it into first gear.”
He repeated it once more, firmly.
The mechanic, who had been listening nearby, suddenly said,
“Wait a moment.”
He got into the driver’s seat.
A little later, he came back out.
“There’s a way to adjust the clutch play,” he said. “It’s not really a repair, though. It’s only a temporary fix.”
“How much is it?” I asked.
“Twenty-five thousand won.”
The tow truck driver nodded to me and walked back toward his truck.
“Thank you for helping me so late,” I said.
He raised a hand in farewell and drove away.
I watched the truck disappear down the road.
Then I started walking home.
Oh, I left my shopping bag in the car.
Should I just leave it there? No. I’ll go back and get it.
I turned around and walked back to the repair shop.
I asked the mechanic for my car key, picked up the bag with the corduroy pants I had bought earlier, and started walking home again.
That night, I soaked quietly in a hot bath.
The Next Morning
The mechanic called.
He said he had adjusted the clutch play and changed the engine oil. I could drive the car for a while longer and pick it up whenever I had time.
When I went to pick it up, I was surprised.
The clutch felt smooth again under my foot.
Wow. It feels like a new car.
I drove home feeling grateful for my old car.
