At the heart of the MIND/MOTOR CONNECTION is recognizing the relationship that exists between vehicle and driver, and how your ride reacts to your in-car input.
When elite golfers step up to the tee, they aren’t thinking about their backswing, or follow-through, or if they’ve finally earned Daddy’s approval.
They just do it. And get free Nikes for life. I’m a size 11, Phil Knight. Just sayin.
You need to develop the same kind of muscle memory, a two-beome-one zen connection from your head to your r foot to the pedals to the engine to the tranny to the tires to the road.
When I first started my training I had trouble concentrating on how my car was responding. My cheapskate solution was to take off my right shoe and sock and drive barefoot, trying to enhance the tactility between man and machine. It helped me out a lot. For the first time in my life, after 20 years of driving, I actually FELT my car. It’s trippy. Kinda like getting a foot massage from Optimus Prime.
Oh yeah baby, Transformers dig saving gas. If only I could convince Megan Fox…
The Essential Hyper-Tool That’s Probably already There
For most of us with late-model cars, there’s a piece of technology already on your dash that I’ve found invaluable out in the concrete jungle. If you have a digital trip computer, check the various settings and look for an INSTANT MILEAGE readout. You’ll learn real quick how the pressure you put on the gas pedal affects fuel economy, and more importantly, how it feels to hit your vehicle’s sweet spot, the space that exists when fuel consumption, rpms, speed and momentum are in perfect sync. If your experience is the same as mine, you’ll see your instant MPG readout jump dramatically-Mine leaped from 16 to 27 and held there until for several seconds until the connection severed, I speculate either by a change in external variables or a lapse in mind-muscle concentration. It was my first voyage to CARVANA, and it was exhilarating.
Here’s the part that takes a hard left into X-Files fan fiction. During the 16/27 blast, there also seemed to be a specific TONE to my car-in-nirvana, a multilayered sound containing a low, perfect-pitch hum and a harmonic, upper-register vibration that was pleasing to the ears, calming, purposeful if that’s even possible.
Was my car TALKING to me? Perhaps, in a way, yes. Maybe my car was telling me how amazing it felt when the sum of its parts mind-melded with its organic symbiot, invoking a perfect storm of performance and efficiency.
Or not. Since my first close hyper-encounter I’ve consistently made my mileage jump, but haven’t always heard the same “music” from my autobot. I’d love to hear about your CarVana experiences, even ones that could get you committed, if for no other reason than maintaining the illusion of sanity. If, in fact, I DO have a relationship with a talking car, it’s probably more Christine than Knight Industries Two Thousand. All those power-sucking accessories must be murder on KITT’s GasHolez.
And besides, I’d need waaay more chest hair to pull a Hassel-off.
