Haven't had one in a few years, but my current ride is a GranAm with the console automatic shift. Right there, at hand. I still down-shift before hitting the brakes at intersections, letting the engine save my brake pads a bit.

My favorite was in my '69 Charger in Panama. Bench seat with the Hurst shifter standing high from the floor. Beautiful car, my Dukes-of-Hazardmobile. Only once did I ever get to 4th gear. That was kinda okay. It was a 440 that would easily hit a steady cruise at 90 in 3rd. So many curves in the old Canal Zone. Heading north toward David (pronounced Dăv-ēd´) -- well, really west, there's that hook in the shape of Panama so that the canal is actually a nearly straight line north and south between the Atlantic and the Pacific... Anyway, I hit an uphill stretch of straight roadway. It was on the Pan-American Highway, International Route 1, two-lanes packed with traffic. Rumbling along in 3rd at about 35~45 mp/h I weaved out to the oncoming lane for a peek ahead and there was nothing but about two miles of open road. I glanced to Mrs. S.

"Hang on, babe," I said.

I moved over and down-shifted to 2nd. Burned a launch in the pavement. 3rd burned another patch. 4th smoked my right-lane audience and we were gone. Speedometer pegged at 145 and I was still accelerating up that narrow incline.

Way cool!

Moving back onto the correct lane we continued our trip for a few more miles. There were periodic police checkpoints along the highway and we were pulled over, being told I had passed a cop-car in that little adventure.

30 minutes later, the charging officer arrived. Turned out he just wanted a look at the engine. I passed him a twenty and we were again on our way.

Fun times.