Perhaps I should stick to one of these

Triciclo

As I look back, I can only grasp brief instances of the wind making my eyes water or the go-cart guy yelling at me for running someone into the wall. But the biggest "first-time" experience driving a vehicle, that I can remember, would be when I learned to drive a stick-shift. I was fifteen and had begun drivers ed. My dad had been taking me out on back roads to roar around at ten to fifteen miles per hour (for those of you made late to meetings or work I apologize again). I felt I had a good beginner's handle on driving when we visited my grandparents on their farm. My grandpa, still determined to make a real man out of me, offered to teach me to drive his manual truck. I was dying to be behind the wheel so I grabbed my shoes and dashed outside.
Grandpa explained the different pedals and how to start and shift the vehicle between gears. After burning out half of the clutch and killing the engine three times, I lurched the truck into motion. We toured the property a couple of times, even getting the truck into second gear, before Grandpa decided to call it a day. He told me to park the truck in front of the barn and as I rounded the driveway I pushed my foot on the brake to stop. The vehicle remained in motion so I pushed harder and harder. The brake slowed the truck some but we continued lumbering towards the barn. In the chaos and shouting and pumping of brakes that followed, the truck decided that it had had enough and the engine sputtered and stopped to let us coast to a stop inches from the barn. After a moment of silence my Grandpa said, "I guess I should have told you how to stop."