In 1965, there were some strange cars puttering along the track at Ford's Dearborn, MI, proving grounds. Among them were some that flirted with removing the automobile's time-tested fifth wheel and replacing it with two more smaller ones. This is wrist-twist driving.

Developed for Mercury by an ex-missile engineer, wrist-twist set out to tackle engineering's longest standing challenge: fixin' what ain't broke. Instead of a bulky wheel, wrist-twist cars would have a pair of twisty dials that the driver would reach out and twist. The pair of turning dials were locked to twist in unison (no, you wouldn't control front wheels independently or anything so crazy).

Ford was enthusiastic about some of its potential advantages. It was smaller than a wheel, which made the driver's seat a bit roomier and offered increased visibility. It also let the driver leisurely place his or her arms on armrests. In fact, it was so simple that even a woman could use it!

Ford lays out its pitch in this casually sexist promo footage from wrist-twist's early days:

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Wrist-twist is not currently in all cars everywhere, so it clearly did not replace the steering wheel, but how was it to actually drive? Weird but not entirely bad. Popular Mechanics's Alex Markovich gave it a spin (well, a twist) back in April of 1965, to mixed results:

With the steering rings low over my lap and my elbows resting on the seat's built-in arm rests, I felt comfortable—but odd. Visibility was splendid, but I missed the support of the steering wheel. I felt like the first astronaut. ...I fired up the engine, went through a mental count-down, and eased the Merc through the gate, as gingerly as a nudist in a cactus patch. On the street, I found myself holding my breath. Every twitch of the wrist resulted in a jerk. The car felt like a kangaroo with hiccups. Corner coming up. I pushed down on one ring and up on the other, trying to twist the entire yoke. The car wobbled embarrassingly and continued straight ahead. As we approached the next corner, I concentrated very hard. "Just twist the little bracelets," I thought, "not the whole bloody car." I twisted, and the car lurched toward the right. It almost climbed the curb before I corrected.



Despite the strangeness, Markovich eventually came around to enjoy the sensitivity and ultimately identified himself as a "wrist-twist fan." But not before touching on perhaps one of its more damning flaws, other than just being viciously weird:

Occasionally, during violent full-lock maneuvers, I ran out of power boost. This happens in production power-steering systems too, but a steering wheel makes the situation a easier to handle.



In a follow-up article in 1968, Popular Mechanics assured readers that wrist-twist was not yet dead, despite the fact that "odds [were] still against production for the foreseeable future." But nowadays the most likely future seems like one where we don't have steering wheels at all.

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