So, it’s happened again. It snowed for the first time this year. It only happens about once a year where I live. The rest of the time it’s raining with a chance of rain, then raining some more with partial raining, until we move fully into the rainy season proper. Then we drift into spring when it’s either raining or just oppressively cloudy.
But snow is an infrequent thing for us.
And while many celebrated the downy, white flakes falling with a spirit of love in their hearts, others attempted to drive in it, cursing with words and a tone that seemed to growl up from the bowels of hell.
Not a pretty contrast.
Yet every year it’s the same. The weather grows colder. People talk of possible snow. People remember the horrors of trying to drive in it and recount fender-benders or full-blown accidents they’ve either had or witnessed due to the horrid white crap.
The snow hits, these same good folks go jump in their cars, and move around town like those electric hockey games they had when I was a kid (you know, the one where the players vibrated around and you had no control over them whatsoever). More fender-benders, more accidents, more stories to tell around the water-cooler.
Although I don’t completely understand this cycle of winter havoc, I can empathize with its participants because I’m often forgetful myself –call it early Alzheimer’s, Mad Cow Disease, whatever.
I have the advantage though, of having grown up where snow during winter was a typical thing. The first day, if it was really coming down with a chance of freezing, you laid low and let the newcomers (or those who forgot the previous year’s fiascos) go out and bang up their cars for awhile. Then, while their cars were in the shop, you could go out and drive without much trouble. Once the others had their cars repaired, they were much more cautious or stayed off the streets altogether.
I’ve mentioned in other posts that my mom was not the greatest driver in the world. In fact, she was terrible. If it even looked like it was thinking about snowing she didn’t leave the house until it was completely gone or someone drove her.
But there was one time…
I forget the reason (Mad Cow, remember), but mom had to go into town and since there were patches of snow still on the road, she insisted that I go with her. I was fifteen at the time and have no idea how I was going to be of help to her because there was no way she would let me drive. She must have concluded my lack of driving experience was a worse option than her hugely crappy driving skills. In any case, off to town we went. And all was good.
Until on the way home.
As we drove home, I relaxed against the passenger door, watching and marveling at my mom’s driving technique. She gripped the steering wheel so tight I thought her knuckles might explode through the skin. Although we were only moving about 30 mph, she kept taking her foot off the gas and then reapplying it, which gave the car a surreal feel –as though it were panting. Her other foot hovered over the brake without touching it. I mentally gave my mom kudos for what had to be rock solid quadriceps to hold her leg up for that long a time.
That’s when we hit the ice.
Since we were moving so slowly and the car was the size of a tuna boat, the only indication was our back end very slowly drifting to the left.
Mom: “Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. Whadda I do? Whadda I do?”
I thought it funny both because we were in no real danger and she was freaking out and because she was asking the fifteen year old –whom she didn’t trust to drive—for emergency driving procedures.
Me: “DON’T touch the brake.” That was always mom’s first instinct, so I thought it best to head it off first.
Mom: “Okay, okay, okay, okay…”
Me: “Let off on the gas and just slowly steer a bit to the left –the same direction the back end is moving.”
Mom: “Okay, okay, okay, okay…”
She did as directed and as you might guess, turned too much. The back end moved back and began drifting to the right.
Mom: “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…”
It was kind of funny how she’d shifted from calling to God to calling to shit, but thought it best not to point out the humor of it just then.
Me: “It’s okay, mom. Just turn the wheel the other way…easy…” Her hands were locked so tight on the wheel her whole body leaned into each turn.
Mom: “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…”
I should point out that I almost started laughing out loud during this Steve McQueen-esque driving experience. The road to our house was out of town and there was absolutely no traffic. The wide road had shoulders you could land a DC-10 on and were as flat as Olive Oyle’s chest. There was so little danger it was more like a carnival ride than an accident about to happen.
Mom overcorrected again and the back end of the car drifted to the left again.
Me: “It’s okay, mom. Just ease a turn to the left…”
That’s when she shifted into full-blown panic mode.
She cranked the wheel hard to the left, her body leaning that way until her head touched the driver’s side window. She started yelling “Oh shit!” repeatedly as the back end came back around to the right and kept coming around until the car had done a complete 180 degree turn.
I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I started laughing.
The car slid across the other lane and came to a slightly jolting stop on the shoulder of the road. By now, both of mom’s feet had mashed the brake to the floor. Her grip threatened to tear the wheel from the steering column. Her eyes were so wide I thought her eyebrows might meet her hairline.
Me: (still laughing).
Mom: “Oh shit, oh God, oh shit, oh God…” The fact that she was now invoking the power of God and the strength of shit made me laugh all the more. After a few seconds I felt bad for her and so managed to stop laughing. She turned her head to me, her eyes still wide with shock.
Mom: “Now what do I do?”
Me: “Well, would you rather I drove the last little bit to home?”
Mom: “Oh shit. Oh God.Yes.”
I got out and walked around the car while she slid over to the passenger side. It only took a little rocking back and forth to dislodge the car and get back on the road. As I drove us home I glanced over now and then at mom. Her eyes were still a bit wide, but she was catching her breath and regaining her composure. I felt bad then, because she was truly terrified during the incident.
Me: “Mom, you okay? Look at it this way. It was a learning experience for driving on snow and no harm done.”
Mom: “I will never drive when there’s snow on the ground again. I hate the Goddamned snow.”
Mom wasn’t one to use the term “Goddamn” very often, so I knew she meant it.
And, as far as I know, she never did drive on snow again.
I only wish those on the road who share my mother’s driving prowess would take the same oath.
*** Please be careful and be well this holiday season. --William
But snow is an infrequent thing for us.
And while many celebrated the downy, white flakes falling with a spirit of love in their hearts, others attempted to drive in it, cursing with words and a tone that seemed to growl up from the bowels of hell.
Not a pretty contrast.
Yet every year it’s the same. The weather grows colder. People talk of possible snow. People remember the horrors of trying to drive in it and recount fender-benders or full-blown accidents they’ve either had or witnessed due to the horrid white crap.
The snow hits, these same good folks go jump in their cars, and move around town like those electric hockey games they had when I was a kid (you know, the one where the players vibrated around and you had no control over them whatsoever). More fender-benders, more accidents, more stories to tell around the water-cooler.
Although I don’t completely understand this cycle of winter havoc, I can empathize with its participants because I’m often forgetful myself –call it early Alzheimer’s, Mad Cow Disease, whatever.
I have the advantage though, of having grown up where snow during winter was a typical thing. The first day, if it was really coming down with a chance of freezing, you laid low and let the newcomers (or those who forgot the previous year’s fiascos) go out and bang up their cars for awhile. Then, while their cars were in the shop, you could go out and drive without much trouble. Once the others had their cars repaired, they were much more cautious or stayed off the streets altogether.
I’ve mentioned in other posts that my mom was not the greatest driver in the world. In fact, she was terrible. If it even looked like it was thinking about snowing she didn’t leave the house until it was completely gone or someone drove her.
But there was one time…
I forget the reason (Mad Cow, remember), but mom had to go into town and since there were patches of snow still on the road, she insisted that I go with her. I was fifteen at the time and have no idea how I was going to be of help to her because there was no way she would let me drive. She must have concluded my lack of driving experience was a worse option than her hugely crappy driving skills. In any case, off to town we went. And all was good.
Until on the way home.
As we drove home, I relaxed against the passenger door, watching and marveling at my mom’s driving technique. She gripped the steering wheel so tight I thought her knuckles might explode through the skin. Although we were only moving about 30 mph, she kept taking her foot off the gas and then reapplying it, which gave the car a surreal feel –as though it were panting. Her other foot hovered over the brake without touching it. I mentally gave my mom kudos for what had to be rock solid quadriceps to hold her leg up for that long a time.
That’s when we hit the ice.
Since we were moving so slowly and the car was the size of a tuna boat, the only indication was our back end very slowly drifting to the left.
Mom: “Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. Whadda I do? Whadda I do?”
I thought it funny both because we were in no real danger and she was freaking out and because she was asking the fifteen year old –whom she didn’t trust to drive—for emergency driving procedures.
Me: “DON’T touch the brake.” That was always mom’s first instinct, so I thought it best to head it off first.
Mom: “Okay, okay, okay, okay…”
Me: “Let off on the gas and just slowly steer a bit to the left –the same direction the back end is moving.”
Mom: “Okay, okay, okay, okay…”
She did as directed and as you might guess, turned too much. The back end moved back and began drifting to the right.
Mom: “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…”
It was kind of funny how she’d shifted from calling to God to calling to shit, but thought it best not to point out the humor of it just then.
Me: “It’s okay, mom. Just turn the wheel the other way…easy…” Her hands were locked so tight on the wheel her whole body leaned into each turn.
Mom: “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…”
I should point out that I almost started laughing out loud during this Steve McQueen-esque driving experience. The road to our house was out of town and there was absolutely no traffic. The wide road had shoulders you could land a DC-10 on and were as flat as Olive Oyle’s chest. There was so little danger it was more like a carnival ride than an accident about to happen.
Mom overcorrected again and the back end of the car drifted to the left again.
Me: “It’s okay, mom. Just ease a turn to the left…”
That’s when she shifted into full-blown panic mode.
She cranked the wheel hard to the left, her body leaning that way until her head touched the driver’s side window. She started yelling “Oh shit!” repeatedly as the back end came back around to the right and kept coming around until the car had done a complete 180 degree turn.
I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I started laughing.
The car slid across the other lane and came to a slightly jolting stop on the shoulder of the road. By now, both of mom’s feet had mashed the brake to the floor. Her grip threatened to tear the wheel from the steering column. Her eyes were so wide I thought her eyebrows might meet her hairline.
Me: (still laughing).
Mom: “Oh shit, oh God, oh shit, oh God…” The fact that she was now invoking the power of God and the strength of shit made me laugh all the more. After a few seconds I felt bad for her and so managed to stop laughing. She turned her head to me, her eyes still wide with shock.
Mom: “Now what do I do?”
Me: “Well, would you rather I drove the last little bit to home?”
Mom: “Oh shit. Oh God.Yes.”
I got out and walked around the car while she slid over to the passenger side. It only took a little rocking back and forth to dislodge the car and get back on the road. As I drove us home I glanced over now and then at mom. Her eyes were still a bit wide, but she was catching her breath and regaining her composure. I felt bad then, because she was truly terrified during the incident.
Me: “Mom, you okay? Look at it this way. It was a learning experience for driving on snow and no harm done.”
Mom: “I will never drive when there’s snow on the ground again. I hate the Goddamned snow.”
Mom wasn’t one to use the term “Goddamn” very often, so I knew she meant it.
And, as far as I know, she never did drive on snow again.
I only wish those on the road who share my mother’s driving prowess would take the same oath.
*** Please be careful and be well this holiday season. --William
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