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The snow was heavy, but the hill wasn't very steep. Roads were, of course, treacherous, and my 20-mile drive from out of town had encountered a few vehicles off the road at various levels of disrepair. A good storm can really separate those who know how to drive in snow from those who don't. This woman...did not.
She was helplessly spinning the wheels of her front-wheel-drive sedan as fast as she dared, but instead of straightening out the steering wheel, she had it heeled all the way over to the left. Then, as I watched, she heeled it all the way over to the right. And then she heeled it all the way over to the left again.
The cars behind us, none of them any better equipped for snow than she was, pulled out and around her (and me, stuck directly behind her in my little Nissan) without any difficulty in exactly the same road conditions, while she spun and spun and spun. I wanted to shout out the window, "STRAIGHTEN YOUR WHEELS, LADY!"
My guess is that she didn't have the slightest clue how to drive in snow; she'd tried to compensate for a tiny little fishtail by whipping the wheel all the way to the right, at which point the rear would slide a little bit and she'd wildly overcompensate by whipping the wheel all the way to the left, at which point the rear would slide a little bit the other way and she'd whip the wheel all the way to the right again. The upshot of this plan was progress that could be measured by inches on a fairly straight road that every other car was navigating with the ease and comfort of a snowmobile.
A bit later, I saw one of those people who doesn't realize that four-wheel-drive doesn't mean four-wheel-stop when he responded to a fishtail by heeling the wheel all the way in the opposite direction and gunning the gas, nearly propelling his car into the oncoming lane.
My roommate has sung my inclement-weather driving praises before, but my assumption is that he must be riding in a different car, because when I lose control, all I remember afterwards is "AAAAAAAAAAAA!" I actually shouted "All hands, brace for impact!" as I narrowly missed a guardrail on an icy blind turn a few years ago. I know that the cars I saw in the ditch on the way home could just as easily have been mine but for luck. But I also know that when you press the little slanty pedal on the right, the car is generally supposed to yield forward progress.
I was able to pull out and around her before oncoming traffic came along, and my roommate managed to catch a glimpse of the woman, hunched over the steering wheel as if traveling a hundred miles an hour, face fixed in a grimace, possibly bewildered as to why all her acceleration wasn't overcoming momentum. Given the traffic flowing effortlessly around her, I would imagine it was kind of frustrating.
She was helplessly spinning the wheels of her front-wheel-drive sedan as fast as she dared, but instead of straightening out the steering wheel, she had it heeled all the way over to the left. Then, as I watched, she heeled it all the way over to the right. And then she heeled it all the way over to the left again.
The cars behind us, none of them any better equipped for snow than she was, pulled out and around her (and me, stuck directly behind her in my little Nissan) without any difficulty in exactly the same road conditions, while she spun and spun and spun. I wanted to shout out the window, "STRAIGHTEN YOUR WHEELS, LADY!"
My guess is that she didn't have the slightest clue how to drive in snow; she'd tried to compensate for a tiny little fishtail by whipping the wheel all the way to the right, at which point the rear would slide a little bit and she'd wildly overcompensate by whipping the wheel all the way to the left, at which point the rear would slide a little bit the other way and she'd whip the wheel all the way to the right again. The upshot of this plan was progress that could be measured by inches on a fairly straight road that every other car was navigating with the ease and comfort of a snowmobile.
A bit later, I saw one of those people who doesn't realize that four-wheel-drive doesn't mean four-wheel-stop when he responded to a fishtail by heeling the wheel all the way in the opposite direction and gunning the gas, nearly propelling his car into the oncoming lane.
My roommate has sung my inclement-weather driving praises before, but my assumption is that he must be riding in a different car, because when I lose control, all I remember afterwards is "AAAAAAAAAAAA!" I actually shouted "All hands, brace for impact!" as I narrowly missed a guardrail on an icy blind turn a few years ago. I know that the cars I saw in the ditch on the way home could just as easily have been mine but for luck. But I also know that when you press the little slanty pedal on the right, the car is generally supposed to yield forward progress.
I was able to pull out and around her before oncoming traffic came along, and my roommate managed to catch a glimpse of the woman, hunched over the steering wheel as if traveling a hundred miles an hour, face fixed in a grimace, possibly bewildered as to why all her acceleration wasn't overcoming momentum. Given the traffic flowing effortlessly around her, I would imagine it was kind of frustrating.
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