This article oringinally
appeared in Columbus Monthly March, 2002
Snow Time to
Slow Down
By Sally Fingerett
Illustration by Mario Noche
I
come from Chicago. City of the Big Shoulders, where the winter wind
whips, bites, blows and stuns visitors and natives alike. It's part
of the city's charm. Sure, it's not so charming to be blowing a runny
nose all the time, but it is the Windy City. And away we'd blow.
As kids
growing up in the late 1950s, all that snow made us winter-sport enthusiasts.
We ice-skated right there in the streets, lined with parked cars buried
under plowed snow. We'd sled down sloped front yards belonging to mean,
scary hermits who hid behind locked doors, peeking out of their picture
windows to give us the hairy eyeball.
My older
brother was a hot dog, brave and boastful. He adored me, so with him
to protect me, I'd keep on sledding. Together, we would challenge these
mysterious strangers hidden behind the dark drawn faded curtains. We
taunted them to come out and yell at us to quit playing on their lawn.
But they never did.
Maybe
these lonely old strangers hoped we'd sled into the street and get hit
by a car or fly into a lamppost. Yikes, wouldn't the drivers be mad
and, boy, wouldn't we get into trouble and be punished and grounded
for all eternity and a day and our moms would yell and our dads would
scream and then we would cry all bound and zipped up in our suffocating
snowsuits and have "accidents" and then we'd be scolded with
"No more outside for you, you've had enough!" But they would
have been wrong. When it comes to snow, children can never have enough.
This
childhood memory struck me as I was driving from Clintonville to Bexley
on Dec. 26 during the first snowfall of this winter. What little snow
there was would fall one day too late for a magical Christmas morning.
Still, we'd get enough to create a seasonal holiday feeling of cozy.
Driving south on 1-71,1 laughed to myself how different this highway
was compared to Chicago's Dan Ryan Expressway. I wondered why everyone
on the road was being so polite and careful. Was it Christmas cheer
or winter fear?
All the
drivers were behaving, moving gently along at a reasonable clip. No
SUVs were showing off. No teenagers flew by with the Whetstone High
School freshman class shoved into the back hatch of an '85 Honda Civic.
We were all just pilots, trying to get somewhere in one piece. As a
mom, I was grateful.
As a
snow lover, I was delighted to be out on a night like this. I knew that
those of us emigres from Chicago, Cleveland, Pittsburgh and many other
snowy cities could take on the winter weather like it was hopscotch
on a sidewalk. Which means we tend to be cavalier about driving in the
snow.
So I'd like to thank my native Buckeye friends for their kind and cautious
ways of maneuvering around town. I, myself, enjoyed partaking in your
slow-inching crawl. I'm OK with your polite, yet panic-stricken, please-go-first
attitude. At least you guys aren't cocky and miserable like me or those
dreaded Boston and Atlanta drivers. I'll never understand their fever
and fervor for raucous racing and rude road behavior. Their interpretation
of defensive driving has become offensive, in more ways than one.
Here in Columbus on that December night, I found no need to be defensive.
It appeared that going slow, driving sanely and arriving at all destinations
safely was OK. No asserting one's ego in hazardous road conditions,
nobody's identity tied to his or her driving technique, no one copping
a buzz by rushing through a snowstorm, slamming on the brakes and skidding
through four inches of fresh snow on top of black ice. Why spoil a delightful
Christmas holiday drive with having to file an insurance claim?
My daughter
thought I was nuts for going out on a night like that. Since I just
had celebrated a birthday, I was wearing some of the groovy gifts I
had received. I decided to drive to my new boyfriend's house. It was
a relatively new relationship and I knew I looked pretty terrific. I
had applied gobs of makeup and was exhausted from the considerable amount
of time I had spent on my hair. There was no way I was going to rush
and compromise my safety, crash my car, arrive late, messed up or even
dead. Showing up dead would have been such a downer. Especially after
all the glamorizing I had done. But somehow, right around the I-71/I-70
split, I began to feel a little stronger, more powerful-I fell back
into that childhood sledding memory. Hmm, the roads weren't that slick;
it's not so bad.
I felt
my Skechers boot heel dig down and I put a lead foot on the gas pedal.
I was picking up speed, once again becoming that fearless monster brat
motivated by a daring older brother.
Hey,
you in the Volvo, outta my way.
Now that
winter is winding down, my guilt is overpowering and I must come clean
and repent. If any of you saw me in my white Subaru Legacy wagon passing
you on the left-and/or possibly on the right-please forgive me. Especially
if my tires sprayed muck and salt onto the windshields of the car you
were driving so patiently and law-abidingly.
I was
just channeling that excited little girl in new winter play clothes,
speeding like a hot dog on a sled down a hill. You know, when it comes
to snow, children can never get enough.
Spring
is almost here. I promise to calm down and behave.
