One of the myths of our time, nay, the prevailing myth, is that northerners are skilled at driving in snowy conditions. We’re not. As evidenced by driving 15 miles down I-41 this morning, we’re abysmal winter helmsmen.
Sirens, flashing lights, and fulsome rumps of Dodge Darts sticking out from ditches — that’s all a man could see. A 20-minute drive became an interminable trudge of the damned, a slide show of vehicular catastrophe.
And therein is the truth of the matter. We Northmen drive slightly better in the winter, only days and weeks after days like today, because we’re terrified of becoming part of the carnage witnessed in the first weeks of winter. We’re not good drivers; enough of us mediocre motorists spin to our doom each year to make petrified draymen of the rest of us.
So the next time your snowbird neighbor snorts into his chilled wine at you southerners and your spastic response to a bit of sky fluff, look him deep in his icy Scandinavian peepers and say, “I-41 in Late November.” Bless his heart; he’ll probably walk straight home and apologize for his bluster days later by delivering a tater-tot hotdish to your stoop.