Driving Snow

The snow finally stopped falling during the course of the morning. It is about 50cms deep.

Right. I generally think of myself as a damned fine driver, however this is based on mainly European criteria. I am really rather a calm driver, am proud of my cornering, road placement, smooth gear changing and judgement of stopping distances in all weather conditions. I also never roll back on hills, being able to easily find the biting point of the clutch.
None of this would impress another Brit, because you have to be able to do all of these things before you can pass your driving test. They don't impress Canadians either because they just don't care about driving skills.

I was, however, suitably awed by Kevin's driving skills this morning, and ones I don't have.
Having grown up largely in Ontario, he knows how to drive in big snow, so when it looked as though we would be unable to even get out of our garage, and down the street car after car was just spinning its wheels, unable to move, I was expecting us to have to walk. Fine for me, a little further for him.

But in fact, in true H2G2 (Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy) form, a towel was pressed into use under the tyres and some fancy gear changing, steering wheel work and generally getting the car to do things I never even knew it could do, soon got us moving. Well, maybe 'soon' might be an exaggeration, but we did get moving, and faster than anyone else.

I was impressed, dead impressed. Not just a tad, not just a touche, seriously, deeply, impressed.

At work, I discussed this amazing feat with a colleague - another Brit. Somehow, we got to discussing the different types of snow plough we have back home. Erm...pardon? Snow ploughs?
'Oh yes,' said my friend, 'you know the big ones with the double plough?' Erm...not really, no. He had lived in the north of England, in Yorkshire.

In Pompey, what we usually got was a truck with a lad sitting in the back on a pile of sand, strewing it by hand. I mean, fair do's, Pompey City Council normally managed to get the roads sanded ahead of any hint of ice, but I realised I'd never even seen a snow plough in England.

I guess that's why they call us 'Soft Southerners' oop north.