It’s a common winter story: inexperienced snow driver –more than likely from elsewhere, and not used to driving in snowy/sleety/blizzardy conditions– steps on the gas pedal halfway into an otherwise routine turn; the laws of physics take over; and suddenly the rear wheels go into an unhealthy competition with the front ones, making the car skid dangerously to one side.
Veteran, grizzled snow/blizzard drivers are always quick to helpfully point out that you’re supposed to turn the car into the same direction as where the rear wheels want to go, while stepping off the gas pedal completely and, if you can, pumping your brakes: this is an Everyman translation of trying to reduce the vector forces to zero while not introducing acceleration into the system, and possibly attempting to create a little friction from the force which you are repeatedly applying to the braking system (NB: This piece of advice does NOT work if you have an anti-lock brake system. Considering most cars come with an ABS system nowadays, someone should tell the know-it-all in their lives to stop saying that, already).
Yesterday, our first snow day of this winter season, my car skidded. I freaked out and drove home. Clearly, I am an inexperienced driver, who cut her teeth learning to drive during an El Niño year in California and about five hours away from the nearest snowbank. My fault, end of story, right?
Oh please: would I bother writing this down if my story had no point? Read on:
1. I was going less than 10 mph.
2. My car is a 5000 lb behemoth.
3. And it has all-wheel drive.
4. The anti-lock brake system had also been activated while coming to a stop at the previous intersection. Just for clarification purposes, when you come to a stop at an intersection, you’re usually going in a straight line unless you’re Billy Joel.
Did I mention that the street I was turning from looked like it was completely covered in confectioner’s sugar, even though it was past 11 am? The blanket of snow it sported looked white and pristine, as if nothing had touched it. Looking closer, you could see a few tire treads, but nothing else. Nothing like salt, for instance.
Hours later, as I ventured to my son’s school on foot — feeling inadequate as a driver and not wanting to risk spinning out of control– I was greeted by mountains of salt and dense clouds of diesel fumes. Salting trucks busily drove by as I walked: I saw at least four in those twenty or so minutes. The streets looked appropriately winterlike again: streaks of blue, whitish, and neon green deicing salt swirled and mixed in with the sullied snow by the side of the road, while the road itself looked clear.
It’s good to know that as the District unveils a new tool to help citizens know more about road conditions, business is still as usual out there: do as little as possible at first, and then catch up in a frenzy and hope no one notices.
Well played, DC, well played.
