Snow shame
So it snowed over the south of England last night, and everybody is having fun.
Last night I treated myself to a walk under the snow to my local for a few pints, and this morning I went for a run to the Heath. On every snow-covered hill all the way to Hampstead Heath, there were parents and children with sleds flying down the slopes having a great day. Many a snowboarder joined the fun too!
I would have loved to spend the whole day wandering around snowy London, but since I wanted to be back in Norwich tonight, I decided to do it by daylight, before the snow gets icy and the roads dangerous.
So I got to Norwich shortly after dusk and the city is white all over. Now I live on a hill, and there's two ways to get home: the short and fast through Verysteep Street, and the long and slow through Mildslope Road. Being the sensible man that I am, I chose Mildslope Road, and slowly but surely got home. At least at the bottom of the slope that leads to the parking lot behind my block of flats.
The slope has snow at the bottom, but it looks like several cars have been through, so here we go!
It took me a few minutes to finally find a grip and get the car through, but that was fun! I've been waiting for months for the opportunity to play in the snow with my car, and here's the snow and I'm happy as Larry.
Now I got to park the car.
For some strange reason, the parking slots here are on a slight ledge, maybe 2cm height. There's snow everywhere and it's cold so most tyre tracks have turned into ice. I try to reverse into my spot. No chance, there's ice in front of the 2cm step and the tyres wouldn't find traction. So I try again, and again, and again, and again. Believe it or not, I'm having great fun. An old man from one of the ground-floor flats goes to the window, looks at me trying again and again to reverse in the spot and seems to say "that looks like fun". In my mind I say "I know, right?".
So after maybe 5 solid minutes of trying and trying I realize that if today it's this bad, tomorrow morning it's going to be way worse, so I better park the car down on the street.
I drive out and very slowly I go through the slope that leads to the street. The slope is not that bad, I say to myself. It shouldn't be a problem in the morning... and with this, I decide to go back to the car park and try again.
I like to think I am a well prepared man, and because of the snow, today I put in the car my snow-survival kit consisting of heavy boots, warm jumper, snow gloves and a bag of gummybears (I love gummybears). No snow shovel though.
I get off the car, I put my heavy mountaineering boots on, and go for the ice. Lacking a shovel, I'm going to kick the hell out of the thing.
I kick hard and fast the ice crust until I reach the asphalt, and I get to make a neat stair-like track over the tiny ledge. That looks good, I say to myself. Now I start the second track, and I'm midway trough it when I hear "Excuse me". I look behind me and there is a lady in a heavy coat. Must be a neighbour. "You know", she says, "back there, by the rubbish bins...", in my mind I can hear her saying now "there is a snow shovel...", but she doesn't. Instead she says "... there's a yellow box full of sand (grit) that you can put under your tyres". "Oh, great, thanks", I say. She turns around, chuckles a bit and goes back to her flat.
Now three things come to my mind in rapid succession:
1. What's the fun in using grit?
2. If there's grit here, why none of my lazy neighbours have put any of it in the flamming car park?
3. I know I did a pretty damn good job out of boot-chiseling these tracks, I know it's going to work like a charm, but I can't just ignore my neighbour and disregard her helping advise. After all, she came out in the cold for one and only reason and that is to tell me that there's grit in the yellow box.
So I give a final kick to my freshly chiseled ice tracks. It looks beautiful. I go get the grit, and sprinkle a reasonable amount on top of the tracks. I get in the car and reverse into my parking slot without effort.
Victory is bitter-sweet. I feel my manly pride hurt a little: I will never know if it was my efforts or the grit that made the difference.
Women and their practicality have such a talent for spoiling our ice-age caveman fun!
Last night I treated myself to a walk under the snow to my local for a few pints, and this morning I went for a run to the Heath. On every snow-covered hill all the way to Hampstead Heath, there were parents and children with sleds flying down the slopes having a great day. Many a snowboarder joined the fun too!
I would have loved to spend the whole day wandering around snowy London, but since I wanted to be back in Norwich tonight, I decided to do it by daylight, before the snow gets icy and the roads dangerous.
So I got to Norwich shortly after dusk and the city is white all over. Now I live on a hill, and there's two ways to get home: the short and fast through Verysteep Street, and the long and slow through Mildslope Road. Being the sensible man that I am, I chose Mildslope Road, and slowly but surely got home. At least at the bottom of the slope that leads to the parking lot behind my block of flats.
The slope has snow at the bottom, but it looks like several cars have been through, so here we go!
It took me a few minutes to finally find a grip and get the car through, but that was fun! I've been waiting for months for the opportunity to play in the snow with my car, and here's the snow and I'm happy as Larry.
Now I got to park the car.
For some strange reason, the parking slots here are on a slight ledge, maybe 2cm height. There's snow everywhere and it's cold so most tyre tracks have turned into ice. I try to reverse into my spot. No chance, there's ice in front of the 2cm step and the tyres wouldn't find traction. So I try again, and again, and again, and again. Believe it or not, I'm having great fun. An old man from one of the ground-floor flats goes to the window, looks at me trying again and again to reverse in the spot and seems to say "that looks like fun". In my mind I say "I know, right?".
So after maybe 5 solid minutes of trying and trying I realize that if today it's this bad, tomorrow morning it's going to be way worse, so I better park the car down on the street.
I drive out and very slowly I go through the slope that leads to the street. The slope is not that bad, I say to myself. It shouldn't be a problem in the morning... and with this, I decide to go back to the car park and try again.
I like to think I am a well prepared man, and because of the snow, today I put in the car my snow-survival kit consisting of heavy boots, warm jumper, snow gloves and a bag of gummybears (I love gummybears). No snow shovel though.
I get off the car, I put my heavy mountaineering boots on, and go for the ice. Lacking a shovel, I'm going to kick the hell out of the thing.
I kick hard and fast the ice crust until I reach the asphalt, and I get to make a neat stair-like track over the tiny ledge. That looks good, I say to myself. Now I start the second track, and I'm midway trough it when I hear "Excuse me". I look behind me and there is a lady in a heavy coat. Must be a neighbour. "You know", she says, "back there, by the rubbish bins...", in my mind I can hear her saying now "there is a snow shovel...", but she doesn't. Instead she says "... there's a yellow box full of sand (grit) that you can put under your tyres". "Oh, great, thanks", I say. She turns around, chuckles a bit and goes back to her flat.
Now three things come to my mind in rapid succession:
1. What's the fun in using grit?
2. If there's grit here, why none of my lazy neighbours have put any of it in the flamming car park?
3. I know I did a pretty damn good job out of boot-chiseling these tracks, I know it's going to work like a charm, but I can't just ignore my neighbour and disregard her helping advise. After all, she came out in the cold for one and only reason and that is to tell me that there's grit in the yellow box.
So I give a final kick to my freshly chiseled ice tracks. It looks beautiful. I go get the grit, and sprinkle a reasonable amount on top of the tracks. I get in the car and reverse into my parking slot without effort.
Victory is bitter-sweet. I feel my manly pride hurt a little: I will never know if it was my efforts or the grit that made the difference.
Women and their practicality have such a talent for spoiling our ice-age caveman fun!
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