Just a hundred metres north from where we were shot at in 1964 is the top of a hill on Highway 93 that has a fairly steep grade. (I can attest to the endurance it takes to cycle up it!)
One night, in winter, Mom and I were traveling back from Barrie to Dalston, in the dark. Coming down that hill, Mom must have hit a patch of ice because we were suddenly spinning around.
When we finally came to rest on the far snow bank, we had go around the full three-sixty, plus another 90°. Fortunately there had been no other cars on the road at that moment, so we were able to continue our journey without further incident.
When I started driving at age 19, I had two similar situations, but with differing results.
The first involved a November snow storm while driving to Toronto on the 400. The snow was so thick in the passing lane that my front wheel was pulled into the snowy median, and should have gotten stuck; but I gunned the engine and the car pulled back onto the highway and I continued on my way.
The second incident happened a year or so later, returning home to Angus from a day at work in Barrie at Mostyn’s. This time it was black ice. I made the classic mistake of stepping on the brakes, so this resulted in the car flying over the snow bank and into the ditch. Fortunately, there was a service garage about a kilometre from the crash site. The tow truck came out immediately and pulled the car back to the road. I paid the man for his services, got into the car and drove away. The look on the man’s face was priceless.
Driving in winter is a challenge. But in Central Ontario it becomes quite normal, quite quickly. The same cannot be said for snow in Vancouver, or snow in England. The underlying wetness means that, at best, you’re driving through slush. That’s not easy to do.
My best advice is to give yourself extra time, don’t speed, and don’t worry. If you drive cautiously, you’ll get there in the end, safe and sure.
A bit like the Tortoise (but not the Hare).