Thank god winter finally arrived here. I’ve been on the East Coast for three weeks and it was getting downright embarrassing to answer people’s questions about the weather in Anchorage. As the northwest endured snowstorms and ice storms, Anchorage basked in 50-degree weather. People were starting to look at me funny and muttering about how I brought it all down from Alaska with me.
Just the threat of a snowstorm caused my sister to check us out of a perfectly lovely casino in Connecticut called Foxwoods – where we had free accommodations thanks to friends in high places – a day early and drive back to Atlantic City at 3 AM to avoid the possibility of a snow flake hitting her car.
It’s not that East Coasters don’t like snow per se as much as they have simply not got a clue on how to handle it once you get south of New England. Panic seems to be the first mode of response. Schools and businesses are closed before the snow starts to fall. A winter storm watch concerning accumulations of 3 to 6 inches virtually paralyzed the urban corridor running from New York City to Washington DC.
It was especially embarrassing to watch the response in Atlantic City. Being on the ocean, snow rarely gets a chance to stay for longer than a few hours. Soon the salty air and the inevitable rain wipe away all traces of white and leave in its place that lovely substance known as slush. It’s wet, it’s cold, it has no socially redeeming value and it was everywhere that snow should have been. Nonetheless, all schools in the general vicinity had been cancelled the night before the snow fell on the off chance it might stick around for ten minutes. I knew the schools were cancelled because all the teachers and students could be found that day Christmas shopping at the mall. I guess if the slush outside doesn’t make for good snowman building, Christmas shopping is the next best way to spend a snow day.
As the temperatures kept plunging back east, I kept checking on Anchorage weather. I felt as though I was Alice and had fallen through the looking glass. Atlantic City’s high temperature on more than one day was lower than Anchorage’s low temperature for the same day. Clearly something was wrong with the universe.
Then I got back to Alaska and found the winter wonderland it’s supposed to be. The snow had finally fallen, the trees hung heavy with their burden of white, the streets were a mess and my favorite drivers were back. You know them. The ones who come zooming up behind everyone because it is their god given right to speed no matter what the road conditions are so that they can get home in time to rev up the old snow machine. These lovely people weave in and out of traffic, climb up the read end of any car that dares to block their way and give a whole new meaning to the phrase defensive driving.
Snow has the opposite affect on East Coast urban drivers despite the fact that most of them are driving SUVs that could plough through the Brooks Range. Those that actually creep out on to the road drive very, very slowly. I would venture to guess that if they drove on an Alaskan highway at that speed, even if we were in the middle of a major blizzard, someone would probably shoot their tires out just to put them out of their misery.
I’m glad to be back home where people know that snow on the road is not an impediment but a challenge to their driving skills. I’m glad to be back to highways that continue to run at 65 mph no matter what the visibility or road conditions. Because that �s what makes us Alaskans, doesn’t it? Our total disdain and disregard for anything that nature may throw our way is proof that we have learned to live with nature on her terms.
Now if you’ll just excuse me for a moment. I have to clean up that puddle in my car caused by the last Alaskan driver who came zooming up, weaving in and out of traffic, squeezing into a non-existent space in front of my car before squeezing into a non-existent space in the other lane while the snow fell and visibility was at zero. Alaskan driving in winter – not for the fainthearted or weak bladdered.