The Skids
So I had my first skid today. It snowed last night, a couple of inches on the roads, no big deal. But they take their time about plowing the streets. Either that or Minnesotans just dont' consider two or three inches real snow.
Anyway the main roads sort of cleared themselves- enough cars run over a road the stuff turns to slush-- but the side roads were still sheeted with ice covered with a layer of packed snow.
A block from my house with Sophia in the back seat I lost control fo the car, the brakes went useless and we smashed into a curb.
So we were lucky- it was only a curb, not even a tree or a trash can, and not, thank God, a living being. I was still rattled enough to take the car right to the mechanic and ask him to look it over to see if it was safe to drive. I felt a lot better when he showed me the skid marks he'd made an hour earlier. "These things just happen," he shrugged.
One day back in New York I was in Bronxville, getting gas at the station across from the hospital. The attendant and I watched as a car skidded in the middle of the road and hit another car. The attendant nodded. "Third accident in same spot," he said in a thick Russian accent. "I think, is plot. I think police have deal with someone, get piece of insurance. Maybe hospital in on it, too."
I just shrugged. There's no point telling a Russian some things just happen.
Anyway the main roads sort of cleared themselves- enough cars run over a road the stuff turns to slush-- but the side roads were still sheeted with ice covered with a layer of packed snow.
A block from my house with Sophia in the back seat I lost control fo the car, the brakes went useless and we smashed into a curb.
So we were lucky- it was only a curb, not even a tree or a trash can, and not, thank God, a living being. I was still rattled enough to take the car right to the mechanic and ask him to look it over to see if it was safe to drive. I felt a lot better when he showed me the skid marks he'd made an hour earlier. "These things just happen," he shrugged.
One day back in New York I was in Bronxville, getting gas at the station across from the hospital. The attendant and I watched as a car skidded in the middle of the road and hit another car. The attendant nodded. "Third accident in same spot," he said in a thick Russian accent. "I think, is plot. I think police have deal with someone, get piece of insurance. Maybe hospital in on it, too."
I just shrugged. There's no point telling a Russian some things just happen.
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