You alternately spin smoking wheels and idle as people push on your bumper to rock you out of a snow bank. You inch slowly up the hill, and then realize that you are sliding sideways. The freezing rain turned the unplowed drifts across the road into chunks as rugged as the furrows on a farm. And you realize there is no way you are going to stop this side of the stop light.
And when, after an interminable time, you reach the cleaned and dry highway and cruise into higher and higher gear, you'd feel that this is what you're made for.
Every now and then I know what that's like.
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