I knew I was in trouble before I even left the office.

First, I had to “weather” the incessant warnings from the talking heads on TV about how treacherous the roads were during yesterday’s evening commute. For once, it appeared they were hyperventilating with good reason.

Things on the highways were just a mess. Sometime around four o’clock, when for most of the day it appeared we had dodged another winter weather bullet, all hell broke loose.

Specifically, the temperature dipped just enough to turn all that moisture into sheets of ice.

The Flyers would have had trouble getting home through this stuff.

So it was with no small amount of angst – along with the growing knot in my stomach – that I glumly listened to each update, with the horror stories now being reported on I-95, as well as on both the Platt and Commodore Barry Bridges. Traffic was at a standstill. Cars were skidding everywhere. The roads had turned into skating rinks.

For now, that was not my problem. Getting to my car, and then actually getting into it, was.

I have a general rule that I use to deal with bad-weather driving. Usually, I simply try to wait out much of the afternoon rush-hour mess. The fewer people with no clue how to drive in the snow, the better I find the going.

But my dismay turned to disgust as I exited the office, only to see several co-workers who had left about a half-hour before me still chipping away at the ice that now coated their vehicles. Then I looked at my car-turned-popsicle.

Swell, I muttered.

Things went downhill from there. My scraper broke in two on my first pass against the ice that now coated my windshield. I decided maybe to let the defroster do its work. Eventually, the ice gave way. Now it was time to hit the road. I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect.

However, I do have a few standing rules that I use in these situations.
One, it’s never as bad as they are saying it is on radio and TV. Once again that proved true last night. Was it great? No, especially when you drive a Zamboni with probably not the best tires, as I do. But I managed to progress at a decent clip.

Soon my fears of making it up the hill on Oak Avenue and across Baltimore Pike, where I take a left on Springfield Road, were eased, although I had to fall back on my habit of sitting well back at the red light so as to get a bit of a “running” start.

The next challenge would be the hill from the Springfield Trolley station at Brookside all the way up to Route 1. No problem. I actually exhaled at this point.
The rest of the ride home was pretty much uneventful, except for two observations I make every time we get bad weather.

People, please, it really is not necessary to go 5 mph just because we have a little ice and snow. In fact, you’re going to be a problem. You’re going to get stuck, and so is everyone cursing at the top of their lungs behind you.

Second, out on West Chester Pike, I had another winter-driving theory confirmed. You could see the blue and red lights on the police car from a mile away. Everyone was getting over into the left lane. Great, I thought. Once I got up to the cruiser, there, sitting down in a ditch, was the proud owner of a spiffy four-wheel-drive Jeep. Yes, just because you’re driving an SUV does not mean you are immune to the elements. I am always amazed at how many SUVs – and their seemingly stunned drivers –find themselves in this position.

The ride in today was better, but not much.

The problem is rain, lots of it. Most of the schools are operating on a two-hour delay.

Hey, it could be worse. This could be snow.
Snow, ice, rain, flooding.

The locusts should be arriving any day now.