Looking out at the snow this morning reminded me of a similar winter day long ago, when I was in my early twenties. A friend and I were driving in her Volkswagen beetle. We had had a major snow storm, and on an unploughed side street, the car got stuck. We both got out and pushed the little car forward about ten feet. When we got back in the car, we found it was still stuck. Again we got out and pushed it to where we thought it would be out of the deepest snow, but when we got back in the car, it still wouldn't go.
Since we were only about a block and a half from a major road that had been cleared, the logical thing was for her to stay in the car while I gave it a push, and then she could just keep going up to the corner and wait for me there.
I got out of the car and grabbed hold of the rear bumper, rocking it a little. She gently engaged the transmission, and the car started to move forward. I kept pushing for five or six steps to make sure it was unstuck, but the speed suddenly increased, and I lost my footing, landing flat on my face in the snow behind the car. As the car kept moving, I hung on to the bumper for dear life. I remember actually yelling to my friend to stop, which, of course, she couldn't hear. The car went at least another 100 feet before it occurred to me that the way to stop being dragged through the snow on my belly was to let go.
Even if I'm not terribly bright, I am at least tenacious.
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