Las Vegas Drivers and Snow

If you are a native of Vegas, you know exactly what I am about to say here. Las Vegans are not equipped to handle rain, snow, hail, or heck, even a slight drizzle. When rain hits Vegas, one will see signs placed in grocery stores, "Warning: There is rain outside: watch your footing in store. There may be water on the floor!" Come on! One never will see a sign like that in say, Louisiana, where torrential downpours occur weekly and people don their raincoats and rubber boots as a part of their regular daily attire.

But, here in Vegas, natives view rain as the onslaught of Armagaedon. Suddenly, the most frantic lead-foot road ragers are turned into tentative granny-drivers who ride their brakes twenty-five feet prior to stop signs. The same gas-gusling sports car with the licsence plate that reads, "Kingofroad" that left me in the dust last week, now taps his breaks all the way down the mountain this week, leaving me in a frustrated state of fury, to the point of attempting to pass him on a double line! Like-wise, when these same downtowners notice the forecast is anywhere upwards of 10 inches of snow here in Mount Charleston (the nearest mountain range forty-five minutes outside of downtown Vegas) they rush up here in their mustangs to play. I see them racing up here in their sportcars with sleds attached to the top via bungy cords, passing me to get to the powdery stuff, only to pass them up again a few miles later, red sportscar turned upside down and wheels ablaze, sled in pieces in the highway. Now, I don't understand why they persist in their tourist play when as anyone can obviously tell, one cannot drive ten feet without seeing 1) Signs every three miles warning people that they must have snow tires or chains to continue driving, 2) Officers every five miles checking for same and 3) Cars wrecked or stuck in the snow, ohhhh about every two miles. One would think that would make one turn their tiny red BMWs around and head the hell out of dodge. But alas! These tourists proceed to not only resume their frollicing on the main roads, they also continue upward in the dangerous parts of the mountain, where only we citizens of Mount Charleston drive. Granted, the snow becomes deeper the higher in altitude one drives. But it never fails that I see one of these not-so-bright Vegans stuck in one of the subdivisions on the higher roads. Not only was it a subdivision of locals, today, but it was MY OWN subdivision where the following absurdity occured. On my way home, I carefully drove my four wheel drive Jeep down Tyrol Way, the road where we reside. Out of the blue comes a kid I'd guess to be about ten years old, perched on a snow sleigh, zooming out of control down a hill towards my car. DAMN it! Where is his Mom, one might ask? So.....I miss little Evil Kneivel by a few inches, only to find out that his parents have parked their land jot Ford Explorer right in the middle of the friggin road! Ok....taking a deep breath and counting to ten while praying I don't hit the car, I inch by it, coming within centimeters of a collision. Onward I go to the next obstacle: Evil Kneivel's mother, standing right in the middle of the road on the incline. Now, we natives of snow-producing Alpine towns all know that when driving in more than 10 inches of snow, one needs to drive very quickly up inclines, and never EVER stop on the incline, otherwise, one may be put in danger of not making it up the incline and therefore having to reverse a car down a mountain. Patience is a virtue. Keeping in mind that this obvious tourist and probably Vegas native does not know the rules of Alpine roads, I stop the car, on the damned incline. Next, I calmly tapped my horn. Originating from New Jersey, I have a tough time "calmly tapping" my horn, brakes, or anything for that matter. Ms. Knievel continued to stand in the road, staring at me, like cattle caught in headlights. Once again, I calmly tap my horn, this time uttering a few not-so-nice words in New Jersey slang under my breath, and also gesturing boldly with my left hand for her to kindly move. She continues to stand there. My mind was racing with obscenities, thinking of all the ways my temper could escalade into an ongoing war, leaving the poor downtowner with permanent tire marks on her person. I inch the car up, beeping LOUDLY four times, watching her jump out of the way, as if "I" was the madman who did not know the rules of the road. She gestured with her hands as if to say, "What? What is wrong with you?". I shook my head and spun snow out onto her nice, matching touristy cashmere sweater and hat as I tore off upward in the snow.