THOM WESTCOTT
Iguess most Land Rover drivers secretly long for snow, for this is when ‘gas-guzzling’ 4x4s should come into their own, becoming justifiable to not only their owners but all around them. Land Rovers can still cruise the frozen streets when everyone else is on foot and, in an ideal world, shop for the snowed-in elderly and rescue feeble little cars from country lanes.
Snow is predicted but there’s no sign of it when I awake on Sunday. I’ve been home for a rare night, needing to collect essential work-related material, but am returning to the Home Counties where I’m in lockdown with the fella. It’s exceptionally cold with thick and ominous clouds and I dutifully load up with drinks, snacks, warm clothing and a hi-vis jacket. As I start the engine, the snow begins to fall.
The novelty of snow, always endearing in England on the first day, initially makes the drive seem fun and interesting. After all, this is the UK, the epitome of mild but poor weather where any attempts by snow to settle are usually defeated by the damp ground. Surely it won’t last long, and surely it won’t settle.
But settle it does, and in pretty impressive quantities by British standards.
I drive on, through mercifully empty streets, intermittently checking the Sat Nav’s journey time, hoping I can actually make it back. 42, 37, 31 – the minutes pass slowly. As the snow falls thicker and faster, I buoy myself up with the romantic notion that I’m powering through the elements to reach my beloved.
By the time I hit the M1, such romantic notions have evaporated. It’s significantly colder here and the snow has settled across the motorway. Down to a single middle lane, the few vehicles plod along at 30 mph. It’s impressive to see a British motorway like this and sobering to be ‘put in one’s place’ by extreme weather, a reminder that nature still predominates.
The snow is now basically horizontal. The windscreen wipers persevere but their coverage is reduced by a build-up of snow, forming little snowdrifts at either end of the windscreen. I watch the driver’s wiper start to stick, trying to manage the snowdrift. I feel like an idiot for not yet replacing the defective driver’s windscreen wiper; the latest gaffer-tape fix had proved so effective, I couldn’t actually wrest the old wiper off.
The single-speed wiper setting for Series vehicles also isn’t fast enough. To ensure the best possible visuals, I find myself sitting very upright with my face close to the windscreen, a stance seen more often deployed by very old ladies or new and inexperienced drivers. It’s so exhausting, driving with such levels of concentration, that I don’t even notice how cold my hands are, gripping the steering wheel.
“The hill is lined with abandoned cars and pedestrians, enjoying the relief from the tedium of lockdown that the snow has brought”
It’s with relief that I leave the motorway but it’s much worse on the side roads. The fella phones to ask how I’m getting on. I tell him where I am and he seems very impressed that I didn’t give up and turn back. “It’s been an exciting drive,” I bellow. “See you soon.”
Driving past an out-of-town supermarket, I see an accident – a car wrapped around a lamppost – and start to wonder if I have chosen unwisely, as this route is very windy and hilly. But the fella lives at the summit of a steep hill, and there’s no way to reach his house without a serious climb.
Turning the next snow-covered, steep corner carefully, the Lightweight loses grip and gently drifts out into the road. I stupidly try to correct its direction and it skids off at another angle and rolls towards the kerb, lodging at an unfortunate angle. Thankfully there are few cars around, so I deploy the hazard lights, manage to straighten up alongside the kerb and have a little think.
Searching my memory, I can’t seem to find any instances of driving the Lightweight, or any other vehicle, in snow. I press down the yellow lever, engaging what I believe is four-wheel drive in high ratio, and proceed slowly and successfully forward, chugging onwards towards the long, steep incline that inevitably awaits.
This hill is lined with abandoned cars and pedestrians, enjoying the relief from the tedium of lockdown that the snow has brought. Snowmen have already been erected. I press on up, acutely conscious that I am now the only vehicle left on the road. I recall the fella telling me about an accident he had here two years ago, when he lost control of his Discovery in icy conditions and embedded it in a parked car. “Was it this very hill?” I wonder aloud.
When it becomes even steeper and there are no car tracks left, I pause for another think. I’m not particularly experienced with off-roading and it’s been years since I engaged the freewheeling hubs, which I feel are probably now needed. I wonder if I can engage them on a hill. It seems like rather a bad idea.
A black Ranger comes into view, cautiously descending the hill. It pulls alongside, its young driver asking: “Are you alright?” I say I’m wondering about the good sense of trying to proceed up the hill. “Stick it in high ratio and you should be fine!” he says, before continuing his descent.
Sitting on that frozen hill, I don’t doubt Lightweight’s capabilities but I seriously doubt my own, especially after losing control on that bend, which was most unnerving. If I wasn’t so exhausted from the long drive, I would probably proceed, but I can’t shift the horrible image of losing control of the Lightweight again and it cascading down the hill, threatening pedestrians and abandoned vehicles alike.
Feeling shamefaced, I climb out and plod up the last section of the hill on foot.