9 Yards

This morning, I woke to what might best be described as a heavy frost. I’m not sure it warrants the description ‘snow’, as it seemed largely to involve rock hard ice with a deceptively thin sprinkling of loose material on top. Having fallen over 6 weeks ago and sprained my foot, I didn’t fancy going anywhere – but, today was my first day back at work and I’m not sure I have an option to not come in because it’s a bit icy.

As it happens, the journey proved largely calamity free. The motorway was pretty loose and free flowing. I spotted a couple of distraught drivers and their ruined cars in the opposite lane, but nothing on my route… until I reached work…

The site I work on has a barrier controlled entrance, but in the morning – to sooth congestion, users of the fourth car park (a temporary gravel affair) can access it from a side entrance through a rusty metal gateway. A small slip road cuts away to the left from the main road, and as I approached I saw a security guard walking over towards the gate, a few scattered orange cones, and a sign warning ‘Icy’. Icy… fur sure. Before the guard could do much to stop me, I drove on to the slip road and proceeded to hit a sheet of ice. Brake and hand brake instantly applied, I slid for a good 9 or 10 yard, before coming to a stop with a cone pressed against the front of the car.

To travel around 35 miles and suffer a nearly accident in the final few yards… How embarrassing is that?!






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