So after showing up at 4:30 a.m. to plow the parking lot, clear sidewalks, etc...at work my boss (the owner of the ice rink) asks me when I'm leaving. I tell him that I'm scheduled til 12:30, that everything is pretty well taken care of, and that someone should spread ice melter on the sidewalks at night once it gets cold again. Then he asks if I can stay a little later because he needs a favor. "What's that" I ask? As it turns out he was out driving his BRAND NEW Maserati Quattroporte (yes this guy is filthy stinking rich) last night and the roads got progressively worse and worse. He was two miles from home (Mahwah, up in Passaic County near the New York border) when he decided it was just too risky and he pulled into a random driveway. Said driveway literally dropped 30 feet at about what seemed like a 60 degree angle from the road to the house. Needless to say the driveway was completely covered with ice and the car didn't exactly have all weather radials on it.
So, he asks, "Can you get me out?" Of course the seasoned South Jersey 4 wheeler in me couldn't pass up the challenge, and I found it amusing and somewhat satisfying to be in such a position of dare I say "power" over my rich and at times clueless boss.
So I grab a tow strap (we had one in case one of the Zambonis ever broke down and needed to be moved), two steel shackles, and we're off. Luckily our (well-his) plow truck (2004 F-250) has a 2" receiver hitch on the back for the salter.
We get there and it is a site to behold. My boss gets in the car, warms it up, scrapes it off, and attemps to move it. The Pirelli P-Zeros can't even make it 6" forward before they start to spin. At one point the car was in gear and simply idling, and I sat there watching the wheel spin so slowly that I could follow one of the spokes with my eye. It was as if the tires were made of teflon. So of course, desperation sets in and the old "hit-the-gas-and-get-the-speedo-up-to-120-mph-while-you're-standing-still" mentality takes hold. I can taste the tire smoke-the very expensive tire smoke. The more he guns the gas, the more it slides sideways off to the edge of the driveway-where there is a ditch. I explain to him that this is not a good idea and I should hook the car up to the truck and we can be out in no time. "Pull it with the truck? I thought you could just push while I gave it a little gas!" After envisioning myself being squashed under an exotic Italian sportscar sliding backwards down an icy hill, I politely said "That ain't happening." So I spend the next 20minutes or so explaining that it won't damage the car, I won't crash into it, I HAVE done this before (albeit in mud with a beat up old Land Cruiser), and I know what I'm doing. For added emphasis I remind him that I am known as "Matt the South Jersey redneck" around the rink for a reason. He told me that he honestly just thought it was because I wore a Carhartt coat, a John Deere hat, and that I called "Taylor Ham" "Pork Roll."
Finally, after another 20 minutes of trying to find the tow hook (turns out the car comes with a threaded eye bolt that you screw into the frame rail just under the grill) I put the truck in 4WD low and gingerly inch forward. Lo and behold the Ford climbed the icy slope with ease-I didn't even detect any wheelspin. I've always been a Chevy guy, and I love the rumble of the Cummins, but I just may go for a Power Stroke when its time to get something new.
Anyway, the moral of the story is, you really shouldn't drive a Maserati in the snow.
So, he asks, "Can you get me out?" Of course the seasoned South Jersey 4 wheeler in me couldn't pass up the challenge, and I found it amusing and somewhat satisfying to be in such a position of dare I say "power" over my rich and at times clueless boss.
So I grab a tow strap (we had one in case one of the Zambonis ever broke down and needed to be moved), two steel shackles, and we're off. Luckily our (well-his) plow truck (2004 F-250) has a 2" receiver hitch on the back for the salter. We get there and it is a site to behold. My boss gets in the car, warms it up, scrapes it off, and attemps to move it. The Pirelli P-Zeros can't even make it 6" forward before they start to spin. At one point the car was in gear and simply idling, and I sat there watching the wheel spin so slowly that I could follow one of the spokes with my eye. It was as if the tires were made of teflon. So of course, desperation sets in and the old "hit-the-gas-and-get-the-speedo-up-to-120-mph-while-you're-standing-still" mentality takes hold. I can taste the tire smoke-the very expensive tire smoke. The more he guns the gas, the more it slides sideways off to the edge of the driveway-where there is a ditch. I explain to him that this is not a good idea and I should hook the car up to the truck and we can be out in no time. "Pull it with the truck? I thought you could just push while I gave it a little gas!" After envisioning myself being squashed under an exotic Italian sportscar sliding backwards down an icy hill, I politely said "That ain't happening." So I spend the next 20minutes or so explaining that it won't damage the car, I won't crash into it, I HAVE done this before (albeit in mud with a beat up old Land Cruiser), and I know what I'm doing. For added emphasis I remind him that I am known as "Matt the South Jersey redneck" around the rink for a reason. He told me that he honestly just thought it was because I wore a Carhartt coat, a John Deere hat, and that I called "Taylor Ham" "Pork Roll."
Finally, after another 20 minutes of trying to find the tow hook (turns out the car comes with a threaded eye bolt that you screw into the frame rail just under the grill) I put the truck in 4WD low and gingerly inch forward. Lo and behold the Ford climbed the icy slope with ease-I didn't even detect any wheelspin. I've always been a Chevy guy, and I love the rumble of the Cummins, but I just may go for a Power Stroke when its time to get something new.
Anyway, the moral of the story is, you really shouldn't drive a Maserati in the snow.
