It must have been the early 80’s, I was living at my parents house while going to the University of Utah. In typical Utah fashion, it snowed one day, got warm enough to melt the snow but not evaporate it off the roads, then overnight cold enough to freeze the melted snow and snow some more. I woke up to about an inch of snow on the roads, usually not very much problem. Except that under that snow was a nice sheet of smooth, slick ice. I came down the hill and about 2/3 of the way down noticed there was a little fender bender at the intersection, I think there were 3 cars there already. I was already going only about 20 MPH, driving my 1967 Mustang, and tapped the brakes to slow down even more.
Nada. Not even 1 MPH difference. So then I tried a trick that worked for me my senior year in high school, turn the car into the curb and rub along it to stop the car. Yup. Almost nada again. I ended up plowing into the tail end of the back car at about 14 MPH. Nice. Fortunately the lead car had already gone and found a phone to call the police, ‘cause at that point cell phone meant putting it out at the garage sale.
About 10 minutes and one more car in the pileup later, I’m looking up towards my house and I see my mom starting down the hill, in my 1979 Mazda GLC. (Her car was in the shop so it’s not that she stole it.) Crap, crap, crap. (Yes, I cleaned it up for the blog). I watch as she tries everything I did, getting the same results.
I ended up with two claims on my insurance, missed my class and just turned around, went home and went to bed. The whole thing took long enough for the day to warm up and melt the ice, so I made it home just fine.