Dan Morris: It’s snow joke as Goretti storms in
As fans of Game of Thrones will no doubt have been saying this week, winter has definitely come. I started Monday with a very grumpy rant about how ‘a bit of snow shouldn’t stop anything – we live in northern Europe, after all’.
Then, on Tuesday morning I immediately took back every curmudgeonly word I had said. Piling my daughter into the motor for our weekly pilgrimage to her grandmother’s abode, I prepared to drive in the snow for the first time in a couple of years.
Pushing the grand old age of 40, I’ve been driving for a long time, and even once took a snow driving course. I had no real reason to be nervous, but I was (mostly because of the precious cargo strapped into the booster seat) and I was not alone.
Pulling out onto the road and beginning our journey, it seemed that every other driver was in a similar state of anxiety; all, very sensibly, taking things at a snail’s pace, yet a couple even choosing to pull over, seemingly to collect themselves.
We had a couple of small sliding moments early doors, but quickly got into the swing of things while deliberately choosing not to accelerate beyond a crawl for some time.
My nerves were calmed beautifully by my daughter, who chose to give a rousing chorus of Disney’s Frozen’s ‘Let It Go’, living out her icy Queen Elsa fantasy with tremendous gusto. Over our seven-mile journey, the speedometer didn’t even break 25mph. Luckily, despite busy roads and a continued falling of flakes, our trip was incident free, and the rush of relief when I had finally deposited the princess with Nanny was palpable. Instantly I thought back to my ‘soapboxing’ the previous day; shut up, Daniel – this stuff is no joke. And, indeed, it hasn’t been. Snow is beautiful, picturesque and postcard-worthy; it is also deadly, and should never be underestimated.
This week we have been joyously inundated with readers’ pics of gorgeous blankets of the white stuff across the region. These have been brilliant, but please remember to be careful; no photo is worth any risk to your safety.
As I suspect is the case with many people, the tundra that we’ve seen much of our region become this week has made me very excited for the spring.
Now that Christmas is over (and it did break my heart to take the deccies down on Tuesday), I’m done with winter, and have got my eyes set firmly on the prize of the warmer weather to come, and the outdoor pursuits it opens up.
Now that the new year is here, it’s time to renew the health regimen and break the bike out of storage at the earliest possible opportunity. I’ve already seen plenty of admirable and determined cyclists on the roads during 2026, though it’s no great surprise that the last couple of days have culled these to a bare minimum. As soon as the sun starts beating down in earnest, I will treasure getting back out on two wheels and revel in the calm and relaxation that cycling has always brought me.
It’s bizarre, really, as though I’ve never been a ‘serious’ cyclist (certainly never braving the lycra), as a pastime, riding my bike has always brought me much more joy than things I am supposedly more passionate about.
More than anything, it is a conduit back to my childhood, and endless happy days tearing around the neighbourhood on my faithful velocipede.
I’ll never forget the day my dad came home with my first ‘big lad’s’ bike – a stunning chrome affair with metallic purple fixtures. It was an absolute beauty, and the envy of countless kids that lived nearby.
For a couple of years, me and the ‘Aztec’ were inseparable – like knight and worthy steed from times long ago.
It was the vehicle for my social life, and the vehicle for my solitude; never failing to make me feel like a king whether I was riding solo or among a pack of pals. All good things come to an end, of course, and in time, as I continued to grow taller, I eventually outgrew my shining stallion.
It was a sad day to say goodbye to my bike, yet also a beautiful ‘circle of life’ moment in passing it on to a little lad who had just taken his stabilisers off and was ready to venture out into the world. And, of course, I was lucky enough to have had dad come home, yet again, with a beautiful metallic red replacement. Since then, the feeling has been the same every time my tires touch the road, and when the snow is long gone (and we are actually able to see the road again) it will be the feeling that truly heralds the new year for me.
Who wants to be grown up all the time? We ride again…
