Is there a spin doctor in the house?

Kristi's dimpled smile and black curly hair had floated in my mind's eye for years. We were classmates and friends, but whenever I thought of her, my heart pitter-pattered, and I knew I had to ask her out soon. A month after I obtained my driver's license, I finally took my chance.

"Would you like to go out for dinner and a movie?" I asked when I called one evening.

"Um," she answered in her typical uncertainty. "Will you be driving?"

"Yes, I will. I got my license. I'm a good driver. Even my mom says so." Kristi knew my mom and trusted her judgment.

"Well, I'd like to go, but I have to ask my dad if I can ride with you."

I understood why she said that, but it made me nervous. Her dad was a police officer. To my relief, he consented to let his daughter ride with me. We agreed to go on our date on the last day of February vacation. We were both excited.

The day arrived, and a spring thaw had been in effect most of the week. My dad was out of town, and I was allowed to use our "new" car for the date. I washed and waxed the car to prepare. However, as the day progressed, the temperature dropped, clouds rolled in, and light rain began to fall. My mom came home from work and discussed the driving conditions.

"It's getting a little slippery out there, son. I think you ought to postpone your date," she said.

That was the worst possible news I could consider. Cancel my date with Kristi? We'd never get another moment like this! I begged and pleaded to be allowed to go, and I promised to be extra careful. The phone rang, and it was Kristi's mom. She wanted to know if I was still planning to keep the date. After some discussion, it was decided that the date could proceed.

The drive from my house to hers takes about thirty minutes in normal weather. By the time the call from her mom ended, the rain had changed to snow, and it was accumulating quickly. I reassured my mother one more time, changed for the date, and went to the car. I was as good as promised, but the road was slick.

When I reached a fork in the road where I needed to take the right split, the pavement sloped downward before continuing up a small hill, across a concrete bridge, and over some train tracks. It was at that split that the car decided that staying in its lane was no longer needed, and the ballet began.

Before I could do anything about it, my car spun left, then right, then left, slammed headfirst into the guardrail on the left side of the concrete bridge, and bounced away from it, leaving the front bumper sticking straight out from the guardrail indentation. The seatbelt did not lock up, so I was able to look into the passenger mirror with my face just three inches away, as the car continued spinning backward after its encounter with the guardrail. The rear bumper hit the concrete abutment, and the car stopped just short of the train tracks. A few moments later, a freight train passed by.

My date with Kristi never happened.

That was in 1986. Since then, by practice, I have become the Spin Doctor. Not all of my experiences have been in the winter, but most have, and it's as close as I can describe to having a winter ritual.

In Charleston, Maine, in the 1950s, the U.S. Air Force established a radar station for monitoring air traffic. It was situated on the top of Charleston Hill. When the station was decommissioned in the 1980s, the state took control of the property and turned it into a correctional facility.

The hill is treacherous in the winter. The north side is considerably worse than the south side, but my adventures have occurred on the south slope. That stretch is a mile long, and a driver without good all-season or studded snow tires may well find that achieving the summit is impossible on days when the hill has not been plowed or sanded.

Since 2011, I have been driving Charleston Hill to work. One year, as I drove up the hill, I attempted to increase my speed from 25mph to 30mph in my 2004 Honda Civic. A moment later, I was facing the opposite direction, and my right wheels were five inches into the snowbank on the other side of the road. With the help of a passing motorist, I returned to the road, reversed direction, and meekly traversed the hill at 20mph.

A year later, in the same car, I did it again. The exception was that I wasn't accelerating. I simply hit a patch of slush and spun out. That time, however, I was able to get my car going on my own. I felt a little abashed, and not a little embarrassed, but I realized that this was becoming my winter ritual.

It wasn't as if I wanted this ritual. It seemed to seek me out. My son and I spun out on our way to church one morning. Yes, in the Honda. That one was kinda fun for me. Poor kid was scared witless. Maybe that's why he's struggling to pass school. Another time, I was accelerating to merge with traffic on an uphill onramp. Kissed another guardrail. Sigh.

Tried to take a different route to work because it seemed faster than following the 20mph snowplow. Passenger tires slid off the pavement, which caused me to overcorrect and spin out, and I sideswiped another driver. Dr. Spin? or the Spin Doctor?

I retired the Civic for a Corolla. First winter had all-weather tires. Spun out entering the work parking lot on top of Charleston Hill. THAT was embarrassing. Nothing like security cameras and live witnesses among coworkers to take me down a notch. Finally found studded snows on social media. What a difference those make! No good on ice, but pretty decent in snow.

Would studded snow tires have made any difference in 1986 on the night I lost my chance with Kristi? Who knows? It doesn't matter. She married the man she was meant to marry, and I'm with my love, too. My love would prefer I not be the Spin Doctor; she doesn't like it when I come home with my latest story. I'm hoping this winter can be Spin-Free.