I spent the winter of 1993-1994 in Battle Creek, Mich. Hometown of Tony the Tiger and Sojourner Truth (well, they've both got statues there, anyway). The thing I remember most is that it snowed. Every single night.

Well before the solstice, I heard tales of the horrific winter of 1992-1993. Apparently the skies remained overcast for some ten straight weeks. It wasn't all that cold--not as Michigan goes, mind you--but the grey clouds colored the mood of everyone in the area. "It felt like it would never end," my boss told me.

I should note that I worked at a bookstore in Kalamazoo, which is 30 miles closer to Lake Michigan than Battle Creek. Five or six afternoons a week I drove west on I-94 and followed the Business Loop into K-town. Every night, usually between 11 and midnight, I drove home the same way. Through falling, blowing snow. The roads were no problem. The Michigan Department of Transportation kept the highways and byways immaculate. I was never in danger of sliding on ice or getting stuck, even on the side streets close to my apartment.

Every single night that winter, Kalamazoo received almost exactly two inches of snow, courtesy of the strong winds blowing east from Lake Michigan. Battle Creek, just 30 miles to the east, took in about one inch a night. My winter, the dead season of 1993-1994, was cold by Michigan standards. From December 15 to March 15, the thermometer did not break freezing. One three separate, sunny days the mercury did reach 32 degrees precisely, and the many feet of accumulated snow piled up on roofs slid off in a raucous orgy of mini-avalanches.

I make mention of all this because I want you to understand that I understand and appreciate the phenomenon of lake-effect snow. I watched the news from Buffalo a couple weeks ago with envy. There's nothing better than being snowed in, even during a catastrophic even like seven feet of snow in just a few days. I really, really wished I was living up there for that event. And then, the heavens smiled on me.

Lake-effect snow is caused by cold winds blowing across the Great Lakes (or any large body of water) and picks up moisture, which it discharges in the form of snow. The closer you are to the lake, the more snow you get. Unless you live right on the lake. You've got to be a bit of a distance away from the lake to get real lake-effect snow. Ask my brother-in-law the weatherman why. I don't know.

In a way, all snow in the south is lake-effect. Warm, water-heavy air from the Gulf of Mexico meets cold, dry air from Canada. The result of this is snow. Sometimes lots of it.

Last week, my corner of the New South received around a foot a snow. Most of the people around here are originally from the snowy north. You'd think this would mean that the drivers here might be better than in other southern places. You'd be wrong.

Snow and ice are not the most dangerous conditions around here during winter storms. They're mere annoyances. It's the people that really scare me.

There's a mentality--from which I'm not immune--that previous experience with cold, icy, snowy weather means you can drive as recklessly as you like. "I can handle a little snow," is an oft-expressed feeling. The result is that people around here drive like idiots when winter weather rears its head.

The main trick to driving in snowy or icy weather is to move along at a rate of speed which gives you room to correct any problems. This usually means driving significantly slower than the speed limit. And not jamming on the brakes when the light turns yellow. That sort of thing. But most of my friends and neighbors here in Durham mash the gas pedal on green and try to slow from 35 mph to zero in twenty feet. This leads to a lot of sideways cars on the roads, which makes travel difficult even for those who are sensibly navigating the slippery streets.

I think long-time southerners have a much better method of handling winter conditions. When the first flakes or freezing rain arrives, true natives ransack the grocery stores for Ding Dongs and Krispy Kremes, go home, build a massive blaze in the fireplace, break out the bourbon and proceed to ride out the "blizzard" in a sugar-coated alcoholic haze.

Now that's style, my friends.

Jon Worley ate no Krispy Kremes and drank no bourbon during the "blizzard of 2002," though he did whip up a pretty nice chicken in black bean and garlic sauce.