It was the winter of 1985 and I was spending it in Duluth, Minnesota. Duluth has much to offer, but its winters are as one might expect—cold and snowy. It is also a steep town, built as it is on a bluff on the far west of Lake Superior’s north shore. The local joke in Duluth is that when driving, the right of way belongs to the car coming down the hill sideways. It’s one of those jokes that’s funny because it’s true.

But I grew up in and around Ashland, Wisconsin, just one hour east of Duluth and also on THE great lake, so I wasn’t surprised or overwhelmed by its archetypal winter weather.