We have had about an inch or two of snow today in Cincinnati. It has given me an opportunity to partake of one of my favorite pastimes: watching large trucks try to get up my street.

First, a word about my street, Sachem Avenue. It dead ends into a park. The neighborhood is the oldest in Cincinnati, boasting a lot of Victorian homes. Ours is an original, dating back to 1890. Sachem is also on a hill. It is, perhaps, a quarter-mile long, but we gain about two hundred feet by the end of the street. My house is perhaps a third of the way up, about sixty feet gain from the base.

The first two-thirds of the street are quite narrow. Three cars can fit in a comfortable fashion. However, most folks in the lower half the street do not have a garage. There are always cars parked on the street, including my own.

So, whenever a big truck (fire truck, dump truck, etc.) tries to get up our street, it is an adventure. However they go up (forwards or backwards), they must come back down the same way. A few years ago, a couple of kids in a house at the top of the street made a series of prank calls to the fire department to see them get their trucks up and then back down.

Today was the bonus round: steep hill plus snow. The contestant: a salt truck. He was able to back up the street to my house, engine huffing and puffing as it went. Then, just as he reached my uphill neighbor's property line, his wheels started to spin. These aren't the whimpy tires on my small car: they were thickly treaded, wide, and as tall as my car. He went down past my house, then back again--he gained a couple of yards. The part of the street in front of my house now had a triple-dose of the salt he was trying to spread.

He went all the way to the base of the hill. I though he had given up. Nope--he charged up, following the area cleared by the people living at the top of the street. And, he made it. Quite an impressive performance.