Posting this gallery, Blizzard of 2016 snow photos, before the snow melts.
HOW DEEP CAN SNOW GET IN MARYLAND?
HOW DEEP? SIDE DOOR, 10 P.M. SATURDAY NIGHT.
HOW DEEP? FRONT DOOR 2 P.M. SATURDAY
HOW DEEP? SNOW OUTSIDE FRONT DOOR 10 P.M. SATURDAY
CORVETTES, YOU CAN SEE A FEW INCHES OF THEIR ROOFS ABOVE THE SNOW DRIFTS.
CORVETTES COMPLETELY BURIED UNDER SNOW DRIFTS.
CORVETTES BEHIND NOW BANK.
MY CAR. NOT. GOING. ANYWHERE. FAST. But that was Sunday. Receding into history.
TOO MUCH SNOW TO DRIVE IN.
MULTIPLE SNOW DRIFTS ON MONDAY.
EVEN JEEPS GET COVERED WITH SNOW.
SNOWPLOWS CLEARED MANY MAIN ROADS BY MONDAY.
THIS IS THE LAST PHOTO OF SNOWZILLA 2016.
Snowzilla in Gaithersburg, MD, January 2016. I estimate we received 35 inches of snow, with drifts deep enough to bury a Corvette.
All photos by Bernard John Hayden. Please do not reproduce without giving credit to the photographer and/or the blog. Thanks! Stay warm.
Living Simply And Still On The Grid 
very impressive
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You guys really got hammered, didn’t you? But there is always a bright side. After the snow has melted and life gets back to normal, you will be able to brag for years about the Blizzard of ’16.
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I used to drive Chevettes. There is no better place for one than burined under several feet of snow.
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Sorry, my bad. Misspelling. I meant to say Corvette. The cars buried in the snow are Chevrolet Corvettes, the legendary long, stylish sport cars. They are beautiful, but not very practical for everyday purposes. I’ve corrected the spelling error. Sorry for the confusion.
I think I remember the Chevette. Wasn’t that Chevy’s entry in the tiny-car category in the early 1970s, to compete with Japanese cars? I drove a Pinto, which was Ford’s entry. My engine used to stall out with vapor lock , and then refuse to start until the car had cooled off. Pintos were also notorious for their hazardous gas tanks, which had a tendency to catch fire in rear-end collisions.
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I can top that, I actually had two Chevettes, one was a used one bought cheap that would occasionally flame out when the flywheel sheared off of the cooling system. I literally had to chase it across a five street intersection once, and it took three tries before the shop could find the right size bolt for it. The second, which I bought because it was the only new car I could afford and I figured I at least knew the terrain, had a pernicious transmission leak, brakes that once locked on the Whitehurst Freeway, and one day not long after some yokel tuned it up in my driveway, the catalytic converter blew and when I hit the accelerator it would stop and start like a track competitor with cerebral palsy. By then I at least had enough saved up for a decent Honda wagon, owing to a class action settlement I got from a Dalkon Shield IUD that tried hard to kill me before I was even twenty years old (it took almost another 20 years for the settlement to be awarded) and I drove my uterus down the road for another 23 years until I gave it to an impoverished stripling (“The Godmother,” on my blog). I hear it finally croaked at the quarter century mark.
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