We then decided to test the lane change maneuver's Vmax with the car on four winter tires. Erik's resulting slide was nearly flawless, with the one problem being that it was five feet too far to the right. Most of the cones survived, but one was decapitated. We laughed uncontrollably as we helped place the survivors back on the course, then headed back to the terminal for the last time. On the way, we passed one of the Touaregs resting peacefully in a giant snow bank, a Ford F-150 rushing to rescue it. Looks like everyone's having fun, I thought to myself.
The night ended with even more fun, in the form of a snowcat ride up the mountain at Big Sky to eat dinner in a charming yurt, complete with a bar stocked with New Belgium Fat Tire beer and a grill full of delicious meats. We spent the laugh-filled night recapping the day over a few beverages, but in the end we all learned a little something. Indeed, if there were any among us who doubted the usefulness of winter tires, this day hopefully changed them.
What did I learn? Most importantly, never slip up and call them "snow tires" in front of a German. "Nein! Zey are called Vinter Tires! At prezisely forty-five degrees Fahrenheit zees tires become safer on dry pavement zhan zee all-season tires." Sorry, Dr. Weiss. I'll never say it again.