Two things happen when winter weather descends on the mid-Atlantic: 1) Sedans and minivans pile up by the sides of the roads, unable to manage the slippery conditions or conquer more than, say, three inches of fresh powder; and 2) All the Jeep Wranglers in the world come out to openly mock them.

At least, that's what it seems like sometimes. But you don't really tend to notice the Wranglers creeping out of the woodwork until you're actually in one yourself. At that point, their proliferation seems stunning. They're everywhere, all eagerly clamoring through drifts and weaving expertly around wheel-spinning compacts on even the slightest inclines, their drivers lifting a pair of fingers in salute as they pass other Jeeps. I rarely feel I'm part of any club, but in a Wrangler, in the snow, we are the Chosen Ones.


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