Until that “picturesque” dusting of snow isn’t a dusting. It’s a shroud, a silent, white curtain dropping on the whole play. Or that “lovely” coastal breeze, the one that smells of salt and freedom, turns into a humid, heavy, bar-knuckle fist. Suddenly, "storm surge" isn't an abstract term on the Weather Channel. It's a very real, very wet threat aimed directly at your axles.

Let's talk about the cold, hard truth that kills more good trips than bad weather and bad directions combined: the slow, quiet death of your electronics.