Spiked wheels crunching through snow was the only sound we heard for miles. I find myself riding in an archaic Ford, adventuring through arctic Sweden on our date with a frozen lake. The manual gear shift was a metal rod sticking out between both seats. The steering wheel had no protective leather cover.

“You’ll be fine,” my intrepid driver assured me, seconds before a potentially harrowing head-on collision with a snowmobile that magically appeared. The passengers sped off, unfazed.

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