It was a particularly brutal winter for those of us in New England, with Boston receiving a record amount of snowfall — a whopping 110.6 inches. As a result, Porsche sightings have been slim in the Northeast in the past couple of months, with the exception of models such as the Cayenne navigating the weather-beaten streets.

The larger snow banks are taking way too long to melt in Connecticut, but the roads are finally clear save for layers of sand that have accumulated on the shoulders, a byproduct of the season's tenacious snow plows. Then there's the insane amount of potholes that make me nervous about dusting off my 1976 911S (lovingly named "Smokey") for the first drive of the season.

But drive I shall.

If you own a Porsche and live in snow country, there are five seasons that make up the year — spring, summer, fall, winter and driving season. Driving season starts the minute the road salt has dissipated and you can comfortably cruise around without worrying about the grime mucking up (and potentially rusting) your Porsche's undercarriage.

The more rain, the better — it washes away the road crud that has accumulated all winter. Then the rituals of driving season commence.

I have several steps on my checklist prior to jumping into the driver's seat. First, I do a visual inspection to make sure no creatures hibernated in Smokey during the winter. When you live in the woods, mice can wreak havoc.

I remove the rags from the exhaust and engine compartment that prevent the rodents from gaining easy access. Then I disassemble my other mouse defense system — a mothball perimeter around the garage. Then I ask myself, "Why didn't I get the protective car bag?"

I check the tires, and I also examine the sheet of cardboard from underneath the engine to see how much oil Smokey leaked over the winter. A little bit of leaking is normal. Excessive leaking is not.

Next, I reconnect the battery, turn the key and cross my fingers. There's always a bit of anxiety associated with this step. My mantra: "Please, please turn over." But when the familiar rumble bursts out of the air-cooled six-cylinder engine, it's a mini concerto. There's a bit of sputtering at first, but the growl quickly evens out and settles into a nice tempo. Success.

Before setting out, proper attire is essential, including correct footwear. As much as I love flip flops and sandals, obviously neither works when driving a vintage stick shift. And just forget about high heels. I rely on sneakers such as my red Chuck Taylors, which help me really feel the pedals.

And since April showers bring May flowers, I take special care if the soles of my shoes get too wet — I don't want my foot to slip on the clutch. Other clothing must-haves: a hat to keep my hair from flying into my face (no air conditioning) and appropriate length pants or shorts (the seats get really hot).

Unfortunately, as I write this, there's a fresh dusting of snow on my driveway, and the roads are glazed in the remnants of snow melt. So no flip flops, no Bermuda shorts and no driving Smokey today.

Hurry up, driving season.