The moose came from nowhere. One second I was driving down the gravel road in my old Citroën on the way to work, the next this huge creature was bursting from the bushes straight into my path.

I braked hard, but it was too late. The moose had stopped in the middle of the road and was gazing placidly at the ancient car hurtling towards it. He may have been pondering just how ugly humans are, especially those with eyes and mouths as round as dinner plates.

The moose almost certainly heard the wide-eyed, open-mouthed idiot in the car yelling curses at him through the open window, as the car was somehow guided past him, missing him by perhaps 20 centimetres. 

And he probably had a brief moose chuckle as the green car drove along the next 50 metres of the road, half-in and half-out of the roadside ditch, ploughing up an assortment of vegetation.

I've driven a lot in my life. I've completed seven American road trips, covering around 40,000 kilometres. In all my time driving through 45-odd American states I encountered just one suicidal rabbit in Texas. In Norrland, the moose, Arctic hares, and even birds are queuing up to hurl themselves in front of any passing car. 

I’ve lost count of the number of near misses I’ve had.

Those who have driven in the US will know that many Americans are terrible drivers – they drive as if theirs is the only car on the road, to the point of being dangerous. 

The northern Swedes aren't nearly as bad, but they do fall into two categories. 

By far the most common is the cautious driver. These must be those who have hit a moose. They crawl along the country roads at 50-60 km/h, ten extra headlights ablaze even during full daylight, always on the lookout for a depressed moose about to throw itself into their path. 

But they drive so slowly it's unlikely a moose would even notice if they did hit it. These locals drive as if they were immortal. It's not that they enjoy speeding or believe themselves invincible, but rather that their leisurely pace across such vast distances suggests they think they have an eternity of time to complete their journey.

The other type of driver has either never hit wildlife or hit so many animals they no longer care. They're the type of motorist who avoids overtaking on straight roads, finding it too simple. Instead, they prefer to wait for a sharp curve to get their adrenaline pumping before zooming past at 120 km/h. As in the UK, these adrenaline junkies tend to drive a white van. 

Non white-van drivers aside, northern Swedes mostly seem to drive very similar cars. There are very few fancy cars up here, other than American cars. 

I once saw a brand-new Porsche in central Skellefteå and, as it passed, people were turning to stare as if it were Agnetha Fältskog riding a golden unicorn. 

Suicidal creatures and too slow/too fast drivers aside, however, northern Sweden is a paradise for motorists. 

Unlike the UK, if a destination is a one-hour drive away it will take one hour to get there (barring moose encounters). You will rarely encounter a traffic jam unless you drive through Skellefteå at rush hour. And I have never seen road rage. 

What we do need is for someone to invent a moose radar.

This is a column and the views are the author's own.