An unexpected storm blew in this morning, dropping 3 inches of snow. It came in classic silent as the night style rather than the big boisterous kind of storm that knocks things over and blows shingles off the roof. The snow didn't make too much a difference to me. I'd slow my pace some, but what's the rush. I sort of enjoyed this morning as I finished up my audiobook of Jules Vern's Journey to the Center of the Earth.
The early morning plow trucks took care of the local businesses, scraping the pavement over and over again as they pushed piles forward, put their trucks in reverse, and then repeated the process over and over again. It must be an art form because I'm pretty sure I'd just spread the snow around rather than pile it up. The trucks always have some kind of flashing light on them. Often it is a dulled orange or a green. I make sure I watch out for them because I am pretty confident a runner at 3am in the morning is the last thing they expect to cross paths with.
Interestingly, I came across a group of the snow clearers who not only used their trucks, but crewed out on the sidewalks clearing them with incredible efficiency. I didn't want to scare the guy with a shovel in his hand, so I gave as loud and clear notice I was coming up to him as I possibly could. He picked up his shovel and waited for me to pass.
