The snowplowers in my small town do a great job of clearing the main highway that runs across my front lawn and through the downtown area. I count these fellows and the diesel powered shovers of snow they operate as unsung heroes of road culture geeks everywhere.
A friend of a friend told my friend that they "saw a fella that looked like me out late one night during our last storm, standing on his front porch watching and waving to the snowplows."
That was indeed me leading the cheer and shouting "go-fight-win!" to the triple-team of 3-ton trucks with their plow attachments harvesting the "precipt accumulation" off the roadway. Least I wasn't wearing a tee-shirt, scratching my belly and drinking a Coors.
As much pleasure as I derived from this overlooked form of cold weather entertainment, the resulting clearing of the roads by the intrepid plowers of the fluffy white stuff, always leave a dozen or so fewer available parking spots downtown.
These heaps of snow, ice, sand, dirt, and assorted debris and detritus are placed here by snowplowers on their hurried mission to ensure the safe passage of the road's travelers. Unfortunately, this snowplow roadkill humps can hang around for weeks on end, depending on how directly the sun contacts them on it's 12-hour trip across the sky and ambient air temps following a snow or ice event.
Night after night of partial thaws and overnight freezes can make these disgusting globs into rock hard monuments worthy of the Annual Siberian Ice Sculpting Contests.
The rear parking lots of the businesses don't escape the impromptu ice/snow mountain range upheaval either.
I imagine in colder climates that have larger numbers and more frequent snow events, these snowploy pike's peaks can grow larger than your typical abominable condominium.