The roads start to dampen and traffic slows a bit because it’s the first snow of the season — and though I live in a state where snow is commonplace, there are a plethora of drivers stick their heads up their rears the first few rounds every year. This, my friends, becomes an enormous blessing. I’m approaching the Berthoud exit on I-25 — about 20 minutes from work — and the brake lights of the cars ahead began to flare. I push the brake to slow with them and nothing. I pump the brakes because that’s what I’m suppose to do and nothing. I start praying that the breaks will start working and nothing. Nothing, no brakes on the highway. Fabulous.