By then, too, three trucks were out resurfacing the path, one to brush away any remaining snow, another to spray water and a third to tamp down snow alleys at the edges used by dog walkers and posted with plastic bag dispensers.

This skateway was different than the others — no forests, mazes or isolation. Instead, it connected the city with a groomed route that skirted bluff-top houses and kayaks piled in snow on the river banks. It dipped under bridges occasionally tagged with graffiti, lending an urban edge to the ice sheet.

I skated hard for an hour, covering the entire route, and was not alone. Like runners in warmer cities, the earliest Joliette skaters came out to exercise in the light morning traffic. By the time I circled back to the park field house just after 10 a.m., a food shack next to the ice had opened, serving beignets and tea to the growing collection of families teaching their under-10s to skate by holding onto loaner sleds and sharing the wonder of skating on a seasonally stilled river.

I intended to leave the river and head straight to the airport in Montreal, but couldn’t resist another skating stop so close to it. Diverting 30 minutes north to Bois de Belle-Rivière, I took a final one-and-a-half-mile spin on yet another frozen forest path. In this age of vanishing ice, I skated with a profound appreciation for the transformation of winter and the spirit of ice makers to delight those who love the season.

Elaine Glusac is a frequent contributor to the Travel section.