Fear & Loathing in the Snow
Well, despite a desperate hope, our luck ran out and we got snow today. Any reader of this blog during past Winters knows what that means for the DC area - we are talking Donner Party. To be fair, today's weather is indeed pretty bad. So far, it's not particularly a thick accumulation, but it is VERY icy. I hit several patches on my commute home where I'd clearly lost control, slow and steady driving helped, as did my profanity-laden shouting - the sound waves I created buffeted and cushioned the car from the curb and other vehicles. I call it the power of negative obscenity.
I am now safely ensconced at home, and dreading shoveling out the iceberg that has taken over my driveway.
My attitude was not always like this. I am reminded that some of the most fun I ever had as a kid was in snow. Sledding was a near obsession in the old neighborhood. My street (Crestwood Drive) was on a hill angling down at about 20 degrees. Cutting into it was another road (Edge Hill), angling down at about 25-45 degrees. Given an inch of ice, you had sledding heaven. And I use the word heaven on purpose - forget about foxholes, there were no atheists when it came to us kids praying for a snow day from school. All eyes went skyward pleading with the almighty that the big test could be delayed a day or two and that we could get down to the serious business of sledding. I learned of the futility of prayer from those days. If there'd been any divine response we'd of been glaciated from the day after Thanksgiving until St. Patrick's Day. The Alexandria Ice Age would have been one for the record books. Instead, we'd have to take our chances with earthly meteorology. And you did not have the current wussiness and liability-conscious society that you do now. Schools did not close unless it was a serious snow storm, (and that decision was based upon whether the buses would run - we didn't have school buses, the public transportation system was used, if they wanted to make a buck and keep running, then we went to school). Otherwise we'd have to claw out way to classes as best we could. Paths were carved through the wilderness, and we trudged into white hell in search of an education. Some, the weak, wouldn't make it and fall by the wayside. We'd strip the bodies of coats or anything else that might aid us in keeping warm. I still have nightmares, for sometimes the freshly fallen would be sliced open and we'd warm our hands within the still-warm body, trying to get some feeling back into our fingers. You develop a certain emotional callous that gets you through, no matter how horrible the times are. Of course, some of the bodies I came upon were missing organs. I tried not to think of the hunger that must have driven some of my fellow pilgrims. I know that what I've described sounds horrible, especially for a grade schooler to have gone through, but it had it's value, it prepared me perfectly for life at T. C. Williams High School. You want real horror - ask me about my freshman year...
At any rate, we were talking about sledding. One has to remember that we considered it a contact sport back in the old neighborhood. One would try to force others off the road. This was done by a variety of means. Ramming and sideswiping were popular. The coolest, and most dangerous, method was to reach out and grab the back rail. It was tricky, and only could be done on some sleds. Fortunately, one of those was the most popular - the Flexible Flyer. The rails of the Flyer would run along the entire length of the body board, and then would curve up and under that board. This would create a handle-like extension just behind the body board. Like an old WWI flying ace, you'd try to maneuver yourself directly behind and slightly to the left (if you were right handed) of your victim, matching their speed exactly. When in position, you'd reach out with your right hand, grab the "handle" and push it violently to the left. This would cause the rear of the sled to fish-tail out to the left at high speed, almost certainly causing it to roll over. A lucky or particularly accomplished sledder might even get to run over the rider as he flipped off the catapulting sled. This is what we called fun.
Of course, the maneuver itself had certain dangers. A short sled meant that the rider's legs stretched over and past the rear of it, putting your face or hand in range of a violent kick if they knew you were there. And merely reaching for the rail of a speeding sled meant the possibility of getting caught in it, ripping off your hand, or getting run over and losing several fingers. The sled runs were always well marked with grim markers of failed attacks. One learned precision during those Winters.
Upon entering high school, my old friend Edmund and I decided to make the ultimate sled. It was based on the chopper motorcycle design, (I always thought those looked so cool). We took the front steering mechanism of his sled and attached it to to the front of mine, extended out an extra foot by a true 2x4 board, and secured by steel bolts whose quality and size rarely used outside of the hull of battleships. We then took the body board and lifted the front onto a block of wood above the frame, making it lean back at about a 15 degree angle. There was no "rail handle" in the back. I had a Yankee Clipper, and they knew better than to put such nonsense on their sleds. The rails were made of solid iron, and weighed a ton. They were painted red, (no doubt to hide the blood stains of anyone we ran over - Yankee Clippers rocked!). We sharpened and waxed them until they were like twin Excaliburs of icy doom. I gotta tell you - the thing looked beautiful, a sort of proto-steam punk Ben Hur/Easy Rider sledding nightmare. The coolest looking sled ever made. Ever.
To be honest, there was one fatal flaw in our design. The steering mechanism was way out front, and without any weight on it. Steering ability ran from poor to nightmarish. We couldn't get into fast maneuvering "dogfights", we had to rely on pure force and ultra-coolness to get us through. And we did get through. With both of us sitting on, combined with the extra size and iron railing, the thing must have weighed over 250 pounds. Once we got going, it was pure death coming towards you. Nothing could stop us. People standing on the side would throw sleds out into our path and we'd run over 'em, leaving nothing but kindling and obscenities behind. If we hit you, you went down. And you didn't get back up. My only regret was that there was no siding to the contraption. Otherwise, we could have marked our kills like the aces of old. We WERE the Blue Max...
I am certainly glad I had a chance to grow up when I did and where I did. The lessons learned were valuable, and sledding was a big part of it. The fact that my hands now shake uncontrollably, that I wake up every night screaming , and am dependent on mainlining bourbon to maintain have been a small price to pay.
I am now safely ensconced at home, and dreading shoveling out the iceberg that has taken over my driveway.
My attitude was not always like this. I am reminded that some of the most fun I ever had as a kid was in snow. Sledding was a near obsession in the old neighborhood. My street (Crestwood Drive) was on a hill angling down at about 20 degrees. Cutting into it was another road (Edge Hill), angling down at about 25-45 degrees. Given an inch of ice, you had sledding heaven. And I use the word heaven on purpose - forget about foxholes, there were no atheists when it came to us kids praying for a snow day from school. All eyes went skyward pleading with the almighty that the big test could be delayed a day or two and that we could get down to the serious business of sledding. I learned of the futility of prayer from those days. If there'd been any divine response we'd of been glaciated from the day after Thanksgiving until St. Patrick's Day. The Alexandria Ice Age would have been one for the record books. Instead, we'd have to take our chances with earthly meteorology. And you did not have the current wussiness and liability-conscious society that you do now. Schools did not close unless it was a serious snow storm, (and that decision was based upon whether the buses would run - we didn't have school buses, the public transportation system was used, if they wanted to make a buck and keep running, then we went to school). Otherwise we'd have to claw out way to classes as best we could. Paths were carved through the wilderness, and we trudged into white hell in search of an education. Some, the weak, wouldn't make it and fall by the wayside. We'd strip the bodies of coats or anything else that might aid us in keeping warm. I still have nightmares, for sometimes the freshly fallen would be sliced open and we'd warm our hands within the still-warm body, trying to get some feeling back into our fingers. You develop a certain emotional callous that gets you through, no matter how horrible the times are. Of course, some of the bodies I came upon were missing organs. I tried not to think of the hunger that must have driven some of my fellow pilgrims. I know that what I've described sounds horrible, especially for a grade schooler to have gone through, but it had it's value, it prepared me perfectly for life at T. C. Williams High School. You want real horror - ask me about my freshman year...
At any rate, we were talking about sledding. One has to remember that we considered it a contact sport back in the old neighborhood. One would try to force others off the road. This was done by a variety of means. Ramming and sideswiping were popular. The coolest, and most dangerous, method was to reach out and grab the back rail. It was tricky, and only could be done on some sleds. Fortunately, one of those was the most popular - the Flexible Flyer. The rails of the Flyer would run along the entire length of the body board, and then would curve up and under that board. This would create a handle-like extension just behind the body board. Like an old WWI flying ace, you'd try to maneuver yourself directly behind and slightly to the left (if you were right handed) of your victim, matching their speed exactly. When in position, you'd reach out with your right hand, grab the "handle" and push it violently to the left. This would cause the rear of the sled to fish-tail out to the left at high speed, almost certainly causing it to roll over. A lucky or particularly accomplished sledder might even get to run over the rider as he flipped off the catapulting sled. This is what we called fun.
Of course, the maneuver itself had certain dangers. A short sled meant that the rider's legs stretched over and past the rear of it, putting your face or hand in range of a violent kick if they knew you were there. And merely reaching for the rail of a speeding sled meant the possibility of getting caught in it, ripping off your hand, or getting run over and losing several fingers. The sled runs were always well marked with grim markers of failed attacks. One learned precision during those Winters.
Upon entering high school, my old friend Edmund and I decided to make the ultimate sled. It was based on the chopper motorcycle design, (I always thought those looked so cool). We took the front steering mechanism of his sled and attached it to to the front of mine, extended out an extra foot by a true 2x4 board, and secured by steel bolts whose quality and size rarely used outside of the hull of battleships. We then took the body board and lifted the front onto a block of wood above the frame, making it lean back at about a 15 degree angle. There was no "rail handle" in the back. I had a Yankee Clipper, and they knew better than to put such nonsense on their sleds. The rails were made of solid iron, and weighed a ton. They were painted red, (no doubt to hide the blood stains of anyone we ran over - Yankee Clippers rocked!). We sharpened and waxed them until they were like twin Excaliburs of icy doom. I gotta tell you - the thing looked beautiful, a sort of proto-steam punk Ben Hur/Easy Rider sledding nightmare. The coolest looking sled ever made. Ever.
To be honest, there was one fatal flaw in our design. The steering mechanism was way out front, and without any weight on it. Steering ability ran from poor to nightmarish. We couldn't get into fast maneuvering "dogfights", we had to rely on pure force and ultra-coolness to get us through. And we did get through. With both of us sitting on, combined with the extra size and iron railing, the thing must have weighed over 250 pounds. Once we got going, it was pure death coming towards you. Nothing could stop us. People standing on the side would throw sleds out into our path and we'd run over 'em, leaving nothing but kindling and obscenities behind. If we hit you, you went down. And you didn't get back up. My only regret was that there was no siding to the contraption. Otherwise, we could have marked our kills like the aces of old. We WERE the Blue Max...
I am certainly glad I had a chance to grow up when I did and where I did. The lessons learned were valuable, and sledding was a big part of it. The fact that my hands now shake uncontrollably, that I wake up every night screaming , and am dependent on mainlining bourbon to maintain have been a small price to pay.
posted by mendip at
1:51 PM
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