Flexible Flyer

Time to break out music from warmer climates-like
Siberia. I am reminded of the infrequent snow days in
school (my district had the slogan "We Never Close")
when you'd get to stay at home. Sure, that meant
shoveling a quarter of a mile worth of driveway, but
we'd have to do that anyway. Back when I was in
elementary school, we'd go sledding on a hill in back
of the old Jory place. We used to build a ramp at the
end of the steepest part of the hill to see how far we
could fly. We even iced down the run once. Sheer
madness, really. It was an incredibly steep hill to
begin with. Adding ice was merely fuel to an already
dangerous fire. Hopping on my good old Flexible Flyer,
belly down, head forward, I remember that moment of
exhilarating fear that would lance through my body as
I tilted forward (Bang!) and shot down the nearly
vertical hill (Whoosh!). The rattle of the sled as it
flew down the run, the g-force of the ramp lifting me
at the end, and the amazing feel of zero gravity as
sled and I fled the Earth's bonds for a few
moments....then contact (WHAM!) with the ground and
trying to steer off the road without hitting the ditch
(6 foot drop), or hitting Old Jory's house (old
clapboard and railroad ties). I am only mildly
exaggerating when I claim there was a sonic boom after
each run, followed by an agonizing climb back to the
top, dragging a sled that weighed as much as I did.
The year we iced down the run it was twice as fast,
but alas, due to the method with which a rail sled is
steered, it eliminated any control I might have had
to begin with. So, tilt- Bang! Whoosh! About half way
through the whoosh-say about “whoo-“ I started getting
just the tiniest bit off-track, increasing as I flew
down the hill to the point of being about a foot to
the left of where I should have been. “-sh!” Flung out
of gravity's grip by the ramp, I hold on for dear life
as the horizon begins to turn and tilt. In a sight
reminiscent of the Blue Angels' Flight Precision team,
I and my sled did a full barrel roll mid-air, and
cleared the road entirely. Sadly, I also flew over the
embankment and down six feet to the ditch
(WHAM-AM-AM!).

Wile E. Coyote became a god to me that day.