You wanna go sledding?
By PAT WICK
© Another Day in the Country
Sledding is one of my favorite things to do. I'm not sure where this fascination came from — maybe my mother. For sure, when I was little, I didn't have a sled. On my 12th Christmas, living in the city, my parents presented me with a sled. I recall not knowing for sure what to do with it, how to steer it, where to go with it.
My dad, who always was short on patience, took me (the only child) down the street to a spot where the land fell away abruptly from the sidewalk and said, "You ride down." There were lots of trees in the way. I didn't know how to steer, he got impatient and I immediately wished I'd gotten something else for Christmas.
After I was all grown up, living in Colorado, I fine-tuned my sledding ability. Living in Denver, we had trouble finding an unobstructed hill, free from traffic and ended up with friends at the city dump. With a dare-devil in front and any number of other riders behind on the toboggan, we'd careen (yes, that's the best word description) down the incline, landing at the bottom in a heap, laughing, and high on adrenaline. I was hooked.
Then we moved to Steamboat Springs, the Snow Capital of the world. We had very little money, certainly not enough to afford ski equipment or tow fees, so we did sledding on that silly sled that I'd gotten for my 12th birthday. Nestled in the Yampa Valley between mountain ranges, Steamboat Springs is an uphill, downhill kind of place and I was lucky enough to live on a country road that went downhill for two miles. We'd load our little sled onto our VW Bug late at night (ensuring there was no traffic) and drive uphill as far as we dared, get on the sled and ride down. Of course, we took turns so that no one had to trek back on foot.
I'm not sure that I can adequately describe that sledding experience — moonlight flooding the white landscape, still, cold, crisp without wind. The only sounds that could be heard were the sled runners slicing through the frozen snow and my exclamations of joy after executing particularly tricky corners. Pure, undiluted pleasure.
Two miles flew by and before you knew it, we'd be at the main road, the highway that goes through Main Street Steamboat Springs and we'd bail out into the ditch to stop our forward momentum. Now that was sledding!
In California, we went sledding on rare occasions pulled by a horse. In Oregon, Dad would pull us out through the pasture, behind the tractor. In Kansas, Mom remembers going sledding on Idhe's Hill when she was a child or just sliding down a small hill out behind their farmhouse on a scoop shovel — they didn't have a sled at first; they improvised.
We went sledding our first winter here over by the reservoir, climbing the steep banks up to the bridge and sliding back down. My biggest thrill, however, came from sledding around town, late at night, behind Tim's truck.
One year, we tried an old car hood — that was Tooltime Tim's childhood memory and his suggestion. One year, we wore out two saucers and the seat of our pants. Finally, one year, we bought ourselves a two-man toboggan which still survives.
You have to wait for the right conditions — late at night is best when the snow is falling with big lazy flakes and it piles up quickly on the already frozen ground. The thrill is complete when there already is some snow-pack on the road and no car tracks.
Some years the snow is not deep enough or cold enough or the wind is not calm enough. Some years, the roads are cleared before we have the heart to venture forth. This winter we did it in the early morning. It was lovely! After we'd exhausted ourselves and the neighbor kids, I said to my 88 year-old mother, "You wanna go sledding?" She did!
After quite a ride around town, with her swearing I'd almost dumped her into the ditch by the park, I said. "Are you cold? You had enough?" She grinned and answered, "Well, maybe just a little more!" Now that was another day in the country to remember.
