Saw a couple of nights ago on the news where we might get about an inch of snow here. I kinda suspected it earlier because the State Highway Department trucks were out all day spraying something they call "Brine" on the highways which I'm told is a solution of calcium chloride and water. It's supposed to minimize the effects of snow and ice as they hit.
But anyway it got me to thinking. I guess when we were growing up salt wasn't invented in large quantities yet because the city hardly ever salted the streets here. It made for some great times that I believe kids today are missing. Actually kids for a generation or so missed out on this phenomenon because streets get salted now within a few hours or somebody's gonna "hang the Mayor." Believe me I know.
I'm thankful to have lived before streets were cleared. Make no mistake about it. It didn't matter whether they were cleared our not...those of us who attended the city school system still had to go. Snow only meant we probably had to WALK! George Taylor, the Superintendent, always said if he could make it, we could. He always managed to make it.
I grew up on the "fringe" of the city limits as a boy and most of my friends out there attended school at Muhlenberg Central. It seems M.C. got out for snow eight to ten days a year that we didn't. It used to "irk" me to no end but my parents had no sympathy. We lived about 100' outside the Central City school district but my parents paid tuition ($50 per year per student) for us to go to CCHS (probably because that's where THEY went). At any rate it was a rare event for school to turn out because of snow. The only time it would happen was if the furnace broke down or something like that.
I guess it was before "global warming," but we used to get six or eight measurable snows a year (today it's only about two or three). That meant we had about two to three days each snow to "master" the hills with our sleds before it would melt away. This caused some great times. We always headed for one of two major hills in Central City during these times....either Third Street Hill or Reynolds Street Hill. We'd always find an old tire and some scrap wood to build a bonfire with and usually some of the people who lived atop either of these hills would bring us some "Hot Chocolate" to drink. There was always twenty or thirty of us up there.
Sleds always performed better if you'd take an old bar of soap and "skim" the runners. This was nothing more than applying a film of soap on the runners (after you had sanded the previous year's rust off of them). It would make a "rocket ship" out of them. This was the difference in gliding nearly to Park Street from the top of Third Street Hill, which was quite a thrill.
When you made the decision to ride a sled down Third Street Hill, there were other decisions to follow. First, did you want a short or long walk back to the top of the hill after your run? If you wanted a short walk, this meant you had to make a sharp left or right hand turn directly at the base of the hill onto Devine Street. If you made the decision to turn left, you then had another decision. Did you want to miss the storm sewer on the right hand corner of Devine or turn over and roll several times? The former could knock out your front teeth while the latter could separate your shoulder or break your leg. Most opted for number two because the thought of knocking out your front teeth wasn't very appealing. Since I had already knocked out a couple of front teeth at the swimming pool, I always chose to take my chances with the storm sewer.
If you opted for a longer ride (and hence longer walk back to the top of the hill), you still had another decision to make. Did you want to quit at Whitmer Street (by the city park) or continue on to Park Street (through the city park). If you opted to go to Park Street (you need extremely "slick" runners to make it all the way), that meant you would have about a quarter-mile walk back to the top....all UPHILL! You also had to decide if anyone was out in their car that day on Whitmer since you couldn't see if anything was coming from either direction until you were already in the street and then it was too late (talk about Russian Roulette). Since I had a good sled (it was about a 1948 model that used to belong to Don Perkins) called a "shorty," because it was only about 30" long, I usually opted for a "full ride," all the way to Park Street.
I remember one particular year when "vinyl" coats were the rage. These were the same material that vinyl car interiors or vinyl couches were made of. They were very thick and warm but most of all they were waterproof, making them ideal for sledding. My brother and I both got one of these coats for Christmas. They were medium blue and were exactly alike (which is why people were always mistaking us for twins). I had "soaped" my runners and somebody brought some lard to the top of the hill for extra "slickness." I took a "five stepper" (sledder's lingo for running about five steps before "jumping" on the sled, just as bobsledders do). My sled was extremely fast that day and I wondered if I could even get it stopped by the time I reached Park Street. We had been over on Reynolds Street hill earlier that day so when I came over to Third, I came from the south side of it rather than from the north as I usually did. Nobody had told me that for some reason, the City or State or somebody had scraped and salted Whitmer Street earlier in the day. It was perfectly clear and nearly dry. I was "flying" down the hill and was probably doing about 25 mph or better when I passed Chris Lamastus's house (about two houses from Whitmer). By the time I spotted the dry, clear pavement on Whitmer it was too late. I braced myself. When the sled hit the pavement I could see sparks flying from beneath it as it slowed from around 40 mph to zero in about ten feet. Unfortunately my body didn't stop as quickly and I was thrust over the front of the sled, across the pavement on my stomach (which immediately melted the vinyl on my new coat) and flipped back over onto my back in the snow as I entered the park. This got interesting because the vinyl coat offered no friction with which I could stop, so I continued on down the street on my back.
Had it not been for a very large Pin Oak tree at the edge of the road, I actually believe I would have made it to Park Street. Unfortunately, I didn't! As was always the case back in those days, the only thing hurt was my pride. I got up, dusted off the remaining snow and went back to retrieve my sled. It took another day of sanding and soaping to get the runners back into shape and by then the snow had all melted off so I put it up for another year.
The technology in snow removal cheats some of the kids today. Oh sure, parents can still take them to some "private" hills but that's not the same. And what parent wants to spend all day and half the night watching kids ride their sleds. And besides, sleds today aren't the same. Mostly made of plastic, they look more like a molded surfboard than a sled and there's no way to "cheat" and make them faster. If you burn a tire for warmth today the EPA would fine you $10,000. It's really unusual in this modern age for a 4" snow to still be on the roads by 10 am and as I said earlier, they've even found a way to apply melting chemicals before the snow even gets here.
If it's too cold for these chemicals to work then it's too cold to sled-ride.
I can remember as a teen ager getting an old car hood (the hood off of a 49-54 Chevrolet truck worked best), flipping it over, loading 6-8 kids on it and hoping for the best as we headed downhill. This was never done on the streets but usually out at a stripper pit or on Simpson's hill (6th street). There was no way to control where you were going so it made for a wild ride. A couple of kids broke legs or arms and that pretty much stopped us doing that but it was fun while it lasted.
Reynolds Street hill usually posed another problem. Most of the residents parked their cars on the street so you had to be extra careful to guide your sled between them. I'm really surprised this didn't cause more injuries than it did, but we seemed to survive it somehow. In my later "sled-ridding" years, we started to get more "gutsy" and started building ramps to jump. These were usually made with an old door (knob removed for obvious reasons). We would pack snow under it, pour a layer of water over it (making ice in a few minutes) and pack snow over the ice. It would be about half way down the hill. This was about the time ABC Sports started using that dude that represented the "agony of defeat," and I suppose something about that appealed to us. I remember one time I got a pretty good downhill run and hit the ramp doing probably about 10 mph, went airborn about ten feet (not up but out) and when I landed the runners on my sled bent in toward the middle, mashing four fingers on each hand. Since it took a day to fix the sled and about a week to fix the fingers, I didn't do that anymore.
Even though my sons all did some sledding in their boyhood years, mostly on private hills (there's a pretty good one out at the Country Club), I can't imagine, as a parent, encouraging them to ride from the top of Reynolds Street hill to the L & N railroad tracks. We did this regularly and it involved passing blindly through 5 intersections including the one on U. S. 431, the main highway through town back then. It took a good sled to make it "all the way," and the walk back to the top of the hill took about 20 minutes. One particular year, Don Adkins (he was older than us) brought some kind of contraption up there that looked like a snowmobile except it had no engine, had a single seat and set atop two skis. The ski in the back was stationary (fixed) and the one in the front was attached to a set of handlebars that steered the vessel. It was the fastest thing I had ever seen and I've never seen another one. I don't know where he got it (I don't believe he built it -- it looked store bought) but the thing ran like "greased lightning!" It took a lot of skill because you not only had to guide it but you also had to balance yourself on it since it rode on a single ski. It was something and I only saw it that one time.
Cherry Street was also a good sledding hill but you had to be careful there because just as you approached the end of it (it intersected with Park Street) you were running peak speed (the fastest speed) and the only brakes you had were your toes which meant you couldn't stop "on a dime." Park Street (which is where we lived) had a hill to climb no matter which direction you went out. This meant that people getting their cars out to go to work, or taxis (that's right, we actually had a taxi fleet in those days)
would have to go as far down (or up) Park Street as they could go, turn around in somebody's driveway and then "get a run" at the opposing hill in order to get over it.
I can remember several times approaching the end of Cherry Street, applying my "toe" brakes and just hoping I could get it stopped before Park and seeing a car pass by doing all it could do to get over the hill. Thankfully, I always managed to get stopped in time.
One of the funniest things I remember happened after I became a young adult, probably in the sixties or early seventies. There was an older couple who lived near the other end of the street from where we lived. I had gotten in my car and headed to town to go to work early one morning in which we had gotten about a 5" snow. All the streets were covered and there were very few "tire tracks" in the snow. Most every morning I would meet the gentleman who lived down the street coming home as I was going to work. He worked the midnight shift at one of the mines. He drove an old Ford pickup truck that had a steering wheel that looked like it was three feet in diameter. Every morning we'd meet somewhere between the city swimming pool and the top of the hill at Park and 5th streets and every morning we'd wave at each other. This particular morning, I had gotten my run and topped the hill and headed down the street toward town when I spotted the older gentleman turning onto Park.
As he made the turn, the rear end of his truck tried to pass his front end. As I got closer (and hugging my curb), I could see total "fear" on his face (his eyes were as big as golf balls and his mouth was wide open). When the rear end started around, he grabbed the massive steering wheel and cut it in the direction of the skid which caused it to start to slide the other way. Again, he cut the huge wheel back to the right to try and correct it and again the "butt" end of his truck started to come around. This must have happened five or six times and he was still fighting it as he passed me. Even with all of the fear on his face and with the business at hand of wrestling the steering wheel to attempt to get his truck under control, he still managed to give me a quick, neighborly wave as he passed by. I looked in my rear-view mirror and the old truck was still swaying left and right, getting completely broadside each time as he went out of sight over the hill. When I came home later that day, I didn't see his truck or any "digouts" in the ditches along the street so I assume he made it home safely to his wife.
Since it sometimes takes more than one day to write this so I can tell you they missed the forecast and we didn't get any snow. But there's still plenty of winter left and I'm sure we'll get a couple of decent ones before the season's end. I have no idea what ever happened to "Shorty," my boyhood sled but I'm sure Mom probably gave it away or sold it in a yard sale many years ago. Just as well, because it would never stand the strain of my weight these days and my nerves wouldn't let me take one last ride down Third Street hill (and I'll guarantee you it'd be the "last" ride). If I even attempted such a feat, my facial expression would be just like my old neighbor in the truck....eyes the size of golf balls and mouth wide open. Never hurts to dream anyway!
No comments:
Post a Comment