Not-So-Tough Sledding

by Laurie Wells — January 22, 2007

The sanitation people start putting hay bales around the streetlight poles and fence posts at the bottom of the hill in my neighborhood park around mid-September. It always seems funny to me to see them tied up, waiting to prevent head-on collisions during the first snow, when we're all still walking around in shorts. But the weather here in Boulder, CO, is unpredictable, and the first snow usually hits in the middle of a week of beautiful warm fall weather.

And once even a few flakes of snow hit that slope, the place is crazy with sledders, who share the hill with snowboarders, skiers, and even a ski bike or two. You can hear the happy screams of speeding sledders five blocks away at my house, and the traffic on the sidewalk leading to the park is heavy with families carrying toboggans, tubes, and shiny metal discs.

There is a long-standing, sometimes heated discussion that continues every winter at our place about the best vehicle for speed, smooth riding, and control when sledding. I prefer the cross-legged position on a metal disc, as the speed of the ride always takes me all the way to the hay bales. My husband argues in favor of the smooth glide of a lay-back ride on a tube, which he likes to take over the handmade packed snow jumps. He concedes, however, that the best possible ride, if the snow conditions are perfect, is an old-school wooden sled with metal runners. They offer ultimate control and uncanny speed, but only if the snow is just right.

We both agree that the best way to laugh until your cheeks are sore and your stomach muscles ache is to pile on the tube, face down, with as many people as you can fit. It's always a contest to see who actually stays on the tube--to make it to the bottom in this clown-style pyramid configuration takes some serious dedication and more than a bit of luck. Although the people on the bottom are smashed and can't see a thing with all the snow powder flying in their faces, those on the top are forced to hold on to whatever they can grab, and usually fly off at the first bump.

Once you can't stand the burn in your buns from hauling the sled up the hill for the umpteenth time. and your arms are so noodley from holding on that you can no longer avoid taking out other sledders on the way down, it's time for the final run and the return home for a retelling of the epics sleds of the day over a cup of something warm. But before retiring into pj's for the day, I get to experience one more time that wonderful moment, once you reach the bottom in one piece, when you can just fall back into the soft powder, stare up at the gray sky, and feel absolute joy.