Dashing Through The Snow

There was snow on Christmas Eve in 1961. Not much, but just enough to satisfy those who thought that Christmas was only Christmas if it was white.
We prayed for snow as kids. It brought us new adventures, new ways of having fun and risking our lives. The center of all winter activity in Woodbury Heights was the lake area, extending out to include Freund's Cliff and Chestnut Hill. The lake was for ice skating and hockey. Swarms of adults and teenagers gliding along in the glow of streetlights and a fire built on the shore. There were those whose ability on the ice made us watch in awe as they danced in the glow of the moonlight. I was one of those awkward types. I could never get my ankles to co-operate, so I spent most of my time on the ice-well, on the ice.
Sledding was a different story. When I was a young boy I went sledding like most people in the Heights, down the steepest part of the street on Chestnut Hill. It seemed like the whole town was there when the street got really icy. It was especially fun at night. There were very few homes on that side of Chestnut Avenue back then, so you flew down the hill in the dark, increasing the thrill of it all. If you got going good and fast, you could make it to the little rise at the bottom, clear that and continue on down to Boundary Road. Then the long walk back up. Repeat this for an hour or two and you’re ready for hot chocolate and a deep sleep. This was the safe area for sledding, the family version. My brother Carl and I and my friend Keith Madden and others braved the tree-lined slopes of Freund's Cliff, parts of which had the ominous nickname,"Suicide Hill". We had one Flexible Flyer, but in my teens I was insane enough to prefer the metal Sno Disc. You sat in the center of your silver shield, held on to the straps and went down backwards, exposing yourself to bone cracking injuries of every type imaginable. The discs spun as you descended, increasing the likelihood of death or maiming. Once I actually hit full force the entire length of my spine into a sapling tree. For several minutes I thought that I had finally done it; my back was broken. After the shock wore off, I was up and hurling myself down the trail again. My brother had a vinyl coat which he sometimes used to propel himself. He would pull up the cloth collar, lie on his back and go down head first defying the odds. He did eventually break his foot and leg while sitting up dangling his legs over the side of the only real sled we had. We also had an old-fashioned wooden sled with wooden runners. It was really small. You could get your chest onto it, so you rode down with your legs bent up at the knees, steering by shifting your body weight. The rough trails of Freund’s Cliff shook that thing so much that the nails would be popping up and out by the time we were through.
Yeah, the sane people would use Chestnut Hill. Chestnut Hill was a safer sledding experience. Adults were there to supervise and it was a family event for the entire area. I would use Chestnut Hill when it was really icy, but the siren call of "Suicide Hill" and its inherent danger always drew me back for more.