Hock's Hill 2

Paul and I went to Hock's Hill.

Once.

We had to take his kid brother, Roy or he would tell.

Paul had a sled about 5 feet long something you'd pull two kids around on. In its new-from-the-store state, it had a back support. Even when his older brothers removed the chair back, it was still the station wagon of runner sleds.

Roy, being the youngest in a family of seven had free use of the family toboggan. Paul’s Mom calls from the kitchen, “get the toboggan out for Roy.”

Paul’s like, "Ma-uuummmmm, do we have to take Roy?"

She assumed we were sledding in the neighborhood and said, "Yes, Paul, and watch out for cars on the street."

There were no cars on the street. It was way too icy.

Paul grimaced, and his mother said, “Be nice to your brother."

Roy was a bit of a tattle tale, and if we left him behind, we wouldn’t have been gone five minutes before Jewel, Roy and Paul's mother, would find out we were headed to the forbidden Hock’s Hill. She would have immediately alerted my Mom who would have called my Dad at the office and I'd have explaining to do. "Didn't we tell you never go to that dangerous cliff?" "What were you thinking?" Etc Etc. In addition, after the requisite mother-to-mother conference, Jewel's full 6 foot form would have been coated, hatted and fully gloved driving the family pony-ack (that had three broad bench seats and actually sat nine people) over the icy roads, chains and all, tracking us down. And the questions my parents would ask were not half as embarassing as seeing a mother ear-drag anyone home from Hock's Hill.

So, it was better for Roy just to come. He couldn't tell until we returned safely. And, he’d have to do as Paul told him. We were invulnerable!

Paul answered Jewel as we walked out the door, 'Okaaaay."

Then he mumbled to Roy in words Roy had heard before, “If you don’t do exactly as I say, I’m going to leave you in the Big Woods for the boars.” Paul wasn't mean, just hyperbolic.

My sled was trademarked, "Red Flyer." It was all of about 3 feet long with red, slick runners. Light weight and way toooo fast down hill. All the big kids wanted to borrow it. Dad bought it in Newfoundland, quite by accident. He had no inclination for speed-sledding, but the PX generally has what the PX has and for some reason it received a shipment of these sleepers and we ended up with one.

By the time we left Paul's house, it was snowing hard, and dark even though it was only mid-afternoon. The streets were covered with an inch of ice. No one was driving and the cold . . . it was a curse to any exposed body part.

To stay warm, Paul and I had on jeans sprayed with something to make them water proof and ski jackets, no hoods that’s for babies and leather gloves. Roy had on one of those Michelin Man snow suits, a puffy coat with a full hood and matching pants. All together, the round billows of down made him look like a stack of innertubes and he kind of waddled as he pulled his toboggan. His black rubber boots jingled. He even had to wear an ugly scarf, and adding insult to injury, mittens. "Keep that scarf around your neck Roy, and don't lose your mittens." MITTENS! That's Jewel again.

We ran and then slid down the street with Roy waddling behind. Sometimes we’d run holding our sled held out in front, chest high, and then dive on it and slide on the ice until it stopped. The toboggan wasn't made for picking up, let alone for running and tossing on the street. It weighed as much as a Mack truck even without the ice that accumulated on its bottom side. It was so cumbersome, Roy sometimes cried. The tears froze on his face and looked like white facial hair. “Waeeeetttt for meeeee.”