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The Best Hill EVER
Dec. 30th, 2009 10:00 amAfter yesterday’s first run at sledding, I promised Mason that we’d go every day of vacation. Today* (*actually Tuesday) was quite the adventure. Since we discovered the packed snow was quite hard on the old buttinski, we were determined to try out the inflatable sled grandma and grandpa bought us for Solstice.
Step one: figure out how to actually inflate the thing. Did I mention that it’s almost as tall as me? Shawn, being Shawn, had in the basement an air compressor that hooks up to your car’s lighter plug. I tried that out to see if it worked. It made a lot of noise, but not much air pressure. Next step was back to the basement for a hand pump. That worked, but, as you can probably imagine, it took a lot of effort for not much results. I finally decided the smart thing was to go to a gas station and see if I could use the adaptor plug on the air hoses they have there.
Well, since I wasn’t sure if we could actually fit the pumped up sled into the car, I decided the smart place to go was to the Country Club at Marshall and Otis. There’s a BP across the street, so I figured worst case scenario, we’d park the car somewhere near the gas station and walk over with the sled (and I’d let the air out for the drive home.) We got to the BP, but wouldn’t you know it? The air hose was missing. I went inside and asked. The rubber had frozen. This BP is also a service station so I asked the attendant if she thought it would be okay if I asked the guys in the shop if they’d be willing to use their tire pump. She said okay, so I stuck my head in the service area. Three guys were having a lunch break (we were there at about 12:30), but one of them said it would be no problem. So I hauled the sled in and they carefully pumped it up.
It was quite huge. I had my doubts it would fit in our car. It certainly didn’t fit in the trunk. But I got Mason in his new booster seat, and asked him if he’d be okay with his face pressed up against the sled. He laughed. But that’s pretty much how we had to do it. With a mighty shove, I got it in. I couldn’t see at all out the back window, but we only had about three blocks to drive, so….
At the country club, we parked in their lot. I’d noticed other sledders were parking there, so I figured it would be okay. (It was.) It used to be that you kind of had to sneak in. It’s a private golf course during the summer, for paying members only. Way back when I first moved to the cities, they kept the place pretty tight during the winter, but turned a blind eye to all the people wiggling through the gap in the fence. Now they just leave the gate wide open.
Mason kept saying, “Look at that hill! It’s huge.” Which is funny, because I think the one at Como might actually be taller, it’s just that this slope is a lot more gradual so it’s more stretched out. We trekked our way to the top. Now, I have to admit that I’m kind of scaredy cat when it comes to sliding. I don’t like regular park slides that are too high, and I tend to go all tense and try to slow my descent by any means necessary, including digging in my heels in the snow. I know that out of control speed is sort of the point of sledding, so I’ve been encouraging Mason to go on his own. He wasn’t so sure, but I kind of tricked him at the start and he discovered what a nice, gentle hill the country club is (compared to Como.) I also reminded him that the more he went on his own, the more likely I was to be willing to stay (even though I still slid down on my snow pants and helped him haul up the sled each time.)
He went sledding on his own for almost a whole half hour. I finally decided I needed to try it. The nice thing about this sled for a chicken like me is that there’s really no way to stop it. The edges are too high for my hands to reliably hang out, though there are hand holds for my white knuckles. Similarly, I’m big enough that I can’t sit crisscross applesauce in the bowl meant for the second person. I have to stretch my legs out and under Mason’s grips. So you see, I can’t dig my heels in. I simply have to surrender to the ride.
And you know what? It was a blast.
We went another half hour with me in the back seat. I’m still enough of a chicken that I screamed the whole way down, but the air made the bumpity-bumpity-bumpity of the hard pack of snow more like a boof-boof-boof. I still felt it, but my tailbone didn’t ache. Plus, we could kind of steer, so I felt as much in control as you can hurtling down an ice covered hill at high speed.
Alas, on our last trip down, we blew a hole in it. Luckily, the sled came with a patch kit (this must be a perennial problem). Tonight, I’m going to have Shawn help me figure out where the hole is, so we can get it ready for tomorrow.
‘Cuz I’m ready to go again!
Step one: figure out how to actually inflate the thing. Did I mention that it’s almost as tall as me? Shawn, being Shawn, had in the basement an air compressor that hooks up to your car’s lighter plug. I tried that out to see if it worked. It made a lot of noise, but not much air pressure. Next step was back to the basement for a hand pump. That worked, but, as you can probably imagine, it took a lot of effort for not much results. I finally decided the smart thing was to go to a gas station and see if I could use the adaptor plug on the air hoses they have there.
Well, since I wasn’t sure if we could actually fit the pumped up sled into the car, I decided the smart place to go was to the Country Club at Marshall and Otis. There’s a BP across the street, so I figured worst case scenario, we’d park the car somewhere near the gas station and walk over with the sled (and I’d let the air out for the drive home.) We got to the BP, but wouldn’t you know it? The air hose was missing. I went inside and asked. The rubber had frozen. This BP is also a service station so I asked the attendant if she thought it would be okay if I asked the guys in the shop if they’d be willing to use their tire pump. She said okay, so I stuck my head in the service area. Three guys were having a lunch break (we were there at about 12:30), but one of them said it would be no problem. So I hauled the sled in and they carefully pumped it up.
It was quite huge. I had my doubts it would fit in our car. It certainly didn’t fit in the trunk. But I got Mason in his new booster seat, and asked him if he’d be okay with his face pressed up against the sled. He laughed. But that’s pretty much how we had to do it. With a mighty shove, I got it in. I couldn’t see at all out the back window, but we only had about three blocks to drive, so….
At the country club, we parked in their lot. I’d noticed other sledders were parking there, so I figured it would be okay. (It was.) It used to be that you kind of had to sneak in. It’s a private golf course during the summer, for paying members only. Way back when I first moved to the cities, they kept the place pretty tight during the winter, but turned a blind eye to all the people wiggling through the gap in the fence. Now they just leave the gate wide open.
Mason kept saying, “Look at that hill! It’s huge.” Which is funny, because I think the one at Como might actually be taller, it’s just that this slope is a lot more gradual so it’s more stretched out. We trekked our way to the top. Now, I have to admit that I’m kind of scaredy cat when it comes to sliding. I don’t like regular park slides that are too high, and I tend to go all tense and try to slow my descent by any means necessary, including digging in my heels in the snow. I know that out of control speed is sort of the point of sledding, so I’ve been encouraging Mason to go on his own. He wasn’t so sure, but I kind of tricked him at the start and he discovered what a nice, gentle hill the country club is (compared to Como.) I also reminded him that the more he went on his own, the more likely I was to be willing to stay (even though I still slid down on my snow pants and helped him haul up the sled each time.)
He went sledding on his own for almost a whole half hour. I finally decided I needed to try it. The nice thing about this sled for a chicken like me is that there’s really no way to stop it. The edges are too high for my hands to reliably hang out, though there are hand holds for my white knuckles. Similarly, I’m big enough that I can’t sit crisscross applesauce in the bowl meant for the second person. I have to stretch my legs out and under Mason’s grips. So you see, I can’t dig my heels in. I simply have to surrender to the ride.
And you know what? It was a blast.
We went another half hour with me in the back seat. I’m still enough of a chicken that I screamed the whole way down, but the air made the bumpity-bumpity-bumpity of the hard pack of snow more like a boof-boof-boof. I still felt it, but my tailbone didn’t ache. Plus, we could kind of steer, so I felt as much in control as you can hurtling down an ice covered hill at high speed.
Alas, on our last trip down, we blew a hole in it. Luckily, the sled came with a patch kit (this must be a perennial problem). Tonight, I’m going to have Shawn help me figure out where the hole is, so we can get it ready for tomorrow.
‘Cuz I’m ready to go again!