I recently saw a headline about winter adventures. Since so far our winter has been mild and open, I guess the closest we can come to winter adventures is to read about them.

But I can’t help remembering the kind of fun that was found on sleds when I was growing up. We were lucky to have a hill in the pasture just across the road from our house. We could easily walk across the road, dragging our sleds, scuffing our rubber boots along the way, and make as many runs down the hill as we wanted before we got too cold and/or wet to make it fun.

A measure of one’s skill in guiding a sled or a saucer down that hill was how close to the creek bank your sled stopped after a fast run down the hill.

That was pretty much the extent of sledding in this flat part of the world then, but as I considered the phrase “winter adventures,” I remembered one sledding excursion when I was in junior high that turned out to be quite the adventure. It was some kids from church who decided we should go sledding that Sunday afternoon on a hill on the edge of the timber south of Webster City.

I mean, this was a long, b-i-i-g hill that offered excellent sledding, and everyone got right busy doing just that as soon as we all arrived. There were sleds and toboggans and saucers and kids everywhere on this late winter day

It was all going great until after one run while I was waiting at the bottom and looked to the top of the hill. Some of the big boys had brought with them an old car hood that was of the era when hoods were big and flat and could hold lots of people if they were silly enough to get on it. About then kids were piling on to the hood, settling in for the best sled ride of the day.

Soon they were off, zooming down the hill. Their excitement was loud as they barreled along. It wasn’t long before someone on the ride must have realized you can’t steer a car hood. The next thing I saw was kids escaping, rolling off the sides of the hood and falling off the back like rats leaving a sinking ship as they did whatever they could to get off before hitting a tree or dropping off into the creek bed that was ahead of them after a long flat coast at the bottom of the hill. By the time the car hood got that far, it was safely empty but still streaking right along.

I don’t recall any injuries from that day, and even now I don’t know why. I’m just glad I didn’t get on that car hood that day. There’s something to be said for waiting at the bottom of the hill.