Two Sleds, Two Geezers

 Two Sleds, Two Geezers

Gene and I have lived above Lake George for over fifty years. We have a nice piece of property that actually stretches to the lake. We bought the land shortly after we were married. There was no house then. We built that as we could afford it. We started with two rooms. Now we have two stories, four bedrooms, five baths, living room, dining room, den, kitchen and utility rooms. We raised three children in this house. And every spring and summer they would play in the lake. Every winter they skated on the lake. Gene built a boat house and small dock. The lake is owned by the County but we have access. The hill between the house and the lake was a sledding area. There hasn't been a sled on it in at least twenty years.

And no, you really didn't need to know all that. But, in a way, it probably will help you understand what happened last week.

We two old codgers decided to “tidy up” the storage area next to the garages. There are sleds, inflatable rafts and floats, bicycles and even a couple tricycles, Skate blade sharpener and other skate maintenance tools, and a bank of lockers containing ice skates. It was a matter of sweeping, dusting, and rearranging more than anything. Gene decided to sharpen up a couple of the sled runners; they had a bit of rust. We spent the day and was quite tired by the time we went in to make dinner. We went to bed earlier than usual. Of course, what happened didn't depend on our bed time. I just mention it as the early bed time made us totally oblivious to the weather.

It snowed overnight. And it snowed a lot. Glen sat at the breakfast table and looked out at the snow for quite a while. Finally, he said, “You know. We should really take a sled ride down the hill to the lake.”

I thought not. “The lake isn't frozen yet. If we got a good run, we could end up in the lake.”

He argued that wasn't true. We could aim for the boat house or the dock. And, as fat as we've gotten over the years, we probably wouldn't get a ride clear to the bottom anyhow. He poured another cup of coffee and walked out onto the deck. Even with several inches of snow, it didn't seem very cold. I guess he was thinking about sledding. He was on the deck for quite a while.

Snow fell again mid-morning. When it finally stopped, Glen said, “I am going sledding. That last snow made it deep enough to get a good run without a lot of bumps.”

Being sure he was joking, I went about doing whatever I do these days. It was probably laundry.

At lunch Glen stared out that deck door nearly the entire meal. I realized that he was serious. “Well, I imagine we can do dishes after we get back.” The smile said everything. I went to my closet to look for my ski pants. They're the only really warm pants I own. Wool socks, my heavy boots, sweater over my shirt. I met Glen in the hall. He looked very warm in his heavy winter clothes. I shrugged into my jacket, put a cap on and said, “Ready?”

We knew the sleds were in good order. We'd just tidied the toy room, as Glen calls it. He pulled out the two larger sleds. These sleds once held three children at a time in the hurdle down the hillside in snow just like we had that day. Glen handed me a lead rope. “I think this is your sled, isn't it?” Frankly, I never thought of any of the sleds as my sled. But I nodded and took the rope to the bright green sled.

The two of us stood poised at the top of the slope. I didn't want to run and belly flop on the sled. I never did like doing that. I moved down the crest of the hill a few feet and lowered myself to a sitting position on the sled. Meanwhile, Glen yelled, “See you at the bottom.” as he ran and flopped on the sled. He traveled about ten feet, hit a clump of grass or something under the snow, and fell off his sled.

Fortunately, I had enough sense not to laugh out loud. I suppressed a smile as he got back on the sled. I reached down with both hands to give myself a push. And, surprisingly, the sled began to move. Slowly at first and then it gradually picked up speed. Glen had gotten back on his sled and was trying to move. I zipped past him going much faster than I wanted to travel. I was afraid to turn my head to see if he was moving yet. The sled just kept moving – faster and faster.

Suddenly, Glen passed me. He'd got moving all right. And was traveling far too fast. He'd hit the lake if he didn't make a course change.

My sled and I almost caught up with him about two thirds down the hill. It may have been the angle of the hill or it may have been all that new snow, but we both slowed down about there. I have my feet on the handles trying to change direction a few feet. Glen is on his stomach and trying to change course as well. Then we both hit a rough bump and went flying off the sleds.

I landed on my bottom, fortunately. Glen was just kind of laying there. The first thing that went through my mind was he's broken something. I struggled to get up and finally got to my knees. Glen wasn't that far away so I kind of crawled over on my knees. “Are you all right, Glen?”

He was making a noise and I thought he was in troubled. I grabbed his shoulder to roll him over. He was laughing. He was okay. We sat in the snow for a couple minutes. Laughing.

“We're very smart people. We forgot that we planted a row of azaleas close to the bottom of the hill. They were very pretty there. Who was it that said we can prune them down any time? And then we never did.” He was right. The stubble of the plants was hidden under the snow but had created a rough bump. “Well, I'm going to sled down this hill and that's all there is to that.”

Glen stood up, halfway brushed the snow off himself and trudged back up to the top of the hill. I followed, pulling my sled behind me. He moved to the east about twenty feet and flopped down on his sled. Away he went. I was a bit more cautious but got back on my sled. In a minute I was also flying down the hill. Glen was thirty feet ahead of me and I could see he was trying to slow down, if not stop. The ride was exhilarating. Why slow down?

Oh, no. Moving over twenty feet took our path right toward the dock or past it. I was traveling fast and had no idea how to stop. About ten feet from the edge of the lake, Glen just rolled off his sled. The sled continued on and splashed into the water. I started to laugh and then realized that was exactly where I was going to end up if I didn't get off this sled. I got my hand tangled in the lead rope but I rolled off the sled just as I got to Glen. The sled kept going, pulling me along. Glen grabbed for my feet and hung on to me. My sled splashed and stopped. I was on the brink of the lake.

“Let go of the rope, Silly.” I was trying and finally let it take my mitten off my hand. I was free. And dry.

We laid on our backs at the edge of the water, laughing. It was a helluva ride. Really. One of the best sled rides I can remember taking down that hill.

After a few minutes Glen went to the boat house and got a hook to recover the sleds. He laid them on the dock – supposedly to dry before we took them back up the hill. We sat on the dock for a long time. Glen had one arm around me and I was leaning against his chest. We heard a creak. A quiver.

“Run. Run. The dock is giving way.” There was so much snow and then our two fat bottoms were too much for the dock. We scampered up the hillside a few feet. The dock settled back into place. “Remind me when the weather is better to check the dock. It's definitely in need of something.”

It took us several minutes to get back up the hill. I had lost a mitten to the lake. We were both wet from rolling in the snow. Glen picked up his hat – it had blown off during the wild ride to the lake. We must have looked like refugees or something. When we got to the deck, I brushed off one step and sat down. “Any more wise ideas, Glen?”

He made a snowball and threw it at me. He missed.