×

Flexible Fliers and Lightning Guiders

So, while we had lots of thrills, spills, and chills spending the day sled riding behind Peter’s Steps, we injected an added level of excitement, which at times bordered on terror, by sled riding at night.

Now, all the stars and planets had to be in correct alignment, literally, to make this even remotely possible. The best conditions would include adequate snow, a clear night sky, and any amount of moonlight.

We would drag our sleds up behind Peter’s Steps, and about half way or so up the path, build a great bonfire up against the hillside, where the trail was wide enough to have the fire and leave enough space for a rallying point. Sled riding at night was a chilling experience, so the fire was an absolute necessity.

This spot also provided adequate room to start a run further uphill and be able to skid past the fire and the crowd. After we had been up on the trail for a while, our eyes would adjust to what light the night provided, and seeing really was not much of a problem. Young eyes, I guess…

Most of the time we started our runs at the fire. It was far enough up the hill to give a good ride, but not so far that excess speed would become an issue. Most of the time.

Customs were made to be bent, if not outright broken, and on this one night, our resident daredevil was about to make local kid history.

“I’m gonna start clear up at the top.” Such was the declaration of John Patrick, younger brother of Frank James. Frank was the kid who I described in an earlier episode as the first non-family friend I ever had in this life.

Frank and John were members of another multi-generational family that resided in Upper Lockport. Their parents were Frank and Lois, and their father’s father was someone I did not know, but had heard him referred to from time to time as “Big Daddy”. I recently saw a photo of Lois and one of her sisters in the Express, and the caption indicated she is now 94 years old. Good for you, Lois! Many, many good times at the Henry household…

So, John decides he’s going to make the Ultimate Run, from the tippy-top of the hill, at night, with maximum velocity. While I imagine that we all had the same ominous premonition as to how this would probably turn out, it is strange that I can’t recall anybody trying to talk him out of it. We were about to bear witness to an historical event. How it ended up evidently was not one of our major concerns.

So, a few of us joined John as he trudged to the top of the hill, as if to lend moral support , but in reality, it was probably to make sure he didn’t chicken out. There was not much threat of that happening. John didn’t back down from much of anything. Which would explain that other historic ride he would launch, few years later, in a gold 1957 Chevy Bel-Aire, through a cornfield, on its roof…

Well, John did not back down, and off he went. We ran down the trail behind him, and stopped at the fire where everybody else was waiting. John had passed by the fire, and we all stood around and waited.

As I described in an earlier article, as the path wrapped around the base of Peter’s Steps, it made a fairly sharp right-hand curve to follow the contour of Brewery Hollow down to the Back Road. At the apex of the curve was a masonry-buttressed bank that dropped off into the bed of a tiny trickle of a run that drained Brewery Hollow. The drop was about 4 or 5 feet in elevation. The landing at the bottom was in the stream bed full of big rocks, little rocks, rounded rocks, sharp rocks, and the stray piece of broken glass, all of which added up to major grief if a rider ever cast himself over the edge. Safe to say, we were scrupulously careful to manage our speed going around that curve. The consequence of the failure to negotiate that curve was too gruesome to contemplate.

Well, as I also stated in a previous article, we had the timing worked out as to how long it should take a rider to reappear on the trail, trudging up from the bottom of the path, around the Curve, and back up to the fire.

We all stood and waited. And counted. And waited. No John. So we waited some more. Then the speculations started. “He didn’t make it.” “Yes he did. It’s a long way up from the bottom.” “Nope. Don’t think he did.”

After about three minutes of that, a kind of mass sense of fearful anticipation, bordering on panic, began to set in, and one by one, we broke down the trail at a dead run, trying to gain some sign of John.

Then, silhouetted against the snow in the low light of a cloudless, moonlit night, there he was.

He was half walking, half dragging himself back up the hill, tugging what was left of his sled behind him. The metal parts, mostly. The wooden parts were lying in a pile of splinters back down in the creek bed. He had sustained a major injury to the leg that he was trailing along behind him. His coat was ripped in several places from being sliced by the rocks in the stream bed.

And he was soaking wet.

As my late brother Mike was wont to say: “Yikes!”

Fun Fact: Both Flexible Flier and Lightning Guider snow sleds were manufactured in southeast Pennsylvania…

——

Scott Williams is a former resident of Upper Lockport, and once delivered The Express in Lockport, from Haussener’s Farm down to the Woodward Elementary School … all 125 copies … with help from Keith.

NEWSLETTER

Today's breaking news and more in your inbox

I'm interested in (please check all that apply)
Are you a paying subscriber to the newspaper? *
   

COMMENTS

[vivafbcomment]

Starting at $3.69/week.

Subscribe Today