Benjamin Hill

A nearby town, Shirley, had a small local ski area in their town's rec area in the 1950s.  It was nothing big for a ski slope, about 200-250 feet high and 1200 feet long, but as a sledding hill it is practically Everest.  There was were a few good hills aroud my house in Xenia when I was little but even the massive Hawthorne Hill pales in comparison.  Here is a shot that puts it into perspective (taken by Mom at the top of the hill, those specks are Isaac and I):

The snow was coming down in thick flakes, as we took to the hill.  The first few runs were about half way up, but eventually Isaac pushed us all the way to the top.  It was an impressive site looking down the hill.  Worried we'd kill ourselves, I held on as tight as I could and basically cocooned Isaac on the sled.  The forces of gravity would have to peel of the sled and then rip a determined Dad away before they got to the soft nuggety Isaac center.  Mom gave us a push and we went slowly.  As we broke down the hill the angle of descent increased and we started really flying.  Snow and ice flew up into our faces and a few bumps almost pried the I-man away, but when we finished, about forty seconds after we started, we looked up and saw the entire hill behind us.  Isaac and I let out a shrill of excitement and Mom raised her arms in victory.  We had completed our own Olympic downhill event.  

But that wasn't enough for the I-man.  He wanted to go down the hill on his own.  I got his heavy LL Bean sled out of the car and we set him up around 1/3 of the way down.  The first run was great and he seemed plenty safe, perhaps even safer than when riding with me.  The weight of the LL Bean sled coupled with its seat gave him a perfect perch from which to attack Benjamin Hill.  The next run was higher.  The next, higher still.  Then I coaxed him into letting me record him as we raced down the hill.  Here we are plummeting to our eventual cushy end:

By the end the two and half hours of sledding, I-man had worked his way up the hill until he was about 2//3 of the way up, doing it all by himself.  We were wiped out having carried him and two sleds up a dozen or so times.

Aside from marveling at his courage, we learned two other lessons.  Isaac peed outside and we taught him not to eat the yellow snow.  And we also watched another family, a Dad and son, go down the hill on an inner tube and crash in stupendous fashion.  City people that arrive in their fancy Volvos and have never been outside will learn that, like lugers in the Olympics, you steer a sled with your feet.