Priming the Sled

Priming the Sled

In the winter, many a dare-devil child raced his runner sled through the tangled brush and completed a jump off the top of the cave onto the floor of the pasture ten feet below.

Whenever a snowstorm approached, my father would walk out to the “barn’ and unhook the sleds from their spots on the wall and carry them into the basement sled laboratory. I used to follow him watching his every move. First, he’d make his way to the back of the small shed past the rototiller and lawnmowers and carefully take down our three sleds. The small nameless ancient runner sled was the first to come out, and I usually got to carry it. Its wooden slats were discolored, aged, and primed with splinters. Next out was the super sleek Lightning Guider. What a beast. It stood against the wall with an air of cocky arrogance. It knew it was fast and had nothing to prove. The last sled on the hook was the long family sedan. It was the sled young kids rode with their father. It never traveled faster than a turtle thanks largely to the inwardly bent runners and shaky construction.

My father passed along all I ever needed to know about how to care for a sled properly. The runners were THE key to successful sledding he used to profess. My father taught me patience in the sled shop. First using medium grit sandpaper, we’d address the runners taking the crusty layer of rust off. After making a few passes with the paper, a clean towel buff and then it was on to step two. Next my father would go to a fine grit paper and work on smoothing any blemishes on the runner surface. He was especially keen to get corrosive bubbles that would erupt from time to time on the steel blades. After another quick buff, he’d move on the steel wool phase. I used to love this part. I’d get some steel wool and rub it back and forth along the runners. After a few passes, they would begin to glisten. After wiping them, I’d run my finger along the blade. My father taught me that if your finger coasts along the runner with no resistance, then the blade was ready for the final application. Finally, we’d get out the candles. Dad used regular broken candlesticks. He wasn’t too picky. We’d rub the candle along the runner, applying a thin coat of wax to each runner all along the course of the blade. When all steps had been completed, the sleds were ready for fun.

You knew you had a fast sled when you attached a rope to it and pulled it behind you to the sled run. If the sled followed effortlessly and passed you in a hurry on the way down hills, then you knew you were in for a fantastic evening.

Sledding was something that I lived for. Around my house, a multitude of runs had been developed. The Garst pasture near our Garstland Drive house was home to four solid runs. Many a dare-devil child raced his runner sled through the tangled brush and completed a jump off the top of the cave onto the floor of the pasture ten feet below. Our community mainstay, however, was the Garstland Drive hill. Every so often, a storm would lay down the perfect track and the neighborhood would come out at night to burn some tires and train down the hill. I spent many happy and thrilling hours sledding on and around Garstland Drive.

End of Part I

Part II: The Ultimate Plunge