The first big snow of winter in Ritzville was
exciting.  The City would close off three blocks
of Jackson Street to make way for sleds.  It was
the steepest hill carrying the fastest sledders
in the world.  Wow, that was fun!

Sometimes there were so many kids coming down
the hill at once that we all had to wait at the
bottom for the hill to clear so we could plod
back up to the top.  Sleds not only came down
the street but the sidewalks as well.  It was
bedlam, sheer chaos, close to life threatening,
with unsurpassed and unforgettable terror and
excitement.
 
Today, an event of this character and magnitude
would require a standby ambulance, perhaps even
a priest.  There were no cowards on Jackson
Street and I do not remember one serious accident
in all the years that “Boot Hill” existed.  The
nickname was assigned to the hill because of
the hundreds of kids boots it collected over the
years.

Boot Hill was nine blocks from my home so I was
fortunate that my friend, Gerry, only lived a
half block away from it.  We could go inside
whenever we needed to warm up, dry out, use the
bathroom or get more hot chocolate. It was very
convenient to store my sled in his garage until
the winter games were over.

Racing and other contests were held daily.  One
of my favorite events was “stacking.”  Since my
sled was one of the longest it had more runner
length which meant more surface area in contact
with the snow.  This was critical to maximum
stacking.  My sled held the record for the most
kids stacked on top of each other making it all
the way from the top of the hill to the finish
line without losing a single passenger.
  
Speed was not important, stability was.  The
largest kid was on the bottom, then one a
little smaller, then one more a little smaller,
etc, until we had six stacked on my sled.  Of
course, the littlest kid with no fear was placed
on top.  That would be Sis!

The kid on the bottom had to be strong enough
to handle the weight, so four-foot ten-inch
98-pound Raymond was our first layer.  His
nickname was “Mule.”  Then came his brother
Richard.  Then his other brother Randy.  Then
came me, Gerry and finally Sis.  You had to go
slow to maintain stability or the pile would
topple.

Our first attempt to make the entire course
intact failed because Mule farted, startling
his brother Richard into a sideways move that
dumped the rest of us.  There was a short delay
before our second attempt while the “brothers
three” played fisticuffs over the incident.
Gerry, Sis and I took a short break for hot
chocolate.

Our second attempt was a smashing success even
though Sis told me later that she farted just
before the finish line. Who knew? I say
“smashing” because the sled started to veer
near the finish line and Mule’s over-correction
ran us into a power pole.  Nobody was hurt and
the crowd cheered wildly.

One morning after a slight snow melt followed
by a quick freeze, Boot Hill was ready for
Gerry and I to set a new speed record for the
two-man stacked luge.  The hill was so slick,
we moved the blockades at the bottom of the
street another full block.  This gave us a
downhill run of 2 ½ blocks long with 1 ½ blocks
to stop.

The record for the stacked luge over 2 ½ blocks
on Boot Hill was 12 seconds flat.  I climbed on
the sled and Gerry jumped on top.  Our start
was slower than normal but momentum quickly
evolved. By the time we passed the end of the
first block we were flying and my eyes were
blurring.  Only one and a half blocks to go.
I couldn’t see anything so I concentrated on
keeping the sled as straight as possible.  When
we blew over the finish line I knew we had the
record.  Now all I had to do was drag my toes
in the icy snow until we stopped.  My right foot
apparently dug into the snow more than the left
causing us to change direction.

Boom!  We suddenly stopped.  Well, I suddenly
stopped.  Gerry was launched over my head at
breakneck speed, slid on his belly across the
intersection and bulldozed a corner mailbox.
When we had moved the blockades the extra block
beyond the usual location we forgot to fill
in the drainage ditch at the last intersection
with snow.  The sled and I came to an immediate
halt in that ditch.

Bad news.  The right side of the steering bar
had broken.  My sled was retired. Gerry was okay.
We were excited to hear our time so we ran to
Benny, the official timekeeper. “What time?” he
asked. “I thought you were just practicing.”

What could we do?  Benny was the only one of
us that had a watch.  And now, the sled was
broken. If you ask Gerry or me if we broke the
record we’ll say, “by a mile.” If you ask any-
one else they’ll say, “what record?”