It was a cold day in January. I don’t recall the year exactly, but it would have been early 90’s. The air had a bite to it. The breeze was sharp, the kind you try to protect yourself from by burying your face into the collar of your jacket. The sun was shining bright, and reflected off the packed white snow in a way that made you have to squint to look around. It really was a beautiful winter day.
I stood with my friends at the top of suicide hill. It got it’s name, not from committed acts, but rather from it’s slope and the obstacles one would need to navigate around to get to the bottom on a toboggan. I didn’t have the same kind of colourful suit as Evil Knievel, but I definitely had channeled his kamikaze nature. From the top of that hill, in the midst of our meeting of the teenage minds, I was coming up with a plan!
Half way down the hill to the right, there was a drop off. It was probably a good four to six feet. Growing up from that drop off were a couple of trees. They were still young trees, not very tall. They looked postcard perfect with their blanket of untouched, freshly fallen snow. They rose a couple of feet above the edge of the drop off. On the other side of them, at the bottom of the drop off, was a smooth, clean run right to the frozen pond.
In my youth, I was the architect of a lot of masterful plans. This one, unquestionably, was no different. In my mind, I had dreamt of a way to build a jump just before the drop off. That jump would have to be built up steep enough to send me over the tops of the trees, where I would then free fall to the bottom of the drop and continue all the way to the pond. Do the math. Four to six foot drop off, trees rising a couple of feet above the top edge, height required to clear the trees, and then land safely below where I would complete my run to the pond. Common sense comes in many different forms. Common sense to you may say, “you’re an idiot!” Common sense to me said, “check the pond first.”
We got a concrete cinder block. Actually, we got two. With blocks in hand, we went to the edge of the pond. Step one… make sure it’s frozen good and thick! We took the first cinder block, and with a guy on each end, we raised it over our heads. With every ounce of force we could muster, we took that block and threw it onto the glassy surface where it immediately smashed into tiny pieces. Test one complete. Test one successful! Knowing the ice was thick, at least in that spot, we walked out onto the pond with the second block in tow. Out a little further, we conducted a second test and got the same result. The pond was frozen solid. The ice was good and thick. I didn’t have to worry about sliding across it and falling in!
Back to the hill, we began to construct the ramp. The snow was crisp and just the right texture for packing. You know the kind. It crunches beneath your feet while you walk, but it almost has a squeak to it. Exactly what you need for making snowman or snow jumps! The jump was nearly four feet long, with a good steady slope upwards. I was convinced it would give me the angle I needed to shoot over the tops of the trees. For moment, albeit brief, I had discovered a use for all that geometry I’d learned in school.
When the design and build was complete, I was ready to go. I made my way to the top of suicide hill with my GT Snowracer in tow. A crowd had gathered below. Some were cheering me on, others were there to see how bad I’d get hurt. All were there for a show! A show, I was confident, I would be able to provide!
I don’t remember much about the first attempt. After I shook the stars from my head, I recall a lot of cheering and I know my GT Snowracer landed about thirty feet away from where I landed. It landed on it’s skis. I landed on my head. Keep in mind, this is the early 1990’s when kids didn’t wear helmets to go tobogganing! I wasn’t deterred by my failed attempt though. I was sure I could land this jump. So I went back to the top to try again.
I don’t remember much about the second attempt. Wait a minute… am I the only one having a deja-vu experience? Yes, the second attempt went pretty much the same as the first. Another botched landing that found me on my head in a snow bank and my GT Snowracer off in the distance. It took me a little longer to get back up to my feet after this one. I was feeling a little dizzy and my head hurt a bit. Something about repeated landings on it from great heights and distances probably shouldn’t been a red flag for me. But the crowd. How could I ignore the crowd? They were cheering, clapping, laughing. They had come to see a show. I was going to give it to them!
I went back to the top for a third, and what I told mysef was going to be a final attempt. This time, I was better prepared. OK, maybe I was just better motivated. I really didn’t want to land on my head again! They say that the third time is a charm, and this time, indeed it was. I hit the jump, flew over the trees, maintained my balance, dropped to the surface below, and continued all the way down the hill and across the pond. It was, or at least it seemed at the time, an epic jump! I defied gravity, even if only for a few seconds. I flew like Superman!
When I was done, we packed up, and went back to our camp routine. Well, everybody else went back to their camp routine. I went to the ER. Head and neck X-rays were on the agenda for me. I probably would’ve been OK if I had quit after the first one. But that wouldn’t have made for a very good story.
Wipeout returned to ABC last night. It is, in my opinion, one of the funniest shows on television. There is just something about a guy getting hammered by a boxing glove in the biscuits, or somebody bouncing off the big red balls and face planting on the landing deck that is laugh out loud funny to me. But it’s only funny when it’s somebody else feeling the pain of another epic wipeout!
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