Continued from here.
So there was the slide in summer and the slide in winter. In summer, we saw fit to make the slide our own personal water slide, complete with hose-fed marsh pool at the bottom. In the winter, we saw fit to make it our own personal bobsled track. I say “bobsled” here and not “luge” because, although we went down only one at a time — the top of the slide wasn’t a large enough base for more — we sat up on the sled as one normally would if sledding down an actual hill.
Like I said, the top of the slide wasn’t optimal in terms of stability, which made boarding the bobsled tricky. One had to scoot the front of the sled out as far as possible — where it would hover and teeter at horizontal, suspended above the slide’s downward slope — while clamoring onto it as far back as possible but without disturbing the forward-leaning plastic weight. Add to this the fact that one generally climbed the slide and maneuvered the sled in a thick coat, snow pants, clompy boots, and Frankenstein-hand gloves, and the feat became somewhat remarkable.
Looking back, launching the sled should not have been as reliable an act as it was. The sled itself was just as wide as the slide. When there was snow inside the slide — therefore decreasing the available surface width of the bobsled track — the sled should have stuck or struggled or something. I guess it is a testament to the overpowering force of gravity that the definitive answer to that “should have” is “FUCK, NO!”
Fortunately, snowbanks are a soft — if cold and wet — landing.