At work recently, the staff was discussing the difficulties of learning how to skate, a novelty for some. I thought back to my own early endeavours.
We learned as toddlers or not much older, shuffling around, first on the lake located near our farm, later on the outdoor rink at the Sundre School. We shared footwear, so likely also the skates.
The rink had a small heated building with benches for changing from boots into skates. We tottered from there directly onto the ice. Ready or not.
I progressed to simple strides counter-clockwise, hovering close to the boards. One of the guys in my class knocked me flat while he was practising his backward footwork.
My talent never progressed beyond that level. My kids also took the compulsory skating in physical education, but like me, did not enjoy the experience.
The toboggan run, though, that was a different story. The slogging trek back up with snow up to their knees, the shrieks as the motley crew piled back on. That was more to the liking of my sons and friends. That toboggan steamrolled down the trail, strewing riders everywhere.
Of course, it wasn't designed to hold more than three, nor was it intended to hold multiple layers of boys, toys and animals. I can see the whole thing, kids shooting off in all directions, like a birthday sparkler. One kid falls off immediately, another partially dislodged, skidding along partway down the hill and then released.
Toboggans at least tend to go straight forward, cutting a trench if overloaded and the snow too soft, or barely skimming the surface when the temperature dropped.
I've seen videos of large saucer≠style sleds that rotate and slide like a rock skipped over the surface, touching down now and then, erratic and unpredictable.
There are photos of old sleds, once painted red, but softened to an indiscriminate hue. These were designed only for one, short on length, with runners that swish the rider on an unsure journey. Some show the rider headfirst, stomach down, with cheeks glowing and rosy.
My group had the bright blue, plastic Krazy Karpets. These essential elements of childhood were all the rage at one time. When not in use, the carpet was rolled up and stored in an obscure corner of a closet. When freed from its confinement, its entire expanse was only about one and a half feet by three feet. Cold plastic on a frigid snow hill was magic. It took off like a stampeding wild stallion.
I can look back in my life and see those kids, cheeks red, tuques and scarves in place. Their eyes were bright and the air full of laughter. The entire mob often arrived in my living room, to warm up, guzzle hot chocolate and regroup.
Once we relocated to Olds and they were required to re-establish friendships, there were no snow hills to test run, nor any desire to try. This new gang gathered in my basement with video game controllers in hand. They still talked, joked and ate everything in sight.
