The Small Christmas Toboggan Competition of 2011

I had only one previous sledding experience from about age 8 or 9.  We went to visit our awesome Colorado cousins, and they had a nice hill behind their house as well as a sled.  This was actually the first time I had ever seen snow...but most of what was on that hill was ice.  From what I can remember, the sled was hard to control and falling off was not fun.  Who knows what the reality was, but that's what I remember.

Our adult snow adventures have never even offered the opportunity for sledding...but the Austria lodging had a traditional sled we could borrow.  The kids had lots of fun pulling each other through the snow.  As was pictured in the posting from the top of the mountain, we even took it up on the lift.  Lots of fun.

And what a great way to wear out a five year old!

Then we discovered that these ski areas have groomed sledding tracks.  Like long tracks down the mountain.  So on Christmas late afternoon, we had a taxi come get us and take us to the place where we rented sleds and accessed the track.

It was four kilometers up the mountain.  The drive was gorgeous up a one-lane snowy road through the woods, following along side the Altenmarkt ski slope.

I had high expectations regarding some sort of modern fancy schmancy sled, maybe with an mp3 player and some cushions and a drink holder. Certainly with steering and brakes. But no...the sleds were the traditional type. No cushions. No cup holder. No steering. No brakes. That, and Jack was deemed too young/small to control a slide by himself. Read that again carefully, because I had to think about that...too. small. to. control. This should have provided some sort of hint, but really, my brain was on vacation.

Therefore, we got three sleds: one for Hank, one for John/Hannah, and one for Me/Jack.

Did I mention no brakes and no steering?


Well, actually, that's a fib.  The brakes and steering were "embodied." In the driver (and passenger).  The track was a narrow single-lane path switch-baking down the mountain through the woods (not the same road we used to drive up).  It was about the right width for a nice four-wheeler adventure in warmer months. There were no protective structures on the sides--although a little snow was banked up.  If one were to lose control, one would hit the bank (~6-18 inches deep) and then continue on (1) into a stream, (2) into some rocks, or (3) down a very steep hillside full of snow and trees.  


We ended up taking two trips down the track--the first one was mainly trying not to go over the edge.  Steering involved a combination of digging one's boots into the snow and putting pressure on one heel or the other.  Going around the 270-degree turns (switchbacks) also involved serious leaning...enough to swing around quickly but not so much to tip over.  The trip took about 15 minutes, involved a number of tips and stops, but eventually smoothed out and perhaps started to turn into a little friendly family competition.  Okay, to be blunt: it turned into a smack talk fest and yelling about who was going to win the spontaneous race.

Here's a short video documenting a piece of that first trip.  You'll see the clumsy learning process.

So after the first trip, when the driver (the lovely daughter in law of Opa Schoeber!) suggested we have one more run before dark, we all jumped at the chance. And thus began The Small Christmas Toboggan Competition of 2011.


It started, after a LOT of smack talk with Hank in the lead.  After all, as a single rider, he was quicker off the block.  But gravity and 40 years of Double Daves Pizza Rolls were on the side of the two adult/kid combo packs.  Soon we both passed him, with John/Hannah in the lead.  Then, at a switch back, they took the turn a little severely and tipped over.  John sort of formed a cage around Hannah, and the actual tipping occurred at the slowest point of the turn, so no one was the slightest bit frightened or hurt...however, being the kind and loving exemplary mother that I am, as Jack/I approached, I slowed a little and yelled, "Are you okay?!?"  Upon hearing an affirmative reply from the mound of snow, sled, and Land's End parkas, I screamed "COME ON JACK! LET'S WIN THIS THING!" and promptly maneuvered around the scene of the accident, squealing with the inappropriate delight of a Mother Who has Just Achieved Victory.

Through the next three switch backs, we turned smoothly, in fact enlarging our lead.  As we rounded the final turn and started flying down the very long (1/2 kilometer?) straight stretch leading out of the woods and to the finish line, I might have been gloating loudly and proudly.  In fact, to the point that I might have been momentarily distracted from my balancing act--the process of applying gentle pressure foot-to-foot to keep the flying sled in the center of the track.  And thus is how, despite the nice, flat, groomed track leveling out in sight of the finish line, Jack and I took a long and uncontrolled swerve to the right.  Hitting the 12-inch-high snow curb with quite a bit of speed sent both of us airborne, Jack attached by the force of the throw to my front, sort of like a sky-diver-in-training setup.  And that's how we skidded, face down for a good 6 feet in the deep snow, with Jack doing the excellent job of a good son, cushioning my fall.  

I was horrified, thinking now I've done it. I've killed my son on Christmas day. Now who's going to help Hank pay for the cat food when I'm an old lady with 259 cats?  I flipped over on my back and asked, "Jack? Are you okay?"  When he answered with a laughing yes and stood up, my relief was so great that all I could do was start howling with laughter.  Laughing so hard that I couldn't do anything but lay on my back sort of "yip yip"ping in convulsions of hysteria.  Laughing so hard that I didn't care about the snow packed into my nostrils (Jack was too short for full-body protection). At this point, John/Hannah came down the final straightaway.  They slowed when they saw the overturned sleigh, Jack standing in awe, and me splayed on the ground.  With all the concern invested in 20 years of life together, John called out, "Are you okay?"  Knowing he would be dreadfully worried, I yelled "Yes, we are O-KAY!"  

At which point he screamed, "COME ON HANNAH! WE'RE GONNA WIN!" and went flying past us.  Even the single skinny noodle eater passed us, despite Jack screaming "COME ON MOM! PLEEEEEASE GET UP! WE CAN STILL BEAT HANK!"  

This was one of the most wonderful things we have ever done as a small family.  When I got back to the lodge, Jack had a small scrape on his nose (gone the next day), I had huge chunks of snow crammed up into the legs of my snow pants, and John and I both had significant parts of our boot heels worn away.


When can we go back?