Ronnie? Ronnie who?

I have no idea what reminded me of this. But recently a childhood memory came to mind. It's pretty messed up. And if this blog has any readers, they're well aware that when I say "messed up," I generally mean it.

Here's the scene. It's maybe December, maybe January. The previous night, freezing rain accumulated on everything for several hours. Following that, there was a light dusting of snow. The road that ran past my house ran uphill at a moderate incline for maybe a tenth of a mile. After that, there was a moderatly flat sweeping left-hand turn. After that, it was about a 10% grade straight uphill for about a quarter mile with a slow S turn in the middle.

Now here I am, maybe 11 years old. School's canceled. I walk outside and realize that the road is two inches of solid ice with maybe a quarter inch of snow on top. In my limited experience, one thing was certain. A runner sled would flat FLY on this surface. So I go into the garage, get the sled, and treck the half mile or so up to the top of the hill. I gather my nerve, and down the road I go. I'm certain I reached speeds of forty to fifty miles per hour coming down the road. Of course, it felt like I was approaching the sound barrier, but it was just awesome.

So, after a couple of runs, I invite my friends Matt and Ronnnie over to share in this wicked sledding near my house. They show up, and an entire day of some of the best sledding I ever experienced ensues.

Well, dusk arrives, and we're all exhausted. It's a long walk up that slippery hill. Matt and I have had enough. It was oh so fun, but neither of us had another walk up that hill left in us. Ronnie on the other hand, wanted to take one last run. Matt and I agree to wait on him to take his last run, then we'll all go inside and grab some hot chocolate courtesy of my mom.

Ronnie disappears around the curve, going up the hill, and Matt and I are left on the moderate grade just before my house. Really bad ideas start to appear in my tired brain. "Hey Matt, look at these big round ice-blocks the plows left beside the road."

"Yeah, what about 'em?"

"Let's set up a slalom for Ronnie. He'll come around the curve, and he'll have to juke left-right-left-right to get past 'em. It'll be cool."

"Hmm, yeah, ok, let's do that."

So Matt and I set up this chicayne. We stage these two-foot by two-foot by six-foot walls of ice halfway across the road. We stagger them about fifteen feet apart, and each one on alternate sides of the road, extending about halfway across. Not really understanding the physics involved with a sled going forty miles per hour, we didn't realize that it would've been impossible for a formula one race-car to make turns so quickly, let alone a runner sled struggling for grip on solid ice.

We hear the clickityclackety of Ronnie's sled coming down the road and start laughing and giggling like little girls. I remember Ronnie's eyes being the size of dinner plates when he saw the first wall of ice and turned to avoid it. And he did avoid it. But there was no avoiding the second wall. Pow. Ronnie hits the second wall. The sled basically stops. Ronnie goes airborne and slams into a telephone pole which bounces him back into the road spreadeagled and unconcious. I will never forget the sight of Ronnie spreadagle, sliding slowly down the road rotating around and around. He comes to a stop about fifteen feet from my driveway. He's not moving. I look at Matt and say "Oh damn man, I think he's knocked out."

Matt turns to me and says "Knocked out hell. He's fucking dead man," then starts madly clearing our "chicayne" off of the road.

"No way, you think? Naw, he's just knocked out."

"Dude, did you SEE that? He's fucking dead man. I'm going home." And off goes Matt walking home, right past Ronnie, dragging his sled behind him.

So I walk down to Ronnie. "Ronnie, wake up. Dude, wake up." Nothing. I think "Crap, maybe Matt was right." So I ... well, er... I just went inside.

"Hey mom, can I have some hot chocolate?"

"Sure, I'll make you some."

At this point I realize that the kitchen window where mom's making me hot chocolate has a great view of the road outside my house. Too late.

"Is that Ronnie out there?"

"Where?"

"Out there on the road! Oh my god! Is that Ronnie!?"

And out the door dashes my mom. Fortunately, Ronnie comes to while my mom's down there freaking out. She brings a very, very dazed Ronnie into the house who can't remember a damn thing. I of course get interrogated. "Dude, I don't know what happened. Matt and I were tired, you wanted to take one more run. Matt went home, I came inside. No idea what happened." No one but Matt saw a thing that could dispute this story. I know Matt never told anyone. I know I damn sure didn't.

If Ronnie reads this entry, I promise it'll be the first time he learns what really happened that day.