Adolescent sledding memories thawed in my soul last week.

Probably due to viewing winter Olympic games on TV.

Thoughts of Bluffton’s 1950s most dangerous sledding hill–that is, in my opinion–caused this avalanche of recall on a cold winter day.

Other dangerous Bluffton hills existed. But, this one, at a slope of, oh, 80 degrees with no speed limits, cluttered with moguls–you know, those bumps on the way down–well, I’ve set the scene for you.

In the words of Ralph Nader: Unsafe at any speed.

Truly, as memory suggests, this hill beckoned as the greatest sledding challenge for Bluffton youth growing up in the Eisenhower era.

My slope reference is the Bixel hill on Spring Street. Today, Riley Court rests upon its top.

Trees now block the prime sledding slope.

Shrubbery lie in the way of the landing area.

I know this. Last week I checked it out.

Let me tell you about this hill.

No one in his right mind would sled it today. Since pre-teens in the 1950s had not yet developed right minds, this didn’t matter.

Consider the obstacles:

First, the cinder challenge.

Mr. Bixel dumped coal furnace cinders on it. We knew he did it on purpose. It discouraged sledding. Because of this, we were always on edge, thinking he’d appear and chase us off with a shotgun or pack of mangy dogs.

Never happened. Not even close. But, always part of the conversation.

Looking back, he simply needed a dumping ground for the cinders. He could have cared less about who went downhill in his back yard.

And, he didn’t own dogs, and the shot gun thing was simply part of our undeveloped 1950s-era minds.

Second, the raspberry patch.

Or something worse, with thorns growing wild on the hill. One sledder claimed they were poisonous – that’s how our minds traveled when heading downhill in those days.

Some theorized Mr. Bixel planted these on purpose to discourage sledding.

Looking back, he simply needed a place to grow them. And, they were pretty wild. Could be they weren’t even his.

Third, a barbed-wire fence.

This ancient structure, generations previous, kept cows in the meadow. Set about 10 feet from the actual sledding route, it threatened us to stay on course. Yet, many a winter coat carried its scars.

Fourth, the slope.

No need for imagination. Like no other for miles around. Straight down.

Experienced sledders lived to tell about making a run all the way to the creek. In sledder dialect, at least a mile. Translation, probably 100 feet at the most.

In reality, this feat was impossible to achieve. But, it added to the hill’s mystic.

Still, you could always see one or two sled paths with emergency sharp right or left turns at the creek’s bank.

Perhaps, I’ve imagined that. Even so, reaching the creek was every sledder’s dream.

Our armada consisted mainly of single and double wooden sleds with metal runners. Paraffin wax applied to the runners helped these creatures of winter break the sound barrier.

Eventually a new, improved sled appeared on Bixel hill. Called the aluminum saucer, it was the most dramatic technological change of the century to any serious pre-teen sledder.

Not only did it require new skills in the sledding art, it also taught a serious life lesson. Never place your tongue on a cold aluminum saucer. Never.

So, last week, as I tramped the Bixel hill sledding grounds for the first time in over 60 sledding seasons those adolescent memories thawed in my mind.

And, as I clawed my way up the hill, imagining pulling a sled, my mind eventually returned to 2022.

Despite it all, what was that sound? Was it screams of sledders, decades past, hurling at speeds unknown toward the Riley?

Or was it Mr. Bixel laughing?

Visit https://www.blufftonforever.com/post/bixel-sledding-hill-unsafe-at-any-s... for additional photos and more Bluffton stories from Fred Steiner.