Suicide Sledding

Let me start off by saying that this could never happen in America. Lawyers would be camped out at the bottom of the hill and ski resorts would be closing right and left. Europeans have a strong belief in personal responsibility--If you are dumb enough to try it you can take the consequences.

Suicide Sledding, otherwise known as night tobogganing, requires a person to simultaneously navigate a downhill slope in the dark, steer and brake with only your feet, avoid trees and other sledders, stay on the sled and out of the snow, avoid careening through the snowbank off the side of the mountain, and keep from wetting your pants. I am completely not exaggerating.

Our friend Anita suggested we do this night toboggan thing because her husband had done it once as a child and still remembered it as one of the highlights of his childhood. Sounds great! Sarah, Anna, Anita, and I slogged on over to the toboggan rental shed (which happened to be adjacent to a slopeside bar--read "Must be drunk to undertake such a foolish venture") And rented our sleds for a mere 5 euros each. We then got stuck in the turnstiles 3 times before actually making it onto the gondola for the ride up the mountain.

When you think of sledding, you probably think like I did that you sled down a pretty steep hill for two minutes of exhilirating speed and then you pull your sled up the hill and do the whole thing again. Strike any preconceived notions from you head. This is a completely different league--think Chutes and Ladders versus War of the Worlds; Goodnight Moon versus The Oxford English Dictionary; a can of Raid versus Men in Black. Are you getting the picture? The first run down the mountain took about 1 hour. Yup, ONE HOUR of hair blowing, snow eating, bruise gathering speed.

Anna and I shared a sled, and about two minutes into the run I was convinced that one or both of us were headed for the hospital. We almost made it down the first slope before we flew from the sled and landed in a splayed heap of arms and legs and wood and snow. It took us about 10 minutes of rolling off the sled every 100 yards to figure out how to keep from veering toward the snowbank that separated us from certain death down the side of the mountain. Oh, and we kept colliding with Sarah and Anita as they crashed in front of us on alternating 100 yards. We finally got in a groove after about 15 minutes. That is when we encountered the bumps. So picture this: About 100 or so sledders flying down the mountain. As these sledders encounter small bumps in the course, they push snow up against the bumps as they pass over. With each sledder that passes by, the bumps get bigger and bigger until they are pretty good sized moguls. Since we have already established that steering is a challenge, avoiding these things is a near impossibility. Anna and I hit a patch of about seven in a row, and after literally flying through the air and landing really hard on the wooden sled seconds before being launched into space again, I decided my best bet was to jettison myself off the back of the sled and let Anna go at it alone. She did great for two more and then all I saw was snow spray. As we were collecting what was left of our dignity, the sled slipped from Anna's hand and took off down the mountain. We looked like actors from a Mr. Bean movie, chasing after the runaway sled, yelling and waving for someone to catch it.

About one third of the way down...

We found it a pretty good way down the slope stuck in a snowbank. I have to interject here that part of the challenge of navigating this absurdity was that we were laughing so hard that we could hardly breathe. Between rolling off the sled, watching Anita and Sarah crash and splash, trying to keep our sled with us at all times, and attempting to keep ourselves alive, we were hysterical. At the base of really steep hills, groups would gather to watch other sledders tumble, roll, and scream their way to the bottom.

At one point in our descent, we came zooming around a curve to see a 10ish girl and her mother standing in the middle of the track. We had no time to steer around them so as we made contact at full speed with the girl and her sled, Anna literally picked her up and set the girl on her lap. The little girl's sled flew into the snowbank and it was probably a good 200 feet before we could stop and let the poor kid off. We managed to figure out about half way down that if Anna and I both dug our heels into the snow as hard as we could we were able to control our speed to a reasonably degree. The only problem with this is that as you dig you heels in, snow flies up in your face and up your pants by the bucketful. Anita and I both pulled huge snowballs out of our pants. The snow would get up there and just roll and churn until it was packed tight as a softball. You got off the sled and it looked like tumors had developed at the base of your calves.

We got to this really steep hill, and Anna and Anita decided that the only prudent thing to do was to walk. That left Sarah and I to go screaming down into the abyss. We finally made it to the bottom and decided that the only acceptable option was to do it again! I wish I had taken pictures of my bruises. They were beauties!

You will have to use your imagination on that one, but here is a picture of Anna's best lump, sustained while running into the back of Sarah and Anita's sled. I can't wait until next year!