That is what the boy called it. The Hill From Hell. 1500 feet long with about a 150 foot drop. Some days when the snow blows children play there, tumbling in the billowy fluffy. Other days when the fields are green, rabbits gambol. But when it is a sheet of crusted and lumpy ice, morons from Canada go there and naively accept that speeds pushing the acceptable pace of a car in town are the sort of thing that makes for a fun Sunday morning.
The oldest child afterward noted that the rustic man with the first aid kit at the top of the mountain was not going to have been much help. They were exhilarated after the first run. They begged to stop after the second. The photo in the middle? That is a zoom shot of the lower half. Click on it. See that faint haze of orange at the bottom? That keeps you out from under the wheels of cars and, across the road, the lake. It doesn’t have a hope against an eight year old on a flying saucer.
It is in a park. A park like any other park. It almost ate my family.