Dead Man's Hill

February 22, 2010

Looking at the title there, it doesn’t seem as ominous today as it did years ago when life or death stared us in the face. Clove Lake’s park was where Dead Man’s Hill and Dead Man’s Curve were located. At this point I’d have to ask siblings the actual name. It could have been either. I’mm guessing it was the former; the latter named was the dreaded turn that sooner or later awaited us all.

In any case ‘The Hill or The Curve’ was the same place we used to visit many times during our early years before high school. I think even the first few years of high school we visited and accepted dares. It was the challenge place of heroics; to live or die by how fast we braved to travel in a down hill direction.

It’s impossible to count the times we as a large or small group of kids walked up and down the long, steep, somewhat curved and not so wide asphalt pathway. More times than not we challenged each other by two’s. Many times as a whole group we’d race to achieve first place and the minute by minute, hourly, daily, weekly or even an over all lifetime honour to be champion of Dead Man’s Hill.

Whether it was running on foot, on beat up scooters, tied or untied roller skates, bicycles with fat tires and no gears or even with our self- built, orange crate go cart designs; Dead Man’s Hill was the main challenge whenever we thought to compete for the ultimate reward of going for the gold… ‘Last one’s a rotten egg!’

I can remember so many different groups and instances while visiting the childhood spot. The exhilaration of going downhill seemed like an Olympic event. Coincidentally, as the Vancouver Winter Olympics of 2010 are taking place as this is being written, the Olympics of our day took place most times on this same hill no matter the weather, day, and time of day, week, month or year.

Sunshine, rain, sleet, hail or snow like the postman’s code of never stop, nothing really got in the way of those fun-run visits. Impossible to recall how many times each of us were champion. Everyone who participated seemed to have received the honour of being ‘Champ of the World,’ at one time or another; didn’t matter the reason or race. We constantly repeated or made up new challenges daily.

One particular trio of friends was Gary, Sal and mmyself. Gary had a huge yard where we did a lot of childhood things. His dad who was a banker supplied us like Santa Claus in July with all manner of tools and materials for whatever projects that happened to be our next most important activity. One was to build our own race car that of course was to be put to the test down Dead Man’s Hill.

To this day I wish I had photos of the thing. At this point I’ve lost touch with both pals. It’s quite possible either one of them has a photo or two but I certainly don’t. Although at the time I know we all took turns sitting in the driver’s seat while photos were being taken in more locations than one. The photo up top is a self built and year’s later version. It has the exact same kind of wheels. I built that one for Philippe, a little French five year old. He and his mom lived next door.

The year’s earlier car too was constructed entirely of plywood. The four huge wheels were acquired from the authentic Soap Box Derby (SBD) people who at the time were the local Chevrolet Dealer. One year Gary’s dad, who had helped probably more than he should have, bought the special wheels in order to have Gary be a recognised and therefore legal SBD entrant. Dads helped illegally.

I remember his car quite well. Like many SBD entries of those days the car didn’t quite appear as if a nine or ten year old had designed or built it. Granted maybe now this may be the case but back then, his and his dad’s design was an all sleek gray and white painted fiberglass car. It was so professionally done that it looked like one of those Indianapolis 500 midget racers from the thirties or forties. It had an open cockpit, smooth curves and a helmet hand painted to match the car.

The modern difference was the missing motor. Gary and his dad were allowed to enter the thing but I’mm sure he didn’t win. What he or they did with that car is not a memory. I do know for a fact that we recycled the wheels and other parts to construct our own new version built on the order of an old Model T. Ford. We copied a favourite bad guy stock car racer who cheated endlessly at a local track.

Losing the big race that year didn’t seem to bother Gary but he was kind enough to dismantle the wheels and start anew after the big, well publicized SBD race was over. The potential transportation racer built with Gary and friends occurred especially when Dead Man’s Curve was brought to our young dare attention.

Gary invited Sal and I shortly thereafter to join him on the new venture. All the supplies were waiting for us as we arrived early one sunny Saturday morning. Several full sized sheets of the same thickness of plywood was the main body.

The nails and screws however were mostly a hodge-podge of whatever opened, used vegetable cans, glass jars with no lids or plastic yoghurt containers that held any number of shapes and sizes of the things we thought may be OK to put stuff together including a few different kinds of glue. Also on Gary’s picnic table were several lengths of rope, pliers, one hammer, two rusty saws, and a spoon. The spoon of course Gary explained was for the exact placement of glue to wood.

Gary’s one and only legal SBD helmet sat on the table as an incentive to finish the project. The helmet of course could be worn just by the driver who we all voted Gary to be the first mostly because it was his backyard, his stuff, and fit his head.

Very important was Gary’s memory while working with his dad since also saved from the SBD experience were the complex mechanisms we recycled for the steering and braking systems. A big part was the steering wheel Gary (or his had or both) had dismantled from a real car that was bought and brought from a local automobile junk yard just down the street. It was larger than the car needed

Also on the table; several lengths of metal cables, eye hooks, pulleys and legal, long rod axles we were to nail in place. The axles were installed by hammering over four or five dozen nails in each board. Bending them over the axle was what would hold each rod in their correct position. It seemed even that amount may not be enough. Overkill we thought was better than being killed in case they fell off due to weight or rough, pothole roads encountered; we were very cautious.

The boards with axles and wheels were the first to be built. They determined how wide the car should be. How long didn’t seem to make any difference but we made it long enough for two guys to sit down in the car; butts planted flat.

The rear guy’s legs straddled either side of the front guy. The front guy did all the steering. His legs stuck through an opening that would normally be called a car’s firewall; extending through what also would be, if it was real, the hood of a car. That’s also where the steering shaft as well as the braking system resided.

If the foot brakes built exactly like the SBD brakes failed for any reason, then like the pro car builders we were, there was an option for the passenger guy to pull back a wooden lever, connected to a simple but hopefully effective ‘Rubber Stopper Brake to Wood and Wheel Pulley System,’ which is what we called it.

This system was devised by all three of us which took only a few days of squabbling over the drawings and materials to be used to decide what was best in order for the thing to work. This was to save our parents the heartache of what could have been a triple funeral. Yes, that’s right; it would be a triple funeral.

After the two were enclosed in the inescapable and covered cab with a not too easy to escape fast, hinged out back door, the third guy being the starter - pusher was the one most likely to live through the potential tragic experience; or again so we thought. None of us wanted to lose the other two of course especially when facing crazy and very disturbed parents might have been concerned.

Being just the starter-pusher was the one who would be the watcher and therefore will automatically be killed by the other two sets of parents for letting the whole thing happen in the first place. Then of course the parents of the only survivor was also a dread seeing as how a lifetime of servitude may be the risk.

Part of the designing of the most important steering and braking systems were conversations of our parents asking us at the potential tragic demise of the two friends and our well designed car as being, “ Didn’t you see the bus was too close? Or how could you be the starter-pusher when you saw the cement truck was that close to the street signals? What the hell were you kids thinking?”

In foresight, whether or not the lights were red, green or yellow didn’t seem to matter in these tragic scenarios; nor were the advent of stop signs. We also took into account that having no motor meant we could follow our own rules; a vehicle registration not needed; a driver’s test? Nope. It also went without saying that a legal license for the thing was never a question. After all we were just kids!

In any case, we all thought that the extra braking system would help the two riders be safer if the one well thought out system broke or became unusable in the first place. This was especially important when the three of us were thinking we’d be the only one left to face the consequences of potentially six but for sure four taller and due to the unrehearsed and tragic situation, very angry adults.

Regardless, none of us wanted to be the last one standing in the family court of death to the one who should have known better. How could you as the starter- pusher send our son’s to their death? All those questions were soon forgotten when fun took over and Dead Man’s Hill was the first real challenge. The initial problem of course was just getting us and the thing to the top of the famous hill.

We had a few miles to find out, and for you dear readers as they say in cliffhanger land;

To be continued;