Sledding Season is Here

Types o' Sleds

Were you the weird kid with the ancient toboggan that had not yet reached hipster-cool levels? Or the envied kid with the super fast snow tube? (Wait, those were cool, right?) Or the old-school metal/wooden versions where if you fell on them wrong, completely sliced up your legs right through your puffy snow pants? 
Choosing the sled that is right for you is like choosing a toothbrush—angst over it to no end! Think about what you can handle and what will make you look good. How will it go with your winter attire color scheme? Surely you don’t want to crash, but you definitely don’t want to CLASH.

Where to buy 'em

Prepping for Sledding

Sidenote: am I the only one who says “sled-riding”? It has come to my attention that maybe this is yet another Pittsburghese word that I thought was common to English. 
Anyway! I have a lot of good sledding memories from childhood, but I also remember ending up a sloppy mess after one or two runs. My parents forced us to wear those baggy snowpants that made you look hella fat, but did keep you warm. But there are two areas that always seemed to get hit by the cold: wrists and ankles/calves (or wherever your boots ended).

Where can you go sledding in New York?

Goooood question. Some parks are flat and are more suited for you snow-shoeing types. You can’t really take your chances on the hilly streets like you did as a kid, waiting for traffic to pass and yelling “car!” if it returned. This is New York! You’ve gotta stick to the parks, folks.
Luckily, the Park Department really gets in the spirit and actually holds “Snow Days” where sleds and hot chocolate are provided. What?!? How come I didn’t know about this before today? Relive the glory of the snow day, and this time around, you don’t have to beg mom to get you a new sled, cry over your cracked one in the trash heap or make your own Swiss Miss post-sledding accident.

My favorite "sledding poem"

…and one of my favorite poems, period. By the capital-letter-hater, e.e. cummings:
all ignorance toboggans into knowand trudges up to ignorance again:but winter’s not forever, even snowmelts;and if spring should spoil the game, what then?
all history’s a winter sport or three:but were it five, i’d still insist that allhistory is too small for even me;for me and you,exceedingly too small.
Swoop(shrill collective myth)into thy gravemerely to toil the scale to shrillernessper every madge and mabel dick and dave—tomorrow is our permanent address
and there they’ll scarcely find us(if they do,we’ll move away still further:into now

More Winter Fun!