Just a Rambling

Like most people, I did a lot of goofy things growing up. I mean, let's face it, growing up near a small town left a teenager with lots of time to waste, and cook up things to do.

For instance, my friends and I would get bored at football games, and since you had to park on the street at the school for games, people were not in sight of their cars. We got the idea one time to just go and move the car of someone we knew. We would just move it from under the street light to a dark shadowy area nearby. Or, we would move a car around the corner from where it was left. These were the days when most high schoolers had cars from the 60's that did not have steering wheel locks. So it was pretty easy to get in and move them. Lock the car? Shoot, it was a small town. People didn't mess with other people's cars (except us).

Well, we thought it was a hilarious thing to do. We could just imagine the car owner coming out to where they "thought" they left their car, and it wasn't there! Of course, we never stuck around to see the result. We were too chicken that some of our enemies would find out and kill us.

My best friend growing up was Brian. He lived in town, while I lived out in the country. Even for a small town it felt like a big difference between living in the country and living in town. For one thing, when push button phones came onto the scene, I thought it was the most ingenious thing that you could just punch buttons to dial someone's number. The most fun part was learning to play songs by punching the different numbers! I mean, out in the country we still had a party line. We had just gotten a dial phone not too many years previous. That was a huge improvement over picking up the phone, waiting for the operator, and giving her the number you wanted to call.

In any case, Brian and I were always looking for something new to do. We had a few other friends in town that we would play fox and hounds with using our cars, but when it was just the two of us, we needed to find something simpler.

Around the time I got my driver's license, Dad picked up a 1966 Rambler Classic automobile. It was probably a $300 find. I mean this car was a tank! It had a huge steering wheel, because it did not have power steering. It took three arms to turn the wheel when maneuvering in a parking lot or turning around. It also had a three-speed stick shift on the steering column, and a switch on the dash to turn on or off the overdrive function (for fuel economy). I remember you had to get it up to cruising speed, then let off on the gas a for a few seconds for overdrive to kick in.

The Rambler could seat 6 teenagers quite comfortably. It was pretty big. It had a 6 cylinder 232 cubic inch engine that was solid as they come. On County Highway G just north of Eagle River there was about a 2 mile straight stretch, where you could really wind a vehicle up if you wanted to. One day I decided I wanted to see how fast this Rambler would go. I got it up to 105 mph on that stretch, then realized that a wheel bearing could go out, or one of the old nylon front tires could easily blow out. I quickly slowed down. Needless to say I never did that again.

Back to Brian and I looking for something to do. It was winter of '74-'75, and we were just driving around bored out of our minds. I pulled into the bank parking lot, and got to looking at the snowbanks betwen the parking lot lights. I wondered how hard it would be to get up some speed and drive right through that bank. So, I told Brian to hold on (I think we decided to put on our seat belts). I backed up, got up some speed, and blasted right through that snowbank. Snow went flying as if a bomb had just gone off. We couldn't see a thing out the windshield for a few seconds.

Now THAT gave us a thrill! So, I started plowing through more spots in the bank, and ramming them even faster. We were just laughing so hard we couldn't see straight. I know, I know, it doesn't take much to amuse some teenagers. But, hey, at least we weren't out doing drugs, or going to beer parties and such. After awhile, I noticed I couldn't see the road too well. We figured we'd better get out and check the front of the car. You guessed it, snow was packed so tightly into the headlights and grille that it took us awhile to unpack it.

To this day, I'm amazed the police did not see us doing this, or that someone in the area didn't report us. I mean, the lot was lit up pretty well. Of course, there weren't houses around, and the town literally shut down after 6:00 pm. We were just content to get our thrill by blasting through those snow banks and watching the snow just explode all over. For some reason we began talking like we were asian, and chanting, "Prow snow! Prow snow!". We just snickered at the thought of people coming to work the next morning and seeing the snow pushed all over the parking lot.

We never did get caught. In fact, this is the first time I've really recounted this story in over 30 years. I wonder if Brian remembers it the same as I do.

Playing Chicken

My next younger brother, Kurt, and I were almost always in competition with each other. We always considered it a challenge to try and one-up each other. Shamefully, I recall being more mean to him, or even taking advantage of him at times to suit my purposes. I will always regret those times, and hope he will have the heart to forgive me for being that way.

Still, one-upmanship was generally the norm with us. Along with that one-upmanship, we were constantly trying to see who was more daring. Usually I would win out - mainly because I was bigger and older. I thought I was always smarter, or wiser than Kurt as well. However, it just might be that he let me win out on so many of the competitions.

When we would try and build forts in the woods, we would start out on one together, then I would get too bossy or persnickety and he would get tired and go build his own. He generally finished ahead of me. I always went for fancy schmancy, and he went for practicality. I generally never finished mine.

One area where Kurt far excelled was when it came to firearms. I never really got into them too much, and he went full force into getting his own reloading equipment and making his own shells. He became quite expert at firearms.

Well, our quest for one-upmanship played into almost everything we did. We had a road that went west from our road for about three miles. The road began at the top of a fairly steep hill, then went down and up another hill about half the size of the first one. In our earliest years the road was made of gravel, which would wreak havoc on sled runners. Eventually, the township paved the road, and boy did it make for some fantastic sledding. The surface would ice over making it a perfect run for a runner sled. Car drivers travelling on that road didn't appreciate us too much, because they would have to slow down since we were often on the road. Come on, it was our private sledding hill! The drivers would sometimes lose too much momentum for getting up the big hill when they had to stop and wait for us to clear the road. Then they would have to back all the way up the smaller hill to get a good run at the large hill. Fortunately, there weren't too many people who used the road.

One day when I was about 10 or 12, I went out to the hill with Kurt. We decided
he would go down first on HIS sled and see how far he could go up the smaller hill without stopping. He went down in a flash, and in watching him I could see that he did not want to go up the smaller hill, because then it was a long walk back up the big hill. Somewhat reluctantly, though, Kurt walked up the smaller hill and got himself ready to go down and climb the big hill. I decided it would be a perfect opportunity to go down the large hill and see who could go faster.

Down I go, and picking up speed ever so quickly. I figured I was going about 30 mph, but in reality was probably doing about half that. By this time Kurt had started down the smaller hill. I kept a steady course, and steered straight into his path. So, here comes our oneupmanship...neither of us veered in either direction. By now we were steering straight for each other, and Kurt was now picking up speed. Closer and closer we are speeding towards each other, still neither of us veering off course.

Suddenly, when it felt like I was doing about 60 (but in reality probably only about 15-20) we collided. Since both of us were laying down head first on our sleds, where would our heads go but to slam into each other. Kabam!! There was nothing left but to pick up the pieces. I think Kurt got a bloody lip and some loose teeth out of the incident, and I just bumped my head. I think we were both totally amazed we weren't maimed with our skulls cracked wide open.

What this incident proved was how very determined each of us were at besting the other. I know I had no intention on steering out of the way. I figured that since he was the younger brother HE would be the one to veer out of the way. I guess, in the end, we were just too dumb to know how hard we would collide, and how much it would hurt. Neither of us won that day - or did we both win? At any rate, we're left with an interesting memory.