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by Robert Giles
Byersdale, like most towns in our valley, was built on a steep hillside. That made it an ideal place for winter sledding. We knew a number of good spots.
Byersdale, like most towns in our valley, was built on a steep hillside. That made it an ideal place for winter sledding. We knew a number of good spots.
Just across our street was an old farm house – perhaps the
oldest house in the village. The farm was gone but there was still a good sized
lot in back. The lot stretched about 200 feet up a steep grade to McCabe
Street. Close to the top was an apple tree. There may have been a small pine
tree at the bottom of the slope, but besides that and the apple tree, the only
vegetation was closely cropped grass.
Just behind the house was a brick retaining wall, then a two
foot drop to a sidewalk along the back wall of the house.
To get a long ride, we pulled our sleds all the way up to
McCabe Street - but it was just as fun to start at the apple tree. At the end
of the slide, we would steer sharply and drag our legs to pull up short of the
retaining wall.
Every winter, one or two amateurs would sail over the wall and
into the back of the house. Mrs. Vann or her daughter would come out, alarmed;
to see if anyone needed medical attention. I don’t remember any serious injuries.
Mrs. Vann did have to nurse several knotted heads.
When we got older, we sought out more challenging slopes. Streets
were inviting, but they were usually plowed bare and cindered. Or they would be
congested with struggling cars, wheels spinning, engines whining, tail pipes sputtering.
Winter roads were too dangerous for a child on a sled.
Just at the corner of Anthony Wayne Drive and Essex Street,
a steep winding path led down into Legionville Hollow. The path twisted its way
through dense woods for perhaps a quarter mile, ending at a private road.
Those familiar with Byersdale may remember a property back
over the ridge called “Uncle Bill’s Farm”. “Uncle Bill” wasn’t an uncle of
anyone we knew and for that matter, his name may not have been “Bill”.
Anyway, the private
road connected Legionville Hollow Road with Bill’s Farm. At regular intervals
of 30 yards or so, Bill had posted professionally printed signs - “Keep out”,
No trespassing”, “No Hunting” and like welcoming messages. Local lore had it that Bill fired rock salt at
trespassers with his 20-gauge, so the signs only completed the task of intimidation.
We dared not venture too far up Bill’s drive.
We rode our sleds all the way from the corner at the top of
Byersdale down to Bill’s drive, a distance as I have said, of about a quarter
mile, over rough terrain and around large trees. It was a lot of fun if you
made it to the bottom in one piece. But to start over, you had to walk all the
way back, slipping and sliding and pulling a sled.
Fortunately, we had a third place nearby that wasn’t
anyone’s back yard and didn’t involve a long trek back to Point A.
When we were kids a bridge carried Duss Avenue over
Legionville Hollow (along about 1980, the bridge was replaced with culvert and
fill). Legionville Hollow Road used to take a sharp left turn and descend to Legionville
creek parallel with the bridge.
Well, along came Progress and a new road as straight as the
crow flies replaced Old Legionville Road. The portion of the road that went
down over the hill to the creek was bypassed entirely but fortunately found a
new life as a place for neighborhood kids to sled.
We would build a big fire at the top of the hill, stay warm
and sled way past sundown. The roadway was in good condition. We could create icy
conditions within about 30 minutes after a snow by walking up and down the hill
trailing our sleds.
Old Legionville Hill was smooth, straight, steep and fast.
There was no traffic. Nobody complained if we built a roaring fire. Homeowners
and reclusive landowners remained undisturbed.
Sled riding Nirvana – we had found it - under, of all places,
the Legionville Bridge.
