# 24 - Suicide Hill

On the North side of Cogburn's Knob, facing away from Town is a rather steep hillside that has been cleared of brush and rocks. It was well worn by a few Jeeps and dozens of motorcycles. Four Wheelers hadn't been invented yet. My gang had none of that, but we loved Suicide Hill anyway. In the summer we'd roll flaming tires from the top and watch them boil as they rolled into the large canal at the bottom.

In the winter we'd tube. We'd build a big bonfire, then haul our tubes to the top and ride them down for half the night. We rarely made it anywhere near the depths of the empty canal, some distance across the flat, but we tried. As each night wore on, the run would get slicker and faster and scarier. Few ever thought of going shy of the summit. We were immortal and the faster the better!

One winter it had been bitter cold for several weeks and we stayed off the hill. When the weather finally broke though, we planned a big party up on Suicide. We invited everyone who dared. About an hour after we got started Ronnie Mayhew showed up. We'd been too busy to wonder where he was. He'd been to OK Tire looking for a used tube he could afford, but we'd already cleaned them out. Out in his barn yard he'd found a huge tractor tire and decided to use that. He spent most of the evening dragging the monster to the summit. As we passed by we kept telling him it wouldn't slide, but Ronnie was determined. Finally, we all pitched in and helped him up the steep last stretch.

When we finally reached the top, Ronnie laid the tire down, stepped back several feet, ran for all he was worth (to get momentum) and leapt on top of his tire.
It didn't move an inch! He tried and tried, but the beast was not going to slide. We teased him. We offered him rides on our tubes. We tried to help him get it started. All to no avail. Ronniejust sat there on his tire with his chin in his hands while we made several more runs. We couldn't get him or the tire to budge.

On our last run of the evening we all climbed to the top planning a giant chain to go down all together. As we were getting ready, Ronnie was cooking up plans of his own. He called our attention and requested we hold the tire up while he climbed inside so we could roll him down the hill.

Now we were not physicists, or physicians, but any dern fool knew such a ride would be suicide. Suicide Hill is not small and it begins with a very steep slope for 100 yards before it even begins to level out. We all chimed some version of, "No Way!" "Besides," we told him, "if the ride doesn't kill you the smash into the dry canal bed at the bottom surely will!"

"Naw," said Ronnie. "Jinx and Pee Wee can launch me and the rest of you toughs can get down there and catch me before I crash."

We were scared, but also excited! If he survived it'd be the greatest stunt ever pulled!

The guys all slid down to the bottom and got ready. They stood in two parellel lines on either side of the run. They braced themselves and hollered, "Ready!"

It took all three of us to get the thing standing in an upright position. Pee Wee and I couldn't believe Ronnie had actually got the oversided pile of rubber up there. Ronnie crawled in and got tucked nicely down in the belly of the behemouth. After several are you sure you wanna do this's, we shoved him over the edge.

Pee Wee and I had intended to follow Ronnie down on our tubes, but he took off so fast! We just stood there amazed and in shock. Meanwhile, 16 or so tough guys were standing there waiting to catch him. They each had their arms stretched eagerly in our direction. It was two rows of hands and faces gazing intently at 400 pounds of hurtling flesh and rubber. As the tire ran that braced guntlet nothing moved but their heads as their astonished eyes followed it's path. 16 pea-brains were at least smart enough to conclude that it wasn't wise to step in front of a locomotive.

The Leviathan completely cleared the canal! Then, it rolled 100 yards up the opposite slope and headed back! The crew, at least, tumbled pell mell through the canal bed and up the other side before Ronnie could crash back into it. When I got there, I had to muscle my way through the circle. There, in the snow, lay Ronnie, half in and half out of the tire. Vomit was everywhere. 360 degrees of corn, carrots, peas and other less distinguishable stuff. We carried him to a car and drove our sick pal home. We didn't see hide nor hair of him for a week.

All Ronnie got for his efforts was bragging rights and standing ovation in the school cafeteria a week later. Oh, and perhaps a little smarter.