Kick It

Photos: Mark Reaman

It arrived lightening fast two days after it was ordered online. It was so sleek I figured it had to have launched itself here in that kind of record arrival time during the height of holiday shipping. After justifying the purchase by logically concluding it would be far safer than trying to navigate snow and ice packed streets on foot or a studded-tire bike, I ordered a bonafide, Colorado handcrafted maple and ash, double-seater spark... a kick sled. I had wanted one since I was a little girl, along with a red velvet coat and matching muff, bells and a pony to pull it... but there weren't many places for all that in the Bronx.

It was like Christmas morning tearing into the fortified packing and although it took longer to unwrap than to put together, there it sat in all its glory in my living room... screaming for personalization. I dived into the costume closet looking for ornamentation – a bag of gold Mardi Gras beads, silk poinsettias and of course, a swaggle of jingle bells on festive red rope. But that wasn't enough. It needed more seasonal bling – lights – reminiscent of those over-the-top yards swathed in enough piggy-backed multicolored blinking strings to keep electric meters spinning at warp speed and illuminate the darkest of winter nights.

I attached a couple of glow globes that, at the flick of a button, could either flash rapidly or slowly melt into trippy changing hues. Perfect. Ready for the maiden voyage, after squeezing through the living room dock and down the narrow hall, it was full speed ahead outside into the new snow and glazed streets. It came with instruction on how to kick, turn, steer and stop however it's a far different experience doing it than reading about it.

Regardless of how fluid it looks when the experienced glide across tundra landscapes on the modified folding chair sitting atop elongated ice skate blades, it's not a pretty sight when you first get started and it isn't an easy ride. In fact, it's a downright workout. I was out of breath in the distance of one block of kicking. With no traction, my boot would slip on the slick ice making the propelling kick even more work. The dream about effortless ballet-like shussing through crystaline moonlight outings and daytime jaunts through sunlit alleys with hair and scarf ribboning behind in the wind all melted away in laborious panting just trying to get around the block. Nevertheless, it was such a beautiful snow night that I zigzagged across town for a few hours.

The day after the evening's sled workout, I discovered muscles in places I never knew existed and walking was awkward at best. I bought a pair of Yak Trax – rubber webs wound with thin metal wire which attach to the bottom of shoes for traction, giving the kick real meaning and thrust. Ignoring the formerly anonymous screaming muscles, I got back on the rungs and plunged through the newly plowed streets. Snow plastered my hair to my face and stuck between teeth... because laughing and grinning was very much a part of the glide, which came much more easily now. Snow fell incessantly burying houses, cars and immobilizing the mechanical but infusing the air with white muffled anticipation.

Like a one-sled parade down the main drag, I slid along out-pacing wobbly bicycles and fallen pedestrians on the ice pack – until a police cruiser pulled me over...
"You can't ride that on Elk Avenue," he quipped.
"What? The Sled?" I asked exasperated, confused and out of breath.
"No sleds or skis on Elk," he rolled away smiling, "thanks for cooperating."
Down the street, the wobbly townie biker had slammed into the 12 foot snowbank, unable to stop on the snow packed glass surface.

I turned my sturdy and stable sled onto the unplowed side streets, kicking and screaming to the grocery store...but the excitement in the streets was contagious. Spontaneous snowball fights broke out everywhere pelting shrieking snow warriors. The ski slopes would be crazy in the morning. At the store, people were stocking up for the long haul. As I packed the goods into the sled bag, one admirer stopped to comment, “That looks like fun.”
“I couldn't afford a Subaru, “ I joked.
Nodding his head in acknowledgment he eyed the sled and said,
“Yeah, but now you have to save up for a dog.”


Dawne Belloise’s new ride is environmentally responsible and responsibly handmade by Mountain Boy Sled Works in Silverton, Colorado. Mountain Boy Sled works hard to minimize the impact of all of their operations on the environment, including using only recycled cardboard packaging, choosing only fast-growing, common, sustainable hardwoods such as birch, willow and maple and ensuring that every part of the wood is used. Smaller pieces are turned into kicksled slats or Christmas ornaments. To order visit mountainboysleds.com.