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Another Sigi story by Ott Gangl

 Poster: A snowHead
Poster: A snowHead
For those of you who don’t know already, I lived in a small Bavarian village and went to high school, located in a bigger town over a thousand foot hill about three miles away, in the post-WW-II years. We were a group of a couple dozen boys and girls, 15-17 years old, who played together, with all the boys having a crush on Sigi and vying for small favors from her.

Sigi was this tall blond beauty who moved so smoothly and, ahem, sensually , that the boys could hardly take their eyes off of her...she was also the best skier, and actually the best in anything in our bunch. A touch from her was heaven, but she was sweet and never favored anyone.

We usually did things together after school and gathered by a tree in the schoolyard to hash out if it would be skiing, curling, skating or go rodeln, before leaving for home. A Rodel Schlitten is a sled, fairly hefty, with runners a couple of inches wide and a narrow metal strip on the bottom, the front of the runners are curved up and over in nearly a circle for handholds and the seating surface was covered with wooden slats or cloth webbing. A rope was fastened to the handholds forming a sling for pulling it up the hill either by looping it around the waist or just pulling it by hand.

With early darkness around Christmas time we decided on an evening of sledding. Across from my house was a small bakery owned by the father of my best friend Felix, with a slope at the edge of the back yard, about 25 ft vertical, and a frozen pond at the bottom.

At the top of the slope was a kettle of about five feet diameter, a discarded part of a dough kneading machine which had holes on the bottom where fastener screws broke out.

This was our fire pit with some old benches around. Several boys had to pass the carpenter shop on the way there and they loaded their sleds from the discard lumber pile in back, always free for the taking. With the fire blazing we sang skiing and drinking songs, plentiful in Germany, some of them limerick-like four liners sung by an individual and everybody chiming in at the refrain.

We would rodel down the hill, often having races of six to eight sleds in a row to see who would go the farthest. Usually, when two people rode they sat on the sled with their feet on the runners and when riding singly we laid down on our stomachs for the twenty second ride.

The boys would try to go as close after Sigi as possible for the privilege of pulling her sled up for her in addition to their own, a favor Sigi granted graciously, chatting on the way up.

After drinking our Punch, a concoction of hot chocolate milk and hard cider, if you can imagine, we did some “schunkeln” , a custom of where we link arms and sway from side to side while singing from the top of our lungs. Sigi always sat between two different boys, not playing any favorites.

I got up and asked if anybody wanted to make a run, nobody did, so I positioned my sled at the edge and laid down, ready to go. Then I heard Sigi ask if she could ride with me.

Excited, I started to sit up when I felt her laying down on top of me and telling me to shove off. I was beside myself, clawed my way over the edge and off we went. I didn’t see anything, I didn’t hear anything, all my senses where concentrated along my back where Sigi was touching me, holding onto me. I would have given anything for this hill to have a 5000 ft vertical so it would never end.

Where normally I braked after hitting the pond, no such thing this time, we coasted all the way across. Sigi rolled off, laughing clear as a bell, and I turned the sled and as I started to pull, she grabbed a hold of the rope, her hand beside mine and helped me pull.

SIGI HELPED ME PULL THE SLED! I wanted to shout it up the hill where the group was singing and nobody was looking, how cruel. But Sigi turned her head, smiled and looked me in the eyes for a long moment until I had to look away because I got warm all over and I knew I was blushing from head to toe.

Our heads bowed, we walked up the slope in silence, broken only when Sigi would let out a small giggle now and then. When we got to the top, Sigi joined in the singing but I excused myself. I had to go to the bathroom really fast.

......Ott
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 Obviously A snowHead isn't a real person
Obviously A snowHead isn't a real person
I love these stories, you really ought to put them in print, even if it was in a ski magasine rather than a book, they're fantastic, never fail to bring a smile to my face. Thank you snowHead
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 Well, the person's real but it's just a made up name, see?
Well, the person's real but it's just a made up name, see?
Evocative, striking a chord with most of us I'm sure, that adolescent time of anticipation and sensation, virtually beyond control. You know a story is good when it arouses sharp pangs of regret....
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 You need to Login to know who's really who.
You need to Login to know who's really who.
Quote:

when it arouses sharp pangs of regret....

Is that all it arouses ?????

Great stuff Mr Ott.
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 Anyway, snowHeads is much more fun if you do.
Anyway, snowHeads is much more fun if you do.
Ian I'd missed that one, well spotted Laughing
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 You'll need to Register first of course.
You'll need to Register first of course.
Another fabulous story, Ott. You can really picture the scene. Thanks.
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