rabies road

There is a hill that is about a mile from the house that got the best of me eighteen odd years ago. My friend Dave R. and I were under the influence (tequila, et al.) and decided to go skating—bad idea. We were hitting hills wherever we could and stumbled upon “Rabies Road” whilst skating over by the retirement home.
We had been taking runs down Park Lane—which was a four lane at the time, speed limit 45. There are two big hills; one to the north of White Birch Rd. and another to the south, both are about a quarter mile to either end. A perfect storm.
There was a single light right at the intersection and you couldn’t see cars coming until their headlights were at the top of either hill. Cars would fly by doing 50 or 55 and we would be blinded by their brights as they sped along the fairly empty stretch. There were trees on all sides and houses at the top of the hills, but nothing closer to the intersection.
Rabies Road was at the top of the northern hill and disappeared into darkness below. We had no idea where it went, but it was an extremely steep ride, so we decided to take a shot at her. Unbeknown to us at the time, the pavement ended at the bottom of the hill and there was a gravel road beyond that. There are houses further down the road, but the first half-mile or so is heavily wooded.
I hit a rock or several rocks about twenty feet before the pavement ended, went flying and ended up skidding along the pavement and stopped just before the gravel began. I still have scars on the knuckles of my left hand and on my knees to this day. I ripped huge holes in my clothes, chipped a tooth and was a bloody mess. Dave scoured the brush, looking for my board as I sat there dazed and bleeding.
We wandered through the sewage treatment plant before heading back to Collegeville to patch me up. A friend of Dave’s gave us some Snoopy band-aids and we shaved each other’s heads with a pair of clippers we found in her bathroom. I eventually passed out in my blood-stained clothing and gave my roommate quite a fright when he woke up later that morning.
He said, “You look just like that dude on your t-shirt (Bill Danforth!).”
The blood had dried and my semi-shaved head (Dave and I didn’t do a very good job with the clippers) looked a mess. I could barely move that next morning and scabs were already starting to form on my elbows, knuckles, knees, even on my face. I must have flown off the board and skidded head first down that hill.I had Z-man go down the long asphalt driveway leading to the retirement home, just to see what a real hill was like. He bailed toward the end of the run, which is fine—the board was starting to wobble quite a bit. He hasn’t learned to snake his way down yet—so he just kept picking up more and more speed. We’re going to see about getting some protective gear—helmets and pads—sometime this week. At some point I’d like to hit that pool, drop in to the bowl and start riding the walls; but I’d like us all to remain scab and scar-free, as much as possible.