Olympic Reflections: 2 tiny similarities

I watched some of the events of the Winter Olympics this year with great zeal, others with mild curiosity.

The bobsled, skeleton, and luge are all engaging 45 second runs. However, after seeing three in-a-row, I was bored. The focus of the boring NBC commentators was on Curve 16, the deadly, rupturing curve that cast a dark shadow on the Games before they began. I was reminded, though, why I do enjoy watching some of these sledding events.

In my childhood neighborhood, during the worst of snowy-icy snowstorms, many of us took to the 10% grade hills for Skeleton-like sledding. As we all know, the best time for Mach 5 sledding is at night, when the temperature drops, the ground hardens, and, of course visibility decreases (especially if it's snowing or foggy). Toss these latter factors in and multiply times 20 if a passing car travels along the sledding route. At that point, there's a bit of quick-action decision making, given the fact that most cars have little control under such wintry conditions.

My sister owned the best sled: light, small, and always waxed on the rails, it tore down Council Crest Drive and with intensive full-body steerage elbowed into a right turn down Beaverton Avenue. Major ice, velocity, and non-stop leg-pumping (just like on a swing) enabled the sledder to continue down the 100 yard, 12% grade Himes Street. This was a true vertical slope, similar to the ski-jumping hill, but without the open space at the bottom: a road, a guard rail, a bunch of icicle-laden ivy that crept out underneath the metal barrier, and a grove of barren maples and firs just beyond.

And if the thrill of zooming down Himes wasn't enough, there was always the thrill of the curb on one side (often with parked cars) and the 15-foot cement wall on the other. Due to the laws of physics, motion, and gravity, these hazards presented themselves as reasons to Bail Out. Take the Tumble. Let the unmanned sled plow into the asphalt while the rider rolled and Supermanned down the hill, coat zippers and boot toes serving as the only frictional tools towards reduced speed.

At the bottom of Himes, once the sled was retrieved or the ride savored a choice was made. Take Chesapeake or trudge back up the 1/2 mile and repeat. Chesapeake was a snaking, 10-foot wide, potholed, sparsely-lit road that simply tore down hill. In the multiple I took the hill, (with an Olympiad's running start, legs pumping, and knuckles clawing at the ground) twice I made it to a point far enough to not know where I was and rather than take some road to a neighborhood unknown, I plodded back up in the blackness of the night. Most times I spilled off the right edge on a maniacal left turn that dumped me into hill of ivy and ferns.
I suppose that it's here in these wild-night memories that I find myself drawn to the luge track.

On another note, I would like to point out that I watched some of the snowboarder events. And each time Shaun White's face appeared, I kept thinking, "Who does he remind me of? Who is this person?" Well, there are those internet 'similarity' photos between people and dogs: Carol Channing and a pug, Joe Lieberman and (Deputy) Droopy Dog, Wilfrd Brimley and some grouchy-faced fat cat.

Shaun White rang a similarity in me that was equated with a human, not a 4-legged. Today, it came to fruition with the article and adjacent regarding a potential inter-denominational marriage. Shaun White and, yes, Chelsea Clinton are veritable twins. Same hair, same face (hers appears a bit cheekier), same height. Sure, she might be a Rhodes Scholar with some sort of intellectual awards and he a two-time gold medal Olympian, but one could easily step in for the other if the paparazzi aren't sharpening their focus.

And there, my friends, sans the fire place and snowflake-patterned turtleneck are my Olympic reflective moments. Shaun White doubles for Chelsea Clinton, and vice versa. And skeleton and two-man toboggan syncs with nighttime, streetlamp sledding (and pigpile sledding) on Portland's west hills' icy streets.