Day of the Dozen

The crowd at the base of the steep slope had grown to epic proportions. In the bright afternoon sun, the glare from the smooth, hard-packed surface was blinding.

Atop the massive sledding hill, 12 attractive teenage girls in matching ski suits performed a final makeup check and linked their train of snow discs together. Two dads held the shoulders of the rider at the rear.

The self-dubbed, “Delectable Dozen” were confident this would be the day the record for the longest “train jump” on this slope fell. In the crowd below, several modestly-attired girls secretly hoped for the fall of the “Dirty Debutantes.” High school can be brutal.

An injured young male snowboarder limped up as fast as he could manage, shouting, “Stop them! The snow is too fast!”

Panicked parents pushed through the throng, shouting, arms waving frantically. The girls, mistaking this for a show of support, gleefully shouted, “GO!” The dads pushed.

Over the edge came the Dozen, perfectly aligned with the berm that would launch them. Five seconds into their run, the reality of their situation hit home. Unfortunately, they were airborne just one second later.

Screaming in perfect pitch, the train climbed skyward, continuing upward and outward far too long. Arcing downward at last, it disappeard from sight as it passed over the treeline at the end of the braking area. The screams faded into silence.

It's said that hikers still hear those screams in the woods below.