Once out the door we pelted each other with snowballs and laughter as we raced to the garage to get our sleds. The best sledding hill in the immediate neighborhood was on a road about a half block away where traffic mostly consisted of buses and cars when school was in session. The first one to the top was "King of the Hill" which won you the prize of being the first one to fly down the hill cutting the trail through the pristine snow. You would position your sled just so, and someone would give you a running push to send you flying down the hill.
Sitting with your legs half bent and boots positioned against the steering bar, holding the rope tied to the ends of the bar in your mittened hands hoping you made it further than anyone else was exhilarating. But even better was racing someone else down that hill, most especially the one who held the "King of the Hill" title. Lying on your belly while grasping the steering bar for dear life, giving it every effort you had, keeping your eye on the other guy while the wind and snow blasted you in the face was a thrill like no other. Alot of laughter ensued if you crashed into the snow bank or flipped off your sled before you made it to the bottom! For those waiting their turn at the top of the hill a snow angel or random snowball fight was always in progress.
We would stay out there for hours traipsing up and down that hill until finally, shivering from the cold and wind, our feet and hands so numb it was an effort to pull that sled, we trudged back home with hopes of finding a steaming cup of cocoa sitting there waiting for us.