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‘Getting hitched’ — winter play resulted in childhood tragedy By Richard Hunter | for the Mail Tribune Jan 01, 2023 12:15 AM A A As I look around Jacksonville on this cold winter morning, I find myself pondering the differences between a winter day in Southern Oregon versus my hometown Montreal. For example, today as my wife, Kerry, and I went for a walk, I couldn’t help but notice there were some folks wearing shorts. I can pretty much guarantee there will be no shorts worn outside today in Montreal. When we do get snow here in Jacksonville, it lasts for maybe a day before the warmer weather melts it all away. In Montreal, you not only shovel out driveways, you also try to find your car — most likely completely buried in snowdrifts created by blizzards the night before. Believe it or not, I actually had to shovel out my house on more than one occasion. You know you’re stuck when you open the front door, only to be greeted by a solid wall of densely packed frozen snow. The only way out is through a second-story window and carefully making your way to ground level. That’s when the serious shoveling begins. As kids, we found many activities to keep us entertained. If it was 20 degrees below zero, we would still go out to play. We didn’t have computer games or iPads to keep us occupied. We were native to these seasonal extremes and, for the most part, we were safe — with some exceptions. Igloo building was always fun. As the procession of snowplows made their way up the street, the deep, heavy snow was guided to the side of the road. This human-made mountain would run the full length of the street. Some kids used cardboard as toboggans while others (that would be me and my gang) preferred digging out igloos. The temperature inside would be a comfortable 0 degrees with no wind chill. There was a clear and present danger: mammoth city snowblowers. It didn’t take a genius to realize snowblowers and kids don’t play well together. My favorite winter activity was “bumper hitching.” When a car stopped at a stop sign, we (the hitchers) would get into position by the back bumper without being seen. As the car started moving, we grabbed onto the rear bumper and held on tightly. Using our boots as skis, we kids would be towed down the road. Dismounting was easy. All it took was a sideways push as we released our grip. Sometimes, as we let go, our gloves remained frozen to the bumper. It was hilarious looking at a pair of gloves slowly disappear down the road, as if some invisible kid also was enjoying the “hitch.” Hitching is something you learn before you do. There were rules, and we never broke them. You never hitched on a car that had other vehicles behind it. That would be too dangerous. Buses and large trucks made for ideal rides, as they had huge bumpers, perfect for holding onto. I gave up bumper hitching the day my friend’s little brother, Jimmy, died. He wanted to hang with the big boys. Jimmy decided to go and try hitching — on his own. His first (and last) mistake was, instead of grabbing this truck’s rear bumper, he grabbed for the side wheel well. He was towed about 10 yards before his feet hit a manhole cover. He tripped and, as he released his grip, he was pulled under the rear wheels. I couldn’t handle going to the funeral. I never bumper hitched again. Richard Hunter lives in Jacksonville.