Note: A preview from my upcoming autobiography, Life’s Too Short to Smoke Cheap Cigars (Or to Drink Cheap Whiskey.)
Second Note: Original artwork by my daughter Hanna – see more of her work here.
The Hill
By Way of Background:
My childhood friend Jon was widely known for his willingness to attempt almost any stunt, no matter what risk was involved. His exploits included hayloft diving, jumping creeks and ravines on his bike, and bull baiting. In tribute, he was often known locally as “That Reckless Little Hooper Idiot” and locals widely predicted Jon’s demise in some spectacular manner before he attained the age of eighteen. We boys, though, envied Jon his daring, and sought to match him in some manner. One summer day, I finally hit on a way to one-up old Jon. If I could do that, the guys would all be envious of me, instead of Jon. Provoking the envy of my peers was suddenly a matter of great importance.
The great day came and found me perched on my bike with a great task before me. A faint breeze gently ruffled my hair as a July sun stood high and hot in the sky. Somewhere behind me a meadowlark sang; the air was thick with the smell of growing corn, and to my left a herd of dairy cattle watched expectantly.
I shifted nervously on the seat of my bike.
The Event
A section of the actual by-gosh hill
Before me stretched a great vista; the valley through which ran Waterloo Creek. Northeast Iowa’s terrain is ancient, for unknown reasons untouched by the last glaciers. Unlike the bulk of the gently rolling state, northeast Iowa is marked by wooded hills, steep slopes, and deep valleys carved by coldwater streams. Unlike the rest of Iowa, where roads were neatly laid out in one-mile squares, northeast Iowa’s roads and highways meandered along creek valleys, wandered up ravines to make their way “up top” and, on occasion, dropped precipitously down steep hillsides. It was just such a slope that faced me now. The tiny town of Dorchester lay at the bottom of the hill. I stood astride my bike at the top, where our gravel road turned onto the State highway. That very ribbon of asphalt lay before me, beckoning me into town.
That summer, my fourteenth, found me already experienced with steep hills. A kid growing up in that country had to know about hills. To go anywhere in northeast Iowa means climbing hills and descending hills. While us kids frequently traveled on foot, occasionally a bike like my aging ten-speed was pressed into service. This generally involved pushing the bike up hills and climbing aboard for a hair-raising descent on the other side.
Sometimes it was beyond hair-raising. The hill that the State highway followed into Dorchester was one such slope. Earlier that summer, Jon had tried that very hill earlier in the summer on his ancient coaster bike and chickened out before reaching the first bend. His hair was still showing several gray streaks, and his eyes were still expanded to the size of grapefruit. And the Hooper driveway alone deterred many a lesser man; it dropped sharply from the barnyard to the highway at such an angle that gravel would not stick to the surface. Yes, Jon was a pro, and the Dorchester hill defeated him.
But I thought to do Jon one better. I had skill, quick reflexes, and a reasonably well-kept ten-speed; Jon had reflexes that would have shamed a hibernating possum, and a rust-encrusted coaster bike that was new sometime during the Hoover Administration. My fourteen-year old ego swelled at the thought of doing my year-older friend one better. Jon had been beaten by The Hill. I would conquer it and prove myself the better man.
That was how I came to be there, alone, on that July day.
I looked again down The Hill. Somehow it hadn’t seemed that steep the day before, when Dad and I had gone down the road in the pickup.
The breeze rattled the leaves on the oaks leaning over the road as it dropped off into the valley; the sound was a beckoning.
The Event
Contemplating the task
This was it. My mind was made up. I would ride down that hill, collect a bottle of pop from the store, and ride with it back to the Hooper place to prove who was, after all, the master of The Hill, and so the most daring of all the local boys. With that thought firmly in mind, I kicked off and pedaled resolutely out onto the highway shoulder.
A car passed me on the highway, a big car, a shiny new Buick. As it passed, I saw a familiar face watching me from the back window; a girl from school, Rhonda Walters, a fourteen-year old enchantress with big dark eyes. A side bet: I would ride this hill, impress the young Rhonda, and be the envy of all the guys at school. Better still, I now had a witness.
The going started to get steep right here, as the highway turned to drop into the valley. Not too bad; I gently applied a little brake to keep my descent reasonable.
I continued to pick up speed.
I wasn’t too worried. My ten-speed had new pads on good center-pull brakes. I figured that, if I didn’t let my speed get too far out of hand, I could handle things.
The Hill had other plans.
The slope started to pick up a little as the highway passed the turnoff to the old quarry. By now I was beginning to travel at a speed that was a tad alarming; I ground down harder on the brake, as wisps of smoke began to emerge from the pads.
Ahead, I saw the Walters car rolling down The Hill; I seemed to be gaining on them. Rhonda’s eyes grew huge as she watched me slowly gaining ground on her father’s Buick. Rhonda’s Dad, having spotted me in the rear-view mirror, began to accelerate. He was no doubt hoping to avoid having his brand-new Buick rear-ended by a screaming fourteen-year old welded to a hurtling ten-speed.
Unbelievably, the slope got worse. By now, I had a white-knuckled death grip on the brake handles. A stream of thick black smoke trailed the bike as the brake pads ground away to nothing against the rims; I was quickly left with nothing but tortured sheet metal pad holders grinding futilely against the rims.
The Hill really started to drop off right about here.
As I accelerated, I began to feel the heat of air friction burning away my eyebrows. My hair was attempting to stand on end, but the Mach-level airstream kept it pressed back flat against my head. My eyes were peeled wide open; I tried to blink away particles of grit, insects, and other foreign matter but the blast of wind wouldn’t allow my eyelids to shut.
Mr. Walters hit the gas hard, but it did him no good. I passed the Walters auto at a considerable rate of speed; the shockwave of my passage nearly tore off both rear-view mirrors and left a nasty crack in the Buick’s windshield. Mr. Walters later told my father of the horrendous screech of brakes as my bike shot past his car; what he didn’t understand was that the long-gone bike brakes weren’t making any more noise by that point in the journey.
Two-thirds of the slope still lay before me.
The bike and I began to pick up more speed.
I discovered one thing about breaking the sound barrier that test pilots never learned, encased as they were in airplanes as opposed to being attached to a bicycle. When you exceed the sound barrier on a bicycle, the first thing that happens is that the gathering shock wave of air collapses on you, creating an effect similar to being hit in the face with a large piece of plywood. Then, there’s a sound like a huge explosion, only you’re inside of the explosion. Finally, you burst through into an eerie quiet, as the sounds of the mundane world are left behind your suicidal, screaming, terrified fourteen-year old self.
Terror
I managed somehow to make the last gentle bend before the highway broke into the last screaming drop into town. That last drop, known locally as White-Knuckle Hill, was the worst, but it at least was fairly straight. The highway crossed a bridge at the bottom, bore right and passed though the tiny hamlet of Dorchester. I hung on to the bike, picking up speed the whole way in. The air friction was beginning to cause my t-shirt and jeans to smolder.
Folks in town later reported a strange sight. A comet, some guessed, perhaps a meteor, a UFO, or else some strange new military low-level attack jet. Several eastern Iowa newspapers carried the story, and the identity of the strange phenomenon was speculated over for months. What was agreed upon was this:
At roughly 3PM on that bright, sleepy July afternoon, there was a tremendous BOOM on the highway through town. An unidentified object, shrouded in flames and screaming like a banshee, rocketed through town. The flaming projectile trailed a shockwave that shattered windows, knocked down several small children, and tore the door off a dump truck parked in front of the tavern. The mysterious apparition disappeared down the highway in the direction of Waukon and was not seen again.
Halfway to Waukon, I finally got the bike’s progress back under control. I finally managed to stop, staggered off the road into the ditch, dropping the bike on the ground. I was gasping so hard that I accidentally inhaled some passing birds. I didn’t notice that last part until hours later when I was had to pick several feathers out of my teeth.
The Walter’s Buick rolled to a stop at the side of the road, and Rhonda and her father got out.
“You reckless little idiot.” Rhonda’s Dad growled at me. “Put your bike in the trunk, and I’ll take you home before you kill yourself.” Rhonda stared at me open-mouthed, no doubt in awe of my courage and daring.
As I got in the car, I caught sight of my reflection in the window. My face was covered with insect remnants, a large grasshopper was still stuck in my teeth, my eyelids were turned inside-out and flattened against my cheeks and forehead. Wisps of smoke rose slowly from my shirt. Gray streaks were already starting to pop up in my hair.
The Aftermath
Sensing his removal from the top spot in the Envy Sweepstakes, Jon showed up at our house the following morning. By that time, I had managed to scrub the insect remnants off my face, and my eyes had almost returned to normal. I still had a sort of terrified pallor, matched nicely by my newly snow-white hair.
“So.” Jon muttered. “I hear you rode The Hill.”
“Yep” was all I could manage. I still wasn’t communicating too well; I’m told a prolonged panic and near-death experience can have that effect.
Jon frowned down at his shoes. “Folks all over are calling you ‘That Reckless Little Clark Idiot.’”
Yep. Definite signs of envy.
I have a similar story. But it ended much worse. Sometime in the last decade or so the scar disappeared. There is still a small spot above my knee where hair doesn’t grow, but no one would recognize it as a scar any more.
I still have a distinct memory of watching my brake cable snap as I started to slow my decent on the biggest hill in the area (Summit Ave, to Highview Drive – the names give it away).
I, of course, only had the single brake on hat cobbled-together bike, so I also remember the sound of my tires on the road as I promptly accelerated down the hill.
I attempted to make the sweeping left-hand turn about a third of the way down – that was flat and would have worked well. Too bad it was Spring, with a nice accumulation of sand on the turn from a Winter of sanding.
The skin grew back on my forearm and leg. Eventually.
I had a scar on my left hip bone, right knee and both palms from going down Webb Canyon Rd. I went sliding thru the gravel in a curve and then had the tires catch and pole-vault me flat onto the pavement.
I was picking chunks of gravel for the next 3 months.
First bike ride in San Diego was down Mt Soledad.
It was too late when I realized one of my wheels was out of true. That was somewhere around 45mph.
I was lucky not to have ended up as a meat smear.
Ooof. 45mph. You just triggered a long suppressed memory.
My teenage buddy got a moped one year. It could hit 45mph down a steep hill. We used to ride around the neighborhood, my hand on his shoulder, me riding a 10 speed with no hands. You know…. as one does.
Anyway, he was going full blast down the hill and decided to go left while I went straight. I looked back over my shoulder to give him the “where the hell are you going?” look.. when my front wheel decided to stop cold. Don’t know why. I do remember spending a long moment, upside down looking at the world, upside down… rough pavement above me and blue skies below. I hit and rolled with all of my judo training…. you can tell by where all the stones were embedded in my flesh. Perfect roll to dissipate the force.
Absolutely no reason why I should have survived that one. No helmet and I landed on my head…. among other parts.. Getting the rocks out was …. well, it was memorable.
I love these stories, Animal. I grew up in the Loess Hills area and was a teenager before I realized why people mocked Iowa as a “flat” state.
They Loesst the hills,
Bruce Babbit was governor of Az when I moved from Iowa to Arizona. Bruce had some idea that he might run for president. So he decided to ride RAGBRAI the summer before the primary system started.
About halfway through the state, Bruce was complaining to some reporter that people had lied about Iowa being flat.
Bruce had believed that riding in the Arizona mountains would prepare him for “flat” Iowa. What he didn’t know was the rolling plains are an unending sequence of up, then down, then up, then down, then up, then down . . . that makes it really hard to get into a steady rhythm.
Great story – thanks for brightening my day!
Heh… raising my son in Florida produced similar results. He had never seen a hill higher than a couple of feet. We went to the Georgia mountains when he was 4. He took off on his scooter down the street, dad yelling behind for him to stop. Road rash taught him not to do that again.
I know the Loess Hills area well. In fact we just drove through there last Saturday on our way home to Colorado.
Very little of Iowa is flat. The state varies from the hilly areas in northeast and west to the rolling country in between. I don’t know how it got that reputation.
Now, northern Indiana, that’s flat.
I think it’s the low amplitude of the hills not the absense of them.
No mountains = flat to anyone that has seen the midwest only through an airplane window.
Whereabouts, if you don’t mind my asking. I was born and raised in Sioux City.
RR address, but near Mapleton.
Ah, cool. Family had friends in Storm Lake so we generally visited northwards, or into South Dakota. After high school, it was 40 years before I went back. Lots had changed, much hadn’t.
Storm Lake – my Oregonian husband rolls his eyes every time we say Buena Vista.
I have told the same story about my initial attempt at skiing on these very pages. Sesame Street at Solitude in Ogden Utah.
My story ended with me upside down against the wall of the ski chalet, a bunch of upended skiers in my wake, all of us miraculously unharmed.
I found out later that if you want to do the green “sesame street” slope, you make a left turn. Going straight is a black diamond. Ooops. I also learned the answer to the question of “how fast can a beginner go on skis?” Too fast. The answer is way, way too fast.
Lots of LOL moments, but I particularly loved this:
“Mr. Walters hit the gas hard, but it did him no good. I passed the Walters auto at a considerable rate of speed; the shockwave of my passage nearly tore off both rear-view mirrors and left a nasty crack in the Buick’s windshield. Mr. Walters later told my father of the horrendous screech of brakes as my bike shot past his car; what he didn’t understand was that the long-gone bike brakes weren’t making any more noise by that point in the journey.”
Allamakee County Fun Facts, courtesy of Wikipedia.
Harpers Ferry, IA, population of 328 is not the smallest town named Harpers Ferry in the United States. The more famous Harpers Ferry WV is smaller, with a population of less than 300 people.
I used to know a girl in Harper’s Ferry…
…but that’s a story for another day.
Great read as always! Question for the contributors or site manager. Is there a way to embed Google Street View into an article. I’ve been writing up a “through the eyes of my ancestors” article that follows a distant ancestor of mine via street view. It would be awesome if I could embed the 3D interactive view for each segment. I hope to make it a series of well received.
Somewhat recently in my life I rebuilt a 1994 Fuji bicycle. I’ve made it over 45mph 3 times on it. I am a large burly man, a hair over 350 lbs. I shutter to think what might happen if I wrecked on one of those down hills.
I miss being a little kid and being able to jump, climb and crash anything. I dread having to watch my kids do the same.
Yeah. It’s not until you’re going over 30 MPH on a down hill you really start to realize that spandex really doesn’t provide much in the way of protection.
That’s a great story. It’s amazing to me how different and yet similar everybody’s stories end up being. We all have high speed downhill escapades, just surrounded by entirely different lives. You told yours masterfully.
Mine was in 1978. My stepdad got busted for possession, and my mom and he decided to make a run for it. We all piled into the car and they drunk drove up highway 1 to his parents house in San Francisco. My brother and I got bored quickly of hiding out so we hung out outside everyday. One day, we found about 5 discarded big wheels. So we had some races. The hill we were on had terraced side streets. We’d get some good speed and then hit a terrace. It was really hard to maintain composure through that. About the fifth time you went over a terrace, the big wheel ( which was already worn out to start with) would come apart and you’d slide down the next hill. We came back to the hide out covered in bloody roadrash and our clothes shredded. No witnesses but each other.
Eventually we went into hiding up in Guerneville at the Russian River. He got caught by the local rednecks and extradited down south. My mom loved the bay area and moved there after all of that. Good times.
Dude, your life…
Right?
I was gonna tell a skateboard story until I read that…
One summer in scouts we biked up part of the going to the sun road in Glacier Park – I don’t know if they still are, but bikes used to be allowed as long as you were off by a given time in the morning to clear the road for traffic.
I remember turning back at the first big hairpin turn, but maybe it was even before that. So, it wasn’t biking the crazy drop off parts of the road or anything extreme like that. I remember going up took us forever, we stopped a lot for breaks. Going down was coasting for a couple miles, super fun.
At one point the kid in front of me had his rear wheel slip sideways an inch or two going around a curve, he hit a wet patch or gravel. I don’t know how, but he kept control. We all laughed afterwards, but I still remember thinking “Dale’s dead” in that split second
I did that once. We started late in the day in twilight but it was dark by the time we reached the top. It was a full moon so we just turned around and went down assuming we could see all the curves by the moonlight. We all made it but I’ve often thought since then that it was pretty dumb.
Your daughter does good work, the drawings are great.
That’s a fact. Very impressive!
Runs in the family. Skips a generation, though. My Dad was an artist of some repute, even had his own space in the Iowa state capitol where one of his paintings was always on display. Now two of my four daughters are freelance graphic artists.
Me? I can screw up a stick man.
I tried skateboarding down a massive hill. Realizing my mistake about 1/4 of the way down, I ended up ditching in somebody’s front yard. If they had been home and looking ot the window, they would have seen a 10-year-old doing a series of high-speed flips, somersaults, and rolls across their yard until coming to rest in an undignified heap.
My wife and a friend decided to ride a skateboard double while sitting down for more stability at speed. They went down a giant hill with no problem – then across a street to her house. She talks about making it past an oncoming car with so little space that she could feel the car brushing against her hair. Unfortunately for them, her mother witnessed the stunt.
Sorry to go OT Animal:
Styxenhammer kinda hits on my thoughts regarding declaring Antifa a Terrorist Org: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vuIB9d-zO-0
Listened to a third of it, but he’s spot on. We shouldn’t support the government exempting itself from the Bill of Rights even if it’s to pursue our ideological and violent enemies.
I would label them a criminal conspiracy and use that to go after the people organizing and paying them.
Yeah, there are plenty of ways to get at them without labeling them terrorists. If law enforcement in this nation can bring down the mafia without a Terrorist declaration they can handle these guys.
RICO
Horrible law, but better suited to Antifa than equating them to foreign terrorists.
Maybe while Trump clowns on Twitter, this is Barr’s plan. (I’m usually wrong when I assume any of them are competent)
Does Barr need a plan? I thought we had precedent that the FBI can kill with impunity.
So send them out to kill George Soros. I bet that solves a lot of problems.
I feel like there was a president recently who could’ve just called a guy and had a drone take care of that.
President Skynet?
Seems more terroristic than criminal to me. I mean, terrorists are a subset of criminals, but Antifa isn’t the mob, it isn’t about money.
I believe there is a bit of legal wordplay here. I think that Antifa could fit the definition of terrorism in the sense that they are doing their shit in order to effect political change. However the legal classification as a terrorist org allows for a whole slew of rights violations of many people who may not actually be engaging in that behavior.
Agreed, and ditto regarding terrorist charges for individuals who commit icky crimes.
https://mobile.twitter.com/qanon_b/status/1267473176742842368
Give this guy a listen all the way through.
Wow.
We keep coming back to this: leftist goals are seen as noble, and so the establishment, which is overwhelmingly leftist, has a hard time coming down on them the way they do other people.
Spray paint a giant penis on a government building, you’ll cop a vandalism charge, get a fine.
Spray paint leftist slogans, same thing. Maybe. It’s considered youthful exuberance.
Spray paint “The KKK was right” or “Send them back to Africa” and you’re looking at hate crimes charges, and you will do fucking prison time.
Those middle class 20 and 30 somethings in NYC who threw molotovs are gonna skate, because they are part of the Front Row Kids, and the Front Row Kids take care of their own.
I certainly agree that there is a lot of corruption where Prosecutors refuse to prosecute these folk because they agree with them. Imagine San Fran, where they have the avowed Marxist who got elected and refused to punish “Petty Theft”.
I’d say it is ironic that those kinds of people will easily understand how the southern justice system was used to oppress blacks, by not prosecuting those who would lynch etc. But not understand how they are perpetrating the same thing.
I’d say it is irony, except i don’t think they are trying to pose as it being anything otherwise. In their twisted moral system, they have good reasons for it so it is justified, whereas the Southern Racists had bad reasons so it was bad.
Critical Legal Theory
or as I prefer to call it
Power Is The Only Metric Legal Theory
The ends justify the means. It’s just that simple, and it’s profoundly scary if you play it out to its logical conclusions. Hitler wasn’t bad because he killed people. He was bad because he killed minorities. Jim Crow wasn’t bad because it “canceled” people. It was bad because it canceled an oppressed underclass.
Principals over principles is lazy thinking, and our entire society is built on the precept.
The stupid pawns out on the street aren’t making real money. Their masters are.
^This. I’m against treating ideas, feelings, thoughts, and motivations as crimes. A window isn’t more or less broken based on whether the person throwing the brick wants to steal the stuff behind it or effect radical political change.
Antifa belongs in the same classification as Timothy McViegh. They have similar intentions, they just haven’t been as productive yet.
Our driveway (gravel) was on the backside of a small hill, maybe 250ft from the top and 40-50ft vertical drop. I decided to take the turn a bit fast one day because I was in middle school and thought it would be cool. Of course the gravel yielded and I got a nice road rash on one forearm among other scratches. Still have somewhat of a scar to this day from it.
Gov Kunt refuses to call out the Guard to quell rioting in Little Beirut. I expect it’ll happen this afternoon or tomorrow as she flip flops again.
https://www.oregonlive.com/news/2020/06/portland-mayor-ted-wheeler-to-hold-morning-news-conference-on-continuing-demonstrations.html
Another fun read Animal.
Loved the downhills. My goal (unfullfilled) was to get stopped for speedng going down Donner Pass into Truckee.
My downhill highpoint was going down Mt Diablo. I took a Prosche 356 on the inside of a corner. And he was trying not to get passed. One of the dumbest things I’ve ever done – but worth it.
https://mobile.twitter.com/NBCNews/status/1266758240018276352
Contact tracing…where have I heard that term before?…
LOL
Oh, Twitter.
Trump is sinister for being a half coherent retard.
I love it that Biden staffers paid bail of white supremacists and Trump deplorables who organized the riots and looting.
Governor Walz’s daughter and Bill DeBlasio’s daughter are apparently right wing white supremacist Trumpaloos.
Senator Tim Kaines son got arrested for fucking up a Trump rally, but skated with four days in jail. It’s not illegal to fuck up deplorables, if you’re part of the noble class.
How about charging them with a crime and convicting them.
^^^^ This.
:Throws Tin Foil Hat On:
But Maybe they are questioning so that they know they are only prosecuting the wrong thinking kinds.
Bingo
Well-meaning
kidsgrown ass men who hate fascists will get a pass.So what if they tried to burn down a building with a kid in it. I mean they didn’t know there was a kid, so i mean clearly they didn’t intend to kill anyone.
I remember in my concealed class, talking about forceful felonies, and impending leathal force. The instructor specifically brought up Arson as a threat of impending lethal force.
They blocked the fire truck from getting through too, for justice. George Floyd would totally have wanted that kid to burn to death, and if you disagree you’re a racist.
If you’re throwing firebombs at a building or anywhere near other people, you’re attempting murder.
I saw some fuckwads trying to get “#WeAreAllAntifa” trending on twitter.
It’s difficult to deal with an organization that has decided the truth is unimportant and lying is a perfectly acceptable method of reaching your goals.
Are you talking about the traditional media, social media, ANTIFA, the education system, or the leftist syndicate controlled by the DNC? It could equally apply to all of those institutions.
Yes
Newsletters, etc.
Seeing how the media and the government behaved during the past few months and how many if not most of the people around me have acted in response has convinced me that there is simply no conventional political method to fix what’s wrong with our government. Our government IS the problem, and I am becoming very sympathetic to the idea that it’s the state itself that is the problem. I was an AnCap for years before moderating my views, but with every passing day I see more and more evidence that American society, indeed every society, is riddled with the cancer of statism, supported by at least a de facto, incidental conspiracy between academia, the corporate media, and the political class.
It’s amazing how quickly the propaganda that the rioters are white supremacists has taken hold.
Terrifying really.
It’s moments like this that make me pause and think: Am i the crazy one? What if they are right?
Incoherences like the fact that Biden folk were donating to bail them out snap me out of it and realize that it really is propaganda.
That and only one side of the equation is calling for a crack-down. If the left truly believed these were white supremacists they’d be all over it.
The big lie.
Laugh out loud moments throughout!
Great tale, Animal!
Jon frowned down at his shoes. “Folks all over are calling you ‘That Reckless Little Clark Idiot.’”
Yep. Definite signs of envy.
Nice.
Not shocking
https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2020/06/01/george-floyd-independent-autopsy-findings-released-monday/5307185002/
and bashed into the side of a feed store in downtown Pagosa Springs
A bunch of whiny lil bitches:
https://www.engadget.com/facebook-employees-virtual-walkout-trump-posts-175020522.html
Who are still collecting paychecks by working from home.
I assume they all got fired for cause.
That should make for fun reading.
Well…. bye
Maybe they should learn to….
…die?
This isn’t a bond movie.
Is it?
They’d never actually quit in protest, of course. Or just refuse to work there in the first place.
(I’ve had FB recruiters sniffing around a few times – no way I’d work there).
Oh really? How many?
Fun story, Animal.
Late as usual, Animal, only later than usual. Really enjoy the Allamakee Cronicles, though I couldn’t identify with today’s issue. No hills like that in my youth and my bike was a fenderless balloon tired handmedown. The art work is great, perfect for a kid going a little over a 100 MPH. Thanks for your work