During the winter in Cleveland, Ohio, home of the original flat track bobsled courses, the snow frequently lay heavy on the ground. When the roads became impassable, city trucks would plow the main roads and, if we were lucky, the residential streets. We’d wait for the trucks to come down side streets near our homes and push the snow to both sides of the roads, forming four foot high continuous embankments that sealed driveways, covered fireplugs and made the sidewalks disappear beneath the mounds of snow. Perfect autobob courses!
We’d drive my mom’s tiny Anglia (an English Ford about the size of a VW Beetle) through the narrowed road created by the snowplows. There was always at least four inches of snow remaining in the roadway, so control was joyously tenuous.
I’d drive without touching the steering wheel, using the brake and throttle to encourage the car to bounce off the embankments of the flat track course and careen from one side of the road to the other. A fear, never realized but adding to the thrill, was the possibility of hitting a fireplug hidden under the snow.
When we were feeling especially energized, we’d pull out the dashboard-mounted manual choke to raise the rpms, put the car in first gear and pop the clutch. Once the car was moving well on its own, we’d both hop out, grabbing the rear bumper to keep the vehicle from escaping. We could steer by digging our feet into the snow, first me on one side, then my friend on the other.
A problem with this method of driving, however, was that we had no way of stopping the car. So, just before approaching an intersection, we’d steer the car into the embankment, the rear wheels would lose traction and begin to spin, and I could reach through the driver’s side window and shut the engine off. It was tremendous fun!
It may have been this flaw in the design of the sport, however, that limited the appeal of autobobbing. I can imagine a two-man autobobsled careening along the purpose-built flat track course, crossing the finish line and then continuing on through the parking lot until it came to an inglorious stop requiring extensive repairs.
Luckily, in the nascent form of this sport, my friend and I never hit anything more resistant than a snow embankment. We never damaged the car, ran over our feet or encountered the stern yet inwardly amused visage of an officer of the law.