Yes, this is the kind of February and the winter that you older readers remember. Has it been that long ago that Dad had to get the chains out of the garage, lay them on the ground and back the car up to link them around the rear wheels? Remember, too, that school bus drivers had to get up early and fasten the chains before starting out to pick up the children. I wonder if you even know any neighbors now who still have chains that would fit the vehicle.

It is nothing less than amazing the changes made to our driving habits by (1) the availability of four-wheel drive and all-wheel drive vehicles and (2) radial, all-season tires.

I drove from Abb’s Valley to Bluefield four years to go to college, had an 8 a.m. class every semester but one, and was never late for roll call. Incredibly, those trips were made in a two-wheel drive car, with the high-tech advantage of having two 50-pound bags of feed (one situated over each rear wheel) in the trunk plus studded snow tires. I had no idea that I was not supposed to be able to make that trip every day or I would have just stayed home. Today’s improvements in vehicles and road equipment probably make most of us old-timers wonder just how in the world we survived.

I have yet to see any children, however, on their sleds during this winter winterland period. It seemed there was a generation that grew up in the “no snow” zone where winters were tepid, at best, or either everything fell at once, like the blizzard of March 1993 when about 30 inches of the white stuff hit the East Coast within a couple of days. Maybe the sled companies went out of business. All the boys in my isolated neighborhood had a sled to ride and every now and then somebody would find an inner tube we could use.

My buddy, Dennis, had the best sled. It was a Flexible Flyer, had a chrome guide on the front and would smoothly turn from side to side. What a treat it was to have a ride on that thing once in a while. My sled was all right, but it came from Penney’s and was slower and much more stiff to corner. Going from my sled to Dennis’ wooden rocket was like shifting from Bland Road to Interstate 77 (although there was no such thing as I-77, or the tunnels in the early 1960s) so it was truly a great adventure to change rides.

Another big thing was the warm-up period after sleigh riding. Everybody had either a coal stove or a coal furnace. When we finally got frozen to the point that we could not tell if we had any fingers or toes left, we would track into somebody’s basement and gather ’round the fire. It was always interesting to watch the flesh on your hands turn from light blue to bright red to dull red and finally back to something like flesh color. How we escaped frostbite is something only medical science could explain.

Naturally, being warm translated into getting thirsty and somebody’s Mom would always manage to find a few glasses so we could enjoy our hot chocolate. Off would come the toboggans, heavy jackets were quickly unzipped and the straps on galoshes were loosened so we could enjoy that sweet sensation and get re-energized for the return trip to the slopes.

You know as well as I do that we could not — would not — stay in the house while there was enough snow on the ground to sleigh ride. From mid-morning until darkness fell (and often after) we were outside.

Little boys did not watch soap operas or anything else on television during the day. There were no computers, we did not care about telephones because we just walked next door to talk to our buddies in person, and in our simple world nothing was more important than getting ready for the next run.

If we got up in Dennis’ apple orchard, there was always the chance of running into a tree. That usually didn’t happen if we were on the sleds. One was always taking a chance, though, of being knocked silly when riding a big piece of cardboard or the smooth top of a washing machine lid or one of those inner tubes. For a few whirling seconds, the world would spin upside down if a fellow hit the tree too hard. Some of those collisions still hurt, after about 50 years.

Our long driveway was the ultimate course. From the summit on the parking lot at Mr. Haven’s store, down the driveway, past the house, through the main gate, by the chicken house and barn, and into the distant hollow, it took a few minutes to make that run. Keep in mind that the cows had to be fastened securely in the lower field so that they would not be up in the highway waiting on us when we finally carried the sleds back to the “start-finish” line.

My old mittens have long since vanished. Not a one of us is in any kind of shape to drag those sleds around anymore and I doubt we have enough nerve to climb on one to shoot down the slope past that last big locust tree like we used to. There for a while, though, it was like the Winter Olympics and the Daytona 500 rolled into one.

And always better if you didn’t roll into one of those apple trees with your eyes closed.

Larry Hypes is a teacher at Tazewell High School and a columnist for the Daily Telegraph.