(My sister and I in 1968 - the year of the Grenoble winter olympics)

  We had our first snowfall this past weekend and the twinkle lights on the apple tree in our backyard look magical again. Not all my memories of fresh snow have been as pleasant. I grew up in Creston British Columbia, where we would see over 5 feet of snow each winter. Our home was at the very top of Snob Hill and our yard sloped steeply down to the neighbor’s house below.

  My brother and his friends had heard of the bobsled races taking place at the 1968 winter Olympics so they thought it would be a great idea to make a similar track for their toboggans. A major dump of fresh wet snow was perfect for constructing a serpentine track along the rock wall terraces on the edge of our yard. As their high walled track reached the property line of the cranky neighbor below us, they realized they would need a high banked curve, like those in our hot wheels set, to turn the corner and keep a toboggan from flying off into thin air and crossing into the neighbor’s yard.

  I admit that crankiness of our downhill neighbor was entirely my doing, for that summer I had been playing with the heavy winter tires stacked by the side of the house, rolling them down the incline into the cellar area, a setup similar to Corvan’s home with a ramp leading down to the workshop. Unfortunately, one of the tires hit a rock, took a sharp turn, and headed down the hill at breakneck speed until it slamed into the wall of their house, right below the kitchen window. I ran inside and closed the cellar door, hoping our neighbor was not at home and I could go get the tire back. Unfortunately. She was at home and washing dishes at her kitchen sink, one of which was broken when she dropped it hearing the heavy tire trying to spin its way into her house.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The neighbor’s husband returned my father’s tire later that night and I was banned from playing on that side of the yard so needless to say I was staying well away from my brother’s construction of the bobsled track. He tracked me down in the fresh snow and told me I was receiving the honor of being the first person to try out the new “Creston Olympic Bobsled Track”. The steep corner at the bottom scared me but he said I was small enough to easily make it around to the long runout section.

  He was wrong.

  The packed wet snow has turned the first gentle curves into an icy launch pad, and I hung on for dear life to the rope attached to the round wooden front of my maple plank toboggan. In the blink of an eye the high curve loomed ahead, and I leaned back, pulling on the ropes in a vain attempt to slow myself down. Unfortunately, that put my center of gravity on the tail of my toboggan. The front no longer could follow the bank and instead shot straight up. For what seemed a full minute there was only blue sky overhead and I was flying free, somehow still sitting on my toboggan.

  When I came to my senses, I was sitting amidst a pile of shattered of maple shards, the red cords of my toboggan still gripped tightly in my hands. There were whoops of celebration as I was hoisted onto shoulders and told I had won the gold medal, but then my brother noted that the curved from of my partially destroyed toboggan had crossed the property line and ended up at our neighbors back door. Thankfully they had headed to Mexico for the winter, so he was able to collect the pieces and got rid of the evidence. I was told I would have to keep my fictitious gold medal a secret.

  So how does this relate to the Cor Series? It's the start of book three, The Sceptre. Winter is coming to Corvan’s home, the Castle rocks has a rounded channel cut into the west side and Corvan owns a toboggan.