Idylwylde

The Extreme Winter Sport of Bumpering

Idylwylde is a small community league in Edmonton, Canada. It is where I was raised.

Kayla’s writing is creatively theological and other stuff. Mine are musings and other stuff—Mostly personal historical memoirs.

Writing about Idylwylde began with a desire to give my grandchildren a glimpse into my childhood and what it was like to be raised in the ’60s. Since it snowed in Idylwylde this past week, I thought sharing a winter sport was fitting.

The extreme sport of bumpering

Bumpering was the extreme winter sport of the ’60s to mid-’70s for kids in Idylwylde. We didn’t call it an extreme sport. We called it fun. A snow-packed road, a big chrome car bumper, and nerves- lots of nerves- were all that was needed for bumpering. Smooth-soled boots worked best; leather mitts were preferred. If grandma’s hand-knit Christmas gift mitts got wet, they might stick to the bumper. Making it awkward when it was time to let go. It was also awkward explaining to Grandma how the mitts became lost.

A helmet wasn’t necessary; nobody I knew but Donnie Hood wore a helmet bumpering. It was a discarded motorcycle helmet. Big, white, round, re-claimed from a forgotten garage corner. I think he wore it because he thought he looked cool. It looked like he was wearing an egg on his head.

There were two kinds of bumpering: friend bumpering and stealth bumpering. Stealth bumpering worked best with two people after dark. Donnie Hood and I found a great location at the corner of 79th and 86th for stealth bumpering. When a car paused at the stop sign, one of us would saunter in front of the vehicle. Giving the other time to duck behind, grab the car’s bumper and assume the ready position. The ready position was in the middle of the bumper in a deep crouch, centred to avoid exhaust fumes.

What we couldn’t control was the speed of the vehicle. Too fast, and we risked a face plant. Too slow, and we’d have to do this awkward squatting shuffle until the car got to speed. A great ride lasted about 100 meters. As the vehicle slowed, we’d let go, scoot to the curb, and walk back for the next ride.

Friend bumpering was easier. I got my driver’s license in 72 and graduated as a designated bumper driver. Saturdays, we would meet at the crescent. It was a big semi-circle of green space in our neighbourhood. Ringed by a street and bordered by homes.

Four to five kids could line up across the bumper of my 1960 Chevrolet Biscayne and around the crescent we’d race. I’d sometimes do a little fish-tale on the curves to see how many I could lose. Once in a while, a grouchy neighbour would report us to the police. In this case, the alley behind our home worked just fine if it wasn’t too rutted.

Bumpering ended for me soon after I got my licence. I replaced it with other, more sophisticated activities, like drive-ins, diners and girls

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