How to Hop a Car

February of 2010 has delivered record snow to the megalopolis that extends from New York to Washington, D.C.. I have lots of friends and family whose lives have been disrupted by it. The emotions that they're sharing on Facebook regarding these storms range from mild irritation to despair. I can't help but think of a happier time when we would have sold our souls for this kind of weather.

As a boy growing up in the sixties, I could hardly sleep the night before a potential "Snow Day." I'd spring from my bed in the pre-dawn hours, run downstairs in my pajamas to the kitchen, and then turn on the local radio station. I remember huddling over a heat register in the corner, with a blanket wrapped around me to trap the hot forced air. One by one my brothers and sisters would join me in my tee pee to listen for the only thing that mattered to us that day. After several commercials and a few songs, the litany of school closings would begin. Delivered in alphabetic order to heighten the suspense, it took a long while to get to "St. Peter's Elementary School in Riverside, NJ". The endorphin rush that I experienced with that announcement has yet been matched in all my years. You'd have thought we had won the lottery. Invariably, our startled parents would shuffle into the kitchen and pretend that they had no idea what all the noise was about. "Snow day" we'd shout; "school is closed."

Oatmeal and hot chocolate were the only things you should eat on a fine day like this. All the while, we'd chatter about snow balls and snow men and sleds and stuff. However, when I became ten years old there was only one thing in my mind, and I dared not mention it with my parents present. It was an extremely dangerous and foolish winter sport that we called "hopping cars."

Hopping Cars was a rite of passage for every boy in my neighborhood. When the streets were covered with snow, and after the plows had made their initial pass, we'd congregate on a street corner and wait for just the right vehicle. It was similar to the way surfers hang out for good waves out beyond the breakers. We tried not to look conspicuous, else the driver might give us the "dirty look", letting us all know that they would not tolerate our shenanigans. You had to learn how to size up approaching cars: little old ladies were for the younger boys, young men in muscle cars were for the 8th graders. As they'd approach the corner, and have to slow down to make the turn, we'd rush their rear bumper, 3 to 4 boys at a time. Timing was critical. Too early and you were busted. The driver would spot you in their peripheral vision and either stop dead or speed up to avoid capture. So you'd let them roll on buy and then slip in behind them, grab the bumper at a full run, squat down to lower your center of gravity and then hang on for dear life. It was kind of like water skiing, the trick being to keep your feet under you.

If car hopping was an winter Olympic event, it would consist of three portions: the mount, the ride and the dismount. Scoring would be a combination of how well you executed all three, and their associated degrees of difficulty. A perfect ride might unfold as follows. Catch a GTO with a young male behind the wheel. If detected, then the degree of difficulty goes up. Smoothly settle into the low squat and appear relaxed and nonchalant as you traverse a course of the drivers choosing. Maintain your hold and balance throughout the ride, while successfully maneuvering across potholes, manholes, and turns. No one to my knowledge ever attempted a railroad crossing. That's akin to the elusive quadruple axle in figure skating. The longer the ride, the more points you would accrue. Dismounting the vehicle needed to be deliberate and controlled, with extra points for flair. Falling off under any circumstance would lower your score by one full point.

Amazingly, the safety equipment was relatively primitive, and consisted of several layers of clothing, enough to keep you warm the entire day, and a pair of gloves to keep your fingers from being severed. Galoshes were recommended, but optional. This depended on the age of the contestant and/or his desire to impress the spectators and the competition. Helmets were not allowed, this was the sixties.

I asked one of my childhood friends today who still lives in the suburbs of Philadelphia if anybody had hopped his car yet. He said that it's not something they do anymore. I was halfway home on the interstate before I realized why. Virtually all late model cars are equipped with bumpers that have absolutely no hand holds. It might be possible to latch onto the license plate or the tail pipe, but I doubt if either option would turn out well. The bumpers that we had back in the sixties were chrome plated steel rails, bolted to the frame, and hung out there just begging to be ridden. I'm also pretty sure parents, cops and social workers would take a dim view of such behavior nowadays. It's not that we weren't valued as kids, it just that recklessness was more of a traditional value back then. There were future wars to be fought. And somebody would have to spawn the yet to be conceived generation of extreme sports athletes.

So what are all the boys doing during these recent epic snow storms? They're safe and warm, in front of their TV sets, with video game controllers in hand. If I had any brains, I'd produce a game called "Hopping Cars."