And the Circle is Unbroken

Our town recently hosted its second reenactment of the great Hill Climb;
the first occurrence of it was sanctioned in 1908 by the racing board of the American Automobile Association of New York City. At the time there were a number of automobile manufacturers in nearby Springfield, the Duryea Brothers and the Knox Automobile Company, to name a few. Here in our town, Wilbraham mountain was often used as an unofficial proving ground. It’s not much of a mountain, but as the promotional material in 1908 promised, “the hill is just steep and bothersome enough to test the quality of the competitors.”

          From 9 in the morning to 3 in the afternoon Monson Road would be the track and since our own quiet road is just off of it, we would be in the thick of things. 

We decided to first walk down Monson to see what was going on. Town police shooed us off the road (no sidewalks, of course) but we finally worked our way down in between heats. The center of town – normally only holding one gas station, a coffee shop, a barber, and a civil war statue – was awash with tents and vintage cars. 

There were shuttles available for people interested in a display of Porsches at a farm midway up the race route, and since we couldn’t get past the officials and walk up, we managed to snag a seat. We had to wait a bit since shuttles only ran in between the races, but we managed to make it up. The farm was past our own street, but we figured we would see what there was to see and then walk the short distance down to our own road. 

Except once there, it seemed there would be no leaving. The route down had little room for pedestrians, and the local constabulary at this site was letting no one past. 

How to get home?

My husband suggested we could take the shuttle back down, but then we’d be back in the center of town, creating our own unending hill climb.  It was now 11:45; it looked like we’d be spending the next three hours right where we were.

As it turned out, they blew the whistle for lunch and we were able to walk home, avoiding a rural reenactment of the old Kinston Trio hit:

 Let me tell you the story
Of a man named Charley
On a tragic and fateful day
He put ten cents in his pocket,
Kissed his wife and family
Went to ride on the MTA

 

Charley handed in his dime
At the Kendall Square Station
And he changed for Jamaica Plain
When he got there the conductor told him,
"One more nickel."
Charley could not get off that train. 

Chorus:
Did he ever return,
No he never returned
And his fate is still unlearn'd
He may ride forever
'neath the streets of Boston
He's the man who never returned.