Thrill Hill | Young and Stupid

There is an old saying, “To Be Old and Wise, You Must First Be Young and Stupid.”  I’ve got half of the first part down, but I absolutely nailed the second part.  Google “Young and Stupid” and you’ll get a picture of a fresh faced me, complete with a Wikipedia article.  And nothing proves the depths of my youthful stupidity more than Thrill Hill.

Thrill Hill was a hill that we used to fly over back during our Secondary Education days.  And when I say fly over, I literally mean fly.  I had a 1971 Pinto that would get airborne going over the hill.  I’m not going to divulge the name of the street because I don’t want to encourage such behavior, but those that were there back in that place and time know exactly where it is.  And yes, it’s still there.  

The hill is at the end of a street in East Atlanta about a half a mile long.  If any street in the world ever needed speed breakers, it’s this one.  You would start on the end off of the main road and give it the gas.  There were a few small hills and right before the big hill, a stop sign at a three-way intersection.  The stop sign was pretty much ignored, especially on a full speed run.  You would hit the crest of the hill at about 45 mph, and your stomach would leap into your throat.  You then immediately had to hit the brakes hard, because the street dead ended into another street about 100 yards from the crest of the hill.  

We would go over this thing all the time, sometimes circling around and making about 10 or 15 passes.  I don’t think there were ever any wrecks there, but it’s a miracle no one was killed.  Especially me.  And anyone who happened to be in my car, laughing hysterically and/or shrieking with glee, I apologize for putting your lives in danger.  Heaven help us if a car was coming the other way, but that was never taken into consideration.  

As I said, I had a ’71 Pinto that would get airborne.  Pintos may have blown up when they were rear ended, but they were perfectly designed for Thrill Hill.  Hit the hill at 45, the car would fly over the crest and come down on a smooth two-point landing, the back tires chirping as they hit the ground.  A.C. Kile lived in the house at the very end of Thrill Hill.  It is a miracle I never ended up in A.C.’s driveway, garage or back yard, for that matter.  Another friend lived at the very top of the hill.  I spent the night at his house a few times, and we could hear other Scholarly Youngsters going over the hill all night long, hooting and hollering. 

On one of our first dates, Jackie and I went to shoot pictures at Oakland Cemetery.  Afterwards, we went across the street to Tin Lizzies.  Several margaritas later we left, and on the way home my Cabrio, top down and all, took a detour down Thrill Hill Street.  I didn’t hit the hill full stride as I did back in my prime, but I did run the stop sign and go over at a pretty good clip.  We didn’t become airborne but definitely got the sensation.  Old and Wise, my foot.  It’s a wonder we didn’t toss our margaritas.

Maybe one day I’ll load up my grandsons in the Bug and take them over Thrill Hill.  I’ll be sure and take them to The Varsity afterwards and not beforehand, however… Still Cruisin’!  –J.