A fine night for hood skiing

As we left my oldest son's cub scout meeting this evening, something about the crisp chill of the air made me remember the fall nights of my youth when we used to go hood skiing. (Hey, it was a shop town. Not much else to do.)

It was actually hood surfing, but it just didn't sound as sexy. Memories of balancing on the hood of a moving car as it blows through bags of leaves set out by the curbs. Good times.