My grandma raised me and she was hoarder. My grandpa worked on a farm. We used to have him roll us down the hill in a ball of barbed wire that grandma had saved. With enough momentum going down we could, utilizing the gripping power of barbed wire, climb the next hill and so on and so forth until we got to school seven hills away.
Once there our teacher would cut us out of the wire and stanch the bleeding with baking soda. To go home she’d lay us in a Saranwrap-lined pool and once frozen (it was always winter where I grew up) place us in her catapult and aim us for home. She didn’t need the ice for launching or weight (we were husky enough on just the saucer of skim milk and lone boysenberry we were allotted as our single daily meal), but it helped absorb our landings.