When I lived in the Ottawa area years ago, I always felt that sledding was a dangerous sport, having broken both my arms on two different occasions. For that reason, I stuck to the sport we called "bunking," which required slick streets, a pair of ice skates, and a tolerant motorist, to whose car we would hang on as we were dragged all over the neighborhood.
None of those pesky trees to get in the way.
My dad once offered to take me sledding behind his car at dusk because it took all day to find my sled and polish the runners. (I thought he was out of his mind and told him I could afford to wait until tomorrow. What was he thinking?)