“Live Free Or Die” How We Ride in NH

A lot of people here in Colorado question my riding, so I'd just like to set the record stright.

When General John Stark sent a written toast in his stead to the anniversary reunion of the Battle of Bennington, he confirmed something that New Hampshirites had known for a while: we’re the baddest state in the union. “Live Free or die: Death is not the worst of evils,” was how Stark concluded his toast, and how New Hampshire cemented its place as the center of the universe.

Bed-Sty, South Central, and 8-mile are all considered ‘tough’ neighborhoods – but if you truly want to see the wrath of God, try to charge someone sales tax in the heart of West Lebanon, NH. A writer for The Onion once quipped, “New Hampshire’s motto should be, ‘Where douchbags go to college.’” His balls now rest on the mantle of UNH’s Phi Beta Kappa fraternity. It’s no coincidence that Clint Eastwood, Bruce Willis, Tony Montana and Jack Palance all hail from the Granite State.

Now, don’t get me wrong, New Hampshire is not a place where senseless violence and social injustice run rampant, but a place where ideals precede desire, where freedom rings from Mt. Washington to the Atlantic coast, where young boys are taught to hunt with their bare hands, where diversity is a thing of the future, and where after a shot of tequila, instead of licking salt and sucking lime, you eat the shot glass.

And, being from New Hampshire, this is my favorite time of year in Colorado. This is the time of year when all the piano players pack up their mountain biking gear and leave the trails to me. Is there anything better than climbing to 10,000 feet on an empty trail in -5° with the mountain breeze whipping up your jean cut-offs? Not likely.

People always ask me, “Don’t your fingers get cold without gloves?” The answer is, No they don’t, because a goddamn mountain lion cheap shotted me and ate them while I had him in a headlock, even after I called no biting. Then people ask me, “What if you get stuck in a blizzard on the trail with only shorts and jack knife?” It’s like they’ve never killed a bear, ripped out its entrails and slept in the carcass before.

Yes, the winter climb in Colorado is great, but the descent is what I live for – eyes bleeding, legs shaking, pedals embedded in my bare feet – you know you’re alive. It reminds of when my mom used to tie to the back of the snowmobile for trips to the grocery.

Occasionally I’ll pass someone else riding skins in December. We just nod and say, “Live free or die.”