It was just about 7 years to the day, I was walking/stumbling down a back alley in Patpong with a group of Thais. It was one of those 4 am mornings in Bangkok where it is still sweltering hot, you are living off street food, and the night has just begun. It was nearing the end of my assignment in Asia for the mighty General Electric and I was on the far side of a 3 day bender of celebration. It was during this moment, the best of times in my GE career, that I decided I was quitting.

The 93/94 season was epic for the Northeast, they didn’t write songs about it, they started companies named after it. That winter was magical for many of us. It would be the first year that I became immersed in snowboarding. At the time, I was what the folks call a troubled youth. Blame it on divorce, blame it on the shit of High School, blame it on whatever, I had not found my place and I was taking it out on the world. When I started snowboarding, it just clicked, this was me, I was hooked. I traded a whole bunch of waterskiing junk at a “Play It Again” type place for an old Rossi, the one with a bright green base and purple letters. It was a pile of junk, but I could care less. I put ski boot liners in my Sorels and attacked every bit of snow I could get my hands on, be it the golf course, my backyard, or the pre-Killington take-over Pico slopes. I was not alone in my new found lust, some of my best friends were also learning along my side. The combination of a vintage New England winter, good friends, and snowboarding made a year that would never be forgotten.

As the years progressed, snowboarding defined my lifestyle and who I was. I started a snowboard club in college and aimed to get as many days on the hill. Along the way, friends lost the passion and moved on, while new friends were made on the hill. So in 2000, two years strong in the “real world”, I made the faithful decision to leave my promising career and move to North Conway full time for “The Seven Year’s Winter”. The idea of the seven year’s winter came from an old Midwest snowboard vid. We did some research and concluded there was a solid chance the Northeast weather patterns were on a seven year cycle. Not everyone understood the move, but a few picked up on the message and left their jobs to simplify and enjoy the winter. One of my best friends, Mike Stannard, made the full commitment, living in my cellar and making snow. It was to be epic.

The winter started off rough, as is often the case in the Northeast. I was loving it nonetheless, riding 5-6 days a week, working at a shop, and hanging with a group of solid riders my age. Despite the lack of snow, my buddy Price and I started hiking Tuckerman’s on a weekly basis in early December. By late December, I had my first injury, a shattered hand from landing on an enormous ice boulder. Like a good snowboard bum, I started riding almost immediately in my soft cast against doctor’s orders.

One of my best memories in snowboarding happened in late January. We were at Stratton for the on snow demos and the weather was absolute crap, pouring rain. No one wanted to ride except my buddy Jimmy and female charger from NZ that rode for Nitro. We started taking runs through the park and kept eyeballing the money table at the bottom in front of the lodge. Finally I hit it full speed and it was one of those jumps that you just feel from the beginning. The tranny was perfect and kicked you up into a slow, lofty air. One thing about my style is that I very rarely spin, not that I can’t, I just prefer not to, my ideal air is a straight tweaked smooth melon/method/stale/indy poke or roast beast air. On this day, they all got thrown, including an ugly ugly over tweaked Canadian Bacon.

Shortly after Stratton, the snow kicked up and we suddenly had the winter we had been predicting for months. Countless days were spent hiking and riding. We built kickers in the Whites to rival anything in the vids of the day. I built a small rail in my yard and frightened the neighbors by riding through the night. We capped it all off with an epic day on Tuckermans, scoring first tracks over most of the runs. Still craving more, I caught an airplane to New Zealand with my sister and rode a full two months on the South Island. It truly was a Seven Year’s Winter.

Well, it has been another seven years and much has changed. I wrecked my knee riding backcountry in Switzerland and further destroyed in overshooting a landing at Shawnee. I am back in VT with a family, a mortgage, and a new career. The older you get the tougher it is to maintain your days o’shred count. Priorities shift, friends disappear, your body feels the years of punishment, careers take you in new directions, whatever the case it is tougher and tougher, but the fire is still there. So maybe we all need a little rejuvenation every seven years, maybe we all could use that push to get out there and make riding a priority again, even if for just one season. Because for some of us, riding was never a sport, never a business, it was a way of life, an extension of ourselves, and above all it was fun.

At the beginning of July, I made the commitment to start the journey to a Seven Year’s Winter. I started working out so I would be in shape for once. My extensive crosstraining regiment includes competitive wiffle ball and road biking on my 6 speed from 1979. I want to finally get a solid 7-8 foot air run through the pipe, I want to get a three turn run down the wall at Tuckermans, and I want to get back in touch with some of my lost riding friends. Because it is not just about epic snow, it is about the whole package. I will see you out there.