<http://schema.org/articleBody>
"  Come winter, Vermont&amp;#039;s Lincoln Gap Road undergoes a radical transformation. As mounds of fresh snow turn the region into a frozen Narnia, the rustic thoroughfare over the Green Mountains becomes inaccessible to traffic and converts to an informal test track for snow-sport maniacs. The road twists and turns as it winds down the 2400-ft pass through a wooded terrain larded with frozen waterfalls and cliff faces perfect for hucking off. We&amp;#039;re not talking about skiing. Or snowboarding. We&amp;#039;re talking sleds.  Recently, an extreme underground sledding movement has been brewing in the woods of New England, where a hard core of daredevils has become proficient at wringing eye-popping maneuvers from high-tech equipment. Aficionados call their pastime free sledding, performance sledding or extreme sledding, and it&amp;#039;s about as far from backyard tobogganing as big-wave surfing is from a Slip &amp;#039;N Slide. To get a taste for the scene, I decide to make a trip to its birthplace. On a snowy winter morning in Warren, Vt., I meet up for breakfast with the presidents of two local sled companies: Whitney Phillips of Mad River Rocket and Steve Luhr of Hammerhead Sled. They both bring a couple of their sleds along, and I&amp;#039;ve brought two other models as well. We head south of town and turn off the highway onto the unplowed Lincoln Gap Road. Soon the grade steepens, and my tires start spinning in 4 in. of fresh powder covering a winter&amp;#039;s worth of hard-packed snow. I&amp;#039;m forced to pull over and park. Meanwhile, Phillips unloads his snowmobile from his trailer and begins shuttling our trio and its snow toys to the top of the gap. First up is the Mad River Rocket Killer B, a cushioned plastic tub you ride in a kneeling position. To steer, you lean back and to one side, dragging an arm for extra-tight turns. The learning curve is steep, and I have the distinct feeling that I am out of control. As I build up speed, the sensation intensifies. The first turn is coming, and beyond it hangs a good 50 ft of empty air punctuated with tree tops. I lean to the right. The sled goes straight. I lean a little more, and suddenly whip around and tumble over before sliding to a stop.  The fact is, the Killer B&amp;#039;s bowl bottom is just not very effective on thin snow. &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s great for deep powder, the backwoods and backflips,&amp;quot; Luhr says admiringly of his competitor.  We climb the hillside above the road, and Phillips demonstrates by slaloming around trees and popping off the top of boulders. I try to mimic his stunts, but about the best I can say is that I don&amp;#039;t kill myself.  Given that a high-speed crash seems inevitable, I move on to the Swiss-made Airboard Classic 130, which looks a bit like a rideable airbag with handles on top. I get it instantly\u2014it&amp;#039;s just like steering a boogie board--and on my first attempt I take a fast run all the way to the bottom. Nothing inflatable is ever going to be a precision instrument, but when I hit a bump and suddenly find myself airborne, the instant is pure thrill, and I&amp;#039;m relieved to find the inflatable sled does a fine job of protecting my body from damage. My confidence is so high that I drag the Airboard up into the trees and take it careening off a jump, over and over. Half the time I hit the landing wrong and go tumbling down the slope (but in a good way). The Airboard has stoked my appetite for speed, so I move on to the Hammerhead, which looks like a cross between a Flexible Flyer and a webbed Aeron Chair. The Hammerhead is the most intuitive of the sleds--just lie belly down and steer by turning the front runners. The tensioned webbing absorbs bumps, and the scooped runners let you carve turns on all but the crustiest snowpacks. It&amp;#039;s not built for close-in work or jumps--I don&amp;#039;t even bother to try it in the woods--but on the road run, the Hammerhead is by far the fastest sled I&amp;#039;ve ever ridden. In contrast, tearing down an icy road on the Swedish-designed Stiga Advance FSR feels like trying to drive my nephew&amp;#039;s tricycle on the freeway. As I grip the tiny steering wheel, my high center of gravity makes me feel like I&amp;#039;m balancing on a teacup. But such imbalance doesn&amp;#039;t detract from the Stiga&amp;#039;s true calling--this is a stunt sled. YouTube is filled with videos of daredevils using the sleds to pull backflips off roofs. Unfortunately, I can&amp;#039;t convince Phillips to try for some upside-down air. By the end of the afternoon I&amp;#039;m soaking wet and joyously exhausted. And there&amp;#039;s the rub: Unless you have a chauffeured snowmobile, a day of sledding involves a lot of trudging uphill. What you really want is a lift. Few ski mountains in North America allow sleds on their slopes. But that&amp;#039;s changing. This winter, New Hampshire&amp;#039;s Tenney Mountain is scheduled to open a sledding zone where guests can rent Hammerheads.  It&amp;#039;s a small start, but it could turn into something bigger. After all, everyone already knows about sledding. It&amp;#039;s just that what they know is wrong. &amp;quot;People think sledding means going straight until you crash,&amp;quot; Phillips says. &amp;quot;In fact, you can sled lines you can&amp;#039;t ski. You can go wherever you want. It&amp;#039;s the ultimate freedom on the snow.&amp;quot;  "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.popularmechanics.com/adventure/sports/a3805/4295924/>