No holding them back

Slicing around a bend on Cannon Mountain, a small, compact figure surges into view.

Nineteen-year-old Tyler Walker slashes down the slope, devouring it with powerful, economical movements. Shifting his weight from ski pole to ski pole, he carves a precise, zigzag course.

From the vantage point of the base lodge, he resembles -- in spirit at least -- the fearless Mighty Joe Young of the black-and-white celluloid era: barreling out of the woody hills, he's controlled and purposeful, propelled by a set of strong, muscular arms. Racing over the powder, the double amputee's lower torso is bound in a spring-loaded bucket sled with a nitrogen-filled shock absorber.

Seconds later, he reaches the bottom, cutting hard to the right and kicking up a fresh arc of white powder. As he comes to a stop, he smiles, resting on his poles.

''I like to scare myself," the University of New Hampshire sophomore said later about his affinity for big air and lots of speed. ''When I go out free-skiing that's what I try to do, is scare myself. Put myself in situations that make me uncomfortable, and see if I can ski out of it."

Walker's legs, weakened by a congenital disorder, were amputated when he was 4 years old, but he's not looking for pity, or to warm any hearts. In fact, he seems a little sick of hearing -- and talking -- about the disability he's lived with since birth.

He'd rather be recognized for what he is: an athlete, and one of the world's best. Tomorrow, he will be skiing in Turin, Italy, as part of the Paralympic Games, the Olympic competition for those with disabilities.

He'll be joined by fellow UNH students Taylor Chace, a sled hockey player with a spinal cord injury, and Laurie Stephens, a mono-skier from Wenham, Mass., who was born with a neurological disorder, spina bifida.

All three athletes train with the Northeast Passage program, a self-funded entity on the UNH campus. The nonprofit group was recently designated an academy of the US Paralympics Organization, meaning it's sanctioned to support and prepare future seekers of Paralympic gold. The designation also helps raise awareness of the games, which are little publicized or celebrated in the United States.

Because of that, Paralympians say they're often approached by people who have never heard of the games, or confuse them with the Special Olympics, an international organization that introduces athletics to people with mental disabilities. They don't realize the Paralympic games are highly selective and gruelingly competitive.

''Around the world, it's seen as what it is: elite-level sporting competition," said Tom Carr, program coordinator of Northeast Passage. ''When people think of a disability, they don't think of that high level of competition. All they need to do is come and see it."

Walker agreed, stressing his ''no pity" stance.

''We're not inspirations who rise above our disability just to get on the snow," he said. ''We're not disabled. We're only disabled if someone makes us feel disabled."

Indeed, these athletes certainly don't appear -- or act -- handicapped.

Although in a wheelchair, Walker is in many ways more active than the average able-bodied person.

He canoes, cross-country skis, scuba dives, kayaks, hand cycles, climbs mountains, and skateboards. He also tears around the curving roads of his hometown, Franconia, N.H., in a customized black Ford Focus with steering-wheel levers for the gas and brakes.

''I like to think it's just the way I am," Walker replied when asked if his adventurous attitude is a result of testing the limits of his disability. He loves anything dangerous, he said. If it's fast, and he has control, it's fun.

The handsome athlete, with a freckled face and reddish sideburns, was born with an under-developed spine as the result of lumbar sacral agenesis, a congenital developmental disorder. The ailment left him with gaunt, misshapen legs that he remembers as ''dead weight."

''They had no use at all," he said, sinking back into a couch in his family's living room. Nearby, floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the stands of birches surrounding their home and a trio of snow-covered mountains, one of them Cannon.

Growing up within 10 minutes of the ski area, his love for snow and the rush of the slopes came early.

In elementary school, he watched friends enjoy group skiing excursions when classes let out early on wintry Fridays. Intrigued but left out, he begged until his parents caved.

Walker's first foray onto the trails was a collective effort. His mother, Carol, remembers plopping him into a sled bolted to a pair of old cross-country skis, with her husband and her tethered to his back and front.

The cumbersome setup didn't last, though. The agile youngster quickly moved to a modified snowboard, then a bi-ski -- a spring-loaded sled attached to two skis -- and finally a mono-ski, the equipment he now uses to carve out the powdered trails.

''Once he exhibited this love of skiing and racing, we tried to make everything available for him," his mother said.

He participated in his first national race at age 13, and three years later was invited to join the US Disabled Skiers Team, a distinction reserved for the sport's top athletes.

Stephens, 21, joined at the same time. She will be competing, skiing alongside Walker in slalom races, but because of her busy pre-Paralympics schedule, was unavailable for an interview.

During his years of competition, Walker has snagged countless medals in races all over the country, and a half-dozen or so in World Cup events.

He picked up a few nontraditional honors along the way, too.

''Some races we'll win a wheel of cheese, a ham," he said, shaking his head as he showed off a tangle of medals and the white, crested leather jacket he'll don during tomorrow's opening ceremonies. ''I won a light fixture once."

Still, he insisted, he's not motivated by medals or ribbons -- or even the occasional chandelier. They're added perks, sure, but he said he skis for the pure pleasure of it. Too often, athletes forget that basic love for the sport when tempted with the gold, he said.

''You can never forget what made it fun," he asserted.

Chace, 19, of Hampton Falls, N.H., feels that way, too.

Even after 15 years of playing hockey, he cracks into a smile when talking about gliding freely on the ice.

''You fly around the rink," he said of the game.

He started playing at age 4; skating and icy strategies always came naturally.

By 16, he was competing with the New Hampshire Junior Monarchs, a program that trains young athletes for college play. He was also on his way to a hockey scholarship at UNH.

Then, during a routine game with the Junior Monarchs, he was checked, off-guard, from behind and sent flying into the boards.

It was the hardest he'd ever been hit.

The result was a compressed spinal cord, which left him paralyzed for a number of months. After a half-year of rehab, he regained feeling and movement, then mastered walking again. Today, he is mobile and drives a car without special modifications, but because he lacks power and coordination in his legs, he can't play stand-up hockey.

It was a devastating prospect at first for a guy who, from a young age, spent whatever time he could on the ice.

''After I got hurt, I was upset. I really didn't know what to do with myself," he said. ''I didn't know who I was because I didn't have that label 'hockey player.' "

Luckily, however, he discovered sled hockey, a slower -- but equally intense -- form of traditional ice hockey. Players maneuver in small bucket sleds, using miniature, double-sided hockey sticks to push themselves across the ice and control the puck.

Thanks to his ''hockey mind" and proficiency with the stand-up game, he was able to pick it up quickly. He began training regularly at Northeast Passage and skating with the New England Bruins, a local sled-hockey team coached by former Bruins player Rick Middleton.

Within a year -- and after months of arduous try-outs -- Chace made the US Paralympics Sled Hockey National Team.

His rapid success has left him a little stunned, but exhilarated.

''I literally went from not doing anything to representing my country," he said. ''Things happen so fast."

Of his team's chances in Turin, he's cautiously hopeful. Norway and Canada, two teams that the United States will face, are solid and tight, he said.

Plus, everyone's going to come out hungry.

''It's the Olympics," said Chace, who has been accepted at UNH but deferred his studies to next fall. ''Everyone wants to win."

That includes Chace, so he spent the weeks leading up to the games racking up ice time.

Before a recent morning free skate at UNH's Whittemore Center Arena, he prepared rink-side, the Beastie Boys screaming out of the auditorium's loudspeakers.

After lowering himself into the aluminum sled equipped with skinny metal blades, he strapped his legs in with Velcro, secured his helmet, and pounded his gloves into place. With a series of hops, he angled backward onto the ice.

He moved slowly at first, warming up. Somebody tossed him a puck. He tapped it around, knocking it lightly against the boards.

Then, he gave it an Olympic whack. The puck rocketed across the ice, smacking the boards with a resounding thud.

He skated over, collected it, and did it again.

To watch the Paralympics online, go to www.paralympicsport.tv. To learn more about Northeast Passage, go to www.nepassage.org.