Aging with a Disability: Never stop Playing

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As I round the bend, it’s there again: the Headwall, as I call it. It’s a near-vertical (at least to my eye) stretch of road with an attitude. It seems to know that I hate it. It just sits there quietly, waiting for me to empty my tanks on the way up, which I do, but I always make it. And it knows that, too. So I guess it’s not really hate—maybe love/hate. Because when I do reach the top, I celebrate. Without that stretch of vertiginous asphalt, how would I know triumph? Then I turn around and foe becomes friend, propelling me into double-digit speeds within seconds.

Let me take a moment to clear up this picture. I’m a 57-year-old quadriplegic, pedaling my carbon fiber Giant OCR3 bicycle up Danish Road, near the mouth of Little Cottonwood Canyon, 12 miles below the legendary ski resort of Alta, Utah. A quad on a two-wheel bike? Yes, I’m blessed, fortunate, lucky—you pick the adjective. I dove into a reservoir 35 years ago, hit a submerged tree stump, and fractured my fourth and fifth cervical vertebrae. I was paralyzed from the neck down. I guess I wasn’t supposed to stay that way, because about eight weeks later I could move both legs and both arms. My left arm and hand didn’t work very well, but in time that would improve, too.