Already a winner, Sass has handcycle title
Life-changing accident ‘closed some doors but opened’ others
Bill Sass woke up unable to move. He could not see in the pitch black.
He slowly realized he was facedown in the dirt beside a highway, and that his Ford Explorer had turned on its side and lay on top of him. He assumed he could not wiggle out from the car wreck because it had pinned him to the ground.
When paramedics arrived, they pulled him out from underneath the Explorer without difficulty. It turned out that he had not been wedged. The accident had paralyzed him.
On Sunday, nearly 25 years since Sass lost mobility below his armpits, he finished first of the handcyclists competing at the Chevron Houston Marathon.
Over the last three years, Achilles International, a nonprofit that helps disabled athletes compete in sports, has incorporated participants who race wheelchairs, ride handcycles and run with visual and mobility impairments.
Second marathon
Of the estimated 35,000 runners Sunday, 44 were disabled. Handcyclists like Sass lie on their backs and operate the three-wheeled vehicle with gears, brakes and a hand crank that control the pedals.
“I’m shocked,” Sass said after crossing the finish line.
Sass, a software engineer for an oil field services company, turns 59 next week. Last year was his first marathon and he needed more than two hours to finish third. He completed the course Sunday in 1 hour, 42 minutes and 9 seconds. He beat out the next male handcyclist by 16 minutes.
Sass deflected compliments from marathon staff and spectators after the race. He credited the cool and windy conditions for sustaining his pace at 15 mph.
He would not dwell on any thrills or challenges, preferring to generalize the experience: “I don’t know. I just like to handcycle.”
Sitting inside a coffee shop across from the George R. Brown Convention Center, Sass wore the first-place medal around his neck and revealed his discomfort with making a big deal out of any moment, be it triumphant or tragic.
He downplays the severity of the accident that fractured his spinal cord in 1992.
“It was life-changing, but it wasn’t bad,” he said. “It closed some doors, but it opened some doors.”
“He’s so optimistic,” said his wife of 30 years, Rosalind, who was seated next to him and explained the life story of an impressive man who would rather go uncelebrated.
For years they traveled 1,600 miles from their home in Victoria to visit Rosalind’s parents in Los Angeles. They would drive for nearly 24 hours without resting.
In 1992, they changed their routine. Sass had typically driven the most, but he purchased a top cargo carrier for the Explorer that stored their luggage. This opened space for their two infant children to ride securely and Sass to switch out with his wife for a rare respite in the back.
They also left later than usual, at midnight. By 10 p.m. the next day, Rosalind was exhausted behind the wheel. The couple’s 6-month-old daughter was strapped into a rear-facing car seat in the passenger’s seat. Their 18-month-old son was buckled into one back seat and Sass was reclined in the other, asleep.
Sass had anticipated a solid nap.
“I had planned not to wear my seat belt,” Sass said Sunday.
“He never once did not wear a seat belt in the whole time that we were married,” Rosalind said. “This one time — it’s like all these fateful things happened.”
The last moment
As the Explorer reached the border of Arizona and California, Rosalind snacked on some of the kids’ cereal from a cup. Then she put it down.
That was the last moment she remembered before the car veered off the road, tumbled end-overend and flung her husband out of a window.
The toddlers were unharmed. Rosalind had blood dripping down her head.
A passerby peeled off at the next exit and called for an ambulance that would take the Sasses to a small hospital in Blythe, Calif.
Sass said the only pain he felt was when paramedics strapped his head too tightly to a gurney. He suffered a compression fracture of his third and fourth thoracic vertebrae.
At the hospital, Rosalind apologized to Sass by his bedside. He told her it was not her fault and blamed himself for not buckling in.
At this point in Rosalind’s retelling of the ordeal, Sass cut in.
“It wasn’t so dramatic,” Sass said.
“It was for me,” Rosalind said, and then turned to look at him. For all the moments he glossed over, she wanted him to appreciate this one. Her eyes glistened as she fought back tears.
“If he died …” she continued, before cutting herself off. “He lived to forgive me.”
‘Such an inspiration’
Sass would spend the next 16 weeks rehabilitating in California at two trauma centers, one of which introduced him to wheelchair sports.
“He was such an inspiration to everyone else there,” Rosalind said. “He had that attitude that when I leave here I want to be able to do everything 100 percent by myself.”
“I’m better with physical challenges than mental challenges,” Sass said, offering an explanation for more than just his grasp of athletics.
He picked up handcycling in 1995. In the beginning, he hooked a bike trailer to the back and gave his kids rides. Later, each year for 15 years he handcycled from Houston, where he relocated for work, to Austin as part of the MS 150, a twoday fundraising bike ride organized by the National Multiple Sclerosis Society.
He regularly uses the wide shoulder of US 90 ALT to handcycle 40 miles between his home in Sugar Land and Fulshear.
“It’s nice being out on the roads,” he said.
Competitions offer him a new excitement.
He might not extol his accomplishments, but they mean a lot to him.
“For wheelchair-bound people, athletics is really important because strength is everything,”he said. “The stronger you are, the more places you can go, the more things you can do. It just opens up more opportunities.”