San Diego Union-Tribune (Sunday)
TRAILS High cost of mobility equipment also barrier
of the boardwalk, the height of the bump between the boardwalk ramp and the ground, the steepness of the ramps and the type of surfaces on the path to the boardwalk. “I just want to provide information so they can make that decision themselves.”
Rather than only sticking to paved trails, they argue that any trail can be more accessible if disabled hikers are equipped with the right information — and even trails labeled “accessible” can present challenges that park staff don’t always recognize.
Some trail guides are already available for free on the Disabled Hikers website, but Nagakyrie also plans to publish a guidebook, which is available for pre-order. Each trail is given a rating of how many “spoons” it takes to complete, in reference to a popular term used by those with chronic fatigue to describe how much energy they have to complete a given task. The more spoons a task requires, the harder and more energy-consuming it is.
The trail descriptions also include in-depth descriptions that start from the parking lot. Details Nagakyrie provides include trail width, steepness, surface material, landmarks, obstacles like roots or boulders, places to rest, accessible bathrooms, cellphone reception and water sources.
Collaborations to improve access
This is the type of information Georgena Moran would like more available on websites for national, state and local parks. Since being diagnosed with multiple sclerosis two decades ago, Moran, 64, has held on to her identity as an avid outdoor enthusiast. A former canoe racer and scuba diver, she uses her chin to drive her power wheelchair on hikes near her home in Portland, Ore. She particularly loves to get off paved trails.
“My adventurous spirit never died because my disability increased,” she said. “I still want to go out and challenge myself as much as possible.”
While she usually brings an able-bodied companion the first time she tries a new hike, she said that going on hikes independently is equally important for her to connect with her spiritual self.
“It’s a way of re-rooting,” she said.
But simple obstacles can prevent her from even getting onto a trail — sometimes there is no available handicapped parking, or curb cuts for her to get out of the parking lot. At the trailhead, she has found concrete barriers designed to keep out cars and ATVS but that also block her from entering.
Experiences like these pushed Moran to start Access Recreation, an organization that created guidelines for the type of information parks should provide disabled hikers. The group wrote sample trail guides for around three dozen trails in Oregon with the intention of getting larger organizations involved.
Access Recreation is now working with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service to improve accessibility at the Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge outside of Ridgefield, Wash., with the aim that it will serve as an example for other parks. Juliette Fernandez, a project manager with the Wildlife Service, said the agency is collecting and publishing better information about the trail, as well as installing new signs at the park that blind people can read through touch.
“We can really move mountains with very subtle touches,” she said.
Demand for affordable outdoor equipment
Sometimes, more regular trail maintenance could make a huge difference. David Nickelson, 42, of Winter Garden, Fla., is partially paralyzed from the waist down and uses an off-road handcycle to tackle all sorts of terrain. But he cannot get around fallen logs.
“You could have a trail where 99 percent of it could be passable or doable,” he said. But “if there’s one ledge or one tree down, or one narrow part of the trail at the beginning, then none of it is accessible.”
His off-road handcycle cost him more than $7,000, an out-of-pocket price he paid for his independence outdoors.
“So often with a disability you’re reliant on others to help you do things you used to do on your own,” he said. “One of the things I love about nature and hiking and trail running and stuff is being out there just with my own thoughts.”
But the type of equipment he uses wasn’t always available.
When Eric Baker, 63, of Morado, Calif., started experiencing symptoms of his chronic debilitating joint diseases 40 years ago, he could not find any wheelchairs on the market that could handle rugged outdoor terrain.
“One of the biggest problems in the disability community is most everything is made for indoor use,” he said.
Any mobility equipment made for the outdoors is expensive, Baker said, and often not covered by insurance because it isn’t deemed medically necessary. The type of standard wheelchairs that insurance does typically cover cannot go through rocks, soft surfaces or uneven surfaces.
Over time, Baker said he has noticed more and more options for outdoor wheelchairs, but he still couldn’t find one he could afford. Track chairs, which use motor-powered tracks instead of wheels to tackle uneven, rocky or soft surfaces, typically cost more than $10,000.
Now he uses the GRIT Freedom chair, a threewheeled chair that can be propelled using levers, invented by Massachusetts Institute of Technology researchers about a decade ago. With the new chair, Baker hops curbs, hunts, visits the beach and can cross mud, rocks and gravel. The chair cost him about $3,500.
Its popularity has led to several Facebook groups, where members organize group hikes, share favorite hiking locations, exchange tips on how to modify the chair for different activities and ask about fundraising to purchase a chair.
Aside from the GRIT Freedom Chair, there have been increasing options for affordable outdoor equipment over the past decade, according to Dustin Berg, founder and executive director of Global Opportunities Unlimited, a nonprofit that works to make the outdoors more accessible.
Berg, 37, a paraplegic, founded the Albuquerque, N.m.-based organization in 2005 after meeting other people with spinal cord injuries who also wanted to get back outside independently.
“I wouldn’t want a bunch of able-bodied folks to carry me up to the top of a mountain,” Berg said. “I don’t see a whole lot of freedom in that.”
His company provides off-road handcycles, wheelchairs and utility vehicles that people can reserve and use for free for excursions in New Mexico.
It’s about training, too
Sometimes, it’s not just about equipment — it’s also about training. Seeing-eye dogs for the blind are often only trained to work in urban landscapes, and instructors for the blind may only teach people how to use their canes on the pavement.
“They simply wanted you to use your cane and expected you to stay on the sidewalk,” said Trevor Thomas, 52, of Charlotte, N.C.
As a blind outdoor enthusiast, he trained himself to make detailed maps, trace sign letters with his fingers and use trekking poles to hike the Appalachian Trail alone. For every mile of hiking, he estimates he did about four hours of research and notetaking.
But, as he tried harder hikes, he realized he still needed other people to help him through dangerous or tricky sections. That’s when he decided to get a guide dog — and convinced a seeing-eye dog school, Guide Dogs for the Blind in San Rafael, Calif., to let him have two dogs that he could train for the backcountry.
“I wanted that self-reliance back, I wanted the safety nets removed,” he explained.
While Thomas believes the backcountry isn’t suitable for everyone, he thinks the outdoors should be. In 2013, he started the Team Farsight Foundation to help empower other visually impaired individuals to hike, climb and get outdoors.
Even short hikes can be meaningful
Ambika Rajyagor, 26, of Chino Hills loves hiking with her sister, Devika, 23. The pair have traveled to the Yosemite, Grand Canyon and Joshua Tree National Parks but sometimes struggle to find accessible trails.
Devika has cerebral palsy, experiences seizures and does not speak. She was able to walk until about five years ago, but now she is only able to control her facial muscles. She cannot control a motorized wheelchair and her family is unable to buy a wheelchair for different terrains.
If the sisters want to go on a hike, Ambika must push Devika, which is challenging because Ambika, too, has a disability, an autoimmune condition that affects her joints and energy levels.
On a recent hike in Carbon Canyon Regional Park in California, Ambika and Devika were testing out a new bright purple wheelchair, with thin rubber wheels that offered some traction. Even with better tires, the pair struggled to make it out of the parking lot, covered with chunky rock gravel, before reaching the hard-packed dirt trail.
“We’re not going to let the trail stop us,” Ambika said.
After encountering unexpected inclines on a short loop labeled “easy” by online reviews, Ambika had to rest. She took off her sister’s headphones, which had been blasting Devika’s favorite music from Taylor Swift, so that they could both enjoy listening to birds flitting around in a small redwood grove. Devika gave her a smile as they rested.
To Ambika, this moment of joy symbolizes the perspective that disabled hikers can bring to outdoor culture. While many outdoor enthusiasts have a mindset of conquering the outdoors by doing increasingly challenging hikes on ever higher peaks, some disabled hikers often take time to just appreciate the outdoors.
“Just being outside and existing outside is something to be proud of,” she said.
Morris is a reporting fellow focused on disability issues at The New York Times.