The trail
was short and easy. I should have been happy, on top of the world ecstatic, but
all I could see were the other trails in the park. The real trails. The trails are
not meant for wheelchairs.
We drove
to another trail that led to a different viewpoint of the same waterfalls. This
trail was the exact opposite of accessible; it was steep, muddy, and full of
rocks and tree roots. I became determined or possessed. I pushed Kellisa in her
wheelchair up this crowded trail full of weekend hikers gawking at us. A few
hikers offered to help, but I needed to get Kellisa to the viewpoint without
help. I needed to test our capabilities. Kellisa’s endless giggles provided
additional motivation as I struggled, but we made it to the viewpoint. Kellisa
was probably the first (and still only) person in a wheelchair to see the
waterfalls from this platform.
I
declared us hikers!
Then I
realized the scary fact that the hike was only half over. I had to negotiate
this trail going downhill where mud and gravity are known enemies of a
wheelchair. Like Mount Everest mountain climbers, is it considered a successful
climb when you reach the summit or when you return home alive?
I was
praying to make it down without Kellisa getting hurt. I was even promising never
to try anything like this again. We made it down and Kellisa was all smiles and
giggles. I had no business pushing Kellisa on this trail...on that day as we
were ill-prepared. I kept my promise; we've never done anything like that trail
again. Now we use adaptive mobility chairs designed for trail use, and I tether
Kellisa to my body to prevent gravity from taking Kellisa down.
Later
that same day, we visited Brasstown Bald, the highest point in Georgia. After
driving most of the way towards the top, it was a half mile climb to the summit
observation platform. We arrived with little time before the park closed and a
ranger advised us to come back another day. We didn't have another day, so I
carried Kellisa to the top before posing for Kellisa's first state highpoint
picture. We took in the view for a few minutes before racing back to the van so
we could leave before getting locked in for the evening.
Not only
was Kellisa a hiker, but now she was also a state highpointer!
We
ended our summer with Labor Day weekend visiting family in Colorado where we
went for Kellisa’s second "real" hike on wheels. It was a rocky trail
surrounded by mountains with a swift flowing stream that needed to be crossed.
Lisa didn’t want me to push Kellisa through the water, but I couldn’t resist
another test of our adventure skills. In the middle of our crossing, I looked
back at Lisa with a nervous smile. If looks could kill, I would have died that
beautiful afternoon.
In
between the two hikes, Kellisa had her only surgery of 2004. Her tonsils and
adenoids were removed by laser to clear her breathing path. We were able to add
another doctor’s name to the “astonished by Kellisa” list as one of her tonsils
improbably grew back.
We squeezed in one last adventure for the year when we visited the highest
point in our home state of Florida. It was an easy drive up in a park with a
short walk to the summit marker.
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