Sunday, February 14, 2010

Street View For Winter Olympic Trails

It's no secret that I'm a Google Earth nut, but I'm amazed I didn't find this earlier. Street View is available for Winter Olympic trails at the different venues. Here's how they made it.




Saturday, February 13, 2010

Mountains, Marmots and Missing My Mobility

You know that a disability is getting the better of you when it invades your dreams. Last night, my wife had her first "walking" dreams where I am walking unaided and feeling fine while I walked with her. I've had several of those dreams in the last few weeks. In one, my daughter was so amazed that I was having no trouble and we were both laughing at how good it felt to just walk! If only it weren't just a dream. If only it was real. But it isn't and I can't control it. 

On reflection, I love and hate my wheelchair. I always have. I love the freedom it gives me (and my family) to go do things when I have the energy. On the other hand, I hate the attention it brings me. I see the people take notice that I'm in a chair, that I'm different from them in a fundamental capacity, and I don't enjoy the feeling. 

Then there are the limitations that come with the chair. For example, I used to climb 14ers. In Colorado, a 14er is a mountain over 14,000 feet ASL. When I was 15, Grays Peak was my first 14er. My dad and I were about 2/3 of the way to the top when I sat down and just listened to the wind (after I caught my breath). Hearing some movement behind us, we turned to see some mountain goats coming down the mountainside right towards us. We held our breath, hoping they would get closer. The largest goat came within ten feet of me and simply lay down on the tundra. My dad came around and got this picture.



We sat there for a while and then they continued on down. We would continue on to the the top and I would then solo on Torreys Peak, all in one day! I was hooked by the time we got down. I would later go on to climb several more 14ers with my last being Mt. Princeton in 1995. 

With my declining health, my ability to get up there is almost non-existant. I say almost because I have ridden the Manitou & Pikes Peak Railroad to the summit house and I could still drive to the summit of Mt. Evans. Unfortunately, using a car limits your ability to truly enjoy the wonderful experiences of seeing the alpine tundra, taking in the myriads of small wildflowers that bloom for a few weeks each summer, and watching the pikas, marmots, and mountain goats in their natural home. Frankly, it's difficult to feel like you're a part of all that when you're sitting in an isolated environment like a car. I've found that the fewer man-made assemblages you take with you, the more real and beautiful the experience becomes.

Speaking of assemblages, while my power chair is great for around the house or neighborhood, it's not an all terrain model (do they even make those?). My chair can't go very far or very high because the trail has to be broad, reasonably level and easy to navigate with six wheels. In effect, everything a hiking trail is not. There are nature paths designed for people with disabilities, yet none seem to go where I want to go: among secluded aspen groves, over the tundra, beside creeks with waterfalls, and next to pristine lakes whose only disturbance is a trout chasing the hatch.. These are places I've been (just in Colorado) that I might not see the likes of again until God heals me. When I consider that such a thing may not come in this age but in the next, that's a hard thing for me to consider. Nevertheless, while I can do certain things to help, the power for my healing does not rest with me, but God. I depend on Him and His power. 

A year ago, I was thinking how much I needed a power chair to get around. Now, I seem to complain about how limited the thing is. I'm so human. I forget that true contentment doesn't come from where I am, what I do, or how I feel. It comes from being in His presence, seeking what He wants, and choosing to live at His place. While I can't control what happens, I can trust the One Who can.

Friday, February 12, 2010

Winter Olympics

Ever since I was a kid watching the Winter Olympics in Sarajevo, I understood the athleticism, stamina and fortitude it took to compete. I was a beginner at skiing, but my brother had already been an "olympic hopeful" contender before damaging his knee. Even watching the alpine downhill with him taught me more about skiing than I could have learned skiing on my own.

Yet, as Kelly Clark says below, you can win every championship and still feel empty. If people love you just because you can fly down the mountain at insane speeds or whip 1080s like they're nothing, you intuitively know that the love is conditional. It will go away when someday you lose the ability to do what you do. That's why a relationship with God looks so good to those who perform for approval.