My road came to an unexpected halt on November 9, 2010.

That morning, I was bicycling to work when a garbage truck turned across a city bike lane. I was in that bike lane.

A team of trauma surgeons saved my life, but they had to amputate my left leg. My body and life were forever changed.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.

As I learned to walk again, I measured my recovery in steps and then miles. Over time that journey grew into something more -- a way of being in the world, wherever I go.

I am a person of ability and disability. I travel in the space between. These are my postcards.

Tuesday, February 11, 2025

Happy 14th Walking Day!

Stepping into Mile 13,354...

Today marks 14 years since I took my first steps on a prosthetic leg!

You might not remember your first steps, but when you take them a second time around, you remember everything.

I can still hear prosthetist Tim telling me, "Small with the left.  Big with the right."  (Above-knee amputees tend to take an exaggerated step with their prosthetic side.)

I can still hear him say, "Great.  That was great."   (Those words filled me with hope and joy!)

On the night of February 11, 2011, my family and I crowded around the kitchen table to watch that grainy video a thousand times on my laptop!

I knew back then I would never take walking for granted.

It's still true. 

I walk around the block every morning.  
I walk the hospital corridors at work. 
I walk around the kitchen while I'm making dinner.  
I walk in the grocery store.  
I walk on sidewalks, and across streets, and (carefully) over cobblestones.  

The gift of walking never wears off.

But 13,354 miles -- and 14 years -- is a long way from that starting line.  By the time I realize today is "Walking Day," it's mid-afternoon and snow is on the way.

Ugh.  I don't walk in snow, even after 14 years.

So I head to the gym and hop on my favorite treadmill, which offers virtual "walks" in several countries.

No problem.  I'll walk in Singapore!

The screen on a treadmill showing a walking path in Singapore along the water, lined by trees, with buildings on the horizon.

It's a beautiful walking day there.  Sun reflects off the buildings.  The trees are tropical green.  The path is paved and clean.  

In my earbuds, I turn on an episode of Deviate with Rolf Potts.  He's interviewing Rick Steves about his newest book, On the Hippie Trail, a journal of his 1970's trip from Istanbul to Kathmandu as a 23-year-old.

I'm walking with my two favorite travel writers!  What better way to celebrate the day?

Walking through Singapore reminds me of my friend and fellow writer Sameer, who lives there with his family.  I met Sameer at Rolf Potts's Paris Writing Workshop in 2023.  

And thinking about Paris reminds me how far I've come.

A photo of my writing class (9 people) standing side by side in a lush garden.  I am 4th from the left, and Sameer is 5th from the left.)
(That's Sameer on my right!)

When I took my first steps back in 2011, I thought I'd never travel again -- at least not like I did before the accident.

In a sense, that was true. 

I travel differently now, adapting in ways I couldn't yet imagine.

The path in Singapore curves through a shady area.   I walk past signposts, trash cans, spotlights, and call boxes.  Rick Steves talks about depending on fellow travelers for directions and information.

A treadmill screen showing the walking path with trees and shade to the left, and a railing and water to the right.
 

Wayfinding. 

I don't know why that particular word comes to mind, but it seems especially meaningful today.

I think about my doctorsnurses, and rehab therapists.  Prosthetist Tim and his amazing team.

The friends, old and new, who've helped me march on.  My family who's there for me -- always.

They are my Wayfinders.  I'd be lost without them.

It's not the best "leg day," but it's not the worst either.  I wait to feel the familiar slip of my prosthetic socket, its rub on my skin, or the tiny leak of air that tells me my steps have expired.

I keep walking, longer than I usually do.  
Farther than I think I can. 
(Not that far.  But far for me!)

Finally, my right foot starts aching.  I want to keep going, but I have to stop.  I've learned, in 14 years, to listen to my body and respect its needs.

The path opens up to a harbor filled with bobbing, gleaming yachts.  I focus on that watery horizon.  

The treadmill screen showing the walking path leading to a large body of water.
And press STOP.

Outside the gym, the first snowflakes swirl beneath the streetlights.  In my earbuds, Rick Steves reaches Kathmandu.  On the screen, Singapore disappears.

I stand there on the treadmill, catching my breath.  Grateful for all these steps.

I could go anywhere, I think.  Anywhere at all.

Happy Walking Day,
Rebecca
 
P.S.  You can read about past "Walking Days" at Mile 335Mile 930Mile 2,525  Mile 3,660 and here too!


Saturday, February 8, 2025

Why Adaptive Travel?

Hello from Mile Marker 13,345...

Picture this:  Two adaptive travelers are planning a trip together. 

Wait, you don't have to.  Here's a photo.

It was January 2023, and my friend Mona and I had just booked airline tickets for a nine-day trip to Paris

A selfie of Mona and me, holding up papers with writing on them, smiling huge.
We were excited!
(Who cares that the trip was still 7 months away?)

By our sky-high smiles, you might not detect the deliberations we poured into those plans: 

The length of the trip, 
time of the flights, 
disability services at the airport, 
the seats we'd need on the plane. 

We considered packing, pressure changes, legroom, "leg time," and what it would be like for our bodies to be crunched in a seat for 8 hours straight.  (Not to mention the recovery time we'd need at either end!)

Travel is different, and often difficult, with a disability.  But it's also a priviledge, brimming with possibility.

We saw both sides.  

And couldn't wait to take that leap!
 

Recently, I was invited to speak with Wilmington Christiana Care's Amputee Education Group.  

It was my FIRST EVER presentation about Adaptive Travel!

I spent a month creating it and much longer thinking about it.   

You could say I'd been working on it since my very first trip as an amputee.

I'm standing on a metal dock, about to board a boat in Maine.
That was Mile 21, a road trip to Maine
where I got by with A LOT of help from my friends!
 
I started the workshop with some ways to think about travel and what we bring with us -- our individual strengths and struggles, and how they might play out when we're away from home.  

When we travel, we can adapt ourselves, but we can also adapt our environment.  

Who are YOU as a traveler?  
What do you want -- and need -- along the way? 

It's only afterward, that I decide to do this exercise for myself.

(Go ahead.  It's fun to try!)

As a traveler, I'm... 
curious.  
resourceful.  
open-minded.  
optimistic.  

I like to laugh, talk to locals, and observe "everyday life" wherever I am.

A collage of photos showing baked goods, and my friend Natalie and I baking in Denmark.
I love to learn, especially about other cultures
like at this Danish pastry class!

Before my injuries, I traveled solo.

A photo of me, pre-injury, with both legs in shorts standing in a vineyard in France.

Now I take friends.

My friend Marla and I, on a bridge in Quebec City.

want to do everything, but I need to be selective.  I have to prioritize mobility, comfort, rest, and digestion.  

(It's a delicate balance, one I often neglect!)

I've found some success...



But it's rarely stressless or pain-free.  

My needs outweigh my wants wherever I am.  

Take prosthetic fit, for example -- and the neverending struggle to manage it!

A park bench in Paris, where my prosthetic is off and equipment is scattered around.

I can walk, but not too far.  
I can stand, but not too long.
I can sit, but not in every seat.

I make mistakes, often the same ones, over and over again...


Adaptability isn't the same as accessibility.  

Being adaptive can't remove all barriers.  Some needs are nonnegotiable.  

We might require elevators, ramps, wider doorways, shower seats, assistive devices, screen readers, closed captions, caregivers, or other accommodations.

But travel goes beyond the physical. 
 
It's a mindset too.

My table at a café, with a tray holding a cup of coffee, my journal, and a pen.
One we can adopt wherever we are!

For a budding travel writer, I don't actually travel much.

But seeing myself as a traveler changes the way I experience home too.  

On a morning walk, I pick up patterns on buildings, catch crumbs of conversation, and marvel at the myriad of winter coats worn by dogs.  

I take advantage of opportunities:  sign up for classes, taste new foods, read books, watch movies, and reach out to faraway friends.

Being an adaptive traveler isn't just about where you go, it's about how.  It empowers us to explore, even in our own neighborhood!


My travel-buddy Mona is not just adaptive.  She's wise too. 

Before we embarked on that trip together, she said something that's always stuck with me.  I'll paraphrase it here:

There's no scenerio where I'll be able to travel without my disability.  So if I want to go, I'll have to travel with it.

Me, wearing a mask, and Mona in the Paris airport standing in front of a sign that says "Bienvenue" (welcome!).
Merci Mona! 
Tu es très sage!

We shape our experiences.  And our experiences shape us.

That's the why of Adaptive Travel.

Walk on,
Rebecca

P.S.  If you or your group wants to talk more about Adaptive Travel, please reach out.  I'd love to be part of the conversation!