Have wheels, will travel...so help me, God

As most of you know, my husband uses a wheelchair. All day, every day. Before I met him, I was pretty dumb about the logistics of wheelchair navigation. I didn't give a thought to elevators vs. stairs, the turning radius of a bathroom, the width of a door, the continuity of pavement, etc. Chalk it up to youthful naivete, but once my husband and I began dating seriously and our world opened up to include more exotic locales, I just blithely assumed that the travel industry was more savvy about accessible travel than I was and would shepherd us through the process like a wizened elderly woman teaching someone several decades her junior to knit.

Savor that image. Hold it in your heart. Because it's the nicest thing I'm going to say in this post.

That's... not what happened. The reality of accessible travel is that the people who work in it are just like I was, like many of you are, and never give a thought to - does the restaurant have stairs? Does the historic inn have a ramp out front? Will the baggage handlers at the airport grab my thousands-of-dollars-worth-of-wheelchair by its cables and throw it in the cargo compartment with the grace and finesse of a highly organized group of pillaging baboons?

TWICE?

Even some property and business owners don't truly understand what should be common sense about the accessibility of their own establishments. When I call a place to ask if it is accessible, I know in 2 seconds how the conversation will go. Aside from the straight-up "No," there are three options. 

1. The Ideal: something along the lines of "Of course! We have ramp access on the side and an elevator in the back."
2. The I Don't Know: Acceptable, but disappointing: "Um, hang on, let me ask the manager. It's kind of an old building."
3. The Idiot: Face. Palm. "Uh, yeah, I think so. There's only, like, one stair to get in the front." 

The single hardest thing to grasp about accessible travel is the one you'd least expect - the bathroom. Because unlike 99% of the travel professionals I have dealt with, I know that GRAB BARS DO NO GOOD IF YOU CAN'T FIT A WHEELCHAIR THROUGH THE DOOR. Or if the toilet is in its own tiny closet. Or if the square footage of the bathroom itself never hits the double digits. These are truths that should be self evident, even though it seems like the travel industry at large thinks that a bathroom is like a priority mail package - if it fits, it...%^&*s (sits. Yeah, sits.).

I know I may sound a little harsh, but I should stress that even though most travel professionals we have encountered are pretty much totally clueless, most of those have good intentions. The best of them will even admit their ignorance and go talk to someone smarter than they are, which is nice. And it may take a while, but eventually, they'll get back to us and we might be able to use some or even most of their offerings. Go almost everywhere. Ride a handful of rides. Eat at some of the  restaurants, although not go to the bathroom.  

Really, pretty much some of the stuff can handle a wheelchair. They think.

Even the owners of restaurants or small inns who aren't quite there yet will offer to send out "four big men to pick up your chair" (actually happened). And I can't tell you the number of times we've had perfect strangers offer to help when we've gotten stuck on a beach or in someone's side yard (in the rain) during a swanky garden party, or to pull or lift or yank or otherwise manhandle my husband's chair out of a tight spot.

People are sympathetic to these kinds of issues, when they are pointed out. Not the way that I suspect they will be in the next 10-15 years, when baby boomers all over are turning to wheeled devices when hips and knees start going out. But most places are genuinely sorry when they turn us away. They just never thought about it. Yes, there are laws, the great ADA being the most famous, certainly, but they only help...some. Not all doors are open.  Globally, the vast majority of them aren't. 

What's a wheelchair user to do? It became apparent through years of infuriating, expensive, and exhausting travel trial and error, that we can travel, but we have to really want it. We do not fly (thank American Airlines and Southwest, respectively). We plan ahead. Waaaaay ahead. We research. We analyse Google Earth for curb cuts and ramps. We get creative with portable ramps (we carry 3 in our van at all times) for doorsteps and curbs and uneven surfaces. We pad the timing of just about everything. But the most basic, irrefutable, and hardest to accept fact about wheelchair accessible travel is that there are places we simply cannot go.

So, where do we go? If we can get there by train, car, or boat, we do it. Cruises are the easiest option - we drive to cruise port, get on ship, and hit the Face Jammer without having to think much at all. On a good cruise, 3 out of 5 ports of call will have piers and my husband can get off the ship, although there are almost no accessible excursions once we're on dry land, but at least he has ample opportunity to browse the selection of knockoff handbags. 

Over the years, we've been to a fair number of places, too, so my plan is to document each trip as best as I can remember it, complete with mode of transport, restaurants, activities, and lodging, and post it on this blog. If there's a trip you know we've done that you want to know more about, or if you have a specific question about accessible travel (I probably can't answer it, but I can research it with you or at least swear a lot while we try), shoot me an email and I'll put it at the top of the list.