Soccer Is for Everyone: Exploring the World of Adaptive Soccer

I absolutely love the World Cup.

I look forward to this so much because I can turn on the TV and watch soccer almost around the clock. And with the tournament's recent expansion, I'm an even bigger fan. There is something magical about watching smaller nations challenge powerhouse teams with enormous budgets.

Soccer has always held a special place in my life. I grew up playing, and it taught me confidence—not just in my athletic ability, but in what my body was capable of. I can still picture the 1999 U.S. Women's National Team winning the World Cup. That iconic celebration is burned into my memory and inspired an entire generation of girls, myself included.

So, during all this soccer excitement, I thought it would be the perfect time to highlight something many people don't realize:

There isn't just one way to play soccer.

There are incredible adaptive versions of the sport that allow athletes with disabilities to compete at every level—from local recreation to international championships.

Blind Soccer is designed for athletes who are blind or have low vision. Players use a ball with bells inside so they can track it by sound, while goalkeepers are sighted and coaches help direct play from the sidelines. Communication becomes just as important as technical skill, creating a fast-paced and incredibly strategic game.

Amputee Soccer may be my favorite adaptive variation to introduce people to because the first reaction is usually, "Wait...how?" Field players with lower limb amputations compete using forearm crutches and without prosthetic legs, while goalkeepers have upper limb differences. If you've never watched a match, do yourself a favor and look one up. The athleticism is unbelievable. I also highly recommend the Move United podcast episode "This is the World's Game" (Redefining Disability, June 14), which shares the stories of athletes helping grow amputee soccer across the United States and reminds us that disability doesn't diminish competitiveness—it simply changes how the game is played.

Photo credit US Women’s National Amputee Soccer Team’s instagram

For athletes with cerebral palsy, stroke, or traumatic brain injury, CP Soccer modifies the game to accommodate different movement patterns while maintaining the competitive spirit of soccer. International competition continues to grow, and both men's and women's national teams represent the United States.

There is also Power Soccer, one of the fastest-growing adaptive sports. Played in power wheelchairs on a basketball court, Power Soccer was developed specifically for athletes who use power chairs. Specialized guards are attached to the chairs, allowing players to dribble, pass, and score. Watching the precision and strategy involved quickly changes what people think is possible in a wheelchair.

For athletes with intellectual disabilities, TOPSoccer provides inclusive recreational opportunities through local clubs across the country. The program focuses on fun, skill development, and creating a welcoming environment where everyone can participate.

Closer to home, there are opportunities throughout Colorado to get involved. The Fort Collins area has TOPSoccer programs through local youth soccer organizations, and adaptive recreation providers across Northern Colorado frequently partner with soccer clubs to offer inclusive programming. If you're looking for a place to start, reaching out to your local soccer club or adaptive recreation organization is often the quickest way to find a program near you.

Photo credit: Ohio Soccer Association

One of the most exciting developments in recent years is U.S. Soccer's ADAPTandTHRIVE initiative. Rather than focusing on just one disability sport, the program brings together multiple adaptive disciplines—including Blind Soccer, CP Soccer, Deaf Soccer, Power Soccer, Amputee Soccer, and TOPSoccer—to grow participation, develop leaders, and ensure soccer truly becomes a game for everyone. It represents a huge step toward making inclusion a core part of the future of American soccer, not an afterthought.

So while you're enjoying the excitement of this summer's Men's World Cup, remember that soccer has many more stories to tell than the ones playing on primetime television.

And if you're looking for the real powerhouse of international soccer...I'll see you in 2027, when the U.S. Women's National Team goes after another World Cup title. Four stars already shine above that crest—the men are just trying to catch up.

My Hospital Survival Guide: Tips from a Physical Therapist

As an accessibility consultant, I spend a lot of time helping people access the outdoors, their communities, and the activities they love. But one reality I can't ignore is that sometimes we all need healthcare—and sometimes that healthcare means spending time in a hospital.

As a physical therapist who works in a hospital, I also know something else:

Hospitals aren't exactly designed to be comfortable.

You lose a surprising amount of control. You don't decide when someone walks into your room. You don't choose when your medications arrive. Machines beep at all hours. You have to call to go to the bathroom. The temperature is somehow always either too hot or too cold. It's difficult to sleep, difficult to relax, and easy to feel like you've lost your independence.

While I can't change those realities, there are a few things I recommend to almost everyone who finds themselves admitted to a medical or surgical floor. (These tips aren't intended for patients in the ICU or those with specialized care needs.)

What to Bring (or Ask Family to Bring)

Earplugs. Hospitals are noisy—even overnight. Between monitors, hallway conversations, and staff checking on patients, every little bit of noise reduction helps.

An eye mask. Maybe you can't sleep at night but finally feel tired during the day. Or maybe someone flips on the lights at 5:30 a.m. An eye mask gives you one small piece of control over your environment.

Your favorite snacks. Hospital food has improved, but having snacks you genuinely enjoy can make a long day much better. Just be sure they fit within any dietary restrictions your care team has given you.

Good chocolate for the nurses. Is this technically bribery? Maybe. Do I think nurses appreciate being appreciated? Absolutely.

A cozy blanket. Hospital blankets do their job, but they're not exactly luxurious. A soft blanket from home can make your room feel much more comfortable.

Your own pillow. There is something incredibly comforting about resting your head on your own pillow after a stressful day.

A zip-up sweatshirt or sweater. Hospital gowns make it easy for staff to examine you, but they don't do much for warmth. A zip-up layer keeps you comfortable while still allowing easy access for medical care.

Things to keep your mind occupied. Books, crossword puzzles, coloring books, crocheting, podcasts, downloaded TV shows, or music can make the hours pass much more pleasantly.

Things to Ask For

1. Ask for clarification.

Doctors, nurses, and therapists use medical language every day. Sometimes we forget that everyone else doesn't.

If someone explains your diagnosis or treatment plan and you don't understand, simply say:

"I don't know what that means. Can you explain it another way?"

You are not wasting anyone's time. Understanding your own health is incredibly important, and your care team wants you to understand what's happening.

2. Ask how they reached their recommendation.

If you're unsure about a diagnosis or treatment plan, it's okay to ask questions that help you understand the team's thinking.

One of my favorite questions is:

"What are the differential diagnoses for my condition and what did you do to rule them in and out?"

This isn't about challenging your healthcare team—it's about understanding their clinical reasoning. Most clinicians appreciate thoughtful questions, and the answer often provides reassurance about how carefully your case has been evaluated.

3. Ask if care can be grouped together.

One of the biggest complaints I hear from patients is that they never get uninterrupted sleep.

Depending on your medical condition, it may be possible for your nurses and other staff members to group medications, vital signs, blood draws, therapy sessions, or other routine care together instead of spacing them throughout the day or night.

You can also ask if it's safe to avoid being awakened until a certain time in the morning. This isn't appropriate for everyone—some medications and assessments simply can't wait—but it's always worth asking. Your care team will let you know what's possible.

Remember: You're Part of the Team

One of the best things you can do during a hospital stay is remember that you're an active member of your healthcare team.

Ask questions.

Speak up when you're uncomfortable.

Tell us what's helping—and what isn't.

We can't always change your diagnosis, but we can often make your experience better.

Healing is hard enough. A little preparation, a little comfort from home, and a little communication can go a long way toward making the hospital feel just a bit more human.

The EXPLORE Act Has Direction — But Without Funding, It Can’t Deliver Real Access

The EXPLORE Act is one of the more meaningful federal steps we’ve seen in a while toward improving access to public lands. At its core, it reflects something advocates, practitioners, and people with disabilities have been saying for years: access isn’t just about whether a place exists—it’s about whether people can actually use it.

For accessibility, the Act moves in the right direction. It prioritizes improving and maintaining recreation infrastructure, expanding tools that help people understand conditions before they arrive, and building a more consistent approach to access across federal lands. It also reinforces something that often gets missed in practice: access is not a one-time project. It is ongoing work.

In other words, it finally points policy in the direction many communities have already been pushing toward.

But direction is not the same as implementation.

Right now, Congress has not provided the level of funding needed to actually carry these provisions out at scale. And that’s where the gap shows up—not in intent, but in capacity.

Joe Stone’s testimony makes this feel very real. He describes a system where people with disabilities are actively seeking out outdoor experiences, not avoiding them, but repeatedly running into barriers that could have been prevented with better systems and support. A family arrives expecting access and finds steps instead. A trail is described as accessible, but isn’t in practice. Even well-meaning improvements fall short when information, maintenance, or design doesn’t fully hold up in the real world. The issue is not willingness—it’s whether the system is resourced to deliver on what it promises.

photo credit from Dovetail Consulting

Mike Passo’s testimony points to what that looks like at scale across the country. Implementation depends heavily on staffing capacity and institutional support. In some places, strong partnerships and adequate resources allow work to move forward. In others, staffing shortages and limited capacity slow or stall even well-designed efforts. As he notes, when capacity drops, even basic maintenance and coordination suffer—and projects that should improve access simply don’t move.

That’s the quiet reality underneath all of this: access becomes uneven. Not because the law is unclear, but because the system delivering it is stretched thin.

And that brings us back to funding.

The EXPLORE Act gives us a framework for progress, but without sustained investment, it risks becoming another example of policy that points in the right direction without fully reaching the ground. Agencies cannot build, maintain, and improve access without staff time, technical support, and long-term funding stability. Partners cannot fill those gaps indefinitely.

At the same time, we are making national choices about where attention and resources go. And right now, the current administration is prioritizing monuments to himself, his own created war, and even a slush money fund for people from January 6th over the needs people with disabilities on their public lands.

So where does that leave us?

It brings us back to the point both Stone and Passo make in different ways: we already know what needs to change. The barriers are well understood. The solutions are already on the table.

What’s missing is the commitment to fully fund them.

The EXPLORE Act gives us direction. Now it’s on us—through pressure, through policy, and through who we choose to support in this midterm election—to make sure it becomes action. Let’s speak up and make sure our representatives are implementing change that can actually make a difference!

Accessible Trail Signage: What Good Kiosk and Map Design Actually Looks Like

A conversation I end up having surprisingly often is about signs, maps, and kiosks.

And honestly, it makes sense. Unlike programming or temporary materials, signage is expensive, highly visible, and intended to last for years. Once it is installed, changing it can be difficult and costly. Organizations want to get it right the first time.

But signage also plays a much bigger role in accessibility than many people realize. It can completely shape whether someone feels confident enough to even start down a trail.

I’ve seen trailheads labeled “accessible” with almost no useful information attached. No trail grade. No surface description. No distance to the viewpoint. No mention of benches, shade, or barriers. Just one word that is somehow supposed to work for everyone.

The reality is that accessibility is incredibly individual. A trail that works well for one person may be exhausting, unsafe, or impossible for someone else. That is why I frequently point organizations toward two resources I reference constantly: the Green Goat Maps Guide to Accessible Kiosk and Map Design and recommendations from Trails for All People. I did not create either of these resources, but they do a great job translating accessibility concepts into practical action.

One of the biggest themes across both resources is specificity. Instead of vague descriptions like “easy” or “accessible,” visitors need objective information they can use to make their own decisions.

That means including things like:

• Trail surface type

• Average and maximum grade

• Trail width

• Distance to viewpoints or amenities

• Bench locations and resting opportunities

• Cross slope

• Known barriers or obstacles

But accessible signage is also about how information is presented. I think many organizations underestimate how difficult kiosks can be to actually read and use in outdoor environments. Bright sun, visual clutter, small text, and crowded maps can make information inaccessible long before someone even gets onto the trail.

Some practical recommendations I frequently share include:

• Use high color contrast (dark text on a light background is usually easiest to read)

• Avoid large blocks of text whenever possible

• Keep sentences short and direct

• Prioritize the most important information first

• Use consistent symbols and icons throughout the system

• Include plain language alongside technical information

For text size, many accessibility recommendations suggest:

• Headings around 60–72 pt minimum

• Body text at least 18–24 pt for outdoor readability

• Large map labels and directional markers that can be read from a reasonable distance

A good rule of thumb is that if someone has to lean forward or physically strain to read the sign, the text is probably too small.

The Green Goat Maps resource also recommends limiting unnecessary wording. People rarely stand at a kiosk wanting to read several dense paragraphs. Most visitors are trying to answer a few immediate questions quickly:

• Where am I?

• Where can I go?

• Can I realistically do this trail?

• What should I expect?

Another thing people overlook is physical placement. I have seen beautifully designed kiosks installed in deep gravel or on uneven slopes where wheelchair users cannot even position themselves close enough to read the information comfortably. Accessibility is not just about the sign itself — it is also about whether someone can approach and use it independently.

Good signage does more than provide information. It reduces uncertainty. It builds confidence. And it communicates something important to visitors before they even step onto the trail: “We thought about your experience before you arrived.”

Adaptive Bike Races and Cycling Events in Colorado This Summer

Adaptive bike racing season is picking up across Colorado this summer, and there are a few events worth paying attention to if you’re looking for a new challenge, a different race atmosphere, or simply an excuse to spend more time on the bike. Whether you’re already racing on an adaptive bike or just curious about trying a gravel event for the first time, more races are starting to intentionally include adaptive athletes in their event structure instead of treating it like an afterthought.

One event that continues to stand out in Northern Colorado is FoCo Fondo. The event has built a reputation for approachable gravel riding, multiple course options, and a community-focused atmosphere that attracts a wide range of riders. This year, FoCo Fondo continues its dedicated para athlete category across the 32-, 60-, 100-, and 118-mile routes. Riders can register in adaptive categories including visually impaired, trike, and stand-up divisions with both assist and non-assist options depending on participation numbers.

FoCo Fondo also offers podiums and prizes for para athletes, which is still relatively uncommon in many gravel events. Special category podiums go three-deep, and first-place para athletes receive prizes. If enough riders register within each adaptive subcategory, organizers will also separate awards by equipment type and division.

One thing that makes FoCo Fondo appealing for adaptive riders is the variety of course lengths. Not every athlete is looking for a 100-mile day, and having shorter options can make it easier to test equipment, practice fueling strategies, or build confidence on gravel before committing to bigger events later in the season.

Personally I can say that my race last year made me an ENTHUSIASTIC gravel biker. I had so much fun with this community. I felt very comfortable as a female athlete doing something new amongst a loving and supportive group of people from various identities including queer, female, and adaptive athletes. I would highly recommend spending some time at bag pick up the day before to speak with all the organizations that will make you feel so welcome.

Another event worth checking out this summer is the adaptive category connected to the Boggy Draw Beat Down during Escalante Days in southwest Colorado. The race recently expanded to include adaptive athletes for their 15 mile course, giving riders another option outside the Front Range race scene. The terrain around Dolores offers a different style of riding with higher elevation gravel roads and long stretches through forested terrain. For riders looking for a more endurance-focused day on the bike, this could be a solid addition to the calendar.

The Charge Across Colorado ride series is another great option for adaptive athletes looking for a summer challenge while supporting small rural Colorado communities along the route. The event is designed to help uplift local towns through cycling tourism while giving riders the opportunity to experience Colorado’s landscapes at their own pace. Just like in the general cycling community, challenge and adventure look different for different people, and events like this can be a great fit for riders looking to get outdoors and explore Colorado using their adaptive bikes or e-bikes.

If you’re interested in adaptive cycling but don’t yet have access to the right equipment, there are several organizations in Colorado that can help you get started. Adaptive Adventures regularly hosts adaptive cycling clinics and demo opportunities where riders can try different bikes and setups. Their programs can be helpful for figuring out whether a handcycle, recumbent trike, adaptive mountain bike, or another setup fits your goals best.

There are also growing local efforts connected to the City of Boulder Parks & Recreation, Jefferson County Open Space, and Friends of FoCo Fondo to increase access to adaptive recreation, trail experiences, and cycling opportunities throughout Colorado. Friends of FoCo Fondo is offering a scholarship for registration for para athletes.

At the end of the day, these races are just another way to challenge yourself, train toward a goal, and spend time outside with other athletes. Colorado’s adaptive cycling scene is still relatively small, which also means it’s easy to meet people, ask questions, and learn from riders who have already figured out equipment, training, and race-day logistics.

If there are additional races you are excited about please CONTACT US so I can shout them out.

Shared Land, Shared Responsibility

On the Colorado Trail in the San Juan Mountains, I remember feeling a constant low-level tension I hadn’t expected.

We were hiking with our dog, Aska, moving through a stretch of trail where sheep were grazing on nearby public lands. The guard dogs were doing their job—watchful, protective, and not particularly interested in negotiating with passing hikers.

It changed how we moved. We stayed alert. Gave space. Read the landscape differently.

There was an understanding, even if it wasn’t spoken: we were all using the same corridor in different ways, and it only worked if we respected that.

That experience came back to me recently at a session on “working lands” at the Partners in the Outdoors Conference. Ranchers spoke about their day-to-day reality of managing cattle on or near public lands, often in close proximity to recreation.

What stood out wasn’t conflict—it was care.

Many described a deep, generational relationship with the land. A responsibility not just to make a living, but to keep that land productive and intact over time. And increasingly, that includes leaning into conservation practices. Research from the USDA Natural Resources Conservation Service shows that well-managed grazing can improve soil health, support plant diversity, and maintain open space. In Colorado, Colorado Parks and Wildlife also notes that private and working lands are critical for wildlife habitat and migration corridors.

It challenged my own assumptions.

Their connection to the land looks different than mine, but it’s still rooted in stewardship.

At the same time, their frustrations were clear—and familiar.

They talked about trash dumping on private land. Trespassing that puts both people and livestock at risk. Recreation that shows up without understanding the context—like loud motorcycles disrupting cattle and wildlife movement. Not because people don’t care, but because they don’t always know what’s at stake.

What they want isn’t complicated. They want to be part of the conversation.

Several ranchers shared that they’d welcome opportunities to connect—tours, conversations, chances to help people understand how their operations work. But more than anything, they want a seat at the table when decisions about outdoor recreation are being made. Their perspective comes from working the land every day, often for generations.

Sitting in that session, I felt a surprising sense of alignment.

In adaptive recreation, we’ve been having a similar conversation. Decisions about access are often made without the input of people who actually rely on adaptive equipment to be outside. Assumptions shape policies. Use is defined without lived experience at the center.

It’s a different context, but a similar pattern.

What I took from both the trail and that conversation is this: shared use isn’t just about proximity. It’s about awareness.

It’s recognizing that landscapes hold multiple relationships at once—recreation, habitat, livelihood—and that none of them exist in isolation.

The goal isn’t to remove tension entirely. It’s to navigate it with respect.

Because when we do, we move closer to outdoor spaces that reflect all the ways people live, work, and connect to the land.

What People with Disabilities Want Land Managers to Know

There’s a common misconception that accessibility is something you add at the end of a project. A ramp gets installed, a sign gets updated, and suddenly a space is considered “accessible.”

But that’s not how it works.

When I did my Voices Outside series on LinkedIn, the message wasn’t about checklists or compliance. It was consistent and simple: include us from the beginning.

Gary Verrazono captured this clearly: “Accessibility isn’t about special treatment — it’s about equal opportunity. Planning for accessibility from the beginning shows respect and awareness, and it creates spaces where more people can connect with nature, movement, and community.” He pushed back against the myth that accessibility is a niche feature— instead recognizing it’s a design foundation that improves experiences for everyone.

We already see this in everyday infrastructure. As Chrysta Bairre shared, “Curb cuts were originally designed for wheelchair users, and curb cuts improve access for strollers, delivery drivers, seniors, and more.” What begins as disability access often becomes universal access.

And yet, outdoor spaces still often rely on minimum standards as the finish line instead of the starting point.

Jim Mull was direct about this gap: “ADA doesn't really mean much to me… It is a good starting base, but it does not mean an area is mobility-friendly.” A trail or site can technically meet guidelines and still fail in real-world use. He also added an important distinction: “Having just one or two sites that are 100% mobile-friendly is much more valuable than having more areas that only meet some of the mobile-friendly needs.” Meaningful access is not about spreading partial solutions everywhere—it’s about creating places that fully work.

The missing piece is often process, not intent.

Topher Downham emphasized this clearly: “The thing that I wish decision makers understood better when planning outdoor spaces is reaching out to the user group.” Lived experience isn’t something to consult at the end—it needs to shape decisions from the beginning. Otherwise, critical design gaps remain invisible until it’s too late to fix them easily. “It’s always great to have feedback from people that are actually gonna be out there, uh, trying to enjoy the outdoor space.”

It also matters that accessibility isn’t a single definition—it changes depending on who you ask and what they need.

Jenny Siegle shared this perspective: “There are different meanings to outdoor spaces being accessible. Accessibility means different things to different people.” She suggested that instead of treating accessibility as a yes-or-no condition, we might think about it as something that exists on a spectrum—where spaces could be rated based on how accessible they are for different needs. That kind of approach could help people choose spaces that truly match their abilities and comfort levels, rather than guessing whether a place will work for them.

That idea connects closely with how Rem described neurodiversity in outdoor spaces. They explained that there cannot be a single “accessible design” that works for everyone, because needs vary widely. Instead, accessibility exists across a range—from lower-support environments that prioritize independence, to more structured spaces that include visual supports, clear communication cues, sensory considerations, and defined boundaries to support safe exploration. Designing with that spectrum in mind moves accessibility away from a single standard and toward a more flexible way of thinking about space.

At its core, this is about participation. Zoe Rollins put it simply: “Outdoor spaces are not just designed for able bodied individuals… it is just as important for us to be able to access them as easily as others.”

So what does this mean for land managers?

Start earlier. Not during final review. Not after designs are drafted. At the beginning—when decisions still have room to change.

Bring people with lived experience into the process. Compensate them for their expertise. Build relationships that last beyond a single project. And ensure their input actually shapes design, not just validates it.

If that feels like a gap in your current process, you’re not alone. Most systems weren’t built to do this well.

That’s where I come in—helping land managers connect with people with disabilities and turn lived experience into practical, usable outdoor spaces.

Because accessibility isn’t something you add later. It’s something you build from the start.

Accessibility Made Your Day Easier (You Didn’t Realize It)

Most people think “accessible” means something extra—something added on later for a small group of people.

But that’s not really how it works.

A lot of the things we use every day for convenience were actually designed with people with disabilities in mind from the start. They weren’t bonus features. They were solutions. And over time, they became things everyone uses.

Curb cuts and closed captioning are the examples most people know. They come up in every accessibility conversation. But they’re just the beginning.

So much of your daily routine is shaped by accessibility—you just might not realize it.

Think about how your day starts.

You wake up, shuffle into the bathroom, and grab your electric toothbrush. It’s quick, efficient, and does most of the work for you. What most people don’t realize is that electric toothbrushes were originally developed for people with limited motor control—folks who couldn’t rely on the fine hand movements needed for manual brushing. The “convenience” most of us appreciate today started as access.

picture credit from Williams Sonoma of OXO kitchen appliance

From there, you probably head into the kitchen.

You grab a vegetable peeler, a can opener, maybe a knife—tools that feel comfortable in your hand, with thicker grips and designs that don’t require a ton of force. Brands like OXO built entire product lines around this idea after the founder noticed his wife struggling with arthritis. Those now-iconic Good Grips handles were designed to reduce strain and improve control. Today, they’re just considered good design.

And maybe you pour yourself a drink. If you toss in a flexible straw, that’s another one. Bendable straws became widely used in hospitals because they allowed people who were lying down or had limited mobility to drink more easily. What feels like a small convenience at your kitchen table has a much deeper origin in making something basic—like drinking water—more accessible.

Then your day really gets going.

You ask Amazon Alexa for the weather while you’re getting ready, or use voice-to-text to send a quick message. Voice recognition technology was developed to support people who couldn’t easily use a keyboard or touchscreen. Now, it’s one of the fastest ways to interact with our devices.

Same goes for audiobooks. Originally created for people who are blind or have print disabilities, audiobooks have completely changed how people read. Long drive? Audiobook. Walking the dog? Audiobook. Too tired to look at a screen? Audiobook. What started as access is now just another way people fit stories and information into their lives.

And then, at the end of the day, you wind down.

You crawl into bed and pull up a weighted blanket. That deep, even pressure can feel calming after a long day. Weighted blankets were first used in therapeutic settings, especially for people with autism or sensory processing differences, to help regulate the nervous system and improve sleep. Now they’re marketed to just about everyone—and for good reason. They work.

Here’s the thing: none of these innovations are “extra.”

They’re part of how we move through the world.

Accessibility has never been about a small group of people. It’s about designing for the full range of human experience. And when we do that well, the result isn’t just access—it’s better products, better spaces, and easier ways to get through the day—for all of us.

Accessibility in Japan: What Happens When It’s Just Standard

Traveling somewhere new always changes how I notice things, but my recent trip to Japan made me pay attention in a different way—especially when it comes to accessibility.

One of the first things I noticed was the tactile paving. It wasn’t just in a few places—it was everywhere. Train stations, sidewalks, street crossings—it created this continuous path of navigation for people with visual impairments. What stood out to me wasn’t just that it existed, but how consistent it was. You didn’t have to wonder if it would suddenly disappear or stop being helpful. It was reliable. And that kind of consistency matters more than we often realize because it allows people to move through spaces with more confidence and independence.

There were also a lot of auditory cues built into public spaces. In train stations and near restrooms, there were announcements that helped orient you—letting you know where things were without having to search for signage. Even street crossings had audible signals. It made everything feel more intuitive. And again, it didn’t feel like a special feature—it just felt like how things were designed.

Bathrooms were another area where I kept having these “why don’t we do this?” moments. Automatic pocket doors were standard, which made getting in and out way easier. Bidets were everywhere, which might not always get talked about in accessibility conversations, but they matter. They can make a big difference in allowing someone to manage hygiene independently.

And then there were things I almost never see in the U.S. At one bus station, there was an adult-sized changing table. That stopped me for a second. It’s such a simple concept, but it reflects a level of awareness that’s often missing. There were also built-in child seats in bathroom stalls, which might seem small, but make a huge difference for parents or caregivers.

What really stuck with me, though, is that none of this felt over the top. It didn’t feel like extra effort or special accommodations. It just felt normal. And because of that, it wasn’t just benefiting people with disabilities—it was helping a much wider group of people. Older adults, families, people traveling with luggage…everyone.

In the U.S., accessibility is often treated like something extra—something you add on if you have the budget or are required to. But in Japan, it felt more like a baseline expectation. Not perfect, but built in.

It left me thinking about how different our spaces could feel if we approached accessibility the same way—not as an afterthought, but as just part of good design.

How Outdoor Organizations Can Better Support Neurodivergent Employees

Neurodivergent employees—autistic people, folks with ADHD, etc—bring incredible creativity, problem-solving, and perspectives to outdoor organizations, parks departments, and government agencies. They often can see the world differently simply because their brains work differently, ultimately leading to better solutions. But the truth is, many workplaces unintentionally make their jobs harder than they need to be. Even employees with low support needs can burn out quickly when the environment is confusing, overstimulating, or unpredictable. Research shows that neurodivergent adults are at a much higher risk for workplace stress and burnout, and small, intentional adjustments can make a huge difference.

Today we are going to go through 5 ways to make life easier and reduce the rate of turnover in your organization. This will help people who are neurodivergent, but much like all accommodations, it really helps all your employees.

1. One of the simplest ways to help is writing things down. Verbal instructions or “we talked about it” moments may seem fine, but they require a lot of extra mental energy to remember and decode. Providing written instructions—on projects, tasks, and expectations—gives employees a reference they can come back to and reduces constant guesswork.

2. Meetings are another common energy drain. Surprise check-ins or long, unstructured meetings force people to think on the spot and navigate social cues while trying to stay engaged. Shorter, fewer meetings, with agendas shared ahead of time, allow neurodivergent employees to prepare and focus their energy on the work itself rather than processing the meeting dynamics.

3. Clear expectations are just as important. Instead of assuming employees know what “good” or “done” looks like, spell it out. Give concrete criteria, examples, or deadlines. Ambiguity is exhausting—especially when people are trying to meet both the stated goals and the “unspoken” expectations.

4. Feedback also matters—and it needs to be specific. Comments like “be more approachable” or critiques about tone don’t tell someone what to do differently. Feedback should focus on observable behaviors, concrete results, and actionable next steps. Personality isn’t the problem—process is.

5. Lastly, simply create time in your systems for everyone to process information or directions. Employers can often mistake processing time for disengagement, which is not correct. The neurodivergent brain simply needs more time to make connections and come up with solutions. Build that time in.

At the heart of all this is a simple idea: neurodivergent brains can burn more energy navigating unclear environments. Every unclear email, ambiguous goal, or unexpected meeting adds up. Structuring work in a way that reduces unnecessary mental load helps employees focus on what really matters: doing meaningful work, contributing their skills, and helping the organization succeed.

The great thing is, these adjustments aren’t complicated or expensive. Written instructions, clear expectations, fewer surprises, and thoughtful feedback can be built into everyday processes. And the payoff is huge: less burnout, more engagement, better retention, and employees who feel respected and supported.

Creating workplaces where neurodivergent employees can thrive doesn’t mean lowering standards—it means removing barriers so people can do their best work. When outdoor organizations, nonprofits, and government agencies intentionally design for cognitive diversity, everyone benefits: staff, the mission, and the people who enjoy the spaces you manage.

Traveling with a Disability

I’m about to leave for a long vacation I’ve been planning for quite some time. It should feel purely exciting. But if I’m honest, I notoriously get anxious about travel—specifically the logistics of travel.

I’m the person who gets to the airport very early to make sure I don’t miss my flight. I check the gate repeatedly. I’m packed, ready, and standing near the boarding line long before my group is called. It’s not glamorous. It’s just how I cope with the uncertainty of airports.

This week, as I’ve been preparing for my trip, I’ve been struck by how much more complicated air travel is for people with disabilities.

Will my wheelchair be handled safely?
Will airline staff know how to assist me?
What are my rights if something goes wrong?

A good friend of mine was competing in the World Championships for Adaptive CrossFit when an airline damaged their wheelchair—the very chair they planned to compete in, and the one they rely on to move through the world every single day.

Can you imagine arriving at your destination and the airline has effectively taken away your legs? How do you suddenly navigate a new city without the equipment that gives you independence?

So let’s talk about it. Let’s talk about why air travel can be so stressful for people with disabilities—and what legal protections actually exist.

History

If you are one of the people who think disabled people are “lucky” or “have it easy” because they get to board early, prepare to learn more. Before the Air Carrier Access Act was passed, commercial airlines were free to treat people with disabilities however they chose. There was no federal requirement to accommodate passengers with disabilities, and policies varied widely between carriers—meaning airlines could effectively refuse to board someone simply because they used a wheelchair, require them to purchase a companion ticket, or delay assistance without consequence. The inconsistency sometimes left people with disabilities stranded or excluded from travel, and there were no procedural safeguards for assistive devices or trained staff to handle them. Disability advocates, frustrated by this patchwork of discriminatory practices, organized campaigns, testified before Congress, and fought for clear federal standards. Their efforts led to the ACAA’s passage in 1986, which prohibited disability-based discrimination in air travel and laid the groundwork for access that millions now rely on.

Your Rights: The Air Carrier Access Act

Let’s dive deeper into what the Air Carrier Access Act (ACAA) actually is. This federal law prohibits airlines from discriminating against passengers with disabilities. It requires airlines to provide assistance with boarding and deplaning, transport mobility devices, and make reasonable accommodations so people with disabilities can access air travel.

In 2024, the U.S. Department of Transportation under the Joe Biden administration pushed it further to address the exact problem my friend had with damage to his wheelchair from air travel. These updates—often referred to as the “Wheelchair Rule”—required better staff training, clearer standards for safe transfers, and stronger accountability when wheelchairs were damaged or delayed. For many in the disability community, this felt like long-overdue recognition that a wheelchair isn’t luggage—it’s part of someone’s body and independence.

Unfortunately, as is clearly a theme, in 2025, under the Donald Trump administration, the U.S. Department of Transportation paused enforcement of key parts of that rule after legal challenges from airlines. Some of the accountability measures—like stronger financial consequences for damaged wheelchairs—were put on hold. The core protections of the ACAA still stand, but the rollback of newer enforcement measures has left many travelers concerned about consistency and oversight.

If Something Goes Wrong

For those who use wheelchairs or other specialized devices, it is recommended you take pictures of your device prior to getting on the airline to document the current condition. If you run into barriers or feel your rights aren’t being respected, ask for the airline’s Complaints Resolution Official (CRO). Every airline is required to have one available to address disability-related concerns. You can also file a complaint with the U.S. Department of Transportation after your trip.

Air travel shouldn’t require extra bravery. While policy changes have created uncertainty—especially for wheelchair users—knowing your rights, documenting your equipment, and advocating clearly can make a difference. Flying with a disability shouldn’t mean lowering expectations. It should mean being prepared, informed, and supported along the way. Contact your representatives to demand accountability for damaged wheelchairs and other assistive devices from airlines and reinstate the full protections of the Wheelchair Rule. And good luck out there exploring this beautiful world.

Emotional Support Animals vs. ADA-Protected Service Animals: Why the Confusion Is Hurting Everyone

Let’s be honest: most people think they understand the difference between emotional support animals and service animals — but what’s happening in public spaces tells a very different story. That confusion isn’t harmless. It’s actively making life harder for people who rely on legitimate service animals protected under the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA).

Under the ADA, a service animal is very narrowly defined. It’s not just an animal that helps someone feel better emotionally. A service animal is a dog that has been individually trained to perform specific tasks directly related to a person’s disability. Those tasks might include guiding someone who is blind, alerting a person who is deaf, detecting seizures, providing mobility support, or interrupting panic attacks through trained behavior. The key word here is trained. Comfort alone does not qualify.

An emotional support animal (ESA), by definition, is an animal that provides emotional or psychological benefit simply by its presence. ESAs are not required to have specialized training, and they do not perform disability-specific tasks. Instead, they are typically prescribed or recommended by a licensed healthcare or mental health professional as part of a treatment plan for conditions like anxiety, depression, or PTSD.

That difference in function is exactly why ESAs are treated differently under the law. Emotional support animals are not protected under the ADA and therefore do not have the right to access public spaces such as restaurants, grocery stores, or ride-share vehicles. Their legal protections fall under other laws — most notably the Fair Housing Act — which may allow ESAs in housing situations where pets are normally restricted. That is a separate process with separate documentation and requirements, and it does not translate to public access rights.

Because disability is personal and often invisible, the ADA tightly restricts what businesses can ask when someone enters with a service animal. If it’s not obvious what the animal does, staff may only ask two questions:

1. Is this a service animal required because of a disability?

2. What specific work or task has the animal been trained to perform?

They cannot ask for paperwork, certification, or proof, and they cannot ask about the person’s diagnosis. Service animals may but do not need to wear a signifying vest or indicator that they are a service animal. These protections are essential — but they rely on people using the system honestly.

In recent years, misuse of service animal language has become common. People bring untrained pets into public spaces, label them as emotional support animals, and then insist those animals are protected by the ADA. The result is animals barking, lunging, climbing on furniture, or behaving unpredictably — behavior that is explicitly not allowed for real service animals. While the ADA permits businesses to remove animals that are out of control or not housebroken, many staff members don’t feel empowered or educated enough to do so.

The fallout from this confusion lands squarely on legitimate service animal handlers. A widely shared example comes from the creators MatthewandPaul. Paul Castle, who is legally blind, has publicly described being kicked out of a Seattle restaurant because staff didn’t believe his guide dog was legitimate, telling him he “didn’t look blind.” He has also shared experiences of Uber rides being canceled once drivers realized he had a service dog — something many disabled riders say happens far too often.

When misuse becomes visible, trust disappears. Businesses become defensive. Drivers become skeptical. And people with real, highly trained service animals are forced to constantly defend their right to exist in public spaces. Michael Stone, a blind paralympic skier and triathlete, tells his story of hiking with his guide dog with his white cane and being told “Guess you think you own the trail then!” This defensiveness can make real people not only feel unsafe, but actually BE unsafe as Mike has reported multiple dangerous interactions with the public.

Emotional support animals are valid and important — but they are a different category, with a different purpose and a different legal process. Treating them as interchangeable with service animals doesn’t expand access. It undermines it. And the people who pay the price are the ones the ADA was designed to protect in the first place.

Values-Based Leadership When the Ground Feels Unsteady

I started my company to work alongside people who are too often left out of outdoor spaces—people with disabilities and others who have been told, directly or indirectly, that nature wasn’t designed for them. That purpose hasn’t changed. But the world around it has.

Right now, leadership feels heavier. Public conversations about who belongs and who owns this country are loud, polarizing, and often violent. When your work intentionally centers people with the least power, those conversations are not theoretical. They affect funding, policy, partnerships, and daily interactions. They raise the stakes of every decision.

I’ll be honest—there are moments when I struggle. Not because I question the mission, but because the pressure to respond quickly can pull you away from responding thoughtfully. In those moments, I don’t rely on instinct alone. I rely on values—and the systems built around them.

The values that guide our work

My company is grounded in four core values: inclusion in nature, excellence, self-efficacy, and joy. These values function as decision-making tools, not just ideals.

• Inclusion in nature asks who is missing and what barriers are in the way.

• Excellence ensures accessibility is done well, with accountability and respect.

• Self-efficacy keeps the focus on independence and agency, not dependency.

• Joy reminds us that access is not just about removing barriers, but about belonging and meaning.

Alongside these are my personal values: justice, reliability, and independence. Justice keeps fairness at the center, even when it’s uncomfortable. Reliability reflects a commitment to trust, especially with communities that have been excluded before. Independence grounds how I lead—through critical thinking, transparency, and steadiness.

Leaning on systems when decisions get hard

Values-based leadership doesn’t mean every decision is obvious. It means you’ve built systems that help you pause when emotions run high.

I often ask:

• Does this decision reduce barriers or reinforce them?

• Who benefits, and who might be harmed?

• Are we acting from urgency or from alignment?

• Would this choice still feel right in a different political moment?

When the world feels unstable, these questions matter. They help ensure decisions are rooted in purpose, not fear.

Moving forward with steadiness

Values-based leadership is not about perfection. It’s about consistency—returning to your values even when external pressure makes it harder to do so.

For me, that means continuing to choose inclusion, excellence, self-efficacy, and joy, guided by justice, reliability, and independence. Especially now.

Because when times are tough, values are not abstract. They are the systems that keep us grounded—and the way we ensure we’re making the right decisions for the right reasons.

Thinking About Ice Climbing? Start with Ouray and Lake City

I don’t know about you, but this time of year, all I want to do is get back outside to climb. We’ve been lucky with warmer weather lingering a bit longer, which has stretched the fall climbing season, but the shorter days make it harder to get out and explore after work. For me, this is usually the point in the year when I start shifting my focus to winter objectives — and over the past few years, that’s meant becoming more curious about ice climbing.

Winter in Colorado brings a different kind of energy to the mountains. For ice climbers, it means frozen waterfalls, early starts, and towns like Ouray and Lake City coming alive in ways that are deeply tied to community, learning, and access.

Lake City Ice Park may be small, but it punches well above its weight. With a dense collection of routes packed into a walkable area, it’s long been a favorite for climbers looking for variety without big approaches. Recently, Lake City has also gained attention for its accessible ice climbing park, which has become a draw for adaptive climbers from across the country. As Rocky Mountain Community Radio’s Laura Palmisano reported, climbers with disabilities are choosing Lake City because the terrain and layout allow for real adaptations — not just in theory, but in practice. For many, it’s a place where ice climbing feels possible rather than out of reach.

Over in Ouray, the scale is bigger but the intention is similar. Ouray Ice Park is internationally known for its concentration of routes just minutes from town, and learning is central to the culture there. Guide services, clinics, and festivals help new climbers build skills in a supportive environment.

Image via Ouray Ice Park of Saturday’s Schedule

This year’s Ice (less) Fest reflects that mindset. With warm temperatures limiting ice formation, the festival pivoted to offer dry tooling, systems, and skills-based clinics — and there are still clinic spots available. Instead of canceling outright, the community adapted and kept the focus on education and connection. If you were planning on attending the festival, please consider going forward with your plans and adapting to other activities as needed. Both Ouray and Lake City are small towns whose economy relies on tourism. Visitors coming for clinics, festivals, or accessible climbing opportunities stay in local lodging, eat at local restaurants, rent gear, and hire guides. Please support this investment by supporting their local economy.

That accessibility is reinforced by organizations that focus on helping people get started. Paradox Sports is one of the most visible groups offering adaptive ice climbing clinics and trips in Colorado, connecting climbers with instructors who understand both technique and adaptation. Other organizations, such as Adaptive Adventures, also support climbers with disabilities through instruction, equipment, and community-based programming. These groups lower the barrier to entry, especially for people who are new to ice climbing or navigating disability in outdoor spaces that haven’t always been welcoming.

Whether you’re curious about your first ice climb, looking for adaptive-friendly opportunities, or wanting to support mountain towns doing thoughtful work, Lake City and Ouray offer more than ice. They offer examples of how access, education, and community can shape winter recreation that works for more people — and that’s something worth showing up for.

Tennessee State Parks Make Trails Easier to Navigate

Tennessee State Parks just made it a whole lot easier to plan your next outdoor adventure. They’ve rolled out new trail signs and online information at several parks across the state. Following in the footsteps of the National Park Service, visitors now get detailed information about trail grade, slope, width, surface type, and obstacles — all the specifics that help you decide which trail fits your needs before you even step foot on it.

Photo Credit from TN Department of Environment and Conservation

For visitors using wheelchairs or reserving all-terrain chairs (available at many parks at no cost), this information is a game-changer. No more guesswork, no surprises — just a clear picture of what each trail offers.

The update is powered by the High-Efficiency Trail Assessment Process (HETAP), a technology-first system that measures trail length, grade, and potential obstructions. Tennessee is the first state to use HETAP this way, as part of TDEC’s Access 2030 initiative, which aims to make Tennessee the most accessible state park system in the nation. The Tennessee State Parks Conservancy helped make it happen by purchasing one of the HETAP units to support the effort.

Photo Credit from TN Department of Environment and Conservation

These new signs also reflect elements I discussed earlier in my blog about clear signage. Bold fonts, high-contrast colors, and pictograms make the information easy to understand at a glance. QR codes linked for additional information provide alternative ways to access key details., I would love to see if the signs also provide audio tours and/or can accommodating a wide range of sensory or learning needs.

Ideally, this information shouldn’t just live on a land manager’s website — it should be part of a system that helps users easily choose a trail that fits their abilities. Not every visitor with a disability can intuitively understand what a 5% grade feels like or how a 2% cross slope might affect them. Gathering detailed trail data, as Tennessee has done, is a crucial first step, but the next step is equally important: categorizing and presenting that information in a way that’s meaningful to users. I also recommend providing a dedicated flyer or guidebook with additional context, such as tricky sections, points of historical interest, or other details that help visitors feel informed and welcome.

Accessible trails aren’t just a nice-to-have; they’re a way to make outdoor recreation welcoming for everyone. With detailed signage and thoughtful design, Tennessee State Parks is setting a new standard for inclusive outdoor experiences — making it easier than ever to explore, plan, and enjoy the beauty of nature. This is something that all land managers can accomplish.

Accessible Travel - San Diego Zoo

I love to travel, especially when it means visiting friends! San Diego is one of those spots, and on this trip I finally had the chance to visit the San Diego Zoo. I’ve always been an animal person — I even thought about becoming a veterinarian when I was a kid — so zoos have always held a special place for me. I was excited to go, and honestly, I was even more impressed by the accessibility features than I expected. If you’re thinking about visiting the Zoo and you have a disability, there are quite a few things in place that make the day easier and a lot more enjoyable.

First off, they have A LOT of accessible parking. The zoo is a popular place, so it was nice to see the amount of parking available. They do have options to rent a manual or electric wheelchair on a first come, first serve basis for a fee. But, in line with the ADA, you can also use your Other Power Driven Mobility Device (OPDMD) —so not just manual chairs or scooters, but more of your adventure style devices. They have specific parameters in their Accessibility Guidebook but its pretty inclusive.

The Zoo is big, and some parts are hilly, so one thing I appreciated is that the map clearly marks an "accessible route” with a blue dotted line through the grounds that allows you to access points while avoiding the steeper hills. There’s also a complimentary ADA shuttle for people with mobility-related disabilities, which helps with some of the longer or tougher sections.

When it comes to personal care, every restroom on the property is marked as accessible, and there’s also an adult changing station located at Health Services near the Reptile House. I do wish there was more than one option as the Health Services building is in the front, and the zoo is pretty giant, but at least there is an option besides the floor. The zoo staff are not allowed to help you in the bathroom, however if you require support from an attendant or caregiver, the Zoo offers a free admission pass for that person. It’s one less cost to worry about and makes the visit more realistic for people who can’t go alone.

They’ve also put real thought into sensory accessibility. If you’re neurodivergent or traveling with someone who is, the Zoo offers sensory bags that include tools like headphones, fidgets, and visual aids. Around the busier or noisier areas, you’ll find signs letting you know when those tools might be especially helpful. They also have weighted lap pads and an app with social stories to best prepare people for their zoo experience. These are small things that can make a big difference in how the day feels.

Personally, I got a bit overstimulated. It wasn’t all that busy, but I still had a hard time regulating. Seeing the sensory options made me consider getting my own Loop earplugs for things such as this. So many of us ignore those signs of distress simply because we don’t consider it a “disability” but these support services can be helpful for a lot of people.

Overall, the Zoo has done a great job of creating a space where people with different access needs can move around, enjoy the animals, and focus on the experience instead of the barriers. It’s not perfect—no place is—but the information they provide helps you plan ahead and avoid surprises.

My favorite part of the zoo was seeing the otters because they were SO active and playing around. Our 5 year old goddaughter really loved how much they darted back and forth in the water, swimming with glee. But close second was the Aerial Tram. I love being high up, and it offered beautiful views of the tree canopies and some of the animals from above. The tram is accessible if you have a folding wheelchair AND can transfer to the regular gondola seat, but otherwise it is not. I would love to see more opportunities for all visitors to access this, because it is truly breathtaking.

If you’re thinking about visiting the San Diego Zoo, I’d recommend checking out their accessibility guide before you go, deciding whether you want to follow the easiest route, and planning for the hills if they affect your energy or mobility. With a little preparation, the Zoo can be a fun and manageable day out.

Accessible Trails, Inclusive Programs: Why Your Organization Needs Both

Outdoor recreation is more than a perk—it’s a key component of health, community connection, and belonging. Yet far too many trails, parks, and programs leave people with disabilities on the sidelines—because the barriers are built into the system. That’s where I come in.

With over a decade of experience as a physical therapist plus deep engagement in adaptive recreation (for example, for adults with disabilities through organizations like No Barriers USA and Cycling Without Age), I founded Every Body Outside Consulting to support land managers, nonprofits, and outdoor-recreation providers in shifting away from “compliance only” toward meaningful, inclusive design and programming.

Here’s what I can bring to your organization:

1. Education & Training

Whether it’s a half-day workshop or a leadership session, I deliver education sessions tailored to your team’s roles. These go beyond the basics of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) to explore what accessibility really means in outdoor settings—online registration, trailhead access, gear, transportation, signage and more. As one client shared:

“The training was so well received… our staff members left the training inspired to approach their responsibilities with an accessibility-focused mindset.” — Julie Enderby, Larimer County Department of Natural Resources.

2. Program Development for All Abilities

Don’t just bolt on inclusion—build it in. I help you design or refine your programs so that people with mobility, sensory or cognitive disabilities are considered from the start. We cover everything from participant recruitment, adaptive-equipment strategy, emergency action planning, and partnerships with disability-led or inclusive organizations. One testimonial:

“Kelsey has helped No Barriers identify how to better support people affected by disabilities in the Fort Collins and greater Colorado community.” — Emily Bastos, Program Director, No Barriers.

3. Trail & Facility Audits

A trail looks accessible until someone with a mobility device tries it. I use a trail audit tool developed with people with disabilities in Northern Colorado to assess your existing trails, picnic areas, restrooms, parking, route signage, and more. We identify barriers, suggest practical improvements, and translate them into actionable plans aligned with your values and strategic goals. We have done this from the Purgatoire Watershed Partnership down in Trinidad to the City of Greeley Natural Areas.

Why This Matters — And Why Now

• Broader impact: Accessible trails and programs serve not only people with disabilities, but older adults, families with strollers, and anyone recovering from injury. Investing here means reaching more people.

• Reputation and mission alignment: Your organization has a stake in inclusion, equity, and serving community. Being intentional about accessibility sends a strong signal: “Everyone belongs here.”

• Risk mitigation and smart investment: Rather than waiting for a barrier complaint or retrofit scramble, a proactive audit and training ensures you’re ahead of evolving expectations and inclusive practice.

• Culture change: Accessibility isn’t just a checkbox—it’s about how your organization thinks, plans and operates. Training and development reinforce that shift.

If You’re Ready for Next Steps

Over the coming year I have a few openings for new partnerships. Whether you’re planning a new trail segment, revisiting your outdoor program strategy, or simply looking to build an inclusive culture in your organization—let’s talk. I’ll work with you to define scope, align with your budget and timeline, and tailor the approach that fits your team.

Send me a message or schedule a quick call. Together, we’ll create outdoor spaces and programs where every body can participate, thrive, and enjoy.

#OutdoorAccessibility #TrailAudit #InclusivePrograms #UniversalDesign #EveryBodyOutside

Finding Freedom Outside: Outdoor Opportunities for the Blind and Visually Impaired in Colorado

Getting outside means something different to everyone. For folks who are blind or have low vision, it can be about independence, trust, and connection — not just with nature, but with the people who make it possible to experience it fully. Here in Colorado, that can look like scaling a cliff with a trusted belayer, using technology to explore a new park, or following a rope along a quiet forest trail.

Adaptive Adventures and Paradox Sports have been doing this work for years — creating spaces where blind and visually impaired climbers can show up, learn, and climb on their own terms. Adaptive Adventures keeps things approachable with clinics and community climbs across the Front Range. I have volunteered for this organization over the years in my home town of Fort Collins where they run climbing nights once a month at Whetstone and Ascent Climbing Gym. Paradox Sports, based in Boulder, builds community through trips and local sessions that mix new climbers, seasoned athletes, and volunteers into one supportive crew. These groups are living proof that outdoor recreation isn’t about ability — it’s about belonging.

photo credit from Colorado Outdoors

The Colorado Center for the Blind has been out there too, literally. Colorado Parks & Wildlife recently helped fund their climbing program, and the story “Reaching New Peaks” in Colorado Outdoors captured one participant’s experience perfectly: “I want people to know that we are just like everyone. Blind people also want to spend time outside. Climb rocks, white river rafting, go to the beach. Heck yeah, let’s do it all. Let’s go surfing!” That quote says it all. The bottom line is we all crave the same thing — freedom and connection in the outdoors.

Cycling is another way people are getting outside together. EyeCycle Colorado pairs blind and visually impaired riders with sighted captains on tandem bikes for group rides all across the Front Range. Their outings range from casual neighborhood spins to long weekend routes, and every ride builds trust and community. It’s not about speed or competition — it’s about movement, freedom, and the shared joy of being on the road with others who get it. They got a ride for New Years Day so there are still opportunities to get out there!

Photo Credit from Boulder Open Space and Mountain Parks

Colorado Parks & Wildlife has also made it easier for blind and low-vision visitors to explore parks independently through Aira, a smartphone-based service that connects users with trained visual interpreters. Aira agents can describe what’s around you, help with directions, or read interpretive signs — all in real time. One user put it simply: the program lets people “explore their neighborhoods, their worlds” with more confidence. It’s small tech with a big impact.

And for those who prefer to move at their own pace, Colorado has some truly special accessible trails. The Braille/Discovery Trail near Aspen has tactile guide ropes and Braille signs that make it easy to explore on your own. Down near Colorado Springs, the VIP Trail at Bear Creek Nature Center offers similar features — rope guides, tactile signs, and smooth surfaces. And in Boulder, the Sensory Trail winds through pine forest and wildflowers, encouraging visitors to notice the smells, sounds, and textures that most of us usually overlook.

photo credit from Eyecycle Colorado

All of these options — from adaptive climbing to sensory trails — show what’s possible when access is built into the design instead of added as an afterthought. Getting outside isn’t about checking a box or overcoming something. It’s about choice, joy, and connection.

So whether you’re clipping into a harness for the first time or just taking a walk to feel the sun and wind, know this: the outdoors belongs to you, too.

If there are specific areas you enjoy that I missed, please let us know so we can share them with the community!

Using Disability as a Cover to Undermine Conservation

And here we go again — another attempt to use “disability access” as a cover to roll back conservation protections.

Senator Mike Lee and Representative John Curtis recently introduced the so-called Outdoor Americans with Disabilities Act. At first glance, it sounds like something worth celebrating. Who wouldn’t want to see more opportunities for people with disabilities to access public lands? The name suggests improvements like accessible water access at reservoirs, better adherence to Forest Service Outdoor Recreation Guidelines, or expanded access for Other Power-Driven Mobility Devices (OPDMDs) like adaptive bikes and Class 2 e-bikes.

But once you dig in, the reality looks very different.

This bill isn’t about increasing access. It’s about building more roads and bypassing the National Environmental Policy Act (NEPA), all under the guise of helping people with disabilities “drive farther” into protected areas. In short, it uses the language of disability inclusion to push an anti-conservation agenda.

There’s a long and troubling history of this kind of maneuvering — where the idea of “helping” people with disabilities is used as a shield to justify weakening public land protections. In my work, I’ve seen firsthand how this narrative is weaponized. The assumption is that if a policy claims to improve access, it must be good for the disability community. But accessibility and conservation are not opposites. In fact, they depend on each other.

Accessible trails, adaptive recreation programs, and inclusive outdoor spaces thrive in healthy, well-managed ecosystems. Destroying fragile landscapes in the name of access doesn’t create inclusion — it undermines it. It sends the message that the only way people with disabilities can experience nature is by driving over it, rather than engaging with it meaningfully and sustainably.

Yes, a few organizations that specialize in off-highway vehicle (OHV) recreation for people with disabilities have voiced support for this bill. But they do not represent the broader disability or conservation communities, both of which have made their opposition clear. Most of us recognize that this legislation doesn’t address the real barriers to outdoor access: inaccessible infrastructure, poor implementation of accessibility guidelines, and lack of funding for adaptive recreation programs.

As Anneka Williams from Winter Wildlands Alliance put it, “The proposed bill uses adaptive recreation as a scapegoat to further advance an agenda that favors development and unsustainable use of our public lands.” That statement captures the issue perfectly. This is not about disability rights. It’s about dismantling environmental safeguards — and using our community as a convenient excuse.

If lawmakers truly wanted to make outdoor spaces more inclusive, they could start by investing in what actually works. Fund trailhead redesigns that meet accessibility standards. Support adaptive recreation programs that already partner with the Forest Service and local parks. Expand training for land managers on implementing the U.S. Access Board’s Outdoor Guidelines. Those are tangible actions that create real, lasting access.

Accessibility and conservation should always work hand in hand — not against each other. People with disabilities deserve genuine inclusion in outdoor spaces, not to be used as political cover for policies that threaten the very places we’re fighting to protect.

Let’s call this bill what it is: a step backward for both disability access and conservation.

No One Left On Shore

There’s something special about being near water. Many people talk about how calming it is to hear a river flowing or waves crashing against the shore. At the same time, water is powerful — with strong currents and waves that demand respect. That mix of peace and power is what draws us to it.

But for people with disabilities, that experience can slip away. My friend Jim often tells me he misses the simple act of putting his toes in the river, feeling the cold water wash over his feet. These days, his wheelchair can’t make it over the rocks, and even if he got close, transferring out of his chair would be almost impossible.

We all want to see, touch, and hear the water when we spend time outside. The real question is: how do we make sure that experience is possible for everyone?

Why Access is So Hard

Most lakes and rivers are designed for people on foot. Access points often include:

• Stairs or steep banks that wheelchairs can’t navigate.

• Soft sand, loose gravel, or uneven rocks that make mobility devices unstable.

• Changing water levels, especially on rivers, where yesterday’s easy path may be dangerous today.

• Equipment Challenges, Many adaptive devices aren’t waterproof, and if they get wet it can damage equipment that’s essential for daily life.

EZ dock Kayak Transfer system (photo credit from EZ Dock)

Adaptive Gear Meets Real-World Barriers

So what is there to do? One option is to rely on adaptive equipment designed for the water.

• Beach wheelchairs have large wheels designed for rolling on sand and often can go straight into the water for those who want to swim/float.

• Mobi-Mats are firm roll up walkways designed to go on sand or uneven surfaces that can allow wheelchairs, strollers, etc access to the water.

• Dock design is essential for making it easier to get on and off watercraft. Thankfully, there are several options that help paddlers of all abilities get into a kayak. One of the most impressive is the EZ Dock system, which combines a loading station, slideboard, and handrails for safe transfers. With this system, the paddler slides onto a transfer board positioned above the kayak seat. Adjustable handles help relieve pressure, the board is removed, and the paddler can safely lower into the kayak.

  A similar option is a kayak transfer bench. This bench isn’t permanently attached to the dock and doesn’t include a loading system, so it may require extra equipment and has less universal design. Finally, some docks have tiered benches that allow paddlers to move down step by step until they reach the kayak’s level.

• Specialized Equipment like adaptive kayaks with stability features and/or paddle devices allow for more people to get back out on the water. There are also many adaptions for fishing gear for one-handed users and/or different release devices.

• River access is especially challenging for many municipalities. Changing water levels and rocky banks make a one-size-fits-all solution impossible. Some of the best approaches I’ve seen include avoiding steps at access points, creating firm surfaces at kayak entry areas, and installing floating or adjustable docks with accessible fishing spots.”

Of course the purchase of this style of equipment is not covered by insurance and would be an out of pocket expense. Many land managers are working toward easing that burden by having equipment available for rent at the location. For instance, Ridgeway State Park has a beach chair and Mobi Mat available for people with disabilities to access their swimming area. They also have adaptive paddle boards available for those interested in exploring a new way to get on the water.

Photo credit from Adaptive Adventures

Programs Leading the Way

Several organizations are already making water recreation possible for more people:

• Outdoor Buddies: This is a Fort Collins nonprofit I have talked about before. They specialize in adaptive hunting and fishing, and love to get whole families involved. No matter what difficulties you have, they know how to get you on the water. If you are interested in learning more you could always attend their family days at swift ponds on the Colorado Youth Outdoors campus in east Fort Collins. They even have a floating dock designed to have the immersive experience of fly fishing on campus!

• Adaptive Adventures: This organization is based out of Denver and hosts a lot of its programs at Standley Lake and Chatfield Reservoir. If you attend their multisport days you can try out different kayaks and/or stand up paddleboards to see what works best for you. They have a variety of equipment available and have extensive experience working with people of all disabilities.

• Fort Collins Adaptive Recreation: Check out your local Parks and Rec departments as they often have programs for adaptive kayaking. The City of Fort Collins partners with organizations like Adaptive Adventures to get their community out on the Reservoir. It is a great chance to try these things out and see what works for you, often at a discounted price.

Closing the Gap

Water has a way of bringing people peace, joy, and connection. Access shouldn’t end at the shoreline. With better design, adaptive equipment, and welcoming programs, we can ensure people with disabilities don’t just watch from the sidelines — they get to be in the water, where they belong.