Wind, hills and fear of the mountains: an 80-kilometer handbike adventure
The nervous energy was palpable as hundreds of cyclists, clad in colorful Lycra outfits, waited for the start of the 50-mile race. Half a century of riding from the Santa Fe Railyard, a hub for art galleries, restaurants and a weekly farmers market in Santa Fe, NM. Then we finally drove through town, as eight police officers on motorcycles jumped ahead to guard the intersections.
We drove past the Roundhouse, where the New Mexico Legislature meets. We passed Museum Hill, where four museums explore the Native American Southwest, Spanish colonial history and more. Then, finally, after about twelve miles, Santa Fe was far behind us and we were on our own, driving through rolling ranchland.
It was the second day of a two-day cycling event that draws more than 1,500 participants each spring, who come for the company and the challenge of cycling together through a desert landscape rich in history, art and indigenous traditions. Of everyone who showed up for the Half Century trek, I was the only one on a handbike.
Handbikes allow riders to sit or lie on their backs, turn cranks with their hands, and propel themselves using arm power rather than leg power. My handbike, a lightweight Swedish model, was equipped with an electric assist motor — essential for people like me who can’t move their legs.
My arms would feel it
Twelve years ago, while leading a climb in Joshua Tree National Park in Southern California, I made a costly mistake and plunged 40 feet down the unforgiving rock. The fall fractured my spine and ruptured my spinal cord, leaving me a paraplegic.
What I discovered after my long rehabilitation was that of all the things I could no longer do, cycling was the one I missed the most. Cycling had been a huge part of my life before my injury, ever since my parents gave me a three-speed Raleigh when I was 12. Later, I cycled the coastal mountains of Southern California, joined a cycling club, and even tried racing.
Handbiking was a way to experience the freedom and adventure that was missing from my life after the accident. It was very difficult at first, but with the help of an e-assist motor I discovered that I could keep up with my able-bodied friends. Because I still had to prove to myself that I could do a long ride, I signed up for the Half-Century.
The ride would take me through terrain that ranged from flat to hilly before returning to Santa Fe. My arms would be feeling it by the time I was done hours later.
‘On your left!’
I pedaled hard for the first few miles of the ride, determined to save the e-assist battery for the bigger hills ahead. I’d been preparing for this ride for months, knowing that training your arm muscles can improve power and strength on a handcycle. But they’ll never produce the force that your leg muscles can, according to Paul M. Gordon, chair of the department of health, human performance and recreation at Baylor University in Wako, Texas, largely because of the difference in muscle mass.
But with e-assist to make up for that missing muscle power, riders with spinal cord injuries can keep pace with riders who use their legs to pedal. My trike has an electric motor in the front wheel that’s powered by a lithium battery behind my seat. Power is only added when I turn the cranks, and I can adjust the amount of assist with a switch.
But I wasn’t ready to charge the battery, even as faster riders passed me. I held back the competitive urge to chase them down as we passed horse ranches, an old cemetery, and churches that reflect New Mexico’s Spanish history.
The long line of cyclists wound along Highway 14, the Turquoise Trail, a scenic route between Santa Fe and Albuquerque named for the area’s rich history of turquoise mining. Windmills slowly turned, pumping water for the cattle that dotted the pinyon and juniper forests.
After about 22 miles, I stopped to eat peanut butter sandwiches and drink Gatorade at a diner staffed by friendly volunteers. Then we continued on, passing signs for a pottery and craft breweries. This area, including the village of Galisteo, has long been a favorite of artists, drawn by the high desert light and the crossroads of Spanish, Native American, and Anglo-Saxon cultures.
We walked past the turnoff to the Lamy train station — where 80 years ago physicists would get off a train from the East and head to Los Alamos to help Robert Oppenheimer build the first atomic bomb. At this point, like a Tesla driver far from home, I was suffering from range anxiety and was keeping an eye on my battery. I was about halfway through.
Spring is usually the windiest season in New Mexico. Today was no different as we were riding into the wind. My arms were twitching and I decided it was time to turn up the e-assist to compensate for the extra work.
I began to pass other riders, feeling more confident knowing I had enough battery power to get me up the hills. Still, my arms got tired on the climbs, though they recovered as we descended the hills. “On your left!” I shouted to the other riders as I raced past them.
Handbiking as therapy
Five years ago I gave handcycling a try Craig Hospital near Denver, where Tom Carr is director of therapeutic recreation. Handcycling is a key tool in Craig’s rehabilitation program, which specializes in helping people with spinal cord and brain trauma.
“We can get people with spinal cord injuries on handcycles safely and successfully early in their stay,” Carr said. “Having the wind in your hair is something patients never know they’ll experience again.” He added that he’s become a big advocate for e-assist, “especially for those who are new to it.”
But handcycles aren’t cheap. They can cost $10,000 to $15,000 or more. Fortunately, people with spinal cord injuries or medical conditions that prevent them from riding a conventional two-wheeler can try one out before they buy one. For example, Bike-Ona Rhode Island bike shop specializing in handbikes, offers tryout clinics at various locations around the country. And Vermont-based Kelly Brush Foundationfounded by an athlete injured in a skiing accident, provides grants to help with the cost of adaptive sports equipment. The website includes links to organizations throughout the United States that offer handcycling experiences.
An adventure completed
We were nearing the end of the ride and as much as I had enjoyed the camaraderie of the group, after three and a half hours of pedaling I was done with the fact that my cycling adventure was over. My arms were tired. My battery was running low. Still, I knew I would make it to the end.
The last few miles of the ride followed the Old Pecos Trail and parts of the original Route 66 through the winding streets of old Santa Fe. Long before European settlers arrived, the trail served as a trading route between the Pueblo, Apache, and Comanche tribes. Now it leads past some of the fine hotels, restaurants, and art galleries that make Santa Fe a popular tourist destination. I pedaled on, nearing my destination.
Then I finally got back to the Railyard district and a volunteer handed me a finisher’s medal on a ribbon. I took it, happy, tired, proud. I had felt the wind in my hair and regained the sense of accomplishment that comes with completing a long bike ride, even though my legs were still.
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