Well, it’s been one year to the day since I first started this blog and I gotta say what a strange and beautiful trip it’s been. When I began this endeavor last October, my intentions were simple: use it as a tool to promote and facilitate my dream of making an open ocean sailing voyage somewhere around Australia, New Zealand and the South Pacific. My hope at the time was that if people found what I had to say and what I wanted to do interesting, they would forward the site onward to their friends and family, who would in turn forward it on to their friends and family, and so on and so on until it eventually reached somebody who was in a position to make the journey possible (i.e. a boat, the time, the wherewithal). And while this may seem like a crazy long shot of an idea, it was a jumping off point that served to make things real.

So where is fasterbarnacle now, and even more importantly, how is my journey progressing? Well, before I answer those questions I want to first acknowledge that neither would be anywhere without you; my readers, my friends, my family. Your support over the past year — in all manners — has been overwhelming and humbling to say the least. Your e-mails, comments and suggestions have been valuable and every one has been taken to heart. Thank you a thousand times over for being part of my world and taking the time to participate.

Now, to the above question. As I said, fasterbarnacle was originally envisioned as a jumping off point, but looking at it now it’s so much more than that, it’s a spark that not only ignited and fuels a dream, but change in my life as well. Perhaps above all else, it got me writing again — something I’d put aside for years in order to pursue other interests (though I’m not opposed to calling it procrastination or outright avoidance) — and this has been an unexpected pleasure. I’ve found writing in this format (a blog) — sharing whatever I like from the sentimental to the ridiculous — to be both challenging and rewarding, and something I can see myself doing well into the unforeseeable future.

Also, as some of you may already know, exercise has been another byproduct of this endeavor. And while on the surface it might seem as though it has little to do with the construction of this site, it actually has everything to do with it. For me, fasterbarnacle represents consistency and action, and physical fitness isn’t possible without either of these. The great thing about consistency is that it’s habit-forming and these days if I go any extended period of time without exercising, I start getting a serious jones on for endorphins. The downside to all this, of course, is that I’ve become somewhat of a zealot and if you’re one of my friends and I notice that you’re spending a little too much time sitting on your ass with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in one hand and a remote in the other, you’re going to get called out.

Bottom line; there are things about this dream of mine that are beyond my control (i.e. the boat) and there are things that aren’t, and consistent writing and exercise are two that are.

Okay, so now on to the meat of the matter, my journey’s progression. About two weeks ago I sent out a second round of letters to 25 yacht and sailing clubs in New Zealand, Australia, Tasmania and Fiji, and as with the first round, I’m hoping they’ll eventually reach the right people. It’s important to note, however, that while a response from that part of the world hasn’t found its way back to me yet, it hasn’t dampened my spirits or dream in any way; it’s a cold call longshot from the get go and I’m wise enough to understand what that means. There are a very specific set of circumstances that need to line up for all this to come together and that might take a little time. That said, I’m also wise enough to understand the fluidity of life and to roll with any changes as they come and recalibrate where necessary. I have no idea if the trip will manifest itself in the way I originally conceived, but one way or another a grand adventure will ensue. I love the unknown and what will be will be.

To be sure, this last year has been one of the most interesting, successful and wildly exciting years of my life; I’m skiing again, surfing, sailing, writing, in best shape I’ve been in since my early 20s and I’ve got my eyes on a very big prize. In this and many other ways, fasterbarnacle has already taken me way beyond where I ever imagined my dream would and I feel eternally blessed to understand this.

A final word

Before I wrap this post up I want to leave you with a couple of cool examples that further illustrate the kind of impact you’ve had on my life from your forwarding of this site. First, I’ve had the opportunity to meet and sail with someone here in the Bay Area who’s provided me with some incredible, eye-opening and educational trips out onto the San Francisco Bay which have proven invaluable in shaping my understanding of sailing and the things I’ll need for a longer, more challenging voyage. And second, I’ve had the great joy to get reconnected with some old friends from my past — something I never would have expected in a million years, but arguably has been one of the coolest things about this whole endeavor.

So again, big mahalos for all your support and efforts thus far. I suspect this coming year will bring many more surprises and successes with some of them coming from another part of the world.

Aloha.

This post was originally intended to go up the last week in March, but life — being what it is — had other plans.

Every time I sail I discover something new about this sport I’ve quickly fallen in love with and how it’ll all play out in this dream of mine. Last Thursday evening I went out again with B and my friend S on B’s J35, and while it was pretty cold (San Francisco definitely ain’t Fiji) — especially on our way back into the harbor with the wind and the setting sun chasing us down — it was the best time I’ve had sailing yet.

It’s interesting, but I’ve noticed that if it’s the least bit chilly Bay Area sailors don’t seem to want any part of it. Don’t get me wrong, as a quadriplegic I don’t dig the cold either — my lack of circulation is not adept at keeping me warm. But it was a spectacularly clear evening with the wind blowing stiffly at around 12 kn, and so cold or no cold as far as I was concerned there was no better place to be.

The weather, however, being what it was brought up some valuable questions about my comfort. Not just in regards to the temperature, but what that means for me as a disabled passenger on a boat. As I’ve mentioned before, how comfortable I am is largely determined by how I’m sitting. This really can’t be overstated. Proper seating is the central preoccupation of my disabled life. It needs solving in my wheelchair and now it needs solving when I sail. It all springs from there. If this problem can’t be solved a long-distance sail is out of the question.

Try and try again

The last time I sailed in this J I stayed in my acoustic chair which in this particular boat fits perfectly in the cockpit. Again, this worked great and was rather comfortable while the boat was level, but if the boat was to heel for any extended period of time (which is normal over a long distance tack) the lack of upper back support of this chair would lend to some pretty severe neck pain. Not cool.

My idea this time was to ditch the chair altogether and put my cushion on the floor of the cockpit and use the side of the boat as back support. Because I was sitting so low my back was supported up to the top of my shoulders and this was perfect for keeping me comfortable and secure. For added safety we tied down the cushions so they wouldn’t slide and fashioned me a chest strap to keep me from falling over when we heeled.

While this method is better than sitting in the wheelchair if the boat is steeply heeling, it’s not the answer for any trip over an hour and a half. The main issue with this J is the width of the cockpit. I’m 6′2″ and the only way for me to fit properly in this space is to keep my legs bent at about a 45° angle. Sitting like this puts a lot of pressure on my butt (in particular my problematic left ischial bone) and makes it impossible for me to do any weight shifts. These shifts are absolutely crucial if I want to avoid pressure sores. Going too much beyond an hour without doing any can create lasting problems, and I want to spend time sailing not recovering from pressure sores.

It’s obvious that with my disability my mobility on a boat is limited; I’m not going to be able to move around like the rest of the crew and I can accept this. On a boat large enough, however, I imagine my mobility would be freed up dramatically and that’s certainly something to keep in mind where the trip is concerned.

I’m all about being flexible and adapting myself to a world where things aren’t designed with my particular needs in mind — this is something one must do when they want to push themselves beyond the ordinary. But what I don’t want to sacrifice, though, is my comfort as that’s directly related to my enjoyment of both the process and the outcome of a voyage. I expect my butt will take some hits and there will be significant recovery time to follow, but that’s always been part of the game and the collateral damage I’m willing to accept if it gets me something greater.

That said, I do believe in workarounds and that’s what all this sailing is about — discovering what works and doesn’t work and developing solutions to those that don’t. It’s also about having a great time, but as far as I can tell that seems to be a given and not much work to be done there.

Since my website has been making the rounds — landing in places I never would’ve imagined; being forwarded onward and outward by all of you — several people have made some very useful suggestions as far as my sailing future is concerned. One of those suggestions has been an organization called BAADS (Bay Area Association of Disable Sailors) right here in San Francisco. Not so surprisingly, this was one of the first websites that popped up when I was googling for information on disabled sailing way back when this whole voyage first came to me.

Since that time I’ve sailed with the organization twice and it’s been an enriching and valuable experience both times. The folks who are involved — both running it and participating in it — are some pretty dynamic and passionate people. As I’ve said before, sailors remind me of surfers and since I love being around surfers I’m pretty damn comfortable. Anyway, my hope is to be sailing with them on a near weekly basis and by the beginning of summer at the latest sailing solo in one of their adapted boats with a sure sense of my abilities out on the water.

Thinking outside the boat

The more I sail the more ideas that come to me about how to make the sport more comfortable for somebody with my level of disability. As I mentioned in the last post on sailing, one of the most important things I’ll need is some sort of chair that has the ability to be adjusted when the boat tacks and is in a steep heel.

For smaller boats I’ve seen this done, but it’s a permanent fixture. What I’m thinking of is something that wouldn’t be permanent but yet secure and that could be moved around rather easily as the situation on the water dictated. If there are any engineers or creative types out there who want to help me design this by all means contact me. This is an immensely important part of the trip.

I went sailing last Sunday morning with a couple of friends and the individual who I mentioned in the previous post and had, what can only be described, as a transcendent and illuminating experience. I came away from the day not only with a far clearer understanding of my vision, both in terms of what it will take physically as a quadriplegic on a boat and practically as it applies to what special equipment I’ll need to have a safe and comfortable trip, but with an added stoke that guarantees success.

The weather calls for…

I woke up that morning at 5 a.m. (meaning my attendant woke up somewhere around 4 a.m.), having to do my routine and get to the docks in Emeryville by 7:30. Because of the tide situation and the depth of the keel on the boat we had a very narrow window in which we could sail. The Emeryville Harbor entrance is shallow and so we needed to get in and out before the tide dropped out — about three hours. There’s talk of dredging the entrance, but until then — in this boat at least — we’re at the mercy of high tide.

The morning was surprisingly windy, which for this area and this early is rather unusual. When we met B at the docks his face looked a little troubled and when he told us it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to sail it was obvious why. The winds at that point were gale force at around 20 kn and the weather service was forecasting an increase up to 30 kn at Angel Island. His concern was that given the conditions (lots of whitecaps) and the cold (yes, it’s still winter here) it would likely be a wet and miserable sail, and since it would be our first time out probably not a prudent way to begin.

Now I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t somewhat bummed out by this news. Hell, I was fired up to go out in hurricane force winds, but the weather being what it is and part of the process; there’s no need to be disappointed by something you can’t control. Besides, there were plenty of other things we could do that would be crucial for any future trips. Our plans recalibrated, we headed down the exceptionally wobbly dock to “the red dress” and started our morning.

Practice. Figure. Execute.

The first thing we needed to do was to practice getting me in and out of the boat and to determine where and how I would sit. Would I sit on one of the seats with somebody sitting beside me keeping me propped up (I don’t have any trunk or back muscles) or would I sit in my chair in the cockpit as we had previously figured? Both ways have their pros and cons, but in the end I don’t think we’re limited to these two — other solutions will certainly present themselves as we brainstorm further. For now, however, sitting in my wheelchair would certainly suffice, but it’s hardly optimal since once I’m in this particular cockpit moving around is a very difficult proposition. This might prove especially problematic if I needed to get down into the cabin or we were in some wind where the boat was heeling for a long time. Leaning forward or back in this chair for hours on end would be uncomfortable, especially if I was on the low side. To this end I think it would be advantageous to design a seat that would work in any boat and would give us the flexibility to move me around quickly when and if the situation arose. It’ll be interesting to see if any such thing already exists.

When we finished with our experimentation we sat for a moment and discussed what we’d learned and what could be improved to make this and other boats more accessible for me. It was an invaluable use of time and certainly something that needed to be done. Still, I was jonesing for a sail and when after about 15 minutes into our conversation I noticed the wind had dropped off somewhat, I asked B what the current wind speed was and sure enough it was down to 12 kn. Excited about getting out there, I asked him if tide-wise we still had time to go for sail and when he said yes, we got back on “the red dress” — me in my chair (an experiment to be sure) — and motored out into the whitecapped harbor.

That’s the way, uh-huh, uh-huh, I like it…

Just inside the harbor things were pretty crossed up and bumpy, but I was loving it. Once we were outside the breakwater and further out into the bay the cross chop dropped off, but swells remained; still bumpy, but now from a consistent direction. The wind also remained somewhat significant and since it was our first time out, the decision was made to sail on the jib alone.

Under sail power, I felt incredibly at home; in my element and like being in a surf lineup. The more the bump and the faster we went, the more this feeling washed over me. An overwhelming sense of knowing raced through my bloodstream, bringing with it an understanding that this dream of mine was the right thing to do and would indeed happen.

As for my friends, well, they were feeling various degrees of seasickness — T more than D — but they seemed to be having a good time anyway and I know they were happy to share this experience with me. Fortunately for myself I’m not afflicted with this particular problem. Maybe it’s all those years of surfing or being out on the boat with my grandfather, but whatever it is I’m grateful. Of course, get in any weather extreme enough and any stomach is bound to flip and cry foul.

Experience. Experience. Experience.

So, yeah, this was a valuable learning experience for myself as well as T and it was a great first run. As I said above, I have a far greater understanding of what this trip will entail, both in terms of demands on myself and as a team with my attendant. But it also gave me a new set of items I can put on a list to check off as they are accomplished. Like goals successfully achieved, they’ll represent forward progress… and I like that.

Bottom line: sailing is sick (meaning awesome) and I’ve been indeed bitten by the bug. No matter where this incredible voyage takes me, I’ve found a sport I’d like to pursue for life and that’s mighty fine.

Thanks to the efforts of all of you, things are beginning to happen. After fasterbarnacle was forwarded to a friend, they forwarded it to one of their friends, who in turn forwarded to one of theirs who turned out to be a sailor. A couple of weeks ago that person contacted me and on Monday I went to see his boat, a J 35 racer named “the red dress”.

This isn’t the boat that will get me from New Zealand to Australia or Australia to Fiji, but it’s a very important first step. The owner is a great guy who began thinking outside the box the moment after we spoke on the phone; brainstorming as to what would make the vessel quad friendly and thus suitable for some blue water sails. He also offered to fix up the dreess’ remote controlso that I could work the tiller and do some sailing myself. Pretty cool and entirely unexpected.

At the very least, the boat will be suitable for some sails out on the San Francisco Bay and beyond the Golden Gate. After that, if it seems as though it would work for something longer and more adventurous then he’s offered to sail with us to Hawaii in June. Such a voyage would be a great introduction into what open ocean sailing would be all about. The experience my buddy T and I would gain would be invaluable. We’d learn not only what it would take to do this from the disability perspective (my personal needs, etc.), but how we could participate as a functioning unit in the sailing process itself.

If you asked me to script a better beginning to this whole dream of mine I don’t think I could. It’s a beautiful way to start and it’s awesome to see it taking shape. Big mahalos to all of you for your continuing support and help.

It’s been several months since my post about my exercise routine and so I thought I’d fill you in on how things have been going since then. Great, is the best way to put it. I’m pushing anywhere from a mile to a mile and a half every other day (weather permitting. It may be California, but it’s Northern Cal and it’s winter). On the days that I’m not pushing I’m lifting weights. Pretty hardcore.

Burn baby burn

The distance I push isn’t so much a concern for me anymore, as I’ve discovered that if I have the time I can go the distance. 10 miles really wouldn’t be out of the question which is crazy considering where I was about six months ago. Speed and technique are more where I’m at now. The faster I go, the more winded I get and that seems to get the burn going in my arms. It’s that burn I’m looking for.

As for the weights; thanks to a Christmas present from my friend T I’m now lifting twice the weight I was before. These are free weight exercises and I’m doing multiple reps focusing on two different muscle groups. The first is on muscles that are unaffected by my level of injury; and the second, on muscles that are — the biceps and triceps respectively. The increased weight and adjusted repetitions should help with definition.

When I’m in my electric chair and don’t have anybody around to help me with the free weights, I’m able to use an exercise machine called The Uppertone which was designed by a quadriplegic for quadriplegics. The freedom this machine provides has allowed me to get a little extra workout in before or after my graphic design/web work.

Detouring the rationalization

To say I feel great would be an understatement. I haven’t felt this great in many years. In the “red shoe diary” post when I wrote about my workouts, I talked about my impatience and how I was looking for some very specific things. Well, those things have certainly come to fruition, but I’ve also seen some other interesting benefits as well.

For starters, I’m sleeping better, which isn’t a big surprise, but it’s certainly a pretty cool byproduct. What’s really great, however, is the benefit it’s having on my circulation. I’d read about this happening, but wasn’t sure what kind of results I’d see for myself. And while it’s difficult to quantify, I’d say I’m seeing anywhere between 15 to 20% more uptime and that’s nothing to complain about. Like an ex girlfriend of mine used to say, “a little better is better than a little worse”. Amen to that.

Still, it’s a shame it took all this time and this trip to motivate me to do what I should’ve been doing all along. But, hey, I’m doing it now and that’s all that matters.

For me, it was looking at my reasons for not doing it — no time — and coming to terms with what they actually were — excuses. I had plenty of time, but it was simply a matter of using it wisely and prioritizing. The fact is, it’s in our nature to avoid what’s difficult and to rationalize it in a way that makes us feel comfortable with living up to less than our fullest potential. Maybe exercise isn’t your bag — though I’d encourage you to do it anyway — but you should check yourself from time to time anyway to see what you’re avoiding out of discomfort alone. What you see may just surprise you.

Quien es mas macho?

If after reading all this you’re still doubting how hard-core I truly am, let me share with you a final anecdote and then tell me what you think.

Alright, so I just finished coming around on my last lap of a mile and a half push and I’m not quite feeling the burn yet so I decide to go around one more time. I look down at my right hand to see how the hole in my glove is doing (hard-core = holes in gloves) and I see that, not only has the hole gotten bigger, but my pinky has been worn raw and is now bleeding. At this point, I could’ve (should’ve) stopped — and certainly some of the less hard-core of my brethren would’ve — but one of the advantages (if you can call it an advantage) of being paralyzed from the neck down is a lack of sensation. Or more optimistically put, a built-in anesthetic. Sure, my finger is bleeding, but I can’t feel it so let’s go one more time around.

While I’m not going to argue there may be a fine line between hard-core and stupid, I believe the above anecdote illustrates — not my stupidity (though I can see where one might mistakenly draw that conclusion), but rather my commitment to my cause and my ability to go that extra proverbial mile.

Eye of the tiger, baby, eye of the tiger.

If you’re gonna wear red shoes — in this case Adidas SL 72’s — then you better be prepared to come correct — do something extra. With red, there are no ordinary efforts. On the track, red means go — go real far — and that’s something you gotta take seriously. These days, if I’m anything, it’s that, serious… seriously committed to distance.

When I began planning for this trip, I knew above all else I’d want to get in shape before it happened. I figured there’d be a lot things out of my hands, but my physical conditioning wouldn’t be one of them. At the very least, it would be something I could do on a near daily basis that would always feel like progress. My regiment would be a split between pushing in my acoustic chair* and lifting weights (neither of which I’ve done with any seriousness in close to 20 years). The chair for my endurance and the weights for my strength.

In doing this I’ve noticed a couple of things; first, my body finds the commitment, routine and strain of working out very familiar. Before my injury, intense workouts for water polo, surfing and swimming were an everyday gig, as commonplace as eating or sleeping. If you wanted to be better than your competition, then you needed to put in the extra work — go a little bit further than the other guy (which, in my past, is another way of saying, I spent many voluntary hours in water temps that were less than comfortable for certain parts of the anatomy).

This kind of work ethic/routine served me well after I broke my neck. The familiarity of pushing beyond what was comfortable became a way — not for me to better “the competition” — but a way for me to better myself. The beauty of this being, that in my very essence I never felt my potential had limits. Exclusively using my acoustic chair and committing to a weight training program, allowed me to see endless improvements where my disability was concerned. Improvements which would carry me beyond my level of injury.

Neurologists will say, in reference to post injury paralysis, that you’re only going to get back (in terms of movement) what the unaffected neural pathways will allow. And while I won’t disagree with this physiological fact, I will say that strengthening the muscles that are receiving the neural signals, will create a surprising situation where it feels like the level of injury has dropped below the affected neural pathways. In other words, strength will compensate for paralysis. The trick, of course, is actually committing to the strength exercises, which are both time-consuming and painful. Even though this isn’t new information — its the philosophy behind physical therapy — it’s nice to reflect on how influential it is my life right now and, even more specifically, how it’s motivating me.

The other thing I’ve noticed is I tend to be a tad bit impatient when it comes to seeing visible results. I generally want to go from point A to point Z very quickly; I want to see muscles bulging on my arms and time ticking off those laps. Don’t get me wrong, I’m well aware of the fact I’m a C 4 - 5 quadriplegic who’s been on a 20-year “vacation” from exercise and who’s become a little less efficient in the pushing department (okay a lot less efficient), and, well, a little more Olive Oil-ish looking in the limbs (yes, Popeye’s wife). But c’mon, already, isn’t two months a sufficient amount of time to see the changes I’m looking for? You know, speedy on the track, thick in the arms.

Generally, I don’t have a problem with this kind of impatience — in fact, it’s probably beneficial to this whole process — but no sooner than when I was checking myself, did I see the results I was looking for. All I had to do was put on those SL 72’s, and with a little added effort on my part, instead of the 1 mile routine I usually do, I pushed 2. Oh, it was tough, a little painful, even a little slower going than I would’ve liked, but in the end it was like crashing through a wall. And on the other side of that wall, certainty.

As I said, it feels natural to go beyond what feels comfortable and to test my limits. In doing this, I not only gauge my progress, but it also functions as a reward — a way for me to internalize the vastness of my potential and nurture my goal. Putting a finer head on it, it simply means; a). I’m approaching where I want to be and b). there’s a gun show coming to town and it looks to be something long-term.

*acoustic chair = manual chair; as in there are electric guitars and acoustic guitars. An expression originally coined by my buddy J. As musicians it seemed the natural way to go. Fellow musician’s seem to be the only folks who get the joke.