Achievement Unlocked

About a month ago, I issued a challenge to a bunch of my design-minded friends. Specifically, could they recommend a bag company that makes a durable but stylish bag that I could easily attach to my wheelchair.

Why do this? Aren't there already bags specifically made for the wheelchair? Of course there are, but to my mind there are a number of problems with those bags.

• They can have ungodly names. I'm not using a bag called the "Under Bag" made by a company called "Handy Bag". I don't care that I never have to say the name. I have to know it and that's enough for me.
• They're usually made by durable but sensorially-unpleasant materials like heavy-duty ripstop nylon and big chunky YKK zippers.
• For the bags to be approved as Durable Medical Equipment (which you are supposed to do for anything that might impact a wheelchair's functionality) you have to go through a lengthy and costly certification process. (Or at least you did before RFK Jr. got his hands on the Department of Health and Human Services).
• And because they're produced in vanishingly-small quantities, they're always going to be expensive for what you get.

So with all that in mind, I set out to find the perfect bag for my chair. Something that could carry my laptop, notebook, iPad, and my medical supplies.

Thanks to Andrew, I found Waterfield Designs, who specialize in "buy-it-for-life" bags. I found a messenger bag I really liked and spent a good two weeks hemming and hawing about buying it. But then, thanks to getting a long-awaited job offer (that I will cryptically have to wait and explain in a later post) I convinced myself to buy that ludicrously expensive and beautiful leather messenger bag. I purchased the bag and in the notes section of the transaction I asked "hey, would you be open to customizing the bag for attaching it to my wheelchair?"

The company's founder, Gary, responded almost immediately. Yes, he could make the modifications needed. And because I was local, he suggested, I could come to their offices in San Francisco to get properly fitted. And this is where, after all of this preamble, we get to the Achievement. Because I was determined to get to their facility... all by myself.

Ok. Not all by myself. I would be supported by billions of dollars of investment in public transit made in the Bay Area over the last 60 years, as well as the Americans with Disabilities Act. I would have to take BART from MacArthur to Powell, then use the new Central Subway tunnel to take MUNI from Union Square to Third and 20th Street. And keen-eyed readers will notice that yes, in San Francisco, Third Street intersects with 20th Street. This shouldn't be possible in a grid, but very little makes sense in California.

Anyway. I proposed the idea of my solo trip to Dacia on Wednesday. She was less-than-enthused but somehow bit her tongue and let me pursue this dumb idea (yet another reason I love her).

So on Friday morning she dropped me off at MacArthur Station. I headed through the accessible gate (after waiting, begrudgingly, for several apparently-able-bodied folks to go through), into the elevator that always smells like urine no matter how often it is cleaned, and up to the platform to wait for the westbound train. The train came, the doors opened, I went through, found the wheelchair area, and barely had enough time to lock my wheels before the doors closed and we were off.

I never thought that BART accelerated or decelerated aggressively, but let me tell you it's different when you're in the chair. I found that even with four wheels firmly planted on the floor, I still had to reach out for a handhold to keep from tipping over at times.

Harsh vector changes aside, the train (and I) made it safely to Powell Station. I found the elevator (at the end of the platform), and when it opened, I learned that the Mid-Market Business Improvement District pays for full-time elevator attendants at this station. The attendant, Andre, said it was to ensure the elevators were safe and that no one was sleeping in them. It kinda sucks that this is how the city approaches the seemingly intractable problems of crime and homelessness, but at least Andre had a job.

From there it was a long slog three blocks uphill underground on the smooth terrazzo of the MUNI concourse, with the soothing rainbow of the LED art installation to keep me company along the way (it seems like ever since the "I'll Be Missing You" video made the O'Hare airport tunnels famous in the 90s that every long pedestrian tunnel has a rainbow light installation, kinda like how Maya Lin's Vietnam memorial destroyed figurative memorials for the next 30-odd years). Apparently these are the things I think about when wheeling slowly up an imperceptible slope to the MUNI elevator, which mercifully didn't smell like pee.

MUNI's streetcars, when in the deep Central Subway bore, accelerate and decelerate even more sharply than BART. I nearly tipped over backwards before I was able to grab a strap at the last possible moment. But when they get to the surface they start crawling along, avoiding the chaos energy of delivery vans, illegal ebikes, and Waymo driverless cabs that populate San Francisco's streets. After a very long time I arrived at 20th and Third, and debarked by doing a wheelie over the two-inch gap between the train and platform. That gap is a crazy design decision in an otherwise easily accessible streetcar system–it made every embarkation and debarkation an anxious one.

Once I got to Waterfield, I met the team. Together we went over how I wanted to wear the bag. Yoyo had already sewn custom straps for the lengths I needed, they worked, and they sent me home with the bag.

They even refunded the shipping on my order.

Going back was much the same as coming in. The one standout difference was coasting down the tunnel between MUNI and BART–I was going easily 20mph by the time I got to the BART station and had to slow down to avoid the terrified masses.

The funny thing, I realize, about perambulating in public as a disabled person, is that spaces that have focused civic investment (subways, streetcars, public plazas) are easy to traverse. But when the city devolves that required investment on private property owners, the situation becomes far more dicey. The thirty minutes I spent attempting to get across the 0.6 miles from MacArthur Station to Teni East for lunch were the toughest 30 minutes of my day by far. Navigating the broken pavements, street furniture, block-long cross-slopes, abandoned mattresses, construction obstructions, and sandwich board advertising spa services–only to get to the restaurant and be unable to roll up the steep doorway ramp without assistance from a passerby. Which, because Oakland is an incredibly friendly helpful place, was offered immediately, followed by a complimentary ginger beer for the inconvenience.

I pulled up to the bar, ordered my lunch, and sat for a minute with my thoughts. Which is when I realized that I don't like dining alone and there's someone who I like dining with more than anyone else in the world. I'd give you three guesses but

Finally, after lunch, I treated myself to a nice nap while someone attacked me with needles.

Catch you all for the next adventure!