After a full day’s lesson in monoskiing, stiff, slightly bruised, but euphoric nevertheless, I was pushing my wheelchair towards the Pig Pen pub, a local favorite après-ski in the heart of Utah's Park City, when my instructor Dale Hentzell stopped me in my tracks. “You see this building?” Dale said, nodding with a nostalgic head tilt towards a weather-beaten mobile trailer. It was attached clumsily to a couple of derelict sheds. “This is where the National Ability Center (NAC) used to be based.”
It was a stark contrast to the state-of-the-art, two-story, 9,400-square-foot slope-side facility where we had met earlier that morning, complete with heated storage space for specialized adaptive ski equipment, locker rooms for instructors and adaptive competitive athletes alike, and even a sensory room—a.k.a. the recently unveiled October 2023 new home of the NAC, now named the McGrath Mountain Center.
Established nearly forty years ago by a Vietnam veteran named Pete Badewitz and his then-wife Meeche White, the nonprofit organization, initially known as the “Park City Handicapped Sports Association,” was established in 1985 with the sole objective of helping Disabled vets get back on the slopes. From there, the NAC evolved into the world-class operation it is today, the self-proclaimed epicenter of the adaptive nation, serving more than 5,000 Disabled people last year alone, expanding its services to civilians with physical and sensory impairments, as well as neurodivergent children and adults.
Rolling into the McGrath Mountain Center that morning, I had admittedly been nervous, estimating it was close to a decade-long hiatus since my last attempt to master the art of skiing sitting down, an activity my high-level spinal cord injury makes challenging. But any apprehension was instantly knocked out of me as a young man with cognitive disabilities rushed over, arms extended, and grasped me in a hug. “I love your motorbike!” he said, explaining that he had been following my travels on social media, specifically a cross-America road trip I had taken on my adapted CanAm. Buoyed by his confidence and the sign behind him that read, “We empower individuals with disabilities through the transformative power of ADAPTIVE recreation and ADVENTURE,” I transferred from my chair into a rented monoski, buckled up, and followed suit. It was time to face the fear and get out there.
The act of balancing my bodyweight over one ski, at first, took every ounce of concentration I could muster. I was soon sweating in layers of thermal clothing. As the slopes steepened and I picked up speed soon, like riding a bicycle, the motion became more fluid. Dale layered on the words of encouragement and an hour in, I couldn’t believe how much fun I was having. When I would fall, I was quickly helped back up and dusted off to try again. By the end of the day, I was leaning into turns, finding the edge of my ski and lifting my outriggers—the skis on my arms that assist in balancing, stopping, turning, and getting on and off the lift—in the air, just for the thrill of it.
In addition to ski and snowboard lessons for people with learning, physical, and sensory disabilities on Park City Mountain, the NAC extends into a neighboring 26-acre ranch on land anonymously donated, where indoor climbing walls have hoists to help people with mobility impairments, and pickleball courts, an accessible high ropes course, and more adapted bicycles than I knew existed or could begin to count, are located. On arrival the day before, I had been given a tour and was so overwhelmed by the scale and grandeur of the place, especially in the jaw-droppingly impressive Equestrian Center, that I was politely asked to keep it down; my unbridled enthusiasm might frighten the horses.
“My son has been transformed by this place,” explained Lisa Steppan, a mother of a young adult with complex needs. She flies into Salt Lake City from the East Coast to enroll her son in the riding program every summer. “Being around horses is like medicine for him, and the staff go above and beyond to enable him to be the happiest version of himself. He builds his confidence here. I can’t imagine our lives without the NAC.”
Encouraged by the complexity of modifications made to the riding school, including a ramp to raise you to horse height, I knocked on the yard manager’s office door to inquire about returning in the summer to horse ride, a hobby from my childhood I have always assumed my spinal cord injury would prevent me from experiencing. Unlike skiing, horseback riding with my specific disability would require some creative problem-solving. “Anything is possible with the right attitude and equipment,” I was told by the yard manager. “Have you ever thought about white-water rafting in the Moab desert? You can do that too, you know?'
Clearly, disability has a whole new definition here.
“We make sure that we listen to your access needs and work with you to find the best way to experience our activities,” explained Andrew Ball, the guest services senior manager and my ranch facilities guide for the afternoon. “Adaptive mountain biking, hiking, day camps, horse riding, archery, and Nordic skiing are all available for groups, families, and individuals of all ages. We have the staff, the assistive technology, the environment and the expertise to give everyone a memorable experience.”
Cognizant of the significant financial barriers Disabled people face when accessing sports and the great outdoors, the NAC also ensures that anyone who wants to experience its many activities and lodging accommodations can. Put simply, you pay what you can afford through their scholarship program. I was invited as a journalist to stay in one of their twenty-five accessible double rooms on-site, and while they may be basic, decorated with just the bare—albeit accessible—essentials, like cot beds, a good night’s sleep comes easily with so much to do and see at the NAC.
The day I spent monoskiing was nearly perfect; minimal queuing times, helpful lift attendants, and fresh powder (thanks to a recent ‘third winter’ dump). I spent an entire day practicing my turns on the wide empty slopes; starting on the beginner runs adjacent to the McGrath Center before progressing up to the more advanced runs, one of which I attempted a few times and, despite a few tumbles, eventually, gleefully, mastered.
As I raised my drink at the Pig Pen that evening, I toasted to the past, present, and future of the NAC. I was grateful for its evolution, excited for the adventures all of us will be able to have as a result. I checked my calendar to clear some time to finally get back in the saddle.
