It was 6:00 PM on March the 3rd, 1984, when I left. I was alone. I had never taken a long trip with no one in the passenger seat but a cooler full of diet sodas. My hands gripped the steering wheel of the 1979 British Racing Green Chevelle. Hours later, I happily stopped in Columbus, Ohio, to see a friendly face and stay with a friend. The first thing the following morning, my Chevelle and I headed toward DC. I had no idea what could happen, and I suppose youth and “ignorance was bliss.”
Spending that weekend in DC with my best friend from college, I was eager to explore this newfound independence and had a wonderful weekend. With trepidation the following Monday, I headed toward a Learn-to-Ski program at Jack Frost Mountain in Pennsylvania. This program was to teach people with disabilities how to ski. There were several other amputees, but the disabilities ranged from amputees to spina bifida to blindness. The Southland Corporation sponsored the program, and local owners of the condos donated them for our use.
I knew no one and had no idea what to expect. The snow came down like a blanket. When it wasn’t snowing, it was raining, turning to ice on the roads. It was treacherous driving 45 miles per hour the whole way. What should have been a four-hour drive took over seven hours. When I thought I had arrived in the area, my car slid off the road heading the opposite direction. I came crashing down into a huge ditch. Having a box in the back of the car, I tore it up, sliding pieces under the tires until I finally got myself out of the ditch.
I arrived at the ski lodge worn to a frazzle. My independence had turned from a great, fun weekend to wanting to call my Dad to get me out of this mess. We all had to sign in at the lodge. Everyone was given a condo to share with two others, and I rushed to the condo to meet my new roommates. I was told to hurry and change to get back to the bar for a wine and cheese party. It was my first time being around others, like myself, with physical challenges. I didn’t know how to react being so far out of my element. I was raised to be just like everyone else — not disabled. It was as if I puffed out my chest to say, “I can do anything; I am not really like you.” My ideas soon changed when I saw that the people were strong just like me and had overcome so much just to be there.
I wasn’t so sure of myself and stayed close to my new roommates. Denise said that I just HAD to meet this British guy. She said that he reminded her of Dudley Moore, and she rushed over, grabbed me by the arm, and dragged me to the bar. I just listened to him speak to others in the bar. His British accent was a dream come true for me, having watched soap operas full of witty men with British accents. He was so charming that everyone wanted time with him. What chance did I have? Finally, Denise introduced me to John, and I knew that there was no such thing as love at first sight — until I met John.
He told me that he had come at the organizers’ invitation while raising funds for the British Disabled Ski Team and wanted American insight into fundraising. He was a skier, so they invited him to come for the week. He told me that he worked in Lloyds of London, and my impression of him kept growing. Had I become a part of a soap opera, or was this my dream come true?
The wine and cheese party ended, and our eyes never left one another’s. We had been sitting at the bar for a long while. Several ski instructors invited John to go with them to a local pub and ski hang out. He asked me to come with him, and I had no second thought.
We arrived at the pub, John and I sat on a barstool, and he finally reached over and grabbed my hand. My heart raced. I ordered a Heineken when the woman at the bar told John that they had British beer. He thanked her, and she was off proudly to finally be serving British Beer to a Brit. She was gone for quite a while when she finally came with the beer. She handed it to John. A proud grin washed over her face when she said, “I know you like your beer warm, so I warmed it with the immersion heater we use for coffee.” Once the glass cooled down enough for him to grasp it, he drank, thanking her for her thoughtfulness. The beer was awful, but he drank it anyway. I drove him back to the Holiday Inn, where he was staying. As he left my car, we kissed.
I was so excited the following morning. I thought I had fallen in love and I was going to learn to ski. The instructors fitted me for skis, boots, and outriggers. (Outriggers are crutches with small ski tips attached to the bottom.) I could walk with them as crutches, or when flipping the tips down, I could use them to ski. We were each given ski instructors who taught us individually. The first few days were rough. I was also afraid of heights, so riding the tall chair lifts helped that challenge dissipate quickly. I hadn’t expected there to be so much falling involved in skiing! As I learned more and more each day, the mountains became a bit taller.
In the following days, I became quite proficient at skiing, and I enjoyed the experience. The people were incredible, and a member of the Associated Press came to do a story for Good Morning America. It was the best experience I could have imagined.
I spent the days intent on learning to ski, but dinners and evenings were spent with John. The final night he invited me to dinner at the only place in town, the Holiday Inn. It was quite lovely, but the location didn’t matter. It was as if it was just John and me. After an exhausting day, I fell asleep at the Holiday Inn.
Finally, Thursday, March the 9th, came, and I returned to the condo at 5:30 AM. I had to pack everything and get ready for one last day of skiing. On the final day, everyone raced down the short hill on a slalom course to see who could be the fastest. It was a short day of skiing, and after lunch, they had an awards presentation. To my surprise, I won a medal.
They asked John to give a speech. Never at a loss for both words nor charm, he spoke to everyone, thanking them for allowing him to be a part of such a great event. He promised to go back to the UK and spread the word about what could be done to help people with disabilities enjoy sports, and better yet, he would raise money to make it all happen.
It was the end of the program, and I don’t know when I had been sadder. At 4:00, I began my journey home to Indiana. The thought of John and Dudley Moore permeated my mind. I reached into my cassette case to find a Christopher Cross cassette with The Theme From Arthur. John had promised we would meet in New York City in six weeks when he returned there for business. As I sang along, “When you get lost between the moon and New York City..” I could barely get through the first line without sobbing. I knew that realistically a four thousand mile romance would be near impossible. I was not optimistic at all.
As I continued my trip, it began snowing again. The same snow blanketed my car and the road ahead. I missed a sign and ended up in Philadelphia. The road reminded me of my trip’s beginning and was ending similarly. I drove along the highway with no way to get off. I followed the red tail lights on the truck ahead of me. I was riding close, and the only thing I could see was the shiny steel of the road divider to my left side. I drove gingerly and slowly when finally, an exit sign appeared to my right. I decided I had enough, and I headed toward the exit ramp. I slid most of the way down the ramp and into the parking lot of an old motel with a diner attached.
As I went in to see if there was a room, an uneasiness came over me. I was in the middle of nowhere. Would anyone ever find me? I got the room key and quickly decided the moon boots would be staying on all night. I didn’t see bugs or rats, but I was confident as to their existence.
I walked over to the cafe to see if it fared any better. I walked in to see a sheriff on a stool drinking coffee, and as I looked up along the ceiling, there were shelves of saw blades painted with various country and farm scenes. If I thought I was in a dream before, this had become my nightmare.
I left the cafe to use the payphone outside. The phone booth door had been pushed open by the three feet of snow inside. I began to dial my friend Roger to tell him about everything that had happened on my trip. I wanted to tell him about meeting John, learning to ski, and now this nightmare if he needed to come to search for my body. I told him about the snow, driving down I-95, and sliding into this motel. I also told him about John and how I was so sad thinking that I may have met the man of my dreams only to have those dreams disappear by distance.
The morning sun came up and shone beautifully against the snow. The snowplows had cleared the roads and highways overnight. I could get back on the road and head back to Indiana. I arrived back at my home with only thoughts of my trip to keep me happy. I didn’t expect to hear from John, but my first day back to work, he called around noon. He called every day at noon. I awaited that call from him eagerly every day.
One day John said to me that he had sent a letter. I asked why he couldn’t tell me over the phone. He just said to wait for the letter. A week later, when the letter arrived, my two closest friends sat there waiting for me to open the letter.
I was so fearful that I could barely open it. I began to read. John wrote, offered pleasantries, and said, “I am married and have three boys.” The lump in my throat almost cut off the air into my lungs. I didn’t know what to say, but I had honestly expected this or something similar in the letter. He said that the boys lived at a boarding school, his wife in a village outside of London, and lived in The City near his office. That did not offer solace. The fact that he was married was enough. My dreams were shattered.
He called every day, offering apologies and explanations on each call. The offer of a meeting in New York in a few weeks was still there. I remained undecided until….