A COLORADO NON-PROFIT ORGANIZATION
Provide equipment and instruction for individuals with disabilities to pilot off-road vehicles into backcountry areas otherwise impossible to access because of a mobility impairment
Return to Dirt is actively raising money to purchase equipment, adapt vehicles, and run trips this summer. Donate to help R2D impact disabled athletes by providing positive outdoor experiences and take them farther than the end of the pavement.
RETURN TO DIRT:
A SOLUTION TO OUTDOOR ACCESSIBILITY
The adaptive motorsports program that puts disabled individuals behind the wheel of their own adventure.
As a byproduct of disability, many of our athletes are restricted to certain daily driven vehicles, like mini vans and sedans, for accessibility. This fact limits their capabilities to access the natural areas those without disability recreate in. We provide adapted off-road vehicles to allow disabled athletes to independently take themselves back to the Dirt.
Whether it’s just to twist throttle, or to see the sights, there is no wrong reason for physically impaired athletes to access their dreams off the beaten path.
we can help a fly fisherman get to a secluded lake or a photographer to a blooming high mountain meadow. The dreams of recreation in nature can be simply made through the use of adaptive equipment and support.
LETTER FROM A DIRECTOR
On November 18th, 2014, I watched Tim (R2D Founder) land off-balance and crash while skiing in the backcountry near the town of Crested Butte. It wasn’t immediately apparent what was wrong, but there was no chance we were going to get out without help. The fact that we could even place an emergency call for help is a miracle.
For the ensuing hours, we sat together in the snow waiting patiently for search and rescue to arrive. The birds were chirping, the sky was blue to perfection and despite the low battery notification ringing every few minutes on my Samsung slider phone, we maintained conversation. Friends, powder days, microeconomics homework and Sudoku are the subjects of conversation that stand out. Rescue eventually arrived and quickly called a helicopter—the first sure-sign that this indeed was a situation too heavy for either of us to comprehend.
Later that night I learned, alongside his family and friends, that Tim was paralyzed. I remember crying, being incredibly confused and wondering what the life of a quadriplegic could possibly look like. What I did know was that this was not going to be the end of our friendship, that this was not the death of Tim’s persevering character and that I would support him in whatever way I could going forward.
After Tim was transferred to Craig Hospital in Denver, friends and I would drive down from Gunnison to visit whenever possible. As Tim progressed, these visits moved to his home in Glenwood Springs. We would sit around a table in his house, maybe go out to eat, and share time together. Despite being excited to see his progress, I left these visits sad. I was sad because our experiences together were now contained to highly-controlled environments—a stark difference to the go-getting, push-each-other-to-the-limits relationship we had built since meeting in the dorms our freshman year of college.