A pain in the neck: The odyssey for decent, comfortable IMAX ADA seats

Last week my friends and I went to the show. When the movie let out, the lobby was swamped with people. They were lined up everywhere. At five in the afternoon, on a Monday. It took a while to pick our way through to the exit.

All these folks had turned out to see two of summer’s biggest blockbusters, Spider-Man: Brand New Day and The Odyssey. Both are screening in IMAX. The Odyssey director Christopher Nolan encouraged viewers to catch his new movie in IMAX to get the full effect of his work. He’d worked with engineers to come up with better, lighter cameras allowed him to shoot his entire 3-hour feature film in IMAX format, which was about impossible to do before. Add to this that there are only 25 theater-screens in the country that can project in the ultimate experience, IMAX 70 millimeter, and the only one in Chicagoland, which is this theater we attended — so moviegoers are making the trek across the metro area and the state of Illinois and even from other states to this one theater, and to this one theater’s lobby. But here is one of history’s biggest stories, shot in a huge way by a huge director, so people are there in search of a unique, unforgettable experience.

How my neck felt after my first IMAX movie.

Unless you’re a wheelchair user, that is. Because if you are, then this could be an unforgettable experience for how utterly disappointing it was. In some IMAX theaters, the patrons who use wheelchairs were an afterthought, which was my own and only IMAX experience, long ago. These are the IMAX theaters where the ADA seats are right in front of the towering screen, or like mine, crammed in at one side or the other. I remember less about the movie shown and more about my neck craning the entire time. In a situation like that you are not even able to take in the whole picture, and you’re literally not in any position to enjoy it. The poor seating made the movie uncomfortable and uninteresting, as in I couldn’t wait for it to be over.

Still, if possible I really wanted to see this flick with the special IMAX sauce, so at the website I checked the seating diagram. I wasn’t confident about what I was seeing. The thing to do at this point would be to call the manager and arrange a look-see before buying tickets. But no, I’m jumping through extra hoops every day of the week because that’s what we’ve got to do, right, but enough already. It’s show time and I’m damned hooped out. So, I reserved for the standard format screening with guaranteed midhouse ADA seating for me.

If it helps anyone out there, Copilot AI suggested we might find better ADA seating at IMAX theaters built in 2015 or later, and at theaters advertising “IMAX with laser,” both of which offer more mindful, more equitable design. It sounds like the earlier generation of theaters may be the spine-bending offenders. Useful information to know, if Nolan’s IMAX cameras take off in the industry, in search of The Odyssey-like box office riches.

In the end, it didn’t matter what format I chose, I was disappointed in The Odyssey. The Nolan movies I’ve seen I liked, ranging from adrenaline-stoking thrill-rides to spine-tingling weirdness. This one had none of those qualities. To me, it was just crap storytelling: boring, confusing and ponderous. Which is a shame because Homer was literally a storyteller, not a writer. He recited stories to others, like a bard, and a disabled bard at that.

 

It ain’t pretty but it sure is beautiful: ADA accommodations like a concrete pad can be pretty cheap

We have needed new gravel on our driveway for a couple of years now. Dry sandy soil, thick tree roots exposed by erosion, and bumps left from heavy work equipment: All have made getting around our place more and more difficult. Actually for the past few months it’s caused me to go out less and stick to the porch instead. With every year and every gully washer of a storm, the problem has grown worse. We’ve invited contractors who seem interested in the job, but then don’t hear from them again. I’m guessing that our job is too small to warrant their time, but who knows?

Then last week, I got stuck at the base of the ramp in front of the house. I was chasing a rare patch of winter sunshine, being careful not to stray too far, but on that day, even 3 feet out was too far. When I turned to go back up the ramp, my wheelchair tire started spinning in the dirt. I called Mab over to help eye up the situation, and together we buried that tire down even deeper.

They say good guys wear white hats. Well, the good guy in my story drives a white pickup. And the first thing I saw when I lifted my eyes from the buried tire was that white pickup passing by on the street. It was my buddy Gary coming home from work.

“Siri, call Gary.”

A few short minutes later, the cavalry had arrived: The white pickup pulled up right there in front of us and out piled Gary. He’s a big guy, and even though his hip was ailing, he wasn’t content to just help with pushing. Instead, he lifted the rear of the wheelchair right out of the dirt. I skedaddled a retreat up the ramp before I could land in any more trouble, but Gary didn’t leave right away — here-around you’ve got to “visit” first. All the while, he scratched his head, looking at the derned problem-spot at the foot of the ramp.

It was a couple days later, a Saturday, when he showed up again. In the bed of his vehicle he’d loaded five bags of gravel and two more of concrete mix. He raked the rock into a hook shape, curving away from the ramp. Then he spread the powdered concrete over the gravel. Mab brought the water hose and the two of them worked the concrete into the rock. I was in bed, healing from a saddle sore, during all this. But by the time I laid eyes on it a couple days later, here’s what I saw:

Not good pics, but I've gotta get this posted already.

Behold $83 of materials, 700 pounds of material, less than two hours’ work, and a whole heck of a lot of friendship. The “pad” is about 3.5 feet wide and extends out some 9 feet before curving back around like the tail of comma, giving me a good start up the driveway. For now, this gets me through. To harden a couple of remaining loose patches of gravel, Gary brought one more bag of concrete to add over the top. So now it comes to about $90.

As has been stressed over and over by the Department of Justice and many others since introduction of the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990, access accommodations needn’t be expensive — they only take a willingness to do them. Praise be for good friends who make life a joy. Meanwhile, I’ve found another contact for gravel, and we’ll see how it goes.

The Lawyer in His Lair: Lincoln, Springfield, and Honestly Laid-Back Camping

  Take I-55 North from St. Louis and after a while you start seeing a lot of stuff named after a local lawyer. Lincoln is his name, and Springfield, Illinois, was his hometown in the years before he hopped a train to Washington to helm an absolute headache of a job. The State of Illinois dubbed itself the Land of said Lawyer, and Springfield, 90 miles northeast of St. Louis, is its capital. With museums, capitol-related tours, Route 66 hangouts, lake recreation and loads of Lincolnalia everywhere, Springfield is definitely worth a day-visit, weekend or even more. We had both been there before, but now we had only one day and I wanted my gal to at least see the lawyer's house, which still stands proudly and is maintained as a national historic site, and maybe we could fit in the fantastic hologram-powered presidential museum, another must-see.

Did I say we only had a day? We had a short day. This was a rough trip. We've been doing this for almost four years now, and it was bound to happen. We were headed north for the summer, and packing for six months away is difficult on her, plus the rainy weather made things sloppy and stressful -- at one point the right rear tire got buried in the mud -- and the accommodations were difficult when one of the RV campground operators shoehorned us into a soggy, inaccessible spot even though I had reserved an accessible spot weeks in advance. For every all the angels I've met in this bumpy ride called life, there are some devils thrown in too. Just like they'll screw over the elderly, some will prey on the disabled. Simply by not listening and being greedy, Jerry at Southgate RV Campground in Fayetteville, Arkansas, really ****ed us over. Watch out for the Jerrys out there.

Not everything was terrible. We got to see our nephew's Little League game on a beautiful evening in Waco, and in Fayetteville, Arkansas, reunited with friends whom we hadn't seen in 20 years! I hadn't realized it had been that long until we sat and reminisced, and of course like true friends tend to do, we gabbed away like no time had passed at all. Dick was a biker and Itera was a nun. They met and got married a week later, and that was over 50 years ago. Back when we lived across the street from each other, Dick was a Dean at DeVry Institute of Technology and loved using his know-how to come up with accessibility devices for me and my progressive condition: an adaptive, locking door-latch and adaptive wheelchair controller -- both beautifully machined -- as well as an adaptive spoon and a refrigerator door-opener, which you had to see to believe ... but it worked! Itera has the giving heart of a saint and was learning how to do energy work, so she would come over and spend hours working with me, in peaceful sessions that would leave us both blissed out. Today they are as welcoming and generous as ever, and these were more great times together. It's turned out to be one of the real jewels of traveling in our little trailer is actually visiting and spending time with loved ones instead of always saying we're going to, but never doing it. This visit meant a lot to us.

But arriving in Illinois was its own relaxing reward, with its comfortable weather and gentle green farming landscape. We went to call on said lawyer at his home. Dude was not around. I figured it was cool to stretch out in his backyard for a few, and catch some rays. I knew there was a tour going inside the home, and what if they came out the back door and were like, "Hey you, shoo, shoo!" But in my shades I was too cool to think about it, busy basking in the power of Lincoln rays.

The Lincoln Home National Historic Site surrounds the home for two square blocks, and is made up of crisscrossing Eighth and Jackson streets lined with two dozen restored homes and out-structures. The area is closed to traffic, so you can go along on the packed gravel streets or on the plankboard sidewalks, both in good shape for easy wheeling in a power chair at least. In a manual chair ...?

        From a wheelchair-accessibility perspective, you'll have to decide which you will do, streets or sidewalks, because it's one or the other: Apparently there were no curb cut-outs in the Great Emancipator's day, right? If you're on a sidewalk or on a street, the only way to cross over into the other is by going to the end of the block. You'll want to do both levels.

Now the home itself is only partially accessible. The Lincolns lived there for 17 years and they added on a second floor, which is not accessible to wheelchairs. The first floor is accessible to manual chairs only: No power wheelchairs or scooters. I'd seen it already in my other, walking life, and my queen was taking a pass that day. There are workarounds, but it's always a bummer to see or hear the word, "NO." From our experience, National Park Service usually does a good job with accessibility. My accessibility questions were answered by the Illinois Department of Natural Resources like so: 

"Most power wheelchairs are unfortunately unable to go inside the Lincoln Home due to their weight and their width. If you have a particularly light (65 pounds or less) and narrower power chair, it may be able to fit. (You can send me the specifications of the chair to check, if you would like.) As many of the structural components of the Lincoln Home are original, including the doorways, this unfortunately affects what devices can be used inside the home. Manual wheelchairs, as long as they can fit inside the Lincoln Home doorways, can go inside the home. We have a measurement device at our visitor center we use to check if a guest's manual wheelchair can fit through the doorways. If their wheelchair cannot fit, we also have manual wheelchairs guests can check out free of charge to use.

"When using a wheelchair on the Lincoln Home tour, the individual using the wheelchair (and another individual in their party, if desired/applicable) will receive their own tour guide for the duration of the tour. The rest of the tour group who are not using wheelchairs will go with another tour guide and enter the home using the steps that lead up to the front door. The party that includes the individual in the wheelchair will enter the house through a different entrance, one which uses a wheelchair lift to lift the individuals to the house's first floor level. (The house is raised and on a slight hill.) The first floor of the home tour will be given, and then the tour guide can offer showing pictures of the second floor with narration, to any individuals who choose not to go upstairs.

"Please just inform the person at the Visitor Center front desk that there is an individual in your group that cannot go up and down stairs, and they will communicate with the appropriate staff to prepare the lift. ...The maximum length, I have been told, that wheelchairs can be to fit is 29.5 inches. ...

"We may be able to make it work with 2 individuals in wheelchairs, but any more than that really cannot fit on one tour due to the size of the rooms and the room partitions. ... If this applies to your party, please let me know and we can discuss potential options."

Tall tales be spoken here: the Railsplitter's porch. (Shhh, I'm creeping in the backyard.)

Jennifer Caldwell of Illinois DNR adds more:

"The courtyard and the main level of the house can be accessed by wheelchair. The wheelchair accessible entrance is through the carriage house, which is at the back of the property near the railroad tracks.  The narrowest of the doors/gates along the path is 32 inches wide.

"There is a lift on the north side of the house for guests unable to use the stairs. It is 32 inches wide by 48 inches deep and can accommodate up to 750 pounds.  The lift provides access to the main floor of the house.  Our staff are happy to help direct guests to the lift and assist with lift operation.

"Due to the varying elevations throughout the home, only the main level is accessible by wheelchair.  This includes the reception/fountain area, mother's bedroom, dining room, Victorian room, living room, kitchen and conservatory hall.  For other areas that are not accessible, we can provide live virtual access to those parts of the tour via iPad. (We will provide the iPad and other necessary equipment for this.)"

Contact her with your questions at jennifer.a.caldwell@illinois.gov or 217-685-9554.

Around the historic site, two of the houses are wheelchair accessible and in the cleverest way (see photos). 

I've never seen anything like them — literally, I could not see these lifts until my wife pointed out that they were there. Covered in matching board-work and swinging gates, I love these lifts.

        The houses have exhibits inside, and by the time we poked around the nooks and crannies, gardens and backyards of the tiny village area, the Butterball turkey timer in my head popped out, meaning, "Museummed out. Find another available brain." It usually takes a couple of hours to reach that point, but it was fun and I was done.

The afternoon was getting late and we walked around town. About five blocks away, we stumbled unto the Illinois State Police Memorial Park, at 722 S. Sixth St. It's on the corner of two reasonably busy streets, but set far enough off to be dignified and peaceful. It included enough human elements to make it quite touching, and when the evening bell started tolling at the nearby Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, I found myself very moved by it all. There is also an Illinois Police Officers Memorial not far away, at 840 S. Spring St., beside the Illinois State Museum.

Another few blocks and we reached Frank Lloyd Wright's Dana-Thomas House (phone 217-782-6776), now a state historic site, at 301 E. Lawrence Ave. Built in 1904, it was interesting seeing a museum-piece home -- oooh, it's Frank Lloyd Wright -- set within a neighborhood that's historic but a little worse for wear. I wheeled around the thing is much as I could, even around the back, to see all the different angles it presents. Unfortunately we were there after hours. From the website, the interiors look amazing although completely inaccessible. No response to my inquiry, so I'm guessing my conclusion is right.

Four blocks away, we came to the Illinois State Capitol building, at 401 S. Second St. At 361 feet, the Illinois State Capitol is the taller than the U.S. Capitol in Washington, D.C. Its central dome and towers are finished with a layer of zinc that provide its trademark silvery sheen which does not weather. On dreary, bad-weather days the dome looks heavy and leaden, or ironclad and oppressive -- which probably lies in the eye of the beholder depending on what the legislature inside has been up to lately, eh? But it was a bright, sunny day, which squares up with what I've seen coming out of there lately, and those towers were gleaming. Check out the features of the accessible tour here. A couple blocks away a Pride concert was blasting loud. It was a groovy, gorgeous day and folks were out enjoying it.

Camp A While, 1779 1250th Ave, Lincoln, IL 62656. 217-732-8840.

Thirty-five miles northeast of Springfield along I-55 lies a fantastic overnight spot, and it's the owners that make it so. It's a tiny place, maybe a dozen sites in all, very clean, quiet and well-maintained, ringed by trees and farmers' fields. It's a quarter-mile off the expressway, and with a historic pedigree as a traditional stopover spot along old Route 66 just a third of a mile away. Camp A While has been around for decades and was listed in all the old guidebooks. Full hookups, back-in spots of shallow gravel. The owners are hands-on and customer-service-oriented. You call them 15 minutes before arriving -- they insist on it in order to manage the available space, but it's well worth the call because they back you into the spot and see that you are set up with everything you need.

They are completely attentive to accessibility. After hearing my questions on the phone, they arranged a spot with a concrete pad where we could drop the wheelchair ramp, and checked that the gravel was OK with us beforehand. Sites are mostly level, with 15 feet of grass between them, fine for the wheelchair to get around, and there's always many empty spaces around so that the overall atmosphere is relaxed and quiet, never even close to crammed feeling. They get a lot of overnights to and from Florida, and workers. Last but not least, Wrigley, the camp dog, comes around to greet you, and if he likes you, maybe share one of his stuffed toys. He's a smooth operator, and he and my Queen are fast friends.

When we unloaded, two hot-air balloons drifted across the farmers field across the road, which kind of captured the cheerful mood after our short-but-sweet day. One of them had a likeness of the lawyer. While you're there in the town of Lincoln, you can drive through town on Route 66 to see the world's largest covered wagon. Guess who that wagon is driven by? It ain't Wrigley.

Somebody Make These: Portable Access Blocks

We’re walking past a new development going up next to our neighborhood. Exciting, right? With brand new sidewalks ringing the site. Sweet curb cutouts, with the gripper things on them. Newborn concrete with the crisp, clean edges: I almost start baby-talking to it. “You’re such a cute cutout. You’re going to be so accessible. Yes, you are. Yes, you are.”

What stopped me, literally, was that those adorable curb-cuts on either side of the development’s entrance do not match up with the level of the road. They’re not even close. It's not a bump. It’s a shelf, it's a ledge. It's a No Way, Jose.

I've got to think that when the construction is done and the last big machine has rumbled away, that they’re going to repave the development and make things flush. My town is good about building in new accessibility and retrofitting what’s old. But here I sit. As Nina Simone would say, I want access now.

Enter the Mab, resourceful wife extraordinaire. We spied some sandbags lying around, there to weigh down a couple of iron separators to keep traffic out, after-hours. Because she works out, Mab was able to carry over a pair of bags that looked to be a size and shape we might work with. And work they did — and there they still sit, their radioactive yellow skins visible all the way down the block. Voile, accessibility. I’d show you right here but I still suck about pictures.

Ferne Clyffe State Park

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OK, This story has a happy ending but it illustrates that even with “accessibility” present, there are usually many micro-obstacles and problems to be got around. In recent hikes at beautiful Ferne Clyffe State Park in downstate Goreville, Illinois, featuring the primordial limestone formations of that spirit-filled Shawnee Natl. Forest region, we ran into several of these junior obstacles that were enough to foil me on consecutive days. Loose rocks in the path, and concrete slabs and culverts that over the years have become displaced and inaccessible: things that are easily remedied with the smallest budgetary outlay – a few bags of concrete and to clear away obstacles once a month – and someone who gave a shit. I made a couple of attempts at Rocky Hollow Trail, but despite the help of strangers, and our getting further on each try, I was stopped right before the waterfall because of a smallish ledge to gain the final bridge. #$%^&*, as they say. Or how about paying a frigging camp host on site to make sure the campers aren't hijacking ALL the public water spigots? You’ve already commissioned the infrastructure spending, which is the hard part. Now let's give a crap and do better, Illinois DNR. (And an accessible trail at Starved Rock too, damn it.)

The best part of travel: These rockin' folks ;) cleared away a pile of stones.

Also the best part of travel: scenery (Ferne Clyffe SP).

One more: the Ship (Ferne Clyffe SP).

So, here is my big idea, hatched during this otherwise magical but waterfall-less hike:

A Portable Bag of Access Blocks, in a bag hooked to the back of my chair, featuring  

Blocks of durable lightweight plastic that might snap together, or have rough edges to minimize sliding.

Snapable flat pieces, like the skinny pieces in Legos.

Like so: RV leveling blocks.

Wedges in a couple of different angles and sizes. Must be able to use to get over entryway stoops.

A lightweight foldable ramp?

Larger rectangle risers, like the rectangle Lego blocks? How much room do I have in me bag anyway? Maybe the risers should be collapsible.

We need these! What are your ideas, reader?

So you wanna see the waterfall, huh?

Where's muh access blocks?