I’m no Elizabeth Gilbert, and when my life changed dramatically a few years ago I didn’t set off for Italy to eat, India to pray, or Indonesia to find love. I didn’t have the money or the resources. My husband died in September 2006 and it took me six months to put one foot in front of the other, to figure out finances, and to adjust to not being a full-time caregiver. It took another year for me to realize that I needed to head for Bend.
Twelve years before his death, my husband Ralph had a devastating bicycling accident that left him a C-4 quadriplegic, unable to move his arms or legs, incapable of eating or voiding on his own. One minute he was an amazingly fit athlete training for the California Land Rush, a 400-mile, two-day road bike sprint from San Francisco to Los Angeles, and the next he was flying over the handlebars of his Italian racing bike, about to plunge into a reality neither of us was prepared for.










