Rediscover Outdoors: Bruce Creager

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Have you ever felt that sense of freedom, where you’re moving, outside, fully yourself, and not thinking twice about it?

That’s how it was for me as a kid. If you had met me back then, you probably would’ve found me riding my bike, a grin plastered ear to ear on my face.

I rode everywhere: to school and back, through my neighborhood, up into the forested hills, and of course, down them as fast as I could. If I wasn’t on my bike, I was out exploring with neighborhood friends, climbing through old orchards, or following creeks to see what they held. I wasn’t much for organized sports; I just liked to move and felt the pull to be outside.

Being outdoors, being in motion, that’s always been where I feel most like myself.

Then, I began to lose my vision, and the way I moved through the outdoors started to change.

It wasn’t all at once. It was gradual. The world around me became less clear, and I adapted where I could. I kept biking and nordic skiing for as long as it felt safe, kept hiking, kept finding ways to stay outside. But little by little, my world got smaller and smaller. Eventually, the bike was given away, and my skis followed. And when I eventually lost my driver’s license, it felt like my wings had been clipped. I no longer had the means to access the outdoor places that made me feel the most “me.”

I still wanted to be out there. I just didn’t know how that was going to look anymore. Without support from donors like you, that’s where the story could have ended.

Two people cross-country ski side by side on a groomed trail, each using poles and moving forward with steady strides. One wears an orange vest that reads “VISUALLY IMPAIRED,” and the other wears an orange vest with O-A-S branding. Snow-covered trees, buildings, and skiers appear in the background, with an orange graphic line overlaying the scene.

My partner and I moved to Bend in 2014. We were drawn to the outdoor lifestyle, but I was still trying to figure out how I fit into it. I had been testing visually impaired (VI) hiking techniques and knew there was more to learn.

I started meeting people who were getting outside in ways I wasn’t sure how to be part of, and through those connections, I met a neighbor who told me about Oregon Adaptive Sports.

I showed up at OAS and met people who saw possibility where I wasn’t sure there was any left. I met another athlete who was Blind, and she told me, “Don’t give away any more of your gear! Don’t give up!” And I allowed myself to get excited, inspired to try something new. Through OAS, I found the encouragement to not give up, and the resources to actually do something with it, made possible by donors like you.

Coming in contact with OAS was like the world opening up to me again, because it had shrunk down so small as my vision changed.

Moments like this are possible because of gifts like yours.

Support more moments like this:

A tandem bike moves along a paved path beside a calm river; two people pedal together, one in front and one behind, both wearing helmets. Grassy banks, trees, and distant mountains sit under a partly cloudy sky in the background.

The first time I got on a tandem bike with an OAS volunteer, everything clicked. I was back on a bike, moving again, and it felt familiar in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. I had someone guiding me, giving clear direction, helping me understand how to move again in that space. And I remember thinking, “This is clicking for me… and I am ready to do more!”

I began riding regularly again. I resumed hiking, skiing, paddling, and spending meaningful time outdoors again. Not just once in a while, but as a part of my life. And it wasn’t just the activity, it was the feeling that came with it. The excitement. The movement. The community. The identity. That sense of being exactly where I’m supposed to be again.

This new access point to the outdoors felt like a resurgence of my true self, the same person I was as a kid, as a teenager, in my twenties. That part of me had been there all along, but as my world narrowed, it became harder and harder to access until OAS opened it back up. 

Because of support from donors like you, I don’t have to figure this out alone. Your generosity makes it possible for me to get back on the bike, to move freely again, and return to who I am.

Two people smile at the camera in a close-up selfie while wearing bike helmets and sunglasses, standing on a rocky overlook above a large lake. Steep crater walls and water fill the background under a cloudy sky, with part of a bike visible at the edge of the frame.

You’re not just supporting programs. You’re making it possible for someone to get back to something that’s core to who they are. Last summer, OAS provided over 2,500 experiences for over 500 athletes, resulting in over 20% program growth. This momentum is only going to continue with your help as we open the OAS Adaptive Cycling Center this summer.

 

 

 

 

Will you consider deepening your impact with a gift today so more athletes can find their way back?

Donate!