The morning sun glistened on his wheelchair as he readied the boat for
the day. Grunting with effort, he made small hops and managed to get out of
his wheelchair, off the dock and into the boat.
I'm going for a sail," he said. "I'll be back in just a couple
minutes."

And with that, he sailed away.

He returned a few minutes later, and began to tell his story. Gregory
Williams, sometimes known as "The Sarge," was an ironworker until about 20
years ago when he was knocked off a high beam and plummeted seven stories to
the new life awaiting him.

Today he is an active skipper and teaches people to sail from the view
of his wheelchair.

Twenty-three years ago was my first life, and this is my second life,"
he said, "and I'm just getting the hang of it now." Needing to find his new
limitations after his injury, he went to test the waters.

I didn't know what I could do when I got hurt," he said. "I had to
learn the way I wanna live and not the way people think I should."

After his first sailing experience, he was hooked. "It became my drug
of choice," he said. "And now I'm addicted."

Williams is just one of the BAADS boys, also known as the Bay Area
Association of Disabled Sailors. The group is comprised of 125 sailors —
about 65 percent of whom are disabled — who gather every weekend to sail the
waters of San Francisco Bay.

We're all a bit of adrenaline junkies," Williams admitted.

BAADS offers private instruction to interested students, disabled or
not. There are a wide range of disabilities making up the group, including
those who are blind, deaf and stroke victims.

A few remarkable sailors are high quadriplegics who, while strapped in
a sturdy chair, steer the boat by sucking and blowing into a computerized
joystick fastened to their mouths. Even some of the instructors are
disabled. The group also offers full training for volunteers to coach the
"new meat," as they call their new members.

For people like Williams, sailing is an opportunity to leave their
wheelchairs and disabilities behind.

When you get out of this thing and leave it behind, it's heaven," he
said. "You're on your own. It's


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about enjoying Mother Earth and the ocean; you can't replace it."


The BAADS mobiles are designed to make for an easy ride. The "Liberty"
prides itself in being the unsinkable, untippable boat that is a fave of its
riders. Other boats, and even the dock, have been adapted for easy access
for the sailors. Williams said the sport is expensive "for a bunch of gimpy
guys."

Like Williams, Herb Meyer was drawn to sailing for his love of the
sport. He is the staff commodore of BAADS, and even has a drink named after
him — "Herbie on the Rocks" — from a recent boating mishap, where he parked
his ride a tad off the beaten path.

Unlike Williams, Meyer, 74, was a sailor before his accident. He, too,
has been addicted ever since.

It's you, the wind and the water," Meyer said.

In 1993, he had a sailing accident on the San Francisco Bay that put
him in his wheelchair.

A pleasant and jolly guy, Meyer recently returned from Italy, where he
placed fourth at a world championship open to sailors with severe
disabilities.

BAADS is now forming the Access Dinghy Program, a youth sailing club
open to children who are disabled or economically disadvantaged. The program
won't cost a dime if they can't afford it.

The group hopes to make the location an international sailing venue in
the future, but for now their focus is on city kids.

We'd like to take them from their dark rooms out into the fresh air
and sunshine," said Ed Gallagher, the new commodore of BAADS.

Gallagher lost his eyesight a few years ago, figuring he'd never sail
again. But he continues to sail, using the sun on his face and the wind
pressure in his ears. His seeing-eye dog, Genoa, joins him.

(Sailing) just builds confidence," he said. "You can actually see how
people come alive."