A legend is gone, but a legacy like this does not fade.
I’m sitting in it right now.
The wheelchair I use every day is a titanium chair custom built by Hands On Concepts. Look closely and you’ll see where it comes from.
The design, the iconic hoop behind the heels connected to the camber tube, is a direct descendant of what Bob Hall built at Hall’s Wheels. Even now, I’m riding in his influence.
This past April 12, my phone lit up with message after message. One after another. At first, I thought, what’s going on? An emergency? Something terrible? The messages kept coming. Then I heard the news — Bob had passed away after a long illness. He was 74.
It landed heavy.
The timing made it even more poignant. The July 2025 issue of Sports N Spokes had just marked the 50th anniversary of Bob becoming the first wheelchair athlete to compete in the Boston Marathon. It’s a reminder that even decades later, his impact is still unfolding. Now, in his absence, that impact feels even more personal.
Some people influence your path. Others change it. Bob was one of those rare few for me.
Bob was also a builder in the truest sense. Through his company, Hall’s Wheels, he designed and built everyday wheelchairs, racing chairs and monoskis — equipment that didn’t just meet a need, but redefined what was possible for athletes and for everyday life.
I keep going back to 1996 and a Paralympic track qualifier at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Cambridge, Mass. If you’ve ever been in a moment like that, you know the feeling. Everything you’ve worked for comes down to a single shot.
Then, just like that, mine unraveled.
My chair, a hand-me-down built by Fortress for wheelchair racer David Bailey, fit me perfectly. But it had a lot of miles on it. At the worst possible moment, it broke. The track compensator snapped. I was stuck.
Frustrated, I watched something I had poured everything into start to slip away. Then my friend, Carlos Moleda, who was also competing, stepped in. He said he had Bob’s number and that his shop was just a few miles away.
Not long after, I was on the phone with Bob.
He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t overthink it. He just fixed it. No fuss. No ego. Just skill, generosity and a quiet understanding of what was at stake.
Because of that moment, I made the 1996 U.S. Summer Paralympic team.
It’s hard to fully explain what that means, not just the outcome, but what it feels like when someone shows up exactly when you need the person most.
That was Bob.
A year later, I was planning a ski trip to Durango, Colo. I remembered reading about a monoski Bob built with a lower center of gravity and an innovative loading system, which made it possible for a quadriplegic like me to ski.
So, I reached out.
True to form, Bob made it happen.
Two weeks later, a custom-built monoski was waiting for me at the Adaptive Sports Association at the base of Purgatory Ski Resort in Durango. No shortcuts. No delays. Just belief in what was possible.
I used that monoski from 1997 until now. Like everything Bob built, whether it was a daily chair, a racing chair or a monoski, it was made to last. In fact, that monoski is still in Durango, being used by adaptive skiers today.
Think about that. Decades of movement, freedom and independence, all traced back to one person’s willingness to create something that didn’t exist yet.
That’s the thing about Bob’s work. It didn’t stop with what he built. It carried forward, shaping what came next.
As a quadriplegic who can ski because of Bob’s innovation, I don’t take that lightly. His work didn’t just support adaptive sport. It expanded what we believed was possible.
Bob didn’t just build equipment.
When I competed in the wheelchair division of the 101st running of the Boston Marathon, I saw his impact up close. A large group of wheelchair athletes had gathered near the start line, nerves running high.
And there was Bob, not in a racing chair but in one of his iconic everyday chairs, moving through the crowd, checking on people, making sure we had what we needed. Just his presence was reassuring and inspiring.
In that moment, it was clear: Bob wasn’t just part of this world. He was at the center of it.
And his influence went far beyond competition.
Bob was a passionate advocate for accessibility and independence. He believed everyone deserved the tools to live a full and productive life. That belief lives on through the Bob Hall Legacy Fund, which helps expand access to durable medical equipment and assistive technology for people with disabilities. He built access. He built opportunity. He built belief.
And for those of us lucky enough to know him, to rely on him or to be lifted by his work, his legacy isn’t just something we remember.
It’s something we live.