The process of buying our new wheelchair-adapted van was drastically different from our other car purchases. My husband is not one to shop around much. In fact, I don’t think he’s ever test driven more than one car before buying. And I am a decisive person–I do some research, talk to a couple of knowledgeable people, and then I go and get the job done.
So the 12 months I waited for final approval from our regional center to help fund the automatic-ramp portion of the car seemed like an eternity. It gave me ample time to consider my options, which, truthfully, is never a bad thing.
The local regional center, which contracts with the government to provide or coordinate support for individuals with developmental disabilities, gave me the names of mobility vendors in Northern California, and after talking on the phone with several, I ended up going to Mobility Works in Santa Clara. There, I met Steve Davis, an exceptionally kind, knowledgeable and patient salesman. Steve, I should point out, is a veteran and in a wheelchair himself. I knew nothing about wheelchair-adapted vans before I went to see him, so he had a lot of educating to do.
I learned that all wheelchair-adapted vans are modified for the ramp, which involves some substantial reengineering of the car after it’s built. Essentially, a brand new car that just came from the assembly line gets half torn apart again to retrofit it for a wheelchair ramp. That’s why they call it a van “conversion.”
This of course is not news to someone like Steve who has been working in this industry for a long time, but it seemed a less-than-efficient process for one company to do a bunch of work only to have it undone weeks later by another. (Hence my great excitement to learn about what the Vehicle Production Group is now doing with the MV-1. But that’s for another column.)
There are a few major wheelchair-adapted van manufacturers in the U.S. They have agreements with car companies like Honda, Chrysler, Toyota, Dodge and now even Volkswagen, to buy vans off the assembly line and then adapt them. As you can imagine, this is not an inexpensive endeavor. There is the brand-new car to pay for, the transport to the ramp manufacturer, the parts and labor involved in adapting the van to fit the ramp, and then transport to the retail locations. All told, I could be driving a BMW or Land Rover around right now for what I paid. Absent our special needs, I would never spend that much on a car.
As Steve explained it to me, I had several options to consider–first and foremost, a rear- versus side-entry ramp. If the ramp is on the side, it folds up vertically, parallel to the side door when not in use. The other option is for it to slide into the car horizontally, under the floorboards. Because we pull up to the front of our house along the sidewalk and really don’t use our garage, I was quite sure I preferred a side ramp. Besides, always getting in and out of the back of the car has us standing in the street or in the flow of traffic in a parking lot. Plus, after watching how the ramp that slides under the floorboards just sort of disappears, it seemed like the obvious choice.
Then, there was the car itself to consider. The Chrysler Town and Country is probably one of the most popular wheelchair-converted choices. It’s a beautifully appointed car, particularly the top-of-the-line model. It’s spacious and family-friendly, wheelchair or not.
The Toyota Sienna was another contender, but as an unfortunate byproduct of the conversion, the spare tire was moved to the back of the car where it took up way too much room. I would barely be able to get any groceries or suitcases in the back, which is a pretty big disadvantage–I really don’t want those things rolling around in the middle of the car with Abby.
I was also intrigued with the Volkswagen Routan, which is essentially the same car as the Chrysler. But given that I have owned so many Hondas and have always had good experiences with them, I did the safe thing and went with what I know–a 2010 Honda Odyssey.
