Claudia Folska offers her elbow to her companion and leads him through a pedestrian tunnel that connects a noisy light-rail platform to a parking lot. The tunnel is dark and wild inside. A cacophony of recorded bells and whistles echoes off the walls, which are decorated with long tubes of pink, blue and green neon lights. The lights and sounds are part of a public art piece that looks like something out of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, but for Folska and the man gripping her elbow — an urban planner named Tareq Wafaie — they're incredibly disorienting.
Anthony Camera
Claudia Folska is blind, but she's got a clear vision for the future of public transportation.
Anthony Camera
RTD boardmember Tom Tobiassen encouraged Claudia Folska to run for the District E seat.
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Wafaie is blindfolded. Folska is blind.
They've spent the afternoon riding Denver's public transportation system, traveling from the Southmoor station near Folska's house in southeast Denver to the bustling 16th Street Mall. Along the way, Folska has pointed out the hazards and frustrations of navigating when you can't see. For instance, many light-rail trains are too quiet to hear until they've already arrived and the whooshing automatic doors open in illogical places along the platform. There are dangerous walking paths and tricky escalators and hanging plants that no amount of expert maneuvering with a red-and-white cane can detect. And then there are the "virtual corners" — corners without curbs that are easier for wheelchairs but whose slopes provide no clues to blind pedestrians as to where to cross the street, meaning they could end up in the middle of a busy intersection.
See also: RTD: Meet the three men running against Westword cover girl Claudia Folska
Folska and Wafaie emerge from the clanging tunnel into the midday sun. Folska makes a sharp left and Wafaie follows; his halting and unsure footsteps contrast sharply with her confident ones. "Do you always walk this slowly?" he asks, his chin jutting out slightly and his eyes masked by a red bandanna. Wafaie has agreed to take a blindfolded trip on public transit to prepare for a presentation he and Folska are giving for the non-profit Downtown Colorado, Inc. "No," she admits with a smile, "I usually walk faster."
"This is insane, trying to navigate this world," he says as he and Folska make their way up a twisting ramp to the parking lot, Wafaie's free hand running along the railing. But Folska does it every day — and she does it with the same fearlessness and ingenuity that has guided most of her life, whether it was completing a dual doctorate in urban planning and cognitive science from the University of Colorado this past spring or in her latest challenge: launching a campaign for an open seat on the Regional Transportation District board of directors, a race that, for most voters, is an afterthought at the very bottom of the ballot.
For Folska, RTD is a necessary behemoth, a system of buses and trains that costs $445 million to operate each year, moves 100 million people, is in the midst of a multi-billion-dollar expansion, and has a simple purpose: to make sure that everybody, regardless of ability, has the chance to be independent.
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If Folska isn't carrying her cane, it's hard to tell that she's blind. She moves so fluidly through whatever space she's navigating that people wonder if she's faking it. She's not, and here's how you can tell: by the way she pushes every button in the elevator because she's not sure which one leads to the lobby, by the fruit sticker clinging to her shirt when she visits the Colorado Secretary of State's office, and by how one night at happy hour at a cozy French bistro, she knocks over a glass of white wine, shattering the glass and soaking her companions — after which she quips that smooth moves like that should erase any doubt that she can't see much beyond distinguishing light from dark.
But most of the time, Folska exudes grace. At 48, she's classically pretty, with dark copper hair that falls just below her shoulders. She's fashionable but not funky; at a recent RTD board meeting, she wore form-fitting jeans, an attractive camel-colored leather blazer over a white button-down shirt, sandals and bright-red toenail polish. Most of her clothes are simple — nearly all of her suits are dark and her shirts are white — so it's easy to match them. She leaves her toenails to a professional but does her makeup herself, though as to whether she matches every day from head to toe (which she does), Folska says, "I wouldn't bet my life on it."
She has a warm personality that makes her instantly likable, and a wit that puts people at ease. For instance, she likes to joke that she once groped Arnold Schwarzenegger at a physical-fitness event in California — a feat she could get away with because she's blind.
"I'm the best blind date you'll ever have," Folska likes to say.
"She's full of spit and vinegar, that girl," says friend Kelly Egan, who's known Folska for more than a decade. "She acts as if she's as capable as the next guy, and she is."
The two met when Egan hired Folska to do marketing for a company that helps integrate people with disabilities, older adults and veterans into corporate America. Oddly, Egan herself was diagnosed a year and a half ago with a degenerative condition that's caused her to lose her eyesight. Folska, she says, has been an inspiration. "She is the best blind person you can possibly be," Egan says. "'You might as well be good at whatever you do,' is sort of the attitude."
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