Mounted Police trip to Ground Zero, NY

Okay I have to say that to date in my life, this counts as one of the top three MOST TOTALLY AWESOME things that I have ever done. I’ll try to paint the picture for you, but for the real thing, check out the link at the right of this page!

Belonging to the Mounted Police community is a lot of work, a lot of boring standing around, a lot of useless bullshit politics, and yet also a lot of fun. I have met and become friends with people in New York, New Jersey, Lexington, Louisville, Toronto, Toledo, Boston, New Orleans, all over Michigan.... it goes on and on. Many of these people are paid “professionals”, meaning that being a mounted officer is their main source of income. A few volunteers like myself are in it purely because we want to be. Therein lies the difference that I hope to clarify in a later entry.

Being able to train and compete with my horse on local, regional and national levels are a few “perks” of this unpaid job. This year I got to go to Lexington, Detroit and New Jersey. (And did well everywhere, which is even more satisfying. But more on that later also, I just want to talk about New York now.)

After a grueling 12-hour drive, we ended up in New Jersey. I must admit to being pleasantly surprised by both the landscape and the people. I had imagined it as a concrete jungle - in my mind metropolitan Detroit is nearly as large as the entire state of NJ. (I also confess to being woefully ignorant about the layout of the East Coast.) We drove all the way across Pennsylvania, whereupon I recalled practically the only thing I ever retained from middle school geography class: literally translated, Pennsylvania means “Penn’s woods” (think William Penn...) and it’s true as far as I could tell. The I80 turnpike corridor is blanketed with deciduous forest. The mountains and valleys, while nothing like the Rockies, are still impressive to a flatlander. Spectacular vistas abounded as I gazed out the passenger window of the truck. New Jersey is very reminiscent of home, although in a more New-England-y kind of way.

I call the trip arduous mostly because I tend to sympathize with my horse riding in the trailer. If you’ve never ridden in a trailer before, it sways, bumps, jiggles and rattles constantly depending on the condition of the road and the driver’s skill. Also, the occupants can’t anticipate turns, braking or acceleration. Not a fun thing to do for 12 straight hours, especially since there were multitudinous construction zones, hairpin turns and long up- and down-grades along the route. Of course there is a short stop while refueling, and we always make sure to stop and eat somewhere so that the horses can rest unshaken for an hour or so on a long trip.

The next morning we rose and shined, washed horses and prepared for the trip to New York. I was SO geeked about this.... the only chance I’ll ever have to visit New York City, and I got to take my best buddy!! We had about 30-40 rigs (truck/trailer combo) in our caravan, all the way from 2 horse bumper pulls to a gigantic semi trailer. The convoy stretched out over a mile once on the road. NYPD and NJPD provided the coolest ever police escort from Morristown NJ to downtown New York City. It was like being the President! Several police cars led the motorcade parade-style, and motorcycle cops rocketed at top speed back and forth with lights and sirens closing the highway on ramps so we could proceed uninterrupted. More cycle cops weaved back and forth across the lanes behind us so nobody could pass.

We’d pass a closed-off ramp, snickering to ourselves, smirking like crazy at the stopped traffic and in general having a grand old time. And the super-cool cops, looking ultra hip complete with mirrored sunglasses, would give us an almost condescending little nod in acknowledgement as we grinned and waved like redneck lunatics in a circus parade. After all, these guys have escorted Presidents, Popes and movie stars; no need to be awed by a few cops with horses. We went through the Holland Tunnel.... a little claustrophobic but still fun since there were red and blue lights reflecting and sirens echoing throughout. [[It brought to life a page of my favorite Stephen King novel -- “The Stand”... the part where Larry is struggling to get through the pitch-black Lincoln tunnel crammed full of dead cars and bloated corpses (The Holland Tunnel enters the Big Apple, the Lincoln exits it)]]

The procession ended at Chelsea Pier 63, home of one of the five NYPD Mounted stables. It’s right on the Hudson River, actually one overhead door of the building opens out directly to the water. One unlucky rig had a tire blow-out during the procession, and the semi trailer had to be routed over the George Washington bridge since it wouldn’t fit through the tunnel, but we finally all got it together. There were 116 mounts from the competition representing the East Coast, the Midwest, and even a couple from Texas. NYPD as hosts dispatched a number of their own as well. I believe there were upwards of 130 horses in this impromptu parade.

We lined up 4 abreast and the procession extended a whole city block. So COOL, I was cheesing like mad. I could NOT stop grinning, how remarkable was it that *I was sitting on my horse in freaking downtown New York, about to parade through the streets to see Ground Zero?!?! I was overwhelmed with emotions: delight, thankfulness, dignity, compassion.... it was so tremendous. A literal sea of uniformed officers and police horses engulfed me; I was part of the whole and yet the whole was part of me.

It was over an hour’s march to Ground Zero from our locale, and it was just GREAT. There are already several blogs and newspaper articles online highlighting the event. Camera phones got a helluva workout in NYC that day. People gawked, goggled, photographed and stared. We reciprocated. I was in the middle of the column and as far as I could see both in front and behind me were police horses. Traffic was stopped so our parade could pass by. People jumped out of their cars and snapped pics; they waved from windows of apartment buildings; storeowners and shoppers rushed out to the sidewalks to watch us clip-clop by. A few older men saluted as we passed; many people clapped and children squealed and pointed at the horses. TV crews abounded; and a few journalist-looking types trotted along the entire parade snapping pics with telephoto lenses as long as my arm.

We finally reached the memorial site, and I felt my heart swell and my eyes fill. There were so many horses that, even lined up side-by-side along the entire block facing the site, we had to eventually split up and put a column on the opposite side of the street; even then there were a few who were not near the actual memorial. We stayed about a half hour while the passersby came up in droves to pet the horses and ask numerous questions; each officer had the opportunity to dismount to look at the ruins. Poignant photographs lined the fence; silent mourners stared at the reflecting pool; noisy children ran and played, unheeding.

I often talk to my dad at times like this. He passed away 10 years ago last month; yet I can frequently feel his presence. “What do you think, Dad?” I try to live these moments twice as much so I can impart the experience when I finally see him again at Valhalla. I can see his wry grin as he makes some wisecrack about my horse or my hair or the cramped, crowded city.