May 20th, 2022
“What if there’s more?” ― Ryn Weaver, New Constellations
Finley and I start our journey in Old Bridge, New Jersey!
My grandparents come to see us off. When they pull into the parking lot, my Grandpa asks me “Are you okay by yourself?” while they run to the bathroom, which has my Grandmother, Marmee, teasing him, “Steve! She’s about to cross the country by herself!”
Immediately after, a police cruiser rolls up. Shoot. We were hoping to operate by the “ask for forgiveness, not permission” playbook, since there are no signs explicitly permitting or forbidding horses on the beach, but this cop is on us before Finley can even be offloaded. To our relief, he gives us the all-clear to continue. Phew! 😅
Finley sees his first ocean, the Atlantic! You can tell he’s reluctant of the waves advancing and receding towards us, like he’s thinking “ugh, that is not how water is supposed to act … like it’s alive and breathing!” I just manage to get him to dip his front hooves in.
Back at the parking lot, we begin to garner attention from curious locals.
One old Cuban woman in particular cannot believe her eyes and bubbles with enthusiasm, in the most endearing way. She’s a hoot! She says to us, “Maybe today god will call me, I have seen everything now!” and raises her hands to the sky. She then goes to fetch her grandson to make sure he sees “the real live horse on the beach!”
My Grandparent’s do an incredible job at fielding people’s inquiries on my behalf and, for that, I am immensely grateful.
I need my focus to be on Finley.
I told my Mom over the phone that our first day would be the most pivotal, that it would determine the viability of our entire trip.
“Bad news. If I’m going to die, or if things are going to go terribly wrong, it’s most likely to happen on Day #1.”
“Good news?” I grinned cheekily. “If we survive Day #1, I’ll know we can make it the rest of the way.”
It’s the first hour that holds the most weight. Scouring my maps in advance made it clear: we would be thrown into the unknown, a sea of new sights and sounds for Finley, right off the bat. Despite my best efforts to start at the quietest beach, it’s unavoidable. This is NJ, the most densely populated state in the U.S.
Saddling Finely feels like defusing a live bomb. He’s nervous, but cooperative. I gently encourage him to yield his hind end a few times to ensure he’s not quietly loading, waiting to go off when I tighten the back cinch. “A ka-boom would make for bad beach PR,” I noted in my journal last night.
STOP IT! Stop thinking like this!
I have to chide myself now, as it does no good to worry. My fear will become a self-fulfilling prophecy. If Finley can see it, he can mirror it. There is nothing more important than maintaining my composure. Yet, I can’t flick my nerves off like a light switch, that’s easier said than done, so I wind up in this awkward paradox where my expression remains as passive as possible while I quietly lose my mind inside.
Once Finley is saddled, we practice some groundwork in a stretch of grass bordering a cement basketball court on the south side of the parking lot, to encourage him to tune into me, and in the hopes that the routine of it will give him a sense of structure and security to fall back on.
Marmee joins us for our 1st mile out of the parking lot. She takes the lead, acting as another set of eyes.
Instantly, we’re standing on a median island, sandwiched in between lanes waiting for our stoplight to turn green as 60-70 MPH highway traffic rages in front of us, including multiple semis. Finley stands coolly. We’re then out of the little commercial district spanning the coastline and into a more residential community with a sidewalk. Neither of these areas last long.
Halfway through Laurence Harbor, I turn around to see Finley’s saddle slipping sideways! Mayday! I was so worried about over-tightening his saddle initially that I did the exact opposite, calling for an emergency pull over in a random church parking lot to correct the mistake. Finley lets me readily.
We have one blip along the highway bordering Cheesequake State Park.
When we’re stopped, Finley suddenly spooks in place. I think it’s kind of odd, since he had been grazing in the grass along the road for a few minutes already, undisturbed by traffic.
I chalk it up to him zoning out and momentarily forgetting where we were. No big deal. A car that passed around the same time did have a distinct rumble, too.
But then he does it again. He abruptly shoves into me and almost edges us into the road, his eyes wide with panic and the impulsion to run, and then that’s gone. He settles, and we carry on.
All the while, I mull over what happened, and settle on this: Finley is better in motion. When we are moving, he is able to clearly concentrate on the task at hand, following my lead, whereas when we stopped just now, it was like I stopped giving him direction, and he began to question what to do.
When we take breaks later today, I need to ensure they are not in high-stimulus areas, which should be easy enough.
Along that same highway, we cross the Garden State Parkway! This is a hurdle for us since we are restricted to a narrow sidewalk, and Finely has never gone on an overpass. Midway, one of Finley’s hind legs clip a Twisted Tea bottle and it shoots into the nearest lane, startling him off the sidewalk. Almost. One of his hooves step off–I think, tersely, Don’t–and then he recovers.
We walk down an alleyway behind a shopping center before collapsing in a little field set aside from the nearest road.
The worst is behind us for the day and, all things considered, Finley did amazing! One, two split second mishaps. Psshh, nothing! Otherwise, he kept his cool. So, so well. This bolsters my spirit.
We’ve got this!
The rest of the day is marked by constant commotion. Metal monsters, hairless aliens, funny-faced wolves, you name it. There is a steady stream of newness whirling around Finley and, throughout it all, he keeps his head. Beneath his steely, watchful gaze, there is an underlying tension. He is grappling with this world so foreign to his own, but he’s not allowing his anxiety to consume him. His jaw is set in determination.
A military vet invites us to have Finley mow his lawn–“Come, I have good grass!”--while I relax on his porch, plied with drinks and snacks from his wife. Before leaving, he gifts me a red horse halter he once bought at a flea market for his Newfoundland dog.
A firefighter catches sight of Finley and gestures to his buddies. “No, really, I’m not sh*tting you, it’s a horse!” He calls out to ask if Finley is a stud.
Another man, slightly suspect in his demeanor, asks if he can take a picture of my horse in his yard. His yard has a 6 ft tall perimeter fence. I might never be seen again if I went in there alone. I say, “How about a picture right here instead?”
Come to find out, the problem with naming my horse Finley is that people sometimes hear “Finland.” And the problem with my name, Gin, is that people sometimes hear “Jen,” so that’s why I often tack on “like the drink” or “like gin and tonic” after introducing myself, because I am not a Jen. Though if someone calls me Jen, I will quietly allow them to without correction till the day we get married and the officiant says “do you, Gin, take-“ and they’re like “wait, why did he just call you Gin, Jen?”
The day wouldn’t be complete without another flub of my own! While unsaddling Finely, I forget to un-clip his breast collar, so it catches as I’m attempting to slide everything off and he abruptly pulls back, wheeling madly away with the saddle now sideways, nearly under his belly, before coming to a stop a few seconds later.
To my amazement, my Grandparent’s stick around for the entire day!! I had no idea that they would. I thought their intentions were to drive off after my departure from the beach. Instead, they alternate between sight-seeing and checking up on Finley and I.
This comes in handy when I’m pitching camp for the night, as I’m not sure we’re allowed to stay where I want to. We’re getting conflicting signals. There is a “DEDICATED OPEN SPACE FOR RECREATION” sign right beside a “NO TRESPASSING: OB POLICE” sign.
I convince Marmee to call the police for me, as I reckon that if I call, I cannot vouch for my own sanity. It’s better coming from her. Not that she’s a totally unbiased source as my grandmother, but she is still a second party. Older, too, exuding wisdom in her voice. Meanwhile I sound like a nervous nasally frog.
The responding officer won’t give us explicit permission to stay, but he doesn’t object, either. The point is made that if a nosy-someone calls 911 on us for seeming suspicious, we might have to leave, but if that doesn’t happen, well, it’s a read-between-the-lines kind of yes, which is good enough!
I couldn’t imagine a better place to stay for our first night. With how developed NJ is, just chock-full of people, it’s the perfect hideaway for Finley and I. This field we’re in is lush and hidden from view with a privacy wall of trees, blocking our camp from the road. My Grandpa scrounges an old bucket from an abandoned house nearby to water Finley with, and I’m in my tent within minutes of a thunderstorm. Right in the nick of time!
Overall, Finley and I conquered 4 miles today!! 😀
And, suddenly, the rest feels so possible.