Regular Life

Our "chariot" awaits (click to enlarge)

Last year we drove around Dallas’ Highland Park neighborhood, a relatively swank area featuring homes I grew up calling mansions, to look at grand Christmas displays. You know. The kind that people pay to have installed by illegal immigrants.

This year we did it in style.

In trips to many old downtown areas, especially those recently revitalized, I have seen horse-drawn carriages, but I’ve never ridden in one. It is somewhat difficult to look at one without laughing, after seeing the "Beef-a-Reeno" episode of "Seinfeld" called "The Rye." But that’s a personal defect.

I charged my miniDV camera’s battery and slid a new tape in, ready to capture the entire 1-hour ride and later edit it down to a tolerable three or four minutes. I dreamt of the clop of hooves against suburban streets, with perhaps the occasional whinny or neigh from our equine engines. To make sure I captured that if nothing else (should the ride prove too dark for decent video), I packed my digital recorder and geeky microphones along with the miniDV. I was perfectly prepared.

(click any pic to enlarge)

With a minivan full of family and my in-laws’ GPS computer named Max guiding us, we headed for the city. Ben, four-years old and the only one under 34, sat beside me in his safety seat. "This is my first time to ride in a horse-drawn carriage, Ben. I never got to do this when I was a little boy," I said.

"You never did?"

"No, I never did."

We parked in Highland Park Village, an outdoor mall much more hoity-toity than I’ll ever need. I didn’t recognize most of the store names.

"I need to go potty," Ben said. As luck would have it, an Albertson’s grocery store faced us. Ben and I hit the restroom and joined the others, but not before I grabbed a box of peanut butter cracker packs.

My reasons were twofold. Shannon’s stepfather very carefully and skillfully had prepared salmon filets for everyone before we left. I just happen to dislike salmon enough that I no longer politely choke it down and, although it’s one of Ben’s favorites, he took nary a bite.

In large part thanks to our noses, we found the spot to wait for our carriage. It was to be a wagonette, really, and a last-minute cancellation from some Tulsa kin left us six shy of a full load.

While we waited on the curb, a carriage pulled up, drawn by two horses. One of the horses relieved itself, at length (pardon the double entendre), on the asphalt. Clearly it had waited for that moment. "Like a cow pissin’ on a flat rock," I said, speaking from one side of my mouth while putting on a thick southern hick accent.

"Mark!" Shannon said. She didn’t approve.

We noticed a small pouch under a horse’s tail. One of the men tending the animals held a bag under it and shook it repeatedly. I suppose it wouldn’t do to spread horse dung around the wealthy’s neighborhood.

"Oh, no," I said, dejected.

"What?" Shannon said.

"I left my camera bag. I won’t get any video or audio." I had my still camera, but it wouldn’t do me much good on Christmas lights from a moving vehicle. A quick jaunt back to the minivan confirmed that, yes, I had left the video camera at the in-laws’ house. I told myself to suck it up, and hoped I would listen.

A family of four — mother, father, toddler, and swaddled baby — asked Shannon’s mother if reservations were required. I’m sure it was hard not to laugh, because these rides are booked at least a month in advance. We had plenty of space, she explained, and would be glad to include them. They gratefully accepted.

Moments later, two beautiful black and white paint horses rode up pulling a wagon full of smiling sightseers. Our chariot had arrived.

We seated ourselves on the benches running along either side of the wagon. Our driver, Stan, said we were welcome to sing carols. Before we got out of Highland Park Village, we answered the call with a rousing rendition of, "Rudolph, the Red-nosed Reindeer."

Apparently that was too much for Stan. Within seconds of our big finish, I heard the familiar strains of the Peanuts gang singing "Christmastime is Here." It took me a couple seconds to find the source — a pair of battery-powered computer speakers mounted on the back of Stan’s seat, aiming directly at us. My eyes traced the wire back to an MP3 player resting on the seat next to Stan, just like mine but white instead of blue.

The ride lost a little of its authenticity at that moment.

It earned it back as the horses’ clip-clop filled the air and they let out the occasional Hollywood whinny. Our motion was surprisingly smooth, but each time Ike and/or Luke shifted slightly while waiting at an intersection, the whole wagon lurched. Riding a horse never gave me that sense of their strength. A two horsepower engine wouldn’t be able to do that.

At about 65 degrees, the night was perfect for a ride. Many of the houses didn’t have their lights up yet, but the early birds caught our collective eye. I’m glad now that I had to take in everything the old-fashioned way, recording it only in my mind. Nativity scenes; several representations of Santa and his sleigh; and a few collections of lavishly wrapped, oversized Christmas gifts dotted the landscape. I also learned that Stan is a nice man, and his horses’ names are Ike and Luke.

Hungry and losing interest in the lights, Ben shared peanut butter crackers with me and gladly let the guest toddler boy take his place up front for a while. When not snacking, Ben rolled around his pink plastic car. He held out a cracker to the toddler, "You want a peanut butter cracker?"

A seemingly short hour after we started, we parked back amongst stark buildings bearing the names Ralph Lauren and Chanel. The family of stowaways insisted on tipping the driver, which my mother-in-law had been told was customarily a $35-$50 undertaking.

While a shutterbug like me enjoys the freedom of stopping at will, I was glad to play the part of passive spectator. I’m glad we took the ride. It was like nothing else, and another great first.

Shannon captured a few video clips with her point and shoot, and I cobbled and carved them down to less than a minute. You might have to click the Play button once to give it the focus, and then once more to start. And give it a moment to start playing. Got all that?

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