Gosh, I have long neglected my blog!
The last post I wrote was in late 2024, though I did chronicle my long ride across Australia with my Brumby on Facebook in 2025. (See: Gin & Fable.) One day I intend to transfer all of those journal entries to this site, for safekeeping.
My website is like a cactus that you proudly put in the corner of your room and promptly forget about for months. Only, it cares not, and lives on quietly in the background despite my derelict ways!
No matter, time to spruce up this ol’ place.
Secretly, I love writing on my blog more than any other platform, because it’s the one corner of the internet that is entirely my own. In essence, my diary. Few people are ever brave enough to venture outside of the familiarity of social media to come here, which emboldens me to voice my deepest, rawest thoughts.
I enjoy assigning theme songs to the various stages of my life, particularly my individual adventures, and this year all the voices in my head (kidding, there’s just one) unanimously decided it’s “Run Away Girl” by Alice Merton.
It is a song about struggling to grasp your identity; feeling lost on what the “right” path forward is; being caught between the past and present, all while freewheeling towards a promising future … so long as you don’t self-sabotage it.
I never choose theme songs that are carefree. They need a little angst, introspection. To be grounded in a good story.
My theme song for my ride across the USA was “Spirit” by the Killers ,while it was “Loser” by John Wesley Rogers for my ride across Australia. And, of course, my theme song for my walk across the USA was “Faith” by George Michael. Remembering that always makes me smile wistfully. All my theme songs seem to choose me before their respective journeys have even begun, back when I am still dreaming half-hopelessly in my bedroom about what if.
That’s the hardest part of any adventure, the planning stage. I know it well; I’m living it now.
I’ve spoken on this before, but I tend to languish between journeys.
I have no doubt that I am as successful and prolific at adventuring as I am at age 26 because I make it my life, all-encompassing, in a way seldom dare to.
Yet that has an obvious drawback: when one adventure ends, it’s easy to fall into a state of limbo until the next. Especially when I’m not advancing in the way my peers are. I have no partner, no kids, no career prospects, no material worth to my name. My success is on account of this sacrifice.
When I’m feeling particularly broody, I like to question whether my adventuring is a form of “running away” or “running towards.”
Running away from responsibility, family, a social network, stable job, etc …
or
Running towards happiness, freedom, the beauty of the natural world, personal growth and connection …
Whenever I hit the open road again, the air feels fresher, my mind lighter. I equate it to “returning to myself.” It is reminiscent of the simple pleasure of playing outside as a kid.
Yet I admit that I need to get better at managing myself in between. Staying busy, having a steady job, helps tremendously. Yet doing menial, entry level work can be draining at times, too.
Funny enough, I do enjoy cashiering, as it mystifyingly transforms me into a social butterfly. “A black cat masquerading as a golden retriever.” If you’ve only seen me as my shy, withdrawn self, your eyebrows would skyrocket to witness my lively public persona. Nonetheless, there is something disquieting about being in a customer service role where you are helping others in everything you do, yet being looked down on for it. It slowly wears on your psyche. I recently took on two temporary housekeeping jobs and the one was lovely, with a down-to-earth family, but the other I quit after a few visits as the feeling of being the “hired help” was too pervasive, especially given that it paid me less than the other despite the family being richer.
Speaking of jobs …
Once I finished my ride across Australia, I remained saddled with $3,000 in credit card debt and needed to hightail it to the workforce again! I planned my Australian expedition with more money I’ve ever possessed in my life aka $8,000 in savings, quickly simmered down to $3,000 by our start date. I projected running out of money midway through, yet I also knew “If I can actually make it to that point, a lack of funds isn’t going to stop me.” To rephrase … just getting off the ground, let alone to the Nullarbor, felt like such a momentous task that I knew, if it happened, I’d have too much forward momentum by that point to let anything stand in my way.
I rarely have enough money for my expeditions outright, and certainly not my horseback ones. (Exceptions include my bicycle tour across the U.S. and paddling the Yukon, I bankrolled them both without dipping into credit.)
After all, horses eat greens. I find it endlessly amusing that having a horse appears to elevate me on a social, superficial level, yet I’m really poorer than ever when long riding. “A hobo with a horse!” I’ve always prided myself on being a street rat and, similarly, love that paddlers are coined river rats. Perhaps because my pet rat, Pam, was my best friend in high school, so I appreciate the connection to her, when most people would wrinkle their nose at the word rat.
I digress …
I spent a few months working in Western Australia to pay off my debts, which I accomplished readily. All the while faced with a worse dilemma: what to do with Fable, my Brumby. After we had become partners, spending nearly every day for 8 months side-by-side, the thought of parting with him left my heart heavy. Spurred by the encouragement of dozens of my Facebook followers, I launched a GoFundMe to bring him home. This amassed a stunning response, $15,000 in donations. With the ticket believing to cost $20,000, I readied to move him, only to receive a crushing blow when the final invoice came to $26,000. A surcharge to use credit would also demand I wait until I could pay the full price upfront, debit only.
This left me caught between two worlds.
My desire to bring Fable home suddenly clashed with my dreams beyond him. I first thought, “I’ll simply hold onto the $15,000 while gradually saving the rest myself over 1-2 years!” Yet, just as quickly came the realization, “if I want to embark on any other adventures in the meantime, people will wonder if I’m misappropriating their funds, and question my integrity …”
This plagued me for months and months. Seriously, some mornings I’d wake up feeling sick with indecision, as my need to leave Western Australia mounted. I had stayed stationary in Western Australia for 4 months, from late January to May 2026, just to be with Fable longer. However, with my visa ending, and no close friends or future prospects in OZ, I had both the burning desire and bureaucratic need to GO.
Ultimately, I decided to resolve this internal conflict by refunding the entire GoFundMe. When the idea of wiping my slate clean with such a dramatic reversal first came to mind, a chill passed through my body, and in that moment, I knew–even if I wasn’t fully willing to admit it yet–that it was the right call. The one that would bring me the greatest peace.
I still hope to bring Fable home. Just on my own timeline, in 5, 6, or maybe even 7 years. He is young, only six years old, so he conceivably has another twenty to twenty five years left in him.
I was further freed to move on from Australia when my friend Danny Phegan offered to house Fable temporarily. Danny is a fellow long rider who orchestrated an epic charity ride across Australia, from Darwin to Tasmania, in 2002-2003. Their journey through the heart of the Outback was called “Campfires Against Cancer”. I originally connected with Danny online through the Long Riders Guild, though we did not officially meet until I visited his family’s cattle station in May 2026 to personally get Fable settled in. I cannot thank Danny and Caroline enough for giving Fable a safe place to rest for the time being. The Phegan family are the epitome of “living life right” and, in meeting them, they instantly became one of my greatest role models.
The end of one chapter, and the beginning of a new one …
Long Riding Across New Zealand
“3 countries, 3 wild horses” is what I am billing this journey as.
A trilogy, or trifecta, of sorts.
First, I crossed the U.S. with my mustang, Finley, in 2022-23. Second, I crossed Australia with my Brumby, Fable, in 2025-26. Finally, I will cross New Zealand with my Northland horse, Falkor, in 2026-27.
Perhaps my last long ride, provided I don’t have a midlife crisis that throws me into Eurasia.
Long riding with wild horses in need of rescue and rehabilitation is one of my greatest passions, so hearing that New Zealand has their own wild herds, the Kaimanawas and Northland horses, is what inspired this new endeavor.
This journey is also heavily influenced by me already being in the Southern Hemisphere. When I looked at the difference in ticket price to fly from Melbourne to Chicago, versus Melbourne to Auckland, it practically drove me into the arms of New Zealand, hahaha
Though New Zealand didn’t greet me with quite the loving embrace that I had hoped for. Coming to New Zealand was a bit like attempting a trust fall only to hit the ground, but, hey, at least it wasn’t a very far fall … and the ground was sort of soft …
***
I fly into Auckland in late May with no job or housing lined up, nor friends or family present. My usual circumstances. There is a single wild horse rescue who deals in Northland horses. In April, they expressed via email that they had recently mustered a few stallions, but I couldn’t get them on the phone to discuss further. I took the hint, “if you want to know more, you’ll have to come and see for yourself.”
As this is my only serious lead, I follow it into the dark. I grab a rental car in Auckland on the cheap, my first time having a rental, and drive 4 hours to Northland, aptly named for being New Zealand’s northernmost region. (They don’t say “state,” “county,” or “shire”.) One major, two-lane highway threads through green hillsides the whole way up.
Desperate, I am preparing to stealth camp out of my Toyota Hatchback in whatever hideaway spot I can find. That is, until a local couple, Jude and Wolfe, swoop in to host me temporarily. The first night I arrive at their home, tucked into an enchanting mountainside, Wolfe abruptly calls us all outside to see something. The moon is nearly full and there is a giant white ring of clouds around it, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure what it means, from either a meteorology or spiritual standpoint, but I take it as a good sign.
The three bay stallions presented to me at the wild horse rescue are scrawny and unassuming. Worst yet, “Too small.” I stare at them dejectedly. There goes my best lead. I did not have high hopes, knowing the selection of wild horses in New Zealand to be slight, and small in stature, but my hopes are still squashed.
The rescue owner shrugs and says, “They’re all about that size.” And the only stallions available now. Though she mentions having a few geldings with minimal handling that have been sitting out to pasture. I hear snippets about them. “The white one”–a name, “Trampus?” — someone laughing lightly under their breath, “Yeah, maybe Trampus.”
Trampus is a small, stocky, gray gelding that has gone fully white. (For those unfamiliar with horses, “gray” horses change color with age. They’re typically born bay (brown), chestnut (red), or black. Then they become various shades of gray, with most finishing as white.) Trampus is slightly taller than the bay stallions, perhaps by an inch or two. Only he’s exceptional stout, with thick legs to match, like a Welsh Cob.
The rescue owner gives me a brief rundown on his history. He was captured in a bachelor band on 90 Mile Beach in mid 2025, had a rough go with his original adopters who swore him off as untrainable, and was then relinquished to her.
They call him Trampus teasingly, as he looked like he would trample someone when first offloaded into their holding pens. She got him haltered well enough to be gelded before he was set out to pasture for nearly a year. This gave him a great foundation, but he will have regressed with time off and need to be restarted, especially with a new handler.
His name first reminds me of Krampus, the horned monster of Christmas folklore who is like Santa’s antithesis, reveling in beating naughty kids with birch rods. On the other hand, Tramp is synonymous with a homeless wanderer, reminiscent of my own background. I like that, but there’s no sense in putting weight behind such a coincidence.
Especially as there is much that discourages me about Trampus. He is just big enough, smaller than I ever anticipated my mount being. That alone is nearly damning. I also came to New Zealand bright-eyed at the thought of being paired with a stallion for the first time, one untouched and fresh out of the wild, so accepting a gelding with a harrowed past would mean burying that dream. Most of us, his murky past sits poised between us like a knife. He may have residual trauma from it. No one knows, that’s the problem. Sometimes with horses, when their first experience with people is negative, it is hard for them to ever fully come back from that …
So while I’m incredibly wary of Trampus, I decide, halfheartedly, that I will give him a chance.
It’s not until I am safely tucked into bed at Jude & Wolfe’s house again, reflecting on my choices, that it suddenly dawns on me ….. Trampus looks like Falkor, the dragon from The Never Ending Story. The name that has been pestering me.
While still in Australia, I tried brainstorming “F” names for my New Zealand horse, to match Faith, Finley, and Fable, my past travelling companions. Instantly, the name Falkor came to mind. And just as quickly, I tossed it in the trash. No. Not Falkor. I like the reference, but, without an understanding of its origins, it sounds quite odd.
Besides, a quick Google Search reminded me that Falkor was a white dragon, and the vast majority of New Zealand wild horses are bay. Statistically, I’m <90% likely to get a bay. So I kept digging for other F names, but none sounded right, not even close. All the while, Falkor kept resurfacing. It started driving me mad. I’d shove it away, and it would pop up again, a persistent whisper of a name.
Now it is back, in a way that feels eerily definite. I had spent weeks trying to kill the name Falkor, only for it to apparently follow me across the Tasman Sea and appear in the flesh. Really, him? I inwardly groan, protesting the feeling of fate trying to entrap me—to dress up a clever coincidence as providence and lure me toward a decision I don’t really want.
I mustn’t let this cloud my judgement, I think begrudgingly, knowing it already has.
F—.
As of writing this on September 19th, 2026, I’m meant to start riding across New Zealand with Falkor in 1 week.
This reality is NOT dawning on me quickly enough. I am halfway in denial about it. Someone ought to shake my shoulders while shouting, “get a grip, Gin! The day is here! WAKE UP!“
And in response I want to say, I’m nowhere near ready!
But then just as quickly, I think, If I always waited to feel ready before departing, I’d never leave…
Q: What other adventures do I have planned?
If I survive long riding across New Zealand, I will return to the USA after a 2 year absence. My attention will then turn to long distance paddling. Aka my River Rat Era. This is because nearly all rivers can be paddled in 1-2 months, during the summer, allowing me to transition to having a more “normal” domestic life, building a family and career, while still getting my adventure fix once or twice a year. I also have big aspirations in the commercial paddling space, not ready to be announced yet.
Rivers I have at the top of my bucket list include:
The Mackenzie River (2027)
My most anticipated river. I imagine it will be much like the Yukon, only half as long at 1,080 miles (1,738 kilometers). Though when you combine the Mackenzie with its longest tributaries (the Finlay-Peace-Slave), the entire chain is the longest in Canada at 2,635 miles (4,241 kilometers). I only plan to traverse the Mackenzie portion which takes 4-5 weeks. I am excited about it being partway in the Arctic Circle, the only place where “you pray it’s a grizzly bear outside your tent!” 😉 My yellow banana boat aka kayak, Reverie, is currently stationed in Washington state. It’s unlikely she’ll be able to make the journey up, but I’ll likely maintain the same name for all future kayaks of mine.
The Danube River (~2028)
The Danube spans over half the length of Europe, 1770 miles (2,850 kilometers) in total. I am strongly considering connecting it with the Rhine, or other tributaries, to paddle completely across the length of the continent. I am picturing it as more of an urban river expedition than a wilderness one, as the river is the major artery for skiffs, even cruise ships. It would take 2-3 months.
Alaskan Rivers: The Porcupine, The Kuskokwim, The Tanana, and The Koyukuk (~2029 maybe?)
Oh, how I love and miss Alaska. They say “the first river you paddle runs through the rest of your life”. How true that is.
Q: Will you do more long riding in the future?
I’m tempted to say no. However, I must confess that ALL of my long rides have happened through a sudden, dramatic change of heart. When I first dreamt of riding across the USA on horseback, my immediate reaction was, I can’t do that. I’ve never ridden a horse before. I don’t have that kind of money. I was so convinced of this, I resigned myself to only attempting a long ride once I was old and retired. Then, when the idea of riding across Australia first came to me, I had just as many excuses to tell myself. I have never been to a foreign country. It would be too expensive. Too desolate. Too scary. Other work is more important to focus on!
And then I made both journeys, anyway. Baffling even myself!
With long riding, I am only keen on using wild horses that I have had the opportunity to tame myself. Particularly across continents, or at least countries. Border to border, ocean to ocean, etc. This drastically limits the scope of my attention.
As I see it …
Read More
As it stands, I have no future long rides planned after New Zealand, though I would like to remain active in the online community.
Q: What are your long term goals?
My ultimate aspiration is to get married, have kids, and settle down in the countryside. It seems I keep putting it off, as I’m now 26 and have never dated. Yet, counter-intuitively, it’s why I feel enticed to adventure now “while I still have the chance.” I hope to be settled in place from age 30-55. And I don’t foresee myself wanting to do long distance expeditions at 55+ when they are so physically taxing. I know others do at that age and I’m completely awed by their feats but I don’t think that’ll be me. So I have this feeling of running out of time … only being young once …
As a result, I will be continuing to alternate between working and adventuring for 1 more year (2026-2027) and, if I survive that, I’ll start planting roots.